Buns

I was recently pleased to find I'm not just good at eating buns, but no slouch at baking them either. And so, last Saturday, following an invitation over the hill for tea by Les French, I could take flapjack and banana bread made with my own fair hand. Don't think they put it in the bin...and chit-chat reveals that I'll be in Paris twice in one week, and then I discover they'll be there at the same time, which is a lovely surprise. This means partying à la Pop Noire ahead, at the launch party for their recent musical collaboration with Lescop: 'La Forêt' (Les French are actually none other than John & Jehn: gorgeous, talented, handsome pair and all-round good oeufs) - superbe - watch here:

Lescop - La Foret (english subtitles) from John & Jehn on Vimeo.

A lovely Sunday spent with The Boss and Dean at Miss J's pied à terre in Marylebone, to discuss all things creative, arty and bookish. No buns here, but I did bring Dean a bit of my bloody brilliant banana bread (alliteration overdrive), and Miss J cracked open the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (get.in.my.mouth.now). As we're looking at Miss J's vast and beautiful book collection for inspiration, I happen across a lovely thing - 'Avedon: Portraits'. Not a book in the page-turning sense of the word, it comes in concertina-style form, filled with his wonderful portraiture. I read the back page, which consists of a portrait of Avedon's father, taken when his father is old and ill with cancer, and a copy of a letter Avedon wrote to his Dad, after finding his Dad didn't like the portrait. The letter is beautiful. I've struggled to find the page in its entirety to show you, but here's a link to most of it, posted on another blog I've stumbled across:

http://www.robertlpeters.com/news/allnews/richard-avedons-letter-to-his-father…/

Mr Avedon Sr.

If you've read the letter link, you should also know that when his father died, Avedon discovered the letter, carefully folded and tucked away in the pocket of his Dad's best suit. Obviously, this made me have a little blub (it's a Dad thing), and my kind colleagues didn't take the piss in the slightest, for which I was very grateful.

Monday brought a houseguest to Disgracelands. Colin Lane is, without question, a great rock 'n' roll photographer. The man who gave The Strokes and Kings Of Leon their pictorial cool is also a laid-back, good-humoured joy to have around. You may be familiar with Colin's work - or at least familiar with the arse of his ex-girlfriend:

Nice buns.

The NME are quite keen on that arse too:

http://www.nme.com/blog/index.php?blog=10&p=11295&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1#more11295

Over from NYC for a press and PR shoot with a new band (the label clearly hoping that Colin will work his trademark narrative magic on these fresh-faced youngsters), I get to have dinner 3 nights in a row with a man who knows his onions on the music front (he lived in Austin in the late 80s, saw the birth of SXSW - nuff said). Some of the best over-the-table conversations I've had for ages (who else can wank on about Bill Callahan like me? Well, it tranpsires Mr Lane can).

Once my lovely snapper has flown off to Warsaw to see more life through his lens, I'm back at the Blunt grindstone. My Paris jaunt means I'll be away from the office on the big day, so I get to enjoy an early birthday cake treat. My lovely workmates know how to treat a girl. As I'm so keen on all things fancy cakewise (Patisserie Valerie / afternoon tea at The Wolseley / Ladurée - that's me), they really pushed the boat out - 3 buns from Greggs. With Santas and reindeers on (?). And trick candles which will not be blown out. There is footage of this, which I'd be more than happy to upload and reveal myself to be the least cool person on the face of this earth, and possibly the most out of breath. Unless I can work out Blogger's little foibles, you'll just have to use your imagination. While you wait, feast your eyes on the envelope my card came in:

Yes, it's a drawing of a big, veiny penis by a lesbian artsist who has a surprising...ahem...'grasp' of the subject matter. And some Xmas buns - in November.

(Postscript: on my recent trip up North, I was doing a spot of charity shop trawling, when I heard an unmistakeable voice. I turned around to discover my old friend Nick Sykes, who I haven't seen for years. This is the man who bought me a ticket to my first ever out-of-town gig, The Jesus And Mary Chain at Leeds University. He also nicknamed me 'Bunman', because I always had a bun or bit of cake wrapped up in foil or paper in my handbag. Almost 30 years have past...some things never change.)