The piece must be targeted at an established print or online publication, either consumer, or B2B and must be 1,000 words (+/-

Interview with: Neil Gray, Sugar Daddy.

Target Publication: Daily Mail Saturday magazine. There has been a lot in the Daily Mail about this

topic, but mainly from the viewpoint of the Sugar Baby so would be interesting to see it there with

the other side of the story Title: The not so sweet world of Sugar Daddies?

Watching the sun set behind the grey dome of St. Pauls, sipping my Tequila Sunrise, I forget for a

second that my last meal was a Pot Noodle. Madison’s Rooftop Terrace is another world. Everyone

attired in suits, business clothes or spaghetti strap dresses, I can’t help but feel out of place. The £11

cocktail glows red and orange as I sip it sparingly – luckily I’m not paying.

Neil Gray, a banker, is poised in front of me as he orders a glass of Chateau Margaux 1967. It’s £115,

about one week’s rent for me. Slouching back and relaxing, he asks, smirking, “So what do you want

to know?”

As a 49-year-old banker there isn’t that much to say about Neil. He’s tall with thinning short brown

hair and wrinkly blue eyes. Nicely dressed, of course, with a fancy watch that costs more than my

whole outfit. Polite and confident he holds the air of someone important, or at least someone who

thinks he is. Neil Gray is a Sugar Daddy.

Sugar Daddy and Sugar Baby relationships are becoming ever more popular in today’s dating scene.

These ‘mutually beneficial relationships’ mean young women, often students, can find an older man

who is willing to help them out financially, getting good company, or sometimes more, in return.

Many student unions now offer students advice on how to conduct these kinds of relationships

safely, but it is a highly controversial issue.

Neil’s profile on Seeking Arrangements, founded in 2006, mentions that he’s ‘looking for a young

lady to spoil’ whilst also stating that he’s worth around £5 million. The website allows young women

to find an older man who can treat them to gifts, cash, and occasionally even holidays. Some men

even pay their tuition fees or give them a monthly allowance.

“I’m not sure when I first heard the term Sugar Daddy, but I’ve been on the scene for a long time,”

Neil declares, saying that he’s been treating younger women for around six years. “Sometimes it’s a

gift, sometimes it’s cash, probably spend around a couple hundred a month.” The most expensive

gift he’s ever got someone? A £1,500 Prada Handbag.

“Gestures like that are taken simply as something a friend does without ulterior motives.” Neil

insists he has never asked one of his ‘babies’ for sex. “But sometimes, I don’t have to ask,” he smirks

again.

“Mostly it’s popping round with a bottle of wine and a take away when they’re skint and feeling

miserable. When they’re on an essay deadline. When they’ve had a shock bad result and feeling low.

It’s nice to cheer someone up with luxuries they can’t afford, and I enjoy feeling good about myself

knowing I’m helping them out. It’s kind of redistribution of wealth, bypassing the tax man.” For a

moment I wonder whether he’s being serious. He hardly seems the type to embrace socialism. A

damp bead of moisture springs above his top lip even though the aircon at Madison’s is on full blast.

I ask him about why he does it. Why would you just give away your money like that? “Shallow

answer: attractive female company and sometimes sex. Deeper answer: the chance to help people,

sometimes with money.”

He goes on to explain that he’s very busy with work and the ‘normal’ dating scene wasn’t working

out for him. He’s not interested in wasting time – he knows what he wants. Which is why the site

works so well for him, as it advertises how ‘Sugar Babies and Daddies both get what they want,

when they want it.’

“This is very much my secret life,” he says shifting and fiddling with his watch as I ask about how his

friends and family react to this side of his social life. “I’m from a strait-laced family. I like the

separateness.” His family and friends know nothing about his profile or the money he spends on

these women.

I ask him about a relationship where the power is so much on his side. What satisfaction is there in

that?

“When it comes to money, young women can be blind. Who’s going to complain when someone’s

dangling a pretty handbag in front of you?” I mentally count the number of women I know who

would do that sort of thing. Zero.

“I don’t feel like I’m being used though. I think I get something out of every relationship with a sugar

baby. I think there is a genuine connection.” It seems like he truly believes this. They have to get on,

have similar interests, and enjoy doing the same kind of things before he would ever spend money

on someone. “I’m looking for people who are interesting not just airhead arm candy. She needs to

know who Shakespeare was and know the difference between a Ferrari and a Porsche.” That smirk

again.

When I ask him if it’s actually the ‘girls’ he dates are being used, he seems genuinely shocked, as if

the thought never occurred to him.

“I am married,” he adds before signalling the waiter for the bill. He explains she knows everything,

but doesn’t want the details. They grew apart and it’s more like a friendship now. They have two

children, a boy, 12 and a girl, 17 – two years younger than me.

“It all looks strange from the outside I guess, and maybe a bit sad,” he chuckles, “but I’m happy, and

I think I help make other people happy too, so what’s the harm?”

That’s the question I’m still left with at the end, as I take one last glance at the dark London skyline.

What’s the harm?

940 words

Neil Gray contact details xxxxxxx

I have changed his name but he’s happy to confirm we spoke

This piece would be for The Telegraph’s lifestyle section. It would work as an insider

account for the section as it is about the changing world of funerals. I think this would

be an interesting topic for The Telegraph’s older readership, as they are more likely to

have experience with funerals for loved ones.

Fiona Rhodes gets to know a person best after they die. “I find there’s something a bit more

interesting about funerals than weddings. They encompass a whole life, rather than just a

moment. You really get to know that person and their life story,” she says.

Rhodes is part of an expanding pool of funeral celebrants who perform non-religious

ceremonies – there has been a dramatic decline in religious funerals in the past ten years,

according to a report by the Co-op published last month. As opposed to a religious funeral,

those who opt for a non-faith ceremony have the opportunity to add many personal touches

to a loved one’s service. Rhodes believes farewells, as she prefers to call them, are

changing the way we say goodbye.

Rhodes, 63, has delivered over 700 funerals during her 10 years in the job, but for the

uninitiated, the appeal isn’t obvious. Her journey to becoming a celebrant began while she

was working as a registrar. Registrars are employed by the council to register births,

marriages and deaths as well as perform civil ceremonies. The role involved marrying happy

young couples more often than dealing with grief.

Strange as it might seem to meet a person only once they’ve passed away, it’s easy to see

that the storytelling element of the job appeals to Rhodes. Although she says it’s often easy

to tell a lot about a family- whether they want something ‘formal, funny, or poignant’ – within

the first 10 minutes, there are times when there’s no one to consult. Rhodes recently

performed a ceremony for an elderly man who passed away in a care home with no known

family or friends.

“We didn’t know much about him, but we did know how he had been in the home.” Six carers

attended the ceremony at the crematorium, and they remembered him as “cheeky- he used

to try to pinch their bottoms.” The Benny Hill theme tune accompanied the coffin. “They

called themselves his harem,” she chuckles. Irreverent and perhaps questionable, post ‘Me

Too’ but if that’s what’s asked for, Rhodes can do it.

But what about when it’s a younger person who’s passed away? Are there never times when

she feels drained by the challenges of the work? Rhodes often finds the work desperately

sad. But part of the attraction of being a celebrant is helping a family through a crisis. “As a

registrar, I used to meet a family to help register a death. I could see how much it helped

them to talk about the person.”

Even if someone has passed away suddenly, people don’t normally come to Rhodes for a

sad ceremony. They aren’t looking for Benny Hill, but they don’t want their initial grief to be

exacerbated. She recalls a ceremony for a lady who died at 50 in a big shock to the family.

“One of the standout things people remembered about her was that she had so many pairs

of shoes. So, when it came to the funeral, we placed a cerise pink satin pair of boots on top

of the coffin. It helped to raise a smile.”

But it’s not just personal touches that are changing the funeral landscape. Increasingly,

Rhodes performs ceremonies outside the crematorium. Village halls are popular, but she

has also held services in people’s homes and even outside in a garden overlooking the

Malvern hills. “There’s still a social taboo around coffins, but really there are very few limits

on location, it’s just a matter of working with the funeral team.”

Maintaining a strong relationship with funeral directors is essential to Rhodes’ business as

she relies upon them for recommendations to bereaved families. She describes it as

‘political’. Surely, she’s not suggesting bribes? Apparently, a box of chocolates or a bottle of

wine now and again doesn’t go amiss if you want to be remembered.

Otherwise, the funeral business is mostly dictated by the churches’ rates. Rhodes charges

the same as the church, around £140, except in special circumstances. Before Christmas,

she performed a double funeral for an enhanced fee, after one woman’s husband and father

died within a couple of weeks. “People thought it was strange that she wanted the two

combined, but really it made perfect sense. The two men were chums and the thought of two

funerals before Christmas was too much for the widow.”

Although the majority of Rhodes’ work is with the crematorium, she is increasingly requested

for burials. In November, with the vicar’s agreement, Rhodes performed a small service at

the grave of a non-religious husband who wanted to be buried in the churchyard with his

wife. “The vicar even said he might pinch a few of my words. I think a lot of people at that

ceremony were really pleasantly surprised by the farewell and how spiritual it could still be.”

Should churches be feeling the pressure? “I’m not in competition with the vicar. Although I’m

happy to say prayers, if people want a religious ceremony, they still go to the church,” she

says.

She might not think the vicar needs to worry, but as the UK becomes increasingly secular,

celebrants are becoming a central part of the funeral landscape. For any aspiring celebrants,

Rhodes says the most important thing is empathy. “People like to book a person, not an

institution. Farewells are about getting to know the family and understanding the person

they’ve lost. You need to understand exactly how that family want to say goodbye.”

As we part, Rhodes is preparing her speech for a funeral where the deceased was known for

holding fantastic parties. All the guests have a miniature bottle of champagne to pop at the

end of the ceremony. It’s hard to imagine that happening at church.

ENDS

950 words

Report cited

https://assets.ctfassets.net/iqbixcpmwym2/5v6n2gA1yGR5BCDRJ4kNKu/93696c8e8e2f9e26 0795c941fa96c6c9/3876_1_Funeralcare_Media_pack_artwork_SML_v4.pdf

Meet Joy Labinjo, the painter creating odes

to Black Brixton salons and beyond

The figurative artist who creates images of the Black British out of love and from

memory has a new installation in Brixton.

Precious Adesina

17 NOV 2021

As you enter Brixton tube station, the entirety of the first wall you see is covered by a

celebratory painting by the Dagenham-born figurative artist, Joy Labinjo. ‘5 More Minutes’,

which went up this week and is on view for the next year, illustrates a familiar scene. A good

chunk of many black women’s existences includes reclining on the chairs of black hair salons

for several hours as skilful hands braid the hair and Joy’s latest artwork encapsulates this

experience with joyful accuracy.

It draws on her personal experience growing up in the UK with a British-Nigerian heritage,

depicting a typical Saturday morning at a black hairdresser. There are pops of red, possible

nods to innovative local black radio No Signal show ‘10v10’, among other recognisable black

salon artefacts in the background including posters showing a selection of different hairstyles

and a polystyrene head with sewing needles sticking out of it. All of this serves as the

backdrop to women waiting beneath hood dryers, toddlers crawling on the floor, and stylists

hard at work amid the bustling energy of the scene.

Speaking to gal-dem, Joy remembers travelling to Brixton to get her hair done growing up

and when thinking of what to paint that would represent the area, a friend of hers mentioned

the same experience. Some of these salons still exist today despite areas such as Brixton

becoming increasingly gentrified, and are a stalwart for people of colour who have lived there

for decades.

“[Brixton’s] vibrancy and people inspire me daily. As soon as you get out of the station, you

know you’ve arrived: the smell of incense, the buskers, the street raconteurs, the fashionable

looks. There’s swagger, charisma and thought all around. It’s irresistible,” says the artist. She

further explains that once Art on the Underground, TfL’s contemporary public art program,

commissioned her she wanted to make work that reflects the lived experience of other Black

women in a notoriously gentrified space that needs to be “protected”.

Joy’s oeuvre isn’t usually public commissions. Her large-scale figurative paintings based on

portraits from family albums sold out within two hours of Frieze London’s preview opening

in 2019. Her work has also been exhibited at the Royal Academy, Tiwani Contemporary,

Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art and many other notable art spaces across the UK.

“Making public work is quite hard because you don’t want it to be too alienating, but you do

want it to be relevant,” she says.

Originally she planned to have two photos to display. “One was a scene of a family that had

political posters in the background, which would have been a nod to the Windrush

generation, and then I did the salon scene because I’ve always wanted to. I was thinking

about artists like Hurvin Anderson and Kerry James Marshall. Marshall painted a

salon, ‘School of Beauty, School of Culture’ in, 2012, and Anderson painted a barbershop,

‘Peter’s Series’, made from 2007 – 2009.”

“[Brixton’s] vibrancy and people inspire me daily. As soon as you get out of the station,

you know you’ve arrived: the smell of incense, the buskers, the street raconteurs, the

fashionable looks. There’s swagger, charisma and thought all around. It’s irresistible”

Many of the figures in Joy’s body of work are from found photographs and photo albums,

which comes from her time studying fine art at the University of Newcastle where she

graduated in 2017. “I didn’t have access to an abundance of black figures, so the family

album was really just a springboard. It gives me access to multiple black people,” she says,

noting that many of those illustrated are from her own personal family albums. “But I don’t

know who everyone is. It wasn’t about the people as individuals, but more about celebrating

my British-Nigerian heritage,” she adds.

Memory is a central component of Joy’s work. When she painted this commission, the UK

was enduring its third (and longest) lockdown at the beginning of the year when hair salons

across the country were closed. “When I was making it, I had a sense of nostalgia in mind,”

she says, explaining that she was yearning for a sense of community. “I was also thinking

about [creating] something that would be true to Brixton and its Afro-Caribbean population. I

wasn’t able to go to an actual salon so I used sources like images from Shutterstock, stills

from YouTube videos and of course, my own memories.”

When we spoke just under a week before the artwork unveiling, she mentioned that she was

nervous about what it would look like. “I still don’t know if it’s going to work because I

made it on a canvas in the studio,” she explains. Rather than installing the original piece,

which was on canvas, a flat copy of it has been put up, which she thought would disrupt the

way it may look. But when I see her the morning of its first day she’s glowing, mentioning

that it turned out much better than she expected.

*

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