The Boy Is Back In Town

Although not remotely a dedicated follower of fashion (unless my Mr Davies is singing about it), a brief sojourn to Covent Garden today reminded me that Fashion was in town en masse. Fashion is here, because it's Fashion's very own week. Fashion can be stunningly beautiful (noted today). Fashion can also be rather freaky and a bit try-hard (noted today). Fashion has super-long legs (noted today). Fashion wears very high heels it can't always walk in (noted today). Fashion must never be confused with Style (noted today). Fashion must be bloody starving (noted today). I noted quite a bit about Fashion today. At Blunt, we represent one of the world's most sought-after beauty photographers, and an up-and-coming fashion photographer, so I'm very aware of all this Fashion stuff (I'm told I visibly wrinkle my nose when required to contact Vogue / Elle / ST Style). But on this lovely, sunny September Sunday, there were more important and pressing matters than Fashion to attend to way out East.

OUR BOY IS BACK!!!

T'lads.

Yes, photography supremo, sidekick to Mr Shane Meadows, great big lanky streak of piss, handsome lovely Dean Rogers is back in London Town. I'm beside myself with joy and overcome with happiness (and a bit pissed as I write, but more of those cocktails later). A lovely, leisurely Sunday lunch (organised by dear Nat) at the very meaty Hawksmoor on Commercial Street in Spitalfields was the venue for the welcome return of our top fella. Attended by his Ma and Pa, nearest and dearest, I was honoured to be invited. That lot had this:

Blimey.

I arrived late, so I had this:

Ale, chips, homemade ketchup.

Not as impressive visually, but good enough for me.

I also managed to take in a spectacular sticky toffee pudding with clotted cream, which was so bloody good I scoffed it in about two minutes flat and completely forgot to capture it for posterity.

I did, however, have the foresight to snap both my lovely post-dessert cocktails, selected following consultation with the very helpful and charming Scottish Robin. So charming, he even had the lezzer mafia lusting over him:

Johhny-From-London: gin, kirsch, homemade lemon sherbert,

bitters, bouteille call (in a very pretty glass)

And there was a Millionaire (rum, shaken with apricot brandy, sloe gin,lime juice, pomegranate) but the picture was a bit blurry. To be honest, I may have been a bit blurry myself by this point.

The staff at Hawksmoor were excellent. Attentive, friendly, patient, knowledgeable. I've sent the restaurant a very complimentary email, as service like that shouldn't go unrewarded by their employers. Wage rises all round, I hope.

It's great to have our boy back in town. I have to say that, after a week filled with rather sad news of one type or another, it was so perfect to spend a relaxing day with some dear friends in a superb restaurant, and to see Dean, quite literally (no misuse of that word here, thank you), back on his feet.

(Postscript: I was the only person to notice Keira Knightley leaving the restaurant. She is small and dark-haired. This will come as no surprise to any of you. I'm no real fan of her onscreen, but I was pleased to note that she is actually very pretty in the flesh, making the raptures that the fashion mags go into seem less ridiculous. And surprised to discover that she's not as Jimmy Hill / Brucie as I previously suspected. Bet she didn't eat much, though - thin as fuck.)