On the way back from Rye House, I decided to to take an hour detour south into west London, to catch up with a few friends. I hadn't seen
James Chappell in the flesh since 1805 (we go back a long way). I forgot his flat number and was ringing his neighbor's bell for 20 minutes. It was anti-sociably early for a Saturday morning but poking an air-rifle out through the letterbox was a bit excessive. But one good thing about turning up un-announced is you can have cold Lebanese take-away for breakfast (the veiny spheres I can only presume were lambs testicles), washed down with some cold Arabic coffee which having stood for 7 hours allowed the cardamom sludge to fall to the bottom. Responsible for scattered illustrations in Sideburn; a new piece on Dave Aldana for SB#5 lay still steaming on the kitchen table.
One day I'd like to do a photography book about peoples mantelpieces, I'm forever intrigued by their personal dioramas. BP
On the way back from Rye House, I decided to to take an hour detour south into west London, to catch up with a few friends. I hadn't seen James Chappell in the flesh since 1805 (we go back a long way). I forgot his flat number and was ringing his neighbor's bell for 20 minutes. It was anti-sociably early for a Saturday morning but poking an air-rifle out through the letterbox was a bit excessive. But one good thing about turning up un-announced is you can have cold Lebanese take-away for breakfast (the veiny spheres I can only presume were lambs testicles), washed down with some cold Arabic coffee which having stood for 7 hours allowed the cardamom sludge to fall to the bottom. Responsible for scattered illustrations in Sideburn; a new piece on Dave Aldana for SB#5 lay still steaming on the kitchen table.
One day I'd like to do a photography book about peoples mantelpieces, I'm forever intrigued by their personal dioramas. BP
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