exactly what you would expect from someone in my position exhibition – the making of

For those of you who were disinclined or unable to make it down to the always fabulous Flaxon Ptootch for the iyrie! soirée of photography, art, dancing, canapes and other random bits and bobs (snappily entitled Exactly What You Would Expect From Someone In My Position), here’s a virtual low down and a look behind the scenes.

First the invite went out.

 

Then there was quite a lot of staying up late and printing.

 

 

 

Followed by lots of sticking things down and cutting things out and putting them in frames.

 

Which spread as far as the conservatory.

 

Not to mention the living room.

 

Then we got all fluorescent on our ass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The badge maker did a bit of overtime, and there seemed to be a surfeit of bubble wrap.

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, we couldn’t resist doing a mix to give out on the night to the iyrie! faithful.

 

Soon it was nearly time to ship out.

 

But not before we had started the pet rock farm with the finest stock Winchelsea had to offer. Surely Health and Safety would shut us down as a fire hazard?

 

This isn’t mildly childish… is it?

 

Wanted, one careful owner.

 

 

 

The naming bit was the most fun part of all.

 

Snowy and Inky were too small to be separated, so are treated as a special case and housed together.

 

Go forth, my children!

 

Luckily Snowy and Inky find a loving home with Elise (I know you were worried about them).

 

Meanwhile, at Flaxon Ptootch in Kentish Town, the show goes up amongst the last of the days haircuts.

 

Mostly we get away with bossing people about and telling the willing helpers that things aren’t straight, which they already know.

 

Despite his shirt, Michael proves to be surprisingly handy with the hammer.

 

The pictures are up and down like a tart’s knickers.

 

 

 

Soon the thronging public can be held back no longer. The punch flows, people get their wallets out and buy lots of things. This is great, and when they wake up sober tomorrow it’ll be too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s that shirt again.

 

The banner in the garden sums it all up. Like the Sistine Chapel ceiling (kind of) finally it is finished, and it’s time to crank up the decks and start the party. Hurrah.

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