I really don’t think the picture does its vileness justice. It’s like something out of the Twilight Zone or the Rocky Horror Picture Show, as if a bowler-hatted civil servant returning from a performance of Swan Lake was waylaid one dark and stormy evening by an alluring ballet-dancer/waxwork fetishist and never seen again…
There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery.
So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.
Funambulism 
I shall have to go and investigate during my lunchhour tomorrow.~x~
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You know what, I think it was actually worse in daylight. *shudder*
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I really don’t think the picture does its vileness justice. It’s like something out of the Twilight Zone or the Rocky Horror Picture Show, as if a bowler-hatted civil servant returning from a performance of Swan Lake was waylaid one dark and stormy evening by an alluring ballet-dancer/waxwork fetishist and never seen again…
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