Well – last night was the combined book launch party for ‘Portraits’ (delayed somewhat due to the West End run), and the start of a 2 week exhibition. We have some photos, but they’re not quite in my hands yet: promise to put some up here when I can.

As mentioned before, the exhibition of prints and originals runs at the Rebecca Hossack Gallery on Charlotte St in London until the 21st. Sales are already high, and if any of you do find that prints are sold out, we and the gallery will aim to get new ones available as soon as we can (aside from the limited runs of course).

I’m also looking at a very handsome oversized postcard set, which we’re going to be selling on the site. Rather yummy. Changes will all happen to the site this week.

Meanwhile, not being a seasoned sun-bather, I burnt myself horrendously on the Venice Lido all down my front. Could not have felt any more like a Brit abroad. Don’t bother with the Clarins SF40 concentrate, that’s what I say.

Otherwise it was a splendid weekend. The Gondolieri proved disappointing as expected. There’s only one handsome chap in this photograph and we all know damn well who it is:

Hope you all have less red and sensitive skin than I do.

x

This year’s run is over, although I see that tickets are already dribbling out on sale for NEXT year. Plans are afoot to come to Cardiff, Dublin and Belfast in 2010. Currently no news on Scotland. PLEASE be a super luv and don’t email asking where we’re going: it should all get firmed up before not too long and we’ll let you know as soon as we do.

There was a lovely audience for the last night, so thank you very much, any of you who made it. After the show time was short: I had to clear out my dressing room so burst through a graceless signing. Apologies for being so rushed to those of you who waited back that night. I then went for a quiet drink with a friend (and ended up chatting to Jude Law until late BECAUSE THAT’S THE KIND OF LIFE I LEAD). Jen, Simon, Andy B, Iain, Jen and I had exchanged our presents over cocktail Martinis on Friday night, so that we cold all do our boring last-night clearing away on the Saturday. You may be interested to know that I gave Coops a Fortnum’s finest Beauty Of The Foot set for his unhappy and noisome tootsies.

I have a day to settle a few things at home, and then this week I am working on The Events and filming a trailer for them. You may remember towards the end of last year I posted a picture of me on the upper deck of a bus with a bunch of kids, saying it related to something this year. Now is the time I am hoping it may pay off, as it related to this September’s shows. More news when the time is right.

My apartment is full of builders’ dust, drilling and bottom cleavages. I’m sneezing and my desk is liberally betissued. The art exhibition starts next week and poor Coops, back after barely a day off, is busying himself with sorting out the pictures for it. Things are a fraction frantic, frenzied and frenetic. I get a little weekend away in Venice in a few days, which will be much-needed.

CURRENTLY READING (when I get the chance, like this weekend), the Phaidon pocket edition of Gombrich’s The Story of Art. It’s a glorious book, which I know well in the larger edition you’re more likely to be familiar with, but this handsome little carry-round conveniently suits my lifestyle-options and means I can re-read it while perving after some gondolier. Much love. x

So yesterday, Richard Wiseman and I went for a private guided tour around one of the Natural History Museum’s storage units in South London. It was quite extraordinary: acres of taxidermy and enormous skeletons, and some very special pieces: the skeleton of the Thames Whale, for example, is set out in a glass cabinet. We had a smell of a phial of whale oil extracted from the creature. It was quite a pleasant, unusual, soft smell, rather difficult to describe. A little like white tea, perhaps. By which I mean actual white tea, not PG with milk. If you don’t know what white tea smells like, you’re on your own. We also met Guy the Gorilla, the erstwhile London Zoo attraction who now sits on a shelf surrounded by lesser known apes; elsewhere amongst some glassy-eyed deer, an antelope discovered by Darwin as the first recorded of its sub-species, which was then many years later visited by the teary-eyed grandson of the extraordinary naturalist; and the arse-end of the actual bear who, they found out later, was featured on the California State flag:

That one there. That actual individual bear. I bet you didn’t even know they had a flag. I didn’t.

I did take some pictures, but I’m awaiting some clearance forms to be able to put them up here, so you’ll have to wait too.

Next, we’re hoping to go and visit Archie, the giant squid.

Today, I’m meeting with the gallery-owner who will be showing and selling some of my pictures. For any of you wishing to see them, the exhibition will run from 6-21st August at the Rebecca Hossack Gallery, Charlotte St, London W1. Just opposite a sensational Japanese restaurant called Roka, which will round off your trip perfectly. More news on all of this as we firm up details: you’ll be the first to know.

Finally, as I’ve been writing solidly, it’s been a long while since I did any reading, which is rather upsetting. However, I thought I’d mention The Happiness Hypothesis, by Jonathan Haidt. This is a fascinating and challenging tour through the principles of positive psychology: an overview of empirical research into what genuinely makes us happier (as opposed to the misleading, short-term effects of much of ‘self-help’). I hugely enjoyed this book.

Much love,

x

Bally technology. iPhone won’t let me blog at all, and I’m rarely wi-fied up to be able to do so on this laptop. But here I am. Thank you for waiting.

I have, since Sunday, been attempting to point you in the direction of Doux Delices, the extraordinary recipe blog of a friend who cooked us dinner last Sunday. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be treated and pampered and fluffed of a Sunday afternoon when one is otherwise book-writing by day and being a handsome mind-reader by night: wonderful home-made pesto-and-bread followed by the most pant-puddlingly perfect duck, orange and mango salad and then a criminally palatable cake served with champagne and an all-you-can-eat ticket to the lovely conversation bar, all made for an unspeakably magnificent afternoon. I really can’t express how wonderful it was. I can’t. Just stop reading, it’s pointless.

This is the last full week of the show, before our final few days next week… it’s all been great fun. And then straight into The Events, ready to walk up and slap your TV screens on 09/09/09. Get in. Can’t tell you anything about them yet. It’ll all come. All good things to those who wait.

Hey-ho. Back to the book. Ta-ra.

x