Fourteen days at the coalface – Day Eight
What happened to days six and seven, I hear you cry? Well, frankly, The Herald and Times aren't paying me enough (i.e. anything) to come in at the weekend, so my camera lay abandoned in my flat, whilst I spent Saturday at a spectacular barbeque, and Sunday recovering, watching the F1.
Onto working week two, and the phrase straight to business is certainly not what I'd use to describe this Monday morning. Two and a bit hours after rocking up to the office (I wish I could do cryptic crosswords, the quick ones don't last long enough), I did get out onto the mean streets of Glasgow for more vox pop fun with a fellow work placement minion, to knock together two days worth of style soundbites and accompanying photographs for the Evening Times. I've found myself becoming incredibly harsh - these were my third and fourth days' worth of vox pops respectively, and it was slim pickings under the summer skies. Last time, I was done in 20 minutes, so was hoping to double up to a swift 40 today for all 12 photos, but in the end, we were prowling the streets for fashionista prey for about 2 hours... if anything, it's taught me you really need to root around in the barrel when it comes to this type of thing.
Back to the office, photos filed again, and it was hometime, but not before one more job on the way there - anyone who knows me will appreciate the convenience of being able to shoot Uisge Beatha, and then file the images without going back to the paper... All in, a total dog of a day. I learnt absolutely nothing, other than the fact that if anyone says vox pop again to me I'll probably self harm my way out of it, but you take the rough with the smooth, tomorrow's a new day, and if I can think of another cliche, I'll be sure to tell you.