Everybody loves Dixon…..

.....but I think he’s a tosser. Every facilities house has one, the cooler than fuck editor. I have to put up with Dixon, a twenty six year old wannabe wide-boy, freelance editor who everybody seems to think is some sort of messiah just because he can cut quickly and bang shit out. Everything with Dixon is a competition; he once cut a whole series of the kids in debt show 'Bankbusters' in a five day coke fueled edit binge to prove he's faster than everyone else; no one seemed to notice it was utter bollocks.

Dixon has every gadget going and has a designer hands free kit permanently attached to his ear. He dresses like he has fallen out of a couture army surplus shop and has T Shirt’s that cost more than my whole wardrobe. He's seen every film before you and has every cool album before anyone else. He supports the media tossers football club of choice, Chelsea, and often says people mistake him for ‘lamps all the time'. He talks pure undiluted mockney bullshit and pretends he was brought up in a Hackney Road gutter (born and bred working class hero apparently), when he’s actually from Surbiton. Watching Dixon edit is like seeing someone truly at one with the machine (his Dad bought him a Avid for his fourteenth birthday when Dixon said he wanted to be a film director), and when he finishes a cut he’s happy with he makes a little movement with his left hand like cutting back and forth on a DJ mixers crossfader while scratching a invisible record with his right fingers. Along with this he vocal scratches the words “Put your hands up for Dixon." Twat. Sadly everybody else seems to find this endearing.

I took him a Starbucks this morning, while he was in the middle of a massive eight hour render due to seventeen layers of unnecessary grade and effects (hes the offline editor for fucks sake!); he looked sad, like someone had finally told him that the designer goatee on his Cary Grant esque chin made his face look like a Brazilian wax. Maybe, just maybe his girlfirend had realised he was a vapid fraud of a person and dumped him. I asked him what the matter was, and he said that his favourite Camden pub The Hawley Arms had burnt down on Saturday night. "I was there from the start man, well before Burrell and Winehouse. I've spent so much money in that place I practically had shares." At least that kept him quiet today. Last time I had to listen to a hour long rendition of his DJ'ing holiday to Ayia Napa a few years back. "Remember the Premiership football roasting scandal yeah? I was holding the camera! Put your fucking hands up!"

Of course if you say anything slightly derogatory about Dixon to co workers they look at you as though you’ve just called their mum a whore, its like he can do no fucking wrong. Whats worse is that every single runner also thinks hes a legend, and never complain when he causes them to work a 60 hour week to cover the building while he arses about drinking expensive lagers and ordering Sushi on the company, in the hope he might show them one of his exclusive keyboard shortcuts. So therefore I have to keep my mouth shut.

In Soho no can hear you scream.