" As he said this Ginger could see him slide the video off the laptop screen, while at the same time it slid up onto the television screen."Oh neat," she said, genuinely impressed. Then what he had said sank in, and she asked, "What, what camera?"He pointed to just over the television, and said, "That one right there."Ginger saw the lens mounted just above the screen, staring back at her. Her cheeks flushed hot, as she started to get an inkling of what she was about to see.Just then the video started, and sure enough, there she was up on the screen.Not her as she was now. Sitting on the edge of the couch, skirt hiked up so far that you could see her panties, and top undone. No, this was her just after she'd arrived. She had just watched herself set her purse down, and start talking when Ryan turned to her, and said, "I just love the cinema, don't you?"Sitting in his chair Ryan was off camera, but you could hear him well enough, and as she watched the scene replayed, thinking how it. 1 hons degree in fine art / graphic design, and working in my first job as a 'Trainee Commercial Artist' (read messenger boy / gopher) in a busy and apparently quite trendy graphic design studio in Oxford street London. Top three floors. Over a shoe shop. I won't name it because A) they don't deserve a name check, B) they probably don't exist anymore, and C) I nicked a whole bunch of really expensive graphic design materials from them during my six month tenure. My pay was £8.57 a week. It was 1970 or 71 ish. That's to set the background.I never actually received any 'training' as per the job title, my 40 hours per were spent running around all over London delivering sketches, proofs and artwork, collecting photographs (of all the fit young models to go in the ads, once our Charles Hawtrey look-a-like airbrush artist got rid of all the spots stretch marks moles bruises tampon strings black-eyes and pubes), litho plates from printers, proof runs to clients, getting in supplies, art.
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