Drinking David Beckham's juice.

David Beckham came to Edinburgh this week. He was being photographed by the mighty Peter Lindbergh for a whisky ad campaign. I would give my left testicle for the budgets these guys have. They had three days just for lighting tests alone.
Weirdly, due to a strange quirk of fate, I ended up with David's rider.
I feel I can call him David, after all, I've been guzzling his juices, snacking on his nibbles and lighting his candles all weekend.

I've just noticed the squeezed orange halves look like a Francis Bacon mouth crying out. Christ I must stop eating David's cheese balls before bed.