Written – the countryside: you can keep it!

I’m sure you will relived to hear that I’ve finally got the James Taylor tour bus back on the road. I’ve just been confirmed for a bridal Magazine shoot. A five day trip away, in the heart of the English countryside.

I was thrilled, I haven’t worked for weeks and on paper it sounded fantastic. A five day trip away, with what I assumed would be my bride to be; and hopefully a few hotty bridesmaids, just in case.

So first thing Monday morning I jumped in the car and headed over to a funny little place called Castle Combe, which let me tell you, is in the middle of nowhere.

Not much goes on in Castle Combe. (No really nothing) It consists of an inn, a pub, a church, a small sweet shop, and lots and lots of Japanese tourist.  They were everywhere, they were, worse than speed bumps, always walking in the road, making me go around them, ruining my racing line, scrubbing all my speed off. Maybe there was a castle there too, but I didn’t see it????

But although it was such a small place, for the life of me I still couldn’t find where our location was, and on this occasion, Lola my car, was as lost as I was. I couldn’t even call for help; as my phone had no signal. And I didn’t speak Japanese; I was as helpless as an Easyjet air stewardess trying to serve a plane full of English yobs on a booze crawl to Benedorm. (Oi love, can I have a Stella)

Eventually after a good 5 minutes (at least), of driving around I finally found it. The place was huge, but was well off the beaten track, as I trundled along down the long stony driveway, towards the manor house, with ivy growing all over, and lots of hooray henrys playing crochet on the lawn.  So I bet they were a little shocked to see me roaring up the driveway towards them.

I parked my car and had a quick look around, and I remember getting quite excited at the prospect of taking one of the many golf buggies out for a joy ride, but there was no time for that just yet, as by now I was 2 hours late

Eventually I found everyone else on the shoot. I apologised for being late and after shaking everybody’s hand that was in the room, of course my mind switched to where are all the girls.  At which point, I was informed that there where no bridesmaids or even a bride, it turned out it was a groom shoot; so it was just me, and three other guys. There wasn’t even a cute make up artist to look at, as he was a geezer too and as for the stylist, well; she was a right nasty piece of work, bearing in mind the world cup was on; so every time I tried to sneak off to catch a game, she would hunt me down and make me try clothes on; I mean, what was she playing at!  But she would let all the others enjoy the game; just persecuting me. As you can imagine, I took to her like a duck to a Chinese restaurant.

The first shot of the day was in one of the bedrooms in the hotel, which were like little stand alone cottages next to the main house.

Now, not hyping things up to much, but these rooms were pretty amazing; huge great marble bathrooms big enough to park a car in, with flat screen tvs in the shower, gadgets everywhere with little buttons to change the mood lighting and make things pop out of cupboards. I couldn’t wait to finish shooting and check in to my room and see what they all did. 

However. Once we did finish shooting for the day, the client pulled me to one side and broke the news that, there had been a problem with their booking, and that they were one room short, so they instead had booked me into an Inn down the road in some other little town with a name I can’t recall, for fear of reprisals.

We didn’t finish shooting till quite late, so by this time it was dark, as I pulled up at my destination about a 15 minute drive from where everyone else was staying.

Dark country lanes all the way, with big scary willow trees converging either side of the road. But I kept my wits about me as I parked my car in the pitch black car park and hastily made my way to the reception desk, to be greeted by a old bearded lady, I was waiting for Scooby Doo to pop out any minute; I’m not a big fan of horror films and it doesn’t take much to get my hairs on end, and this place sure did that.

The old lady creaked as she showed me up stairs to my room, and for once in my life I had nothing to say. I really wasn’t feeling to clever about where I was about to spend the night.

She went on to hand me some bath towels and explain that there was only hot water between half 8 and 9 and then shut the door with a bang and I was on my own, in silence and I got undressed ready for bed, the room really gave me the creeps,

So I’m lying in bed, tossing and turning (well actually more tossing than turning) as I just couldn’t relax, it was as if the room was too quite, unsettlingly quite it just made you feel uneasy.

The next day at work, I bit my lip about how dodgy the hotel was and about how I had to have a cold shower as I got up late, and about this trip was nothing like it was made out to be, well for me anyway, but the next few days went by quite well apart from the odd run in with the evil stylist, so I just got on with things.

But on the penultimate night of the shoot as I made my way back to the scary inn, as I locked my door and got into bed, and turned off the light cuddling up to my little teddy, I just felt a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and after a little while I finally did drift off, but then all of a sudden about 3am I was awoken from by this banging noise, it was coming from the room directly below.

Now you can image me, sitting up with the blanket pulled up right over my face, with just my eyes poking out and teddy wasn’t saying to much, so I was in this one on my own; I’ve never been so scared in my life as the banging noise started to get louder and then I herd it out in the hallway and then it started to get louder, it sounded like big boot footprints climbing the stairs outside getting closer and closer and then there was a knock at the door. You can imagine my fear, as I creped over trying my hardest not to make a sound, armed with my travel hairdryer as I looked out of the keyhole to see this shadow standing there.

I held my breathe, so not to make a sound, and just hoped and prayed, it would go away, eventually I herd it turn and walk back down the stairs, and at that point I started frantically collecting all my stuff together.

I gave in 5 minutes and made a run for it; launching my stuff onto the back seat of my car, wheel spinning away in the gravel; I wasn’t hanging around there, and it wasn’t as if I could call anyone, as my phone still didn’t work.

That was it; id had enough and had nowhere to go, so I decided to head back home to Essex.  After all, if they put me up in that scary place, they were asking for trouble, and presides, they brought me there on false pretences anyway, where were all the women.

Unfortunately, my phone is now working again and I just got a right ticking off from the boss, for leaving the job, so I don’t think ill be getting married again any time soon. 

I still don’t know what was outside my room last night, although unless the bearded lady grew 2 foot and bulked out overnight it definitely wasn’t her. 

To be honest, I’m not going back to find out, saying that, this is coming from a man who can’t watch the film, “Alien” on his own.

So I guess I will just never know, I guess the countryside is just not for me either, but at least I’m narrowing down the list.

jtx

 

(Also, I would just like to say a big thank you to Dorothy from the sweet shop; the rhubarb and custards were exquisite)

 

Written – but of course you have to find one first! 

 

I’m at the stage in my life now, where it’s starting to get to the business end of things, I’ve not actually told too many people about this; well until now but actually I’ve been doing the odd acting class as late and really enjoy it.

A very close friend of mine, who’s an actress and actually was in my favourite kids show growing up, “I used to fancy the pants off her, but lets keep that between us”, forced me into giving up my favourite Monday Quiz nights and going along to class with her.

And although I miss my Quiz team and they now struggle when it comes to the Spice Girl Lyrics round, now I can’t really thank her enough, Acting is right up my street and if anything I wish I had of started sooner.

The trouble with modelling is and don’t get me wrong as I’ve had a fantastic career, it’s taken me all around the world on many adventures and I’ve met some amazing people along the way, however it just doesn’t keep my mind busy enough. I need things to do.

My fathers was Comedian, my big Sister is one of the heads of Midwifery for Sydney, my middle sister is a Genetic Scientist in New York, so really I should have all the ammunition up there waiting to tap into, I mean; I love having my photo taken and probably always will but my favourite kind of jobs are commercials or moving film.

I’m not really one of those high end fashion models anyway, I don’t really do that many catwalks anymore or actually all that many magazines, well that was until the phone rang last Thursday, with a last minute magazine shoot happening the next morning.

I was actually pretty excited, as I said I don’t really do that anymore, maybe I would learn something new and could take that with me and use it for future modelling assignments.

I was shooting the Barbour campaign the other week, with this excellent photographer and he taught me something, which now; I’m all about. 

The drunk walk!  You know those shots where they want you walking towards camera, “Walk like your drunk!”, easy as that, gives you fantastic leg shapes.

Who would of guessed? That’s right up there now in the memory bank now.

Anyway so I get the call and with that the next morning at 7am, I know! I was on a busy tube train, across London to the shoot location at some posh house in Chelsea.

So I arrive on set, and I’m ushered upstairs into hair and make up at this point, really enthusiastic and excited about the day. The make up artist is lovely and we starting talking about my latest love life dilemma; you know, as you do.

And then in walks the photographer. Now how magazines work, are they don’t pay the model. Well they pay like £50. In fact I normally spend more on, getting to the shoot and taking the girl model out for dinner after but what they do get you, are pictures! And pictures make the world go round.

So there I am, by this point, the hair stylist has grabbed hold of me and they always make me nervous, you can never really tell their abilty when it comes to Men’s hair, occasional you might get one who knows there stuff; they are the ones you let trim your sideburns but other times, they just want to get so busy, and start blow drying, then straightening, then curling, then send you back to wash your hair again as it didn’t look as they envisaged. Anyway, I’m not going to go into him, as I have bigger fish to fry.

So I’m sitting there, and the photographer kneels down next to me and shakes my hand, for a second Donald the hair stylist turns the blow dryer off to I can hear myself think and the photographer goes on to explain the days shoot.

“Your agency did tell you didn’t they, that it’s all back off the head shots today, we aren’t going to show your face as we don’t want to distract from the clothes.”

“No, they didn’t!”

“Is he kidding me?” It’s meant to be one of the hottest days in London so far this year, one of the days it’s not actually raining, one of the 3 days of actually summer and he now he has me; trapped here, with Donald fucking up my hair and they want to shoot the back of my head!

I mean this would be ok if I was just starting out and needed the experience of how a shoot works and needed to start building up my resistance to people like Donald, or if I liked you and agreed to help you for some project at school, then I don’t mind shooting the back of my head, but this was not the case, I’ve been modelling 12 years now, I really didn’t need to be here doing this. I was not a happy Bunny!

I think the photographer sensed my agency did not mention to me that indeed it was non recognisable and I wouldn’t be getting any pictures, indeed after a brief conversation with them, apparently he hadn’t cared to mention it to them either.

And then the plot thickens, he goes on to say, that actually I wasn’t even his first choice hand model and that actually, the one he had chosen had dropped out last minute (probably as they found out what the shoot was) and I was the stand in.

Great! I wasn’t even a first choice hand model!

I’m always the professional and put a brave face on it, smiled and got on with the day, doing all they asked, building my story in my head of what I was going to write, once I escaped back to the pool at Shoreditch house.

After what seemed like an eternity the end of the day came and just as I was getting ready to leave, the photographer comes back up to me and says, “James, there were some cufflinks from the last shot that have gone missing, would you mind emptying out your pockets!”

I know! Right?! You couldn’t make this up!

I’ve given up my whole day, gritted my teeth, whilst sweltering away in hot jackets in the baking sun on this summers day, finally finished the job and now, he’s accusing me of stealing?

All I had with me was some flip flops, a pair of shorts and grey T-shirt, my phone, a travel card and some money.

“Was this guy for real!”  He doesn’t know me at all!

I wouldn’t steel anything from anyone! Well maybe a pint glass or hotel towel, but who doesn’t.

With that, with a look straight into his eyes, “Can I go now?” and I was off out the door!

So that night, after I finally calmed down over a Mojito by the pool; I decided that it’s time to make a change and do something for me and applied to one of the best acting school in the world, in New York City!

And I’ve only gone and been accepted!  I didn’t need to pay anyone off or anything. So maybe this is time for the next chapter in my life; time to follow my dreams, and Ride that Unicorn!

After all, you can’t be seriously good looking forever…

Wish me luck

jtx

“Another One Bites the Dust”

You know the days where everything goes wrong and it seems as though the whole world starts to crumble in, and it can be for an array of different reasons:

You have a bad day at work; get told off by the boss, then you go home to find a picture of you car with a speeding ticket attached to it.

Or you have a row with a parent and exchange words that you don’t really mean; go for a walk to calm down and get splashed by a lorry driving through a puddle, then a bird shits on you.

Or as what’s happened to me today, you find out that the girl you have just split up with has found a new boyfriend.

Now, I’ve been roaming the earth for the last 20 odd years, and for the last 5, I have been dating. I couldn’t really get a girlfriend at school as I wasn’t in the, “in” crowd and none of the girls really looked at me, although I wouldn’t go as far to say I was a geek either as I wasn’t, I just didn’t fit in. At the age of 16 I got me first real girlfriend, who I can honestly say I loved dearly.

We met in the strangest of situations; it was at a go-kart track. Which isn’t together all that strange. Infact let me give you a bit of background there or it doesn’t quite make sense.

When I was much younger, I used to do a bit of karting and used to race in the British Championships, infact against a boy you alI know quite well now called, “Lewis Hamilton”, although he was much much better, I was alright; not the best but did have a real flare at starting at the back of the grid and going through the field like a hot knife through butter, like Sterling Moss on speed, but just a younger fatter version; although once I got to the front and was leading and everything was going to plan, I just could never keep my head and would always end up head first into a tyre barrier, until one day, I ended up trying to go around a corner, actually on my head, carrying the kart on my back,

“Anything to get a faster line me”. Needles to say my Dad wasn’t too impressed and I didn’t race again professionally again after that.

Anyway, a few years later, in the school holidays to keep me out of mischief, I would compete in the junior championships at my local indoor circuit. Now, here, I was in my element, and not to brag, but I did pretty much win every race. After all I was by now close to 17 and I was racing 12 year olds!! So I did have a pretty unfair advantage, but winnings winning in my book.

Anyway, one week I made friends with this family and they were asking me if I would give their son some pointers, which I gladly did, and sure enough the results started to show.

The following week the family again were there, but this time they had brought the daughter along too. She was gorgeous; blonde hair, blue eyes, she really was beautiful.

Anyway as I had made friends with the family: I sat with them and spent the whole day talking to her and we got on really well.

It was the last race of the day, I was leading and her brother was in second and on the last corner before the straight: (where she was watching) I pulled over to let him win his first ever race.

That night she came round to my house, and before long; we were boyfriend and girlfriend.

We stayed together for about 9 months, and we had some really good times together, although towards the end we just drifted apart. We didn’t speak for about a year after, as she did break my heart, (she dumped me), although later we patched things up and too this day, we are still really good friends and she often calls me up and asks me what she should do with her love life, as she has met someone new, etc, although I’m the one that really needs help with that.

Since then I have not really had a girlfriend, I mean I have seen lots of girls, for all different lengths of time; ranging from 1 night to a few months but never pushed the boat out and actually committed.

Some I quite liked but I would always find something wrong with them, something that I wouldn’t entirely like, although maybe my bar was up to high or maybe I was just scared to open up after already having my heart broken or maybe I just liked playing the field although; I would always get caught out when I did this as I would always pick the wrong girl, that new someone; who new someone; that new someone else you were seeing. Not that I made a habit of this but you know what its like when your young.

Which brings me back to today, all that aside, a few months back I actually did meet a girl who I really did quite like and it got to that point again after a period of time where it’s sort of into that zone; you know the one where you are together but not if you know what I mean; not that I really know what I mean.

Anyway she was edging me to commit and I would always resist until recently she got fed up with this yoyo situation and finished with me. Obviously now as I couldn’t have her anymore I really wanted her and was happy to re-think about the whole being an item thing; but by this time; a few weeks on, it was too late; she now had a new boyfriend.

I went for a drink with her tonight, on the proviso that we are just friends nothing more. (Her terms; not mine)  although it ripped my heart out, not being able to cuddle or kiss her and even her attitude towards me had changed.

I dropped her off after back at her flat and said goodnight, probably for the last time as I now realised it was over, “I hope it all works out for you both”; I said through gritted teeth, knowing that I had just lost something, very special and deep down knowing that if I had of tried at bit harder and been a bit more considerate, or just realised what I had; when I had it, it wouldn’t have of come down to this; well at least not until the divorce anyway.

(Out in front again, locked up the brakes and off into the tyres )

Oh well, One day I’ll get it right,

night

Jtx

“written - whilst looking for bird seed”

Now people might say, that I’m a little hyperactive; of course this is not true. Well maybe a little, you see I do get quite excitable at times. Not that this would have anything to do with the fact that I drink about three bottles of Lucozade and seven cans of Coca Cola a day or my fetish for cream eggs and then there are wine gums and Skittles, especially the red ones although if it was just the red ones in the pack without any other colours, you know for a fact that I would want a green one, just because I couldn’t. I won’t even go on to fruit pastels.

When I was younger I remember going out for a walk with my granddad every day, and living by the sea we used to go to the beach. He would teach me all about the sea and the tides and we would hunt for crabs under the rocks. At the time he was giving up smoking, so he used to eat about nine packets of fruit pastels a day to compensate, well maybe it was more like we had half each, subsequently all my baby teeth either when black or fell out, to the dismay of my next door neighbour, Auntie Annie who’s like a second mum to me, passionate about my teeth always on at me to go upstairs and clean them, even now. Thankfully I got my adult teeth through and have cut right down on the sweets and I do brush quite regularly, even my dentist comments about how lucky I’ve been, otherwise I don’t think I would be doing what I do now.

I mean I don’t always run around like a headless chicken, sometimes I even think before I speak and I don’t always mess everything up although I know for a fact that in the past maybe I have lost a few jobs as the odd client has thought that I was a bit too crazy; obviously on some happy pills, but this is Never the case, I’m just high on life.

Ok, so last Sunday night I get a text from this number, saying something along the lines of,” Hi James, how are you, I’ve just seen your commercial on the TV, do you want to go for a drink?” Now as most of my numbers are still in Brazil, I didn’t have a clue who this was. So I gave the number a call, not knowing really who to expect.

It turned out that it was only the most beautiful girl I had ever met. The particular girl in question I met a few years back whilst filming a pop video for their band, we had even chatted a bit in the past but nothing ever came of it and it had been a good six months since we last had spoken, anyway she said to give her a call tomorrow about hooking up for a drink.

So with that the following day I gave her a call and that evening we went out to a nice restaurant around the corner from where she lived. Obviously it wasn’t quite so simple as that as I did have to decide what to wear all by myself which in itself took all day.

I thought the date when really well, we had a good chat and the food was ok too and she did look every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. We were in the restaurant about two hours when we got the bill and being the perfect gentleman, I gave her a lift home; I even got a kiss on the cheek for my troubles.

Driving the one-hour journey back to my house flew by as by this time I had a huge smile on my face; pleased with how the night had gone, dancing away to all my favourite songs, with the windows down even though it was -2 outside.

Once I got home I tried to give her a call, and it just rang and rang, so I left it about another hour and sent her a text thanking her for a wonderful evening, she texted me back straight away, saying pretty much the same thing and that she would let me know when she was next free.

Two days have gone by and I still haven’t heard a thing! Maybe I came across a little excitable or maybe my idea’s of jumping on a plane together and going skiing was a little too much for her. (What?  I didn’t mean right then, no no, much later like a week or so. Not that she would know that.) Or maybe I should have let her sweat a bit and not tried calling her like all my friends were telling me, in hindsight all these things go through your mind, but when it’s happening it all seems like the right thing to do.

You see I’m just not very good with playing this whole game thing, I just can’t get to grips with it, with me its always the same story; the ones I really want, I never get; I always mess it up, getting all excited and too keen, scaring them off and as for the ones I’m not that interested in, where I don’t pay them much attention, I can’t beat them off with a stick.

I was explaining my situation today to my friend and he compared me to a pigeon. Now at first I was like, what are you talking about, but then it all made sense.

You see at the moment I am like a pigeon, I chase too many girls that I don’t really want, and then I’m too keen, bobbing my head up and down chasing them, (like a pigeon), where instead I should be more like an Eagle, soaring high up above until he sees the one girl that he really wants; when he swoops down and gets her.

I’ll get it right one day! You never know; she could just be making me sweat a bit, or maybe she’s just busy, or maybe she popped to Rio since the date. Only time will tell! 

Jtx

“don’t fancy yours much!”

You know it’s not always been flying round the world to photo shoots frolicking in the waves and being forced to kiss hot girls. Oh no. I’ve definitely served my apprenticeship.

I remember those days in the beginning where modelling for me would consist of standing in the a pair of ridiculously tight spandex luminous green shorts, top off, handing out free samples of fabric softener in a shopping centre in Croydon.

That was bloody hard work. People always thought you were trying to sell them something and would have just walked straight by you if it hadn’t of been for the green shorts; instead they stopped and laughed first. Like giving out flyers; hardest thing in the world. Everyone’s afraid of a flyer. You have to twist people’s arm or beg to get someone to take one.

Anyway, I started modelling when I was just 16, I remember the day clear as a bell. Going round to all the big agencies, walking in and always being directed by some snotty nosed receptionist across to this holding pen. Waiting an age for someone to finally come and see you. Then someone would finally appear, look you up and down before disappearing and reemerging with this white sheet of paper. Every single one of them, with the same sheet of white paper, with a list of other agencies to go and try as you, “Wasn’t quite what they were looking for”. “Bye now, mind the door as it hits you on the arse”.

I’d all but given up when I met Edward.

Now let me try and describe Edward too you. Well, he could be any one of the Village People. I like to think of him as maybe the Policeman, the one with the handlebar tash and leathers. Very direct, straight talking, tough as nails Yorkshireman, but he believed in me when no one else did. He could see past the puppy fat, the dodgy short spiky hair and the enormous lamb chop sideburns. Actually what was he thinking?!

We hit it off straight away, he shipped me straight off down to Croydon and we never looked back.

Of course things didn’t just happen overnight, I had to learn the trade from the very beginning, I grew my hair, stopped eating KFC (as much) and threw out all my FCUK t-shirts.

After they had finally run out of free samples, I was allowed back up to London, I did the odd fashion show, not real ones, ones in store, that Sue and Dave up the road would get invited to, as they used American express. You know, real high profile stuff.

Numerous magazines, which never paid any money, that would make you get up at the crack of dawn with some up and coming, “edgy” photographer that thought it would be a great shot to line you up next to a puddle in, I don’t know, Hackney and drive a car past at full pelt and capture the tidal wave as it hit. Of course, that helped you get loads of work looking like a drenched rat in the pictures then for the next week turning up with a cold looking like death to all your castings.

But as time when on, I finally managed to bag myself my first real job. One that would start to really get the ball rolling.

I was cast as “The Boy” in Germaine Greer’s South Bank show. I didn’t have to say a lot, more just lay on the bed and smoulder while she threw rose petals on me and talked about the boy figure in art, which is what I had to represent. Oh I did have to pose full frontal though for an art class. I’ve never really been shy in that area so it wasn’t a huge problem although there really wasn’t anywhere to hide, and as my late Nan, God bless her, said at the time, “ I thought the show was very well made although, for me you did see a little too much of your testicles”. (Maybe a little too much information.)

This seemed though to open all the doors, the work was starting to fly in; but who would have thought it, that taking your clothes off in front of a few high powered art directors was all it would take.

The very next week I bagged my first ever TV commercial. I felt like the luckiest man alive. I was flown out to none other than Jamaica, Premium economy. I know!

It was a two week shoot, all around Jamaica, jumping in and out of waterfalls, on the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen, lots of kissing, didn’t pay any money though, however as part of the deal, the client had agreed for me and the other models to a free seven-day holiday they had arranged for us.

All through the shoot it was kept very hush hush where our free holiday actually was, until the final day of the shoot came. We were all really excited and looking forward to kicking back and enjoying ourselves for a week when the client finally revealed where indeed we were going.

The client had only gone and booked us into a place called Hedonism, the world’s most famous nudist swingers resort.

It was quite a long drive from our final shoot location so we didn’t arrive till reasonably late in the evening. I remember sitting there at dinner the first night listening to a bit of calypso, with my jerk chicken.

Now I know it’s naughty, but occasionally if you’re in a restaurant and there is a couple sitting opposite you and this is really wrong and I don’t encourage it for a second. But occasionally, the woman when her partner is not looking, would start looking over at you and give you the eye, flirting with you. It’s a dangerous game and I don’t want to play it, but at this place, there I am minding my own business just enjoying the music and my chicken and not only does the woman start looking over but her partner does too, before long they were both sitting either side of me and inviting me back to their room for desert!!

That was just the start of it.

It was the strangest place I’ve ever been in my life, luckily me and the other models were all quite liberal or I’m not sure how someone more square would have survived.

Everyone walking round naked, no one being backward in coming forward or minding what they’re doing and who can see them.

I mean there were quite a lot of people there who you really didn’t want to see in that kind of situation, like watching Sue and Dave up the road behind closed doors, but there were the odd few that were worth a look.

Of course as you can imagine for a 19 year kid from Canvey Island this was quite an eye opener but I seemed to hang on in there ok, it was a bloody long way from handing out free fabric softer in Croydon, I can tell you that.

But since then I’ve never looked back. Sue and Dave have become really great friends and things have gone from strength to strength.

And maybe, just maybe I’m no longer the fat badly dressed boy from Essex with a bad haircut anymore.

Thanks ED.

You’ve done me proud

jtx

“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone”

For some reason, and this is a bit random, I do have a slight interest in trains; now by that I don’t mean counting the numbers on the side and putting them down in a book, I just mean that I find it fascinating, how you can get a train pretty much anywhere and even just wondering when you see one where that particular train is going, and where it has come from; now I promise you, I don’t have the same thing for tube trains as that would be really sad.

Anyway, earlier I made a reference comparing my trip to Brazil with my trip to Leeds. This is why.

It all started when I had my friend staying with me in London for a few days. We went out every night and had a really good time.

It was on the last day before he went back, that he was saying about how great the night life was in Leeds and how there was lots of lovely ladies there, especially with all the universities. With that I was intrigued and decided to go up for a night, to see if this was true.

So we got to King’s cross, we bought our tickets and boarded the train.  We were lucky enough to find two seats together, although for some reason on this particular day everyone had the same idea as us, to go to Leeds, as the train was packed.

This was a bit of an adventure for me as I had never been this far north or never been on a train for that length of time, and I did get quite excited. In the end, I didn’t really notice how long the journey was as luckily I had taken my laptop with me, so spent the duration with my head buried in it, as my friend soon fell asleep.

We got to Leeds, and the doors on the train opened, now it had been quite a nice mild day in London, but up in Leeds, it was freezing, and I mean cold. The difference was incredible.

We had a quick look round on the way back to his flat, and indeed Leeds was beautiful and had all the major shops as London did, even a Selfridges.

My friend was studying at Leeds University and lived in a student flat with 5 other guys, (who I must say where all really lovely and welcoming), in what was like a little student village, it was really incredible to see how close they all were and how they all pulled together, for example, my friend had a spare room for me to sleep in, but there was no bed linen at all, now normally back home, if this happened, you would be stuck, but if you’re a student, what do you do?  That’s easy, you simple knock on your neighbour’s door and borrow theirs. 

Believe it or not, I was a student once, well for about 5 weeks, I finished school and went to a local college, and started doing four A levels, however I soon got bored and changed to a Btec in performing arts, although I soon got bored again and just left. You see I didn’t really like studying much, but I think I did miss out on a few things, like all the college parties and this experience of student life, and of course the endless hours of playing cards and drinking games.

Anyway we were getting ready to go out, and it started to rain, which normally is fine but I have already said how cold it was this far north, it was like being in another country, anyway luckily I had a big coat with me. Although I later found out maybe I wasn’t so lucky.

We went to a few different clubs that night and not a single one had a cloak room or anywhere you could put your coat safely, so I was left either having to put it down and hope no one put there cigarettes out on it, hold it, or wear it and cook.

I decided just to hold it, although I did look a bit silly. Now I was a long way from and apart from my friend, I think it was safe to say I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, which is true, I didn’t.  So there I was, standing there in the corner, holding my huge coat (I think my mate had gone off to the loo at this point), when this really large guy approached me. I was thinking to myself, oh dear this could be trouble, when all of a sudden he points at me, and says, “you were that DJ at that party”. I think he had had one too many shandies at this point, but nevertheless he then went on to shake my hand and invite me over to join him, I couldn’t have done that bad of a job then.

So at this point, apart from looking like an idiot holding my coat all night, I was having a nice time. I was in good company and for once I was having a few shandy’s myself.

The only thing was, Not at any point during my time in Leeds, did any girl pay me any attention in the slightest, now if this had been a few years earlier when I still was “A fat, badly dressed boy from Essex, with a bad haircut” I could understand, but no, this was now, when I was 20 and working as a model normally with girls all over me, it was a big shock, not even the really ugly fat girls paid a blind bit of notice to me.

And this is my quibble about Leeds. Needless to say, I didn’t like it and won’t go back, the end.

Jtx

 

“will you be my valentine?”

The words ‘single’ and ‘Valentines’’ never go too well together, but then add in to the equation having to DJ at a Vvalentine’s party full with people who are so in love it makes you sick, and what you have is enough to make anyone want to find a quiet corner and cry.

In the hope that I would be wrong and that my letterbox would be overflowing with Valentine’s cards, I got dressed and eagerly ran down the stairs to see what was in the mail.

To my surprise there was an envelope there; with great excitement, I grasped it with both hands and ran back up the stairs to open it. I ripped open the envelope with two fingers and peeked inside.

My face soon dropped though as it wasn’t a Valentine’s card at all, far from it. It was a letter from one of the London Councils, (I can’t say which one, but it’s the one where all the traffic wardens are right evil bastards and will ticket you whilst you wait for the traffic light to change.)

As I read on, I soon realised that I had been a naughty boy, and they even sent me a nice picture of me in my car (it did look hot), committing one of the most atrocious of driving offences. No not even my usual favourite of speeding, not even driving in a bus lane. Much worse. Have you guessed what it is yet? No, neither did I until I read the fine details. I had made an illegal turn.

I mean, I had; they had me bang to rights. But honestly, is this what the world is really coming to. So now not only did I not get one single Valentine’s card, I now had to pay a £100 fine and I still had to make it through the rest of the day, and then I had to host a Valentine’s Party at one of those posh hotels.

A few hours later I was at the hotel, all set up; and I still had a bit of time to kill and lets face it, I wasn’t having the best of days, single, dateless, hopeless and now working just to pay off my fine.  So I thought I would treat myself and grab something to eat in the hotel restaurant, after all, it beats having to eat those horrible sandwiches they always try and feed you.

I went in and sat down. Now I do have real problems with sitting eating at a table for one, especially on Valentine’s night, I just can’t cope with it at the best of times, I mean everyone looks at you and thinks you must be a right weirdo with no friends; of course in my case this is Not True! But if you didn’t know me you could easily assume I was just like everybody else.

Then you have to decide what to do with yourself when you’re not eating, for example, chat up the Eastern European waitress? Order more weak shandy? Play with your knife and fork? Play with your phone? Well luckily tonight I was ok, as I took my laptop to dinner with me and indeed started writing this, although maybe I cheapened my image a little bit or maybe they thought I was an enthusiastic food critic eager to write what he thought there and then.

Anyway, I looked through the menu, having to be really brave as I couldn’t really understand anything on it; all the “jus” and ‘berrere blanc” etc, I was just looking for the words, “steak and chips”, but to my dismay I couldn’t see it anywhere. However, after the waitress gave me the translation of the food in my terms, I did manage to find something.

The food was very good, to start I had tiger prawns in this little pastry teepee, not that it was called that on the menu and for my main I had to settle for veal; which is quite like steak although, it did come with lots of green stuff, however I managed to wade my way through it and subsequently feel much healthier for it already. The ice cream was amazing too, in fact it was so good that I had three portions, vanilla with little raspberries and this little strawberry jus decoration around the perimeter of the plate.  (After all this was the only excitement I was going to get tonight.)

I was also surprised with my shandy as when they told me they only had Stella on draft, I was worried that I would go into the party trying to cause fights with everyone, luckily this was not the case and I quite enjoyed it although maybe there wasn’t enough of it in my shandy to make a difference.

I finished my meal and at that point I was feeling quite happy, but when it dawned on me why I was indeed in the restaurant in the first place, the realisation soon soured the mood.

Now normally how it works with DJing is that you have to get all the women up dancing first, and the all the men will join them, but at a Valentine’s party this has to go right out the window as they’re all in couples, so there are no groups of women to get up and help get the party started, and it makes it ten times harder.

By 9.15 I was starting to pull my hair out, counting the seconds till 1am. I was beginning to feel the strain from the day and with the added pressure of no one dancing and having my boss in the room watching me, I was starting to wish I was somewhere else; anywhere, Brazil, Leeds, at this point I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to be there!

Although there were some gorgeous women in the room, so at least I had something to look at, but it was a bit of a tease; like being a kid in a candy shop with no money, you couldn’t buy anything, as they were all taken. So I had to be on my best behaviour, for in fear of having my lights punched out by one of their jealous boyfriends.

Eventually I managed to save myself by cracking out a few classic love songs, a bit of Barry and a little Percy Sledge, and this did get everyone up but even then how do you follow that up? I mean couples don’t want to dance all night and go crazy to the James Taylor Roadshow, they want to sit and enjoy each other’s company. Well some of them. Some by the looks on their faces hated being there as much as I did. Maybe they realised that they didn’t fancy each other as much as they thought or maybe he just got her the wrong colour underwear or maybe it was my music.

Anyway tomorrow’s another day and as my Dad always says, “As long as you wake up tomorrow; you’ve got a result”, that is as long as it’s not Groundhog Day.

Happy Valentine’s.

Jtx

“Where’s Graham, with the quick reminder?”

It started off I guess like just any other old night out. Me and a couple of my friends were at this “trendy” club out in London’s West End.

All that means is they make you queue outside in the cold all night and then occasionally let a couple of people in at a time unless you’re a girl and then you just swan straight past and then when (if) they finally do let you in, they make you wish they hadn’t as you need to take out an extra mortgage to pay the drinks bill.

But at least normally there is not always a guaranteed punch up when you leave the club like there is in Southend so maybe that’s worth the extra expense. It makes the after club scramble to the kebab shop so much easier when you’re not being chased.

Anyway on this one particular night we did actually make it in ok, my friend Tom was on the door and he always looks out for me.

So we were inside, I was holding my £50 bottle of water, doing a little lap when I was quick to spot these two beauties standing by the bar, as quick as a flash I was over there.  The one I liked, I’ve named Duck. I’ve actually forgotten why now, but it’s stuck.

She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a lovely body. A real stunner!  Had a lovely Brummie accent too. But that didn’t put me off too much. (I’m kidding.)

I spent the rest of the night chatting away, then me and the boys would wander off and have a little dance and gander round as one of them fancied a girl on the other side of the bar, but I’d always look over back at Duck and see what she was doing; of course it drove me mad when other guys were all over her and I had to watch on from afar and play wingman talking rubbish to this girl who I had absolutely no interest in so my mate could score.

But just as the club was closing, I went back over and was brave enough to ask for her number, which she duly obliged.

We texted each other in the week a few times and after a bit of persuading, on the following Sunday we ended up at an Indian Restaurant somewhere in London, which is a bit of a strange choice really looking back as she is a pre-menstrual veggie; meaning when it suits, and me being me a typical hypochondriac, strictly forbidding anyone from eating nuts within 100 miles of me if I can help it.

Anyway I obviously didn’t do that bad a job though as I awoke in her bed the next morning, soon realising where I was, as I found her draped across me wearing the smallest underwear I’ve ever seen. Not that I minded.

I must have been only about 9am when she suddenly woke up and gave me a look to say, ‘oh, I took you home did I’, before sharply announcing that she had to run to work and that I had to leave, and quickly.

It was at that moment that I decided that it would be a much better idea for her to call in sick. She was not so convinced and went on to tell me that she had just done exactly that the previous Friday and I should be getting ready, hinting that I was in the way.

So, I needed a plan a hook. It was then that it hit me, ‘Let’s go away somewhere. Paris.’

Three hours later after a few logistical problems like me having to run home to Essex to collect my passport and her not being able to find the terminal even though it has signs everywhere, we were on the train. I don’t think either of us could quite believe we were actually going through with it, but it was too late by this point, we were already heading  at high speed toward the tunnel on la Eurostar.

We arrived in Paris later that afternoon, it was like we had just run away together to get married, although I had no intention of that, but it really did feel quite strange as we had only really just got know each other a matter of hours earlier.

Hotels in Paris for me are like sandwiches from petrol stations; there is always a little too much going on, now by that I don’t mean their fantastic in-house entertainment; no, but just that the rooms are still a bit over done and a little tacky, when all you want really is a nice clean, plain room, for example: like a ham and mustard sandwich, with no salad. Nice and simple.

I don’t think we really took full advantage of the situation we were in as we did spend a lot of time in the hotel, which at the time suited me, quite enjoyable, although we did make an effort to go to the Eiffel Tower.

The first thing that struck me was its colour, I always imagined it to be this fantastic gold, or maybe even bronze, but no: it was a really nasty shade of brown but that didn’t deter us, the next thing I know we were in this little cable car going vertically up it. The view from the top was spectacular and well worth the fifteen euros paid, although after ten minutes once you have completed a lap of the top, it was enough and time to go.

We also ate out at a very traditional French restaurant, although looking back I think I may have dressed a bit to authentically with my long overcoat and scarf, as we fooled everyone into thinking we too were French, it wasn’t until they heard me try and order from a French menu that they changed our menus over into the English version, which as you can imagine went down like a lead balloon with our surly Parisian waiter.

I always thought the Parisians were well known for their patience and friendliness? We didn’t let that spoil the night though.

I decided, at great disgust from Duck who was adamant that I wouldn’t like them, that I should eat the escargots (snails), as it felt only right; after all we were in France!

She was right, I didn’t like them much, but I put a brave face on it; I couldn’t tell her of course or I would never have heard the end of it!!

The next morning we had to check out, and then it was back off to the station, then back on to London. I think her work started to think she was up to something as she had been off for a number of days by now.

I think it’s safe to say we both had a lovely time, but by the end of the few days we both knew that we weren’t madly in love with each other.

As much as we tried to act like a couple, and pretend to really care for each other, you just can’t rush those feelings. (I knew I should have picked contestant number 2.)

Having said that, we are still friends, and it was a great, very funny few days. Although it made me realises that, to run away to Paris with a random girl is fun, but I’m sure, to do it with a girl you truly care about would be on a different level.

I just hope one day I can tick that one off my list!

Jtx

“live from Sao Paulo airport”

It’s been a bit of an exciting week. I’ve been cast away to Brazil to shoot the new Head and Shoulders Commercial. In the end the commercial should look wonderful, but of course…

I actually felt really lucky as Brazil has always been somewhere I always wanted to go, especially Rio, I guess ever since being strapped into my Dad’s old Toyota Supra with a Duran Duran Cd on repeat every time we ever went anywhere.

I’d also heard the women there were to die for and let’s face it; every man loves to discover a Brazilian.

As I finally landed in Rio after that long 12-hour flight, it was only bloody raining, but I thought, “Well hey, at least I’m in Brazil” and so I should; the Hotel was lovely; right on Copacabana Beach, all the crew were amazing and maybe it wouldn’t rain all week, which it didn’t, we had at least 8 hours of sunshine.

As the story unfolded it turned out that whilst I lay in bed after that long and uncomfortable journey, the client back in Geneva had decided that I maybe would look better with shorter hair or even no hair at all.

Now bearing in mind how many times the client at this point had seen me and for that matter every other model in London with all different kinds of hair who went for the casting, this did strike me as a bit of a strange time to change their mind.

Anyway I got the call to ask whether I would be willing to let them cut all my hair off. Obviously I would never be allowed by my agent Eddie to do such a thing, so they did what they had to do and re-cast.

So I was sitting by the pool with my weak shandy; watching all these Brazilian guys getting lined up to cast for my job, fearing the worst that I would be sent home. Now did I mention that the Crew were amazing, well they were, they had been working on a secret plan to get the client back in Geneva to change their minds and keep me in. In the end cunningly coming up with a plan to have my hair pushed back off my face; I looked like a different man, well boy and eventually after a lot of tooing and throwing, they got their way and I was finally reinstated.

The actual shoot went really well, kissing and frolicking in the sun with my silky soft, now dandruff free hair on the top of this downtown rooftop with views of the whole city, indeed Rio was beautiful.  Their girl model wasn’t up to much though, was a German and just sat in the corner chain smoking all day whilst on the phone arguing with her boyfriend. Then when she had finished and we could finally resume filming again, I had to kiss her. YUK!

But luckily for me, we did have this, I don’t know, I guess 18 year old local girl working on set, kind of my chaperone to get me in the right places ready to film and also translate for me, so no-one put nuts in my food.

She was incredible. Not too tall, about 5”8’, brunette, cracking figure and seemed to be so sweet. It took me all week to work up the confidence to see if she was single and if she wanted to come out for a drink with me, but finally after we wrapped shooting on the last day I did just that.

Now Eddie had been on and on at me before I left to be careful, you see it may look all nice and fluffy but there was definitely an edge to the place, it was kind of a have and have not kind of town and I was soon to find out the transition between the two was very swift indeed.

So after filming finished yesterday evening, just as the sun was going down, we both snuck off from all the rest of the crew and the stroppy German at the wrap party and made our way across the road onto the beach, you know to have a little romantic stroll and watch the sunset.

I couldn’t actually believe my luck, she was incredible, maybe the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, of course she couldn’t really understand a word I said with the speed I talk at and anyway I was getting a plane out first thing this morning so I don’t think there was really a future but she was nice to look at and I seemed to make her smile.

Anyway, we found this cute little spot by the water just behind this sand dune. She was cuddled up next to me under my arm and we were watching the waves crashing on the shore and these amazing colors in the sky, I just knew she was going to kiss me at any moment, I could feel it but then all of a sudden out of nowhere, this man in these rather tight speedos appeared in front of us, gesturing for the time, looking me up and down.

I knew something didn’t feel right, there was no one else around and the beach now had a really eerie feel to it, I knew something bad was about to happen.

BANG! The next thing I knew, the girl had bolted and this guy was right in my face with a knife to my throat, now with two more friends that had appeared behind him also in these I must say really tight almost indecent speedos. I was almost for a minute distracted but then the grim reality of what was actually happening soon hit home.

I’ve never been so scared in my life, I could feel the blade being pressed again my skin with him looking soullessly into my eyes.

Of course I didn’t argue or even try and fight back, I was petrified.  I just gave them everything I had. My phone, money, camera, the bastards even took my shoes.

But luckily one of them signalled that a group of people were approaching along the beach, and the three of them just turned and ran off as fast as they had arrived,  leaving me there shaking all on my own.

It could have turned out very different. I was still a quivering mess when I finally made it back to the wrap party and had to explain what I had been doing on the beach in the dark with the 18 year old assistant who by now was nowhere to be seen. In fact the more I think about it; I think she may even have been in on it.

Apparently everyone knows not to go on Copacabana beach after dark! 

The crew again were amazing and thankfully were more worried than annoyed. The main woman, who was a Burnley lass, just grabbed hold of me with this warm embrace, sat me down and ordered me a pint of whisky from the bar; which the fumes alone were enough to get me hammered, so that soon settled me down.

But as I sit here now at Sao Paulo Airport about to fly home, I can’t help thinking that maybe Brazil is just not for me.

I mean it’s very beautiful.

But when they said these women where to die for, I didn’t think they actually meant it!

Na night

jtx

“Written in the Garage - Canvey Island”

It’s New Year’s Eve. And I’m off to work in a few hours, so you would think I would be getting ready to have it large, getting myself all hyped up; well that may come later but now I’m sitting at my desk finishing this.

I actually started writing this yesterday. I was in the gym when the idea popped into my head.  I even got quite excited about what I was going to say; compiling all the funnies as all the ideas started to come together and then out of nowhere, whilst getting dressed to come home, there he was standing. A man with a really hairy back and I just thought to myself, God, I’m so lucky.

I mean I do have my own issues like:  no-one can understand a word I’m saying when I talk and I wash my hands more in one hour than the average man does in one week and then I could go on to say how when I lock my car I have to go back 5 times to make sure it’s locked or the fact that whenever I see a mirror I feel compelled to look in it and put on a silly face, but at least when God created me he left the hairy back box unchecked. Phew.

Anyway, Christmas. Wel,l it’s nearly all over again for another year.  The little tiny bit of snow we had has melted away, the tree will be down next week and I just know my Dad is going to try and rope me into taking down the great big stupid flashing reindeer in the back garden. I told him not to buy it; we’ve have been the laughing stock of the street this year. 

My Dad does love an ornament or a gnome, especially if it flashes. Thank God that’s one trait that didn’t get passed down to me.

Christmas changes as you get older. It’s just not … well, the same anymore since I found out that it was in fact my Dad all along that used to eat those peanuts Mum used to make me leave out by the chimney, apparently these were Santa’s favourites and if I wanted that new bike, well I had to do it.

Of course the rest of the year nuts are fiercely banned in the Taylor house, I mean can you just imagine my face when I found that one out.

I’d been had for years!! Having a nut allergy is the bane of my life!!

Anyway, now that I’m older, 20, Christmas is also the busiest time of the year, I DJ pretty much every night, playing the same old songs night after night and let me tell you that’s a lot of “Come on Eileen” and “New York, New York”, but that so much I don’t mind. I have to say, I am a bit of a creature of habit.

The thing that does really get me though, is working with drunk people every night, I mean I do DJ all year round but normally I get a week in between jobs to recover. It’s exhausting.

You see you get two types of drunk people; you get the ones who put the empty glasses on your speakers and dance really close to the front of your equipment and then they start to get more and more drunk until they fall onto your equipment and then it’s like a coconut shy, 50 points for a light, 100 points if they fall into your mixing desk taking the power out, subsequently causing the music to stop, and you will be amazed, as it can be anyone, this Christmas already it’s happened to me 3 times.

I had an old man of about 65 fall into me taking down everything, causing everyone to stop and pick him up, that was 200 points. Then I had a really annoying fat woman ending up at my feet taking out a light on the way, at least- 75points ;as for the third one, I don’t care to remember. Then I’m left to pick up the pieces and replace all the damaged bits for the following evening and by the time I’ve stopped off at Hadleigh Kebab on the way home I’ve payed out more than I’ve earnt.

The second type of drunk person is the one who wants to sing along to every track using your microphone; this is normally a balding middle aged man who thinks he does a fantastic version of the “Wonder of You”, and then under the same bracket you get the ones who think they know how to do your job better than you; for example wanting you to play the most obscure tracks that won’t fit with how the party is going, and then they come up and start looking through your records, at which point I kindly ask them to fuck off.

But although I may moan and complain like a grumpy old man, and protest that I would rather be at home, I’ve been at home now for the last week, doing absolutely nothing; it feels like every day has been a Sunday, all I have done is slept, eaten junk food and watched Toy Story, and it’s not as If I don’t have things to do.

I just have no motivation at the moment, I mean, I did manage to drag myself to the gym today, and I did even manage to do some work as opposed to talking to my friends for the whole time and looking at the girls, but even then on the way home I was compelled to have a KFC, which then renders the previous two hours a complete waste of time and at the moment I would quite happily go back to those drunk idiots, which is quite fortunate as I will be doing exactly that in about 4 hours time for tonight; the biggest planned letdown of the year.

Yes that’s the one; New Year’s Eve!

Merry Christmas

Jtx