There we were, idly minding our own whilst resting against a corrugated metal fence in a far off land, breaking in our silver Speedies (yes, they’re silver. Just silver comes out kinda gold-ish in black ‘n’ white. If you catch our midrift) and just taking in the air whilst holding our bulging arms behind our head and pouting like a silly bugger, when off went the shutter. Click click flash flash click click. It was totally out of the blue and also unexpected.
If only we’d had our hair done.
Oh, it’s someone else entirely. Joseph Sayers. Us neither, but we’re enjoying the VPL. We’ve been told to tell you that Joseph was shot (oof, harsh) by Hudson Wright in London’s glittering and clothing optional Palm Springs – but then who are we to do what we’re told?
There’s another velly velly nice shot of Joseph – let’s call him Joe – after the break, as well as a link to more of the same, only with slight differences. It’s like Christmas, only not.
And as promised, more ici. That’s French. You filthy cochons.