LUNCH

I’m sat with a little coffee in an inordinately small hand sculpted espresso cup mulling over how to write a blog post. I think the best thing to do is go full men’s lifestyle blog. So here goes.

I have on a watch made by keen eyed man with an arrow thin moustache who has excellent taste in unexpectedly soft crew necked jumpers whom I know personally and frequently tell everyone about. 

On my legs are pair of jeans that I bought when I saw them advertised in a spread in an infrequently read yet agonisingly beautiful magazine with surely unsustainable production costs that is only really found the sort of aged brass table set upon the white pine floorboards of the sort of coffee houses that people who write excellent blogs habituate. 

I’m wearing a loose sweater that I decided to buy after seeing a picture of a man wearing it doing a sincere spot of high stakes tree surgery and who wore upon his face the unattainable look of someone who can walk barefoot on cobble stones without saying ‘ow’. 

To obtain their burgundy hue, the boots I am wearing, as I am told by Pascal, who made them, were buried under wetted earth for nine days and a full moon in Arizona, soaked in buffalo urine and then shouted at. I tell a lot of people about this in more detail than I’ve gone into here.

My show’s on at Illuminate Festival down in Wimbledon which is a fantastic place to go for Tennis and greenery and I’m rather hoping you might come and see it. It’s called LUNCH and it’s, well, a series of songs and stories around the declining narrative importance of a meal that was once described by the cricketer Alan Donald as being ‘vitally necessary’. It’s a lot of fun, pretty nippy, and there’s a bit about death in Knightsbridge which is a giggle. 

So come one come all! Largely because it’ll be lovely to see you. And also because I have a terrible fear of empty rooms, the howling wind, and other peoples aunts.