The rain officially usurped our cosy-pub idea for Friday. It was bucketing down, and I blame it for our old married couple night: a drive around the block, a pizza and a cheesy video set in Alabama. Anyway, on Saturday we got out and went to a drinks thing at Ryan's new place in Sandton. We're, debating, as one does, about how to make money quickly and painlessly. This eight to five thing can really get tedius at times. As we're talking, I notice a muthafucking large crane, working on the Sandton City building. [Ping!] You could hire out one of those baby's for like R50 000 a pop. You only need one for God's sake! Hire it out continually for three months and you'll be kicking back in Monaco wondering what to do. "I'm in the crane bis'niss." It gets better. One crane is about R20 mill, so you just get your clients to pay for its hire upfront. On top of this, you pretend that you actually own five cranes. "the Crane Company." You set up a logistics team to dismantle the thing like Lego and ship it over to the next client by lunchtime, meaning that you really have "two" cranes. Slightly illegal, but then, I'm not so sure that Donald Trump has been exactly devout getting rich. Everything's going swell, I'm drinking punch, talking about the crane bis'niss and where we'd go to spend the money, when...........
Laura arrives.
And then I can't hear my future business partners talk because her screeching voice practically envelopes the whole neighbourhood.
I ended up talking to a very nice chap about the business of copywriting. He is also a copywriter, has been to Tokyo recently and did the Mini Cooper ad. Some people just have all the fun.
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