Part Three: A Day in the Life of the Studio Team
Now that you’ve met the crew and know their roles, you might be wondering how the daily routine actually plays out. Because while I’ve never formally introduced working hours or office policies, the team has created a schedule anyway. And like everything they do, it’s both impressive and completely unnecessary.
Their routine is so consistent it might as well be printed on a whiteboard in the staff break room. So here’s a look at the typical workday according to the unofficial — yet strictly followed — studio timetable.
The day usually starts with Minky, of course. She likes to be the first to arrive, drifting into the studio with the quiet confidence of someone who knows she outranks everyone. She doesn’t clock in; she simply appears, sits, and sets the tone. If she’s relaxed, everyone else relaxes. If she’s focused, the others fall in line. She’s the sort of team member who doesn’t shout orders — she just radiates an energy that everyone automatically responds to.
Uno tends to arrive next. Not early, not late, but at a deliberate, meaningful moment — almost like he’s been watching the rest of us from afar and has now decided the time is right for him to stroll in. He always takes a long look around the space before settling down, as though performing his morning audit. Only when he’s satisfied does he assume his post. It’s the most senior-advisor thing I’ve ever seen.
The twins, naturally, come bursting into the workday with completely different priorities. They treat the morning like an unplanned team-building exercise. Sox arrives full of enthusiasm, checking each corner of the room like he’s making sure the overnight crew did their job. Stumpy arrives with far less ceremony, materialising silently, observing everything, and pretending he’s not paying attention when he absolutely is.
Once everyone’s in position, the first major task of the day begins: watching me sit down at the desk.
This moment seems to be the anchor point of their entire workflow. The second I pull in my chair, the whole team snaps into formation. Minky oversees from her preferred vantage point. Uno settles in with an air of responsibility. Sox picks a spot where he can track every move. Stumpy appears behind me like he’s been there the whole time.
From here, the mid-morning shift begins. This tends to involve the twins quietly shuffling around, Minky rotating through several key observation points, and Uno doing his slow, measured walk — the one that says he’s auditing, supervising, and keeping everyone in line with a single glance.
Then there’s the late-morning slump. Every workplace has one. The team enters what I call the Observation Phase. This is where they remain perfectly still, perfectly silent, and perfectly focused on absolutely nothing. They stare into the middle distance with the intensity of philosophers but the productivity of houseplants.
After lunch — or what they assume is lunch — comes the afternoon rush. This is when they suddenly act like the world is full of urgent tasks. Someone moves across the room with dramatic speed. Someone else checks the window, as though expecting an important client. Sox might run through the space like he’s late for a presentation. Uno might quietly disappear, returning with the look of a man who just handled a crisis. Stumpy usually reappears somewhere that makes me jump.
Eventually the group settles again, forming their usual semicircle behind the desk while I continue working. Their energy shifts into the late-afternoon wind-down. Minky softens into a more nurturing presence. Uno relaxes, satisfied with another day well managed. Stumpy lurks, ever the shadow. Sox sits tall, maintaining team morale with his trademark enthusiasm and white-socked confidence.
And just when you think the day is over, they rally for one final round of silent supervision, accompanying me through the last tasks like true professionals who refuse to leave until the boss is done.
Then, without warning, everyone clocks off. They vanish, scattering into the house or the garden, instantly transforming back into their off-duty selves. The team dynamic dissolves. The hierarchy disappears. And the studio returns to silence.
Until tomorrow — when they’ll do it all again with absolute commitment.
The more I watch them, the more I realise they’ve created a workflow, a rhythm, and a culture all of their own. They follow their schedule. They respect their roles. And they do it with a level of dedication that would put most human teams to shame.
Next time, I might take you behind the scenes into their after-hours world — the off-duty antics, the surprising alliances, and who they become when they’re not “on the clock.”
