My Not So Perfect Life(20)

OK. Bad example.

Nothing to spill yet, I’ll keep you posted.

I add emojis of a cocktail glass and a smiley face and then—just for fun—I add a love heart.

I send the message, sit back, and take another bite of the horrible eggs. Then, on impulse, I scroll back through my previous Instagram posts, looking at the photos of London cafés, sights, drinks, and smiling faces (mostly strangers). The whole thing is like a feel-good movie, and what’s wrong with that? Loads of people use colored filters or whatever on Instagram. Well, my filter is the “this is how I’d like it to be” filter.

It’s not that I lie. I was in those places, even if I couldn’t afford a hot chocolate. It’s just I don’t dwell on any of the not-so-great stuff in my life, like the commute or the prices or having to keep all my stuff in a hammock. Let alone vanilla-whey-coated eggs and obnoxious lechy flatmates. And the point is, it’s something to aspire to, something to hope for. One day my life will match my Instagram posts. One day.





Park Lane has always been my Holy Grail. It’s the biggest meeting room at Cooper Clemmow, with a massive red lacquer table and funky chairs in mismatching colors. I’ve always imagined that sitting round this table would feel like sitting in the Cabinet or something. I’ve always believed this is the creative heart of the agency, where people come alive and ideas fizz across the table, where the path of branding is changed and history made.

But now I’m here…it’s just a meeting. No one’s changed the path of anything. All people have talked about so far is whether the limited-edition Orange Craze Bar was a mistake. (Craze Bar is our client, so we designed the packaging for the limited edition. But now they’ve given us ten boxfuls and they’re making everyone feel sick.)

“Damn.” Demeter interrupts proceedings with her usual dramatic air and gestures at her phone. “Adrian wants a word. I’ll be two ticks.” As she pushes back her chair, she glances at Rosa. “Can you carry on? Fill everyone in on CCY?”

“Of course.” Rosa nods, and Demeter heads out. She’s wearing this amazing fringed suede skirt today, which I can’t help gazing at as she leaves.



“OK.” Rosa addresses the room. “So Demeter wanted me to tell you about this new potential client, CCY, or Contented Cow Yogurt. It’s a range of organic yogurt from some farm in Gloucestershire.” Rosa passes round a pile of cheaply printed brochures depicting yogurt pots with a plain Helvetica logo and blurry photo of a cow. “Their riff is how dairy farming is a threatened occupation but they’re really great and…er…” She peers at her notes. “They eat organic grass, something like that?” She looks up. “Does anyone know anything at all about dairy farming?”

Before I can even draw breath, there’s a burst of laughter round the table.

“Dairy farming?”

“I am so scared of cows,” says Flora. “Like, seriously.”

“She is,” affirms Liz. “We saw some cows at Glastonbury and Flora freaked out. She thought they were bulls.” Liz snuffles with laughter.

“They were!” wails Flora. “They were dangerous! And the smell. I don’t know how anyone can go near them!”

“So who’s going down to the farm to meet the Contented Cows?” Rosa is grinning with amusement.

“Oh my God.” Flora raises her eyebrows high. “Can you imagine?”

“Ooh aaarh…” says Mark in a country accent. “The cows need milking, Flora. You’d best get to it, lass.”

I’ve already opened my mouth and closed it twice. Do I know anything about cows? I grew up on a dairy farm. But something’s stopping me from speaking. The memory of those girls in Birmingham calling me “Farrrmer Katie” flashes into my brain, making me wince. Maybe I’ll just see how the conversation goes for a few moments.



“Demeter wants us to come up with ideas.” Rosa looks around the table. “If I say ‘countryside,’ what do you think?” She stands up and reaches for a marker. “Let’s do a bit of word association. ‘Countryside’…”

“?‘Smelly,’?” says Flora promptly. “?‘Scary.’?”

“I’m not writing ‘smelly’ and ‘scary,’?” says Rosa impatiently.

“You have to,” points out Liz. Which is true. The big thing at Cooper Clemmow is: Everyone’s voice is heard. It’s in the mission statement. So even if you put forward some really stupid idea, everyone has to treat it with respect, because it might lead to something brilliant.

“Fine.” Rosa scrawls smelly and scary on the board, then glares at Flora. “But that’s hardly going to sell yogurt. Would you buy smelly, scary yogurt?”

“Actually, I’m dairy-free,” says Flora, a bit superciliously. “Do they have any, like, almond milk yogurt?”

“Of course they don’t!” Rosa knocks a fist to her head. “They’re a bloody dairy farm, not an almond farm.”

“Wait.” Flora looks at her with wide eyes. “Does almond milk seriously come from almonds? I thought it was just like…I dunno. A name or something.”

Rosa gives a bark of incredulous laughter. “Flora, are you for real?”