meetings

Friday is team meeting day at the offices of the Daily Object, probably the greatest journal, newspaper diary amalgamation to hit a sheet of paper since Robert Maxwell (RIP) sat on the can. Here we are (pictured below) discussing, debating, deciding, deriding, chiding, colliding and projecting ideas, thoughts, graphics, concepts and hairstyles with the skill, wile and guile of a team of brilliant publishing warriors.

I love this job I really do. Nobody could tempt me away from it with anything less than the offer of actual money. No way.
I'm proud, that's why; too proud to have spent too many long long hours, sometimes days working on the Daily Object through day and night then day and night again till we got it right right to the end of whatever that might have been whenever it was, for whomever and for why ever it was. Not leaving, not budging from the spot! That's me at that meeting table, I'll be there at sunrise, at sunset, shifting only for the cleaner to hoover under my chair nobody else, not until that page is perfect, that text succinct, those colours exact, the fonts immaculate, the layout stunning.
Actual money would be nice sure, I mean I could sure enjoy speculating on positive equity?
I want ideas as bright as my shirt, I see people down on the street from here on the 66th floor and I enjoy the fact they have to look up to see me with my nose pressed against the window pane and my hands on the hips of my cotton wool mix trousered legs.
I feel I'm conquering my vertigo for them!
Take your money and shove it competitors everywhere! Unless you have good benefits too..