It’s got to be, ee-ee-ee-ee, imperfect


Terri turns up, tells me where I put the key, in my wallet where i wouldn’t lose it. women notice these things. i offer her dinner to make up for my stupidity. Fantastic three-course meal in [name of Restaurant] washed down with a carafe of Vacqueyras. And then another…

I wake up early as ever. A bit of a krapula (Finnish hangover) but not too bad. Terri sleeps and so I decide to skype Pekka and see if they still want me to any more work. No, he says, what I did is so perfect it can’t be improved on. I wonder if he’s taking the p…

Note to self: when you do a piece of work. Make sure there’s some little thing that’s wrong with it. Something the client can’t blame you for — like a little bug — and won’t mind paying you to put right.

Isn’t that what the Islamic Artists did? The ones who made all those intricate patterns in mosques, always containing one little imperfection so they didn’t imitate the perfection of god.


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