At the beginning of November, I found myself at a loose end. I had just completed a brilliant internship and I was in need of something to do.

At this time, The Italian shit (who I mentioned in an earlier post) had recently reappeared in my life. One day, whilst chatting about jobs on the phone, Mr. Italiano proposed a new internship for me. A friend of his: SRK, was setting up a website and was in need of some interns to help him out.

This is the moment when the alarm bells should have started ringing. But like the naive and excitable person I am, I jumped at the opportunity thinking that my career was about to be made.

What I probably should have taken into consideration, is that The Italian Shit and I are two rather different people. For one I’m English, he’s Italian; for two I’m a girl, he’s a boy, but above all – I’m fairly normal and he is the epitome of Euro Trash.

It doesn’t take much imagination to picture the aristocratic toffs that The Italian Shit calls his ‘friends’ and so with a little creative license you can imagine the likes of my new boss.

SRK is the personification of the pompous privileged. At the age of 27, he has the cool calm confidence of a man twice his age. Apart from a rather big nose, he’s a good looking chap, and he happens to live in the most beautiful Georgian house in Chelsea.

For the past few years SRK has wanted to create an exclusive social networking site, intended for people working in the creative disciplines. But  it’s not until now that he’s actually got down and done something about it. (This is the point where I come in.)

So the website is basically facebook, but it’s for pretentious arty people. Oh, and you’re only entitled to join if you receive an exclusive invitation. The whole damn thing has elitism written all over it.

I hate clubs, I hate memberships and I simply can’t stand smug groups of self-satisfied people. So why oh why did I get involved?

Well let’s just say that SRK is an excellent sales man. When we first met to discuss the internship, the man simply wooed me with prospects of world domination. His website was going to be the next Vanity Fair, his membership base would include the likes of Vivienne Westwood, and he was going to discover tomorrow’s talent- today. There was simply no hindering the man’s vision.

And I fell for the whole thing.

I’ll keep it short, but my stint working for SRK wasn’t the best. In between acting as his PA and listening to his woeful stories of rich Russian  girlfriends, I learnt more about the complications of being young, rich and spoilt than I ever learnt about online journalism.

In the two months of working for SRK and not earning a single penny, I barely got a thank you from the lugubrious lothario.  So seeing as it’s a new year and a time for fresh beginnings I don’t plan to continue working for SRK and his sacred website.

I may have walked away from the next big thing, but then again I may have saved myself a lot of time. If SRK’s site does become huge, I suppose I’ll just have to eat huimble pie.

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