London is pristine in paralysis and everyone's going nowhere. Marooned by an tsunami of snow I submit to this freak of nature and postpone todays shoot with Nick Cave. Before returning to Edinburgh I meet up with publisher Jamie Byng to discuss the rescheduled shoot.

  Jamie is a maverick rookie turned publishing colossus who's illustrious career is matched only by his lustrous mane. This lexicological gynecologist tenderly nurtures his artists through every stage of the creative birthing process. His vision has transformed Canongate from an esoteric publishing house to world contender. Jamie's publishing accolades include the Booker Prize for 'The Life of Pye' and the most audacious publishing coup of the decade- Barack Obama's trilogy:'Change We Can Believe In', 'Dreams From My Father' and 'The Audacity of Hope'.
  Nick (singer, songwriter, musican, author) Cave has written a new novel and Jamie needs shots for inside jacket and press. The brief is wide open as the session is likely to be dictated by the mood of the subject. I shot Nick over 20 years ago and I'm told that he continues to view most photographers with contempt and derision- my kind of challenge.

Tonight I rendezvoused with my amigo querido Javier De Frutos at Century Club. Century is Javier's Soho sanctuary and casa de casa. When he enters the club everyone welcomes him like a scene from Cheers- directed by Pedro Almodóvar. This evening he's accompanied by satirical composer Richard Thomas and musician-come-viking-come-cook Lore Lixenberg.

When Lore sleeps she dreams of food. On waking she writes down the recipes and then cooks them- with some considerable success!
 

 

Richard is best known for penning the score for 'Jerry Springer the Opera.' Last year he collaborated with Javier on 'Cattle Call' (a culled classic) and now they were cooking up another feast.

Conversation journeyed the four corners of absurdity and on the strike of 12 I slipped away- my pumpkin was due to depart from platform fifteen.

The unremittingly fabulous Patricia Lima set her trap. Could a show she was spinning prick my creative epidermis? The bait was the latest offering from Harry Lewiston's cadaverous contemporary - Gunther von Hagens. Dissect the anatomist and you'll find a pathological showman coursing the veins.

 

 The Beuys parodying-persona-snatcher was back with Body Worlds and a mission to 'encourage people to strive to live with inspiration'.
Inside the O2 we're plunged into black and funneled past glass coffins and spot lit displays. For our edification we are infotained by corpses painstakingly contrived into bathetic metaphors. Flayed gymnasts, apocalyptic equestrians and slam-dunking carcasses make learning real easy. The asinine posturing of the 'plastinates' strips away dignity and washes it down with a caustic soda.

The 'incredible marvel of engineering' of the brain display takes it's cue from Hannibal. A man sits at a chessboard with his brain exposed like a thousand-year egg. Has the Lecterer lost it? Body Worlds poses the question- where does exhibition end and sideshow begin?

  

 I have no qualms about consensual, ethically sourced cadavers on public display. Like the other 25 million visitors to Body Worlds, I too am seduced by an innate morbid curiosity. I've tried to out-stare the myriad of eyeballs on display at the Royal College of Surgeons in Edinburgh. The ironic fate of body-snatcher-come-specimen William Burke, his sectioned head decaying in a glass tank, drew a dark chuckle. I have stood in the cool of the whitewashed galleries and contemplated the prematurely ejaculated lives of the babies- expressed from the amniotic fluid into preserve jars of formaldehyde. Their dead eye's, bonded to the glass , begged the question 'what are you looking at?' I'd have the answer, if I were a surgeon. I was looking for a freak show but I was in the wrong venue. 
 Later a friend confessed that he was moved to becoming a pro-lifer when he encountered the embryos and newborn at Body Worlds. Was this an own goal or part of Gunther's game plan?