I have my favourite super skinny acid washed jeans ripped at the knees, my below the knee black suede tassel boots from last year’s collection, Isabel Marant knows boots. An odd shaped All Saints top which needs super powers and a complex set of written instructions (and perhaps a second pair of hands too) to get on, and my parka with the quilted lining zipped in for additional warmth. Mum is right. Again. Standing at the front door in the morning sunshine, it's bright and the boys are wandering about in the grass, their bay bodies so shiny and healthy, they don't need rugs on today. I put on my huge Prada sunglasses and lock the door behind me, after several attempts. I hear a crunch and crackle in the gravel behind me as low profile, wide rimmed tires travel down the long curved sweep that is my driveway, it's Stan. He skilfully turns the long car around, and steps out smoothing his suit, very smart. He says "good morning Miss Charles, Daniel has instructed me to drive you in this morning, he thought a train journey might be”...he very professionally fails to notice my dreadful hangover and carries on, “uncomfortable."
Smiling he takes my bag opens the back door and I get in like it’s quite normal without a slight feeling of surprise, now that I know this Daniel person, I’ll need to learn to accept these things as just that’s how he operates. I say "thank you very much Stan." He smiles and gets into the driver’s seat, sends the glass partition sliding up with a remote and pressing a button on his door to open dialogue via intercom, and tells me "there’s a dock for your iPhone in the central armrest Miss Charles, you can play your music in the back, this glass is soundproof, you won’t disturb me." Really? Off he drives, and with my seatbelt on I snap my phone onto the pins of the docker, put it on repeat shuffle and head back on the rest I close my eyes and wonder if at this volume, can Stan really not hear anything, I sneak a quick look, he looks happy enough, or maybe he's just a Motorhead fan too?
EC: “What is he thinking Catharine, talk to him” have I missed something?
TC: “Assuming you’re meaning Henry?” There are only two of us, thankfully.
EC: “Arrested! The ladies at tai-chi will be all over it, it’s embarrassing” awkward.
TC: “He’s a rock star, it’s his job to be controversial” hope he didn’t have to spend the night, how long before the labour story comes out I wonder.
EC: “Catharine! I did not through forty hours of labour for my child to end up getting in trouble with the law.” There it is!
TC: “I’ll talk to him” again? God.
EC: “See that you do, kids!!” She’ll have a great time at tai-chi, she'll be lunching on this story for a month.
Bloody hell.
Driving through London is completely different experience to travelling underground. I am staring out at our beautiful city, silver and grey and ancient in the sunshine. The trees are turning, but the barks of the silver birch shine bright white against the orange of the foliage, and there’s a matching tint of yellow, pink and orange to the low angle of the golden sun. It gleams off the old marble surfaces of the buildings and reflects off the glass, bringing the city to life. I check my reflection in the surface of my phone, pull a long golden strand of hay from my hair, bloody hell, what else have I missed? Too late now.
We arrive at the great grey box that is RANDom, and Stan lets me in with a swipe key, only now do I notice an almost concealed card slot beneath the crusty old intercom unit. I hear a beep at the door unlocks with a series of little clicks around the frame, Stan passes me the logo'd black plastic card "this is yours now Miss Charles, good luck on your first day."
"Thank you Stan, call me Tharie please." I assert.
Embarrassed, Stan heads to the car, turns and says "thank you Miss Charles,” is he deciding? “Have a good day." And he gets in smiling.
Inside the warehouse space, I feel differently about the space today. There's voices in the 'hall' as I