Toast at Kettles

Ahhh, we just had an amazing couple of weeks at Kettles; putting our classic Hunters on for the first time this year and walking through the leaves. There's nothing like it.
Ludo's friend Carlotta is a stylist with Toast, she came to Kettles once and was inspired by its scruffy, bohemian, Bloomsbury set-esque aristo charm so they came down to shoot their latest catalogue and here are some of the pics:

Ma's Ghanaian nickety nackety drawers.


Me in my socks (our table was at old Mr Entwhistle's for a bees wax so we had to have our toast and Bonne Maman on the original stone floor...Again!)


Gracie having a rest while sweeping the flour mill.


Pa's odd socks.

Owen Wilson delivered my baby! (almost)

I write to you from my Eames daybed, sipping a light decaf lemon tea and nuzzling into my new, organic cotton Marimekko-swathed little boy.

There I was at my ICA opening night, making my little speech, flanked by Charlotte Gainsbourg one side and Zadie Smith on the other, when out of the blue I began to get a horrendous stomach cramp. I had been getting them most of the day but I thought it was just the bad Gouda from Cheese Appreciation Level 4 the night before. It wasn't just the bad Gouda (must stop trying to blame cheese for everything), it was my boy trying to sally hello.

Suddenly, just as my waters broke all over the Chapman Brothers' shoes (shame), Wilson swept in and caught me as I collapsed in agony, falling off the podium.

Luckily my baby guru Gowri was also at the opening (she's very supportive of my work) and took over. Ludo was marvellous of course but he kept yelling in Finnish (he's fluent in several European languages) which wasn't at all helpful.

So alas my glorious natural home birth was never to be. I was rushed to hospital, drugged up to the eyeballs and the little fellow popped out in record time on baby blue polyester hospital sheets. I do hope he doesn't get a rash.

Well, I suppose I ought to tell you his name. We decided to mix our names so he has my surname as a first name and Ludo's as his surname. He is:

Bonhomie Lovesunday Jansdotter.

Or Bon-Bon for short. Not too silly is it? A little eccentric maybe and ever so slightly 'best in show' but I think it's just perfect. And so is he, my little Bon-Bon.

Gosh! What a year it's been. This time last year Ludo Jansdotter was the handsome and talented ex of my goofy friend Nancy. Now he's over there, across the room from me, asleep in his Alvar Alto Paimio, slumped over a copy of Architectural Digest.

Turned out nice again. (Did I just quote George Formby?)

Baby shower

It was my baby shower yesterday.

I don't want to sound ungrateful but when your best friends invite Margot, your arch nemesis to your baby shower, you know it's going to be interesting. Luckily it was all made up for by Celine and mdlc flying in especially for the celebrations.

We had a darling picnic by the Serpentine in Hyde Park with cakes provided by Zoe of Bake-a-boo bake shop and tea room. They were divine, never let it be said that gluten-free cake is inedible, the brownies were out of this world and the cupcakes....well I never!

We played some odd games; my favourite was "Make My Baby!" where they split into 3 groups with a pile of magazines and had to cut out pictures of babies faces and put them together to make a picture of my baby. I chose the winner. Look away if you are of nervous disposition.

I made up for Margot being there by taking a quick tour of the Serpentine Gallery shop and accidentally happening upon a copy of Weekend Birdie (they have just started stocking it). She was positively green!


My show opens at the ICA on Thursday, I am very nervous about it. I do hope it doesn't bring on labour.

Directional type

Oh Lord, I'm under pressure to update Weekend Birdie's look to something more 'directional'. I'm not the directional type however and this font quite frightens me.

So Long Lee Hazlewood (my, what a week!)

It's been a terrible week for us here at Weekend Birdie...first Ingmar, now Lee (not to mention Antonioni). We knew it was coming but it's still awfully sad. I've given everyone the afternoon off to go and weep over a few bourbons. So Long Lee, we love you.

So Long Ingmar

I can't even begin to tell you how exhausted I am...what a night!

As you will see there are two Issue 13 1/2 covers, this is because our favourite gloomy Swede, Ingmar Bergman just passed away at the age of 89 (weep) and we decided, 3 hours before the print deadline, to change not only the cover but the whoooollllle magazine.
Off came Werner Herzog (Graziella is devastated, she put a lot of work into her Aguirre: The Wrath of God photo story, but no fear, we shall reinstate him next month) and on went Bergman.

We dedicated the whole issue to him, a loony idea and commercial suicide I know but sometimes you have to follow your heart and I know, Weekend Birdie's not exactly OK, but if we lose a few readers this month it shan't matter, I shall just throw a bit more money at it next month and we shall be back on form.
Big sigh...we are all in mourning here at Weekend Birdie HQ. Ho-hum.

Gasp!...Just realised something...calling it issue 13 1/2 didn't make a jot of difference after all, what bloody bad luck.

Original draft cover

Tagged by a bunny!

The divine (but ever so slightly cuckoo) Fifi Lapin (she’s a rabbit you know) tagged me, which means I have to reveal seven random facts about myself on this here, my personal weblog. Ho-hum…here goes…Gosh! I really don’t know if there’s anything I haven’t already told you…ummm…

I was the under 12s ukelele champion of Great Britain 1978. I was on Blue Peter. I got Lesley Judd’s autograph and Shep pooed on my shoe.

When I was a child, I was obsessed with the Mitfords and used to imagine I was a long lost sister.

I have a small collection of early Picassos that I keep in a vault in the bank. Don’t tell anyone.

Jake Gyllenhaal once asked me out for a drink. I said no because Kirsten (blimey!) is a good friend of mine and I know she’ll never truly be over him.

My middle name is Genevieve, after my mother’s favourite film. Not very romantic to be named after a car but hey-ho.

I’ve been featured on The Sartorialist like 17 times.

Oh yes…I’m having a boy!

Wowy!

Wowy! as Maribel would say...what an amazing wedding that was.

It was a two-tier wedding which seems to be all the rage these days...no-one has a one hour wedding in a church anymore. So, first we all flew to Morocco to Ouarzazate for the small evening boho desert wedding; I say small, we were 130. They'd set up these huge Bedouin tents and Maribel and Esteban appeared over the dunes on white horses. We all clapped and fireworks went off. They stayed on the horses for ages. They had to do all their vows up there and everything. Maribel said she had a very sore bottom afterwards. Luckily it was an evening do or else we would all have died of heat exhaustion. My blessing was not happy.

The next day we flew to Madrid for their official wedding (700 people). It was at the Catedral de la Almudena, which shouldn't strictly have been allowed but her husband Esteban is a distant cousin of the Royal Family or something, plus the Pope said it was OK so hey-ho.
The reception was at the Casa de Madrid, which is only in Conde Nast Traveller like every month. We had a right old knees-up...Gwen Stefani jumped out of a cake! And I don't mind telling you, the Olsen Twins were hammered!

Anyway, feeling muy retro since I saw some dear little Italian school children on the tube with Invicta rucksacks (my, they still really love those things), so I think I'm going to go to bed, listen to the Betty Blue soundtrack and weep a little.

Blah

Everything's a bit blah. Had a few meetings at the ICA recently and they're all 'Wow!' about the show but I don't feel it's working, it's just not cohesive, you know? I thought we had everything straight, Parker Posey Eating a Strawberry on the left, Mark Ruffalo Doing Sudoku on the right, Lou Doillon Walking Her Cat on the far wall...all fabulous. Then Vanessa Paradis Chasing a Bagel Down a Hill threw it all out of whack and since then, nothing's working.
Plus I've got Nancy emailing me about whether I'm using one of the pictures from her Lovely Legs shoot (um...no!) and even Natalie, who is so over-exposed at the moment it's crazy, asked me if her Vanity Fair shoot is gonna be in there! The cheek! Then I'm soooo behind with issue 13 1/2 it's ridiculous and it's MDLC's wedding at the weekend which I know will be physically exhausting, if from the air kissing alone.

Ho-Hum...I need a little Pippa time...and that doesn't include doing my birth rehearsal because if I have to visualise my cervix opening one more time, I think it actually will and my blessing will pop out all over Ludo Jansdotter's new Paul Smith rug.

I seem to be complaining a lot at the moment. For that I apologise. I'm going to bed with a large mug of Charbonnel et Walker and a Radio 4 podcast. Postmodern.

And a hoot at that!

What a show, what a show and a hoot, at that!
Had a lovely time with Ma and Gracie; a super lunch at LUNCH* and then a glorious spa , followed by a hot stones massage, flotation and Indian Head massage at Glo(w). By the end of it, my dopamine pathways were so open I was utterly drunk, all of which added to a fabulous evening at Loretta's new show, which again is soooo clever. Who else could turn an unknown beat poet's short story about a gas station romance into an interpretative dance? And not just one dance mind you; there was classic disco, street jazz, the polka, highland fling, pagan flag-waving and of course the pogo...and then we all joined in during the audience participation 3-legged merengue. Nancy's soft rock ballet stole the show of course...I simply cannot understand how she hasn't been snapped up by the William Morris Agency or something.

Then we all dashed over to Voltaire for Vodka Highfalutins (alcohol free for me please) and more polka. I don't mind telling you I was absolutely done in!

The poster

Loretta's new show opens tomorrow.

Oh the ennui

Well I've been absolutely snowed under. Issue 13 1/2 (I know it's a gimmick but I can't face the worry about unlucky number 13 and all the boring comments) is vaguely underway.
I've had to give Graziella more responsibility and so far she has been to three Werner Herzog films and a Slovakian ballet so there's hope. She's completely in love with my typesetter Toby Van Cleef, which is a slight distraction but I've decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Oh yes, I passed Progressive Urdu level 3 with flying colours! What a relief.

I am starting to feel a tad heavy and unattractive (oh the ennui) so Ma and Ptolemy's girlfriend Grace are coming up at the weekend to take me out to lunch and then for a pampering somewhere. Divine with a capital D!

Weekly planner

As I said, I'm taking this blessing very seriously indeed.

Lovely

What do you think of 'Lovely'? As a name I mean. Do you think it's a bit much? I don't think Ludo will like it since he's stuck in the 'old Norse' section of 1000 Baby Names. I wonder how we will ever agree. Lovely is for a girl by the way, not a boy. No, that would be silly!

Anyway, of to meet Natalie for a room temperature water at the Brick Lane greasy spoon.

Issue 12

Gazpacho

I'm in one of my tizzies! Having people over for gazpacho tonight, then we're all going to a Folk-Thrash bash in Tooting of all places (where the hell's Tooting?). So I've got to go down to my Spanish deli in Soho to pick up ingredients. Then I've got to swing by B-Store to pick up my Karen Walker playsuit that'll be ever so comfy-cosy for my growing bump this summer and I've still got to fit in half an hour self-hypnosis for Gowri, my baby guru, and she'll know if I haven't been practising.
Ahhhh!...Soup spoons! I knew I'd forgotten something.

Oh barnacles!

Hmmm...so much for Ludo massaging my sacral iliac, I spent most of last night massaging his calves after the Marathon. So glad it's over. He ran it in around 3 and a half hours which is a little slower than he'd hoped because he passed a darling little antique shop somewhere near Greenwich and stopped to have a look. And I'm currently scraping barnacles off a bit of old driftwood he picked up by the Thames that he's going to turn into some kind of distressed sculpture.
Very distressed if you ask me.

Cleansing

Well, I reluctantly did Nancy's Wyoming shoot. Got paid a pittance but it's nice to do a friend a favour every now and again and it wasn't exactly a stretch.
Off to see Gowri my new baby guru later. She thinks I need to cleanse my uterus so I've had to cut out my triple whipped double choca mocha vanilla lattes. Bums. Then Ludo's got to massage my sacral iliac for half an hour. I'm taking this blessing ever so seriously, in case you hadn't noticed.

Ouch!

Ouch! Keep bumping into Ludo's Mies Van Der Rohe Barcelona chair. Oh well, it's not all bad, I've just spent an hour in the spa downstairs while Ludo's out training with his best friend Giovanni and Jaarko...only 2 weeks till the Marathon!

So guess who was at antenatal yoga today? No, not Zooey Deschanel, although I am meeting her later at 1920's Photo-montage Propaganda (intermediate). No, it was Margot! I didn't even know she was with child but I suppose it has been a while. Anyway, you wouldn't know, she's still stick thin and not a little odd. There was some chit and then some chat and then some chit-chat...I do hope it doesn't get awkward.

Modern architecture

Ooh I've had a lovely week with Celine and the bebes but really ever so tiring (and Agnes and Etienne are such darlings but tri-lingual don't you know, which I find not a little exhausting), all culminating in a children's architecture workshop, where Ludo helped them build the Trellick Tower out of stickle bricks.