16 February 2013


The day had finally come, and none of us had been quite prepared for it.

Vintage Business was gone. Out of our hands. Subbed and resubbed 'til our fingers had been shred from the bone. Proofread until our tears turned a bloody shady of red.

It was on its way. Way, way away from around our way.

We had conceived the beautiful bundle of news, features and comment for the better part of six weeks. It grew it on our bellies, kicking and screaming until we fed it more samoas to satiate its ravenous hunger.

On the final day of print week, someone or other said "Let there be light!" (nb. could have been "This magazine is shite") and lo, our baby was pushed out into the world. Feet-first.

SATURDAY. We finally had a full day off with which to amuse ourselves. Leisure time, you might say. What a foreign concept~! Needless to say, a few of us ventured back into the PA building on our hands and knees, desperate to use the 10p vending machine one last time. Tap water from home just didn't taste quite the same. We needed that token coffee bean gone astray in the white cup. Longed for it, even.

Who knows what the future holds for our baby? It will come back to us in a few weeks, all stapled together and shiny and inked up, like a student that returns from university in the Easter break to enlighten their parents as to their new 'radical' political views. Once we've given our issue the once-over, assuring ourselves we're perfectly happy with the end result whilst silently judging every single aspect, then we can send it out to all the retailers that had to put up with our weak knowledge of headsets, Tom's disturbing enthusiasm for upcycling and James' penchant for screaming monotonously down the phone.

Our child, now fully grown into a respectable tome of vintage writing and pretty-as-f**k pictures, will finally be distributed. It will go out into the world, to be shared by many hundreds of retailers. It will be passed around like a doobie, used as a coffee coaster and read on the toilet before the person perusing realises there's a copy of Cosmopolitan on the floor too, and realises this is the only time he can have a gander without people seeing and judging him. This is also where Vintage Business can handily double as toilet paper.

Look, I'm not entirely sure where this analogy is going. In summation: Vintage Business is our child, and we will always be proud of it no matter its sexuality or drug habits.

The funny thing is... thinking back to the first blog post I made on here, I mentioned how we should be proud of all we had achieved by that point. But it was only the end of the first week. Here we are, near the end of the course, with a full magazine to fling into our future employers' faces. Just fling it right at them.

So we hadn't really achieved a momentous amount by the close of the first week. By now, we've come a long way further, and - fingers crossed- we'll go further still.

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