Naked Lunch

I've been really excited this week because I got picked for a modelling job. I'd pretty much forgotten about it as I'd sent my photo off a month ago, but I received an email a few days ago confirming that I'd be needed, and that I'd get more details nearer the time.

Then, the day before the shoot, I recieved the following email:

Hi Tom

This is approximately what we need you to do.

Today was the day of the shoot, and I spent 15 minutes lying on the floor on a fake bed made of polystyrene, completely starkers and curled up in the foetal position. The scene was made even more surreal by the photographer and his assistant, who were standing on stepladders to get a better shot of me, shouting at me in comedy German accents. I was asked variously to demonstrate more 'power'; to writhe around and grab my hair; to cry in anguish; and finally to rearrange my legs to better protect my modesty.

All in all, quite the strangest job I've ever done. And it answers one of the questions we've often mulled over at work: how much would you need to be paid to come into work completely naked? At €100 and a couple of slices of pizza, it turns out my price is credit-crunchin' low.