If you ever find yourself staring down the barrel of a Piers Morgan kiss, here’s Posh Spice demonstrating the right technique: hold your breath, think of the money, adopt the trout-sucking-a-lemon-pout and aim wide. Good luck…

I had a great afternoon at Robert Wyatt’s house. Its a big, cosy place and he and his wife Alfie were really good company: friendly, interesting and funny. They even fed me some pea and ham soup. It was quite a wrench when I had to leave to drive back to London.

A couple of weeks after the shoot I sent him some prints, and received, in return, this postcard made out of a box of tea (organic and fairtrade of course…).

I file this postcard under ‘treasured possessions’…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cWq3mIp4cU

I’ve got a teddy bear that does a good Terry Richardson impression:

I went to Istanbul to make ART. 

For various reasons (that I’ll enigmatically keep to myself), this involved photographing a lot of strippers, drunks and assorted trannies. You can judge how successful I was by looking here: http://www.muirvidler.com/projects/istanbul

The following photos are some of the outtakes.

A couple of the locations I wanted to go to were a bit seedy, and as I’m a big fop, who ponces around with a lot of expensive camera equipment, I didn’t fancy being all alone. My friend Max is useless as an assistant or a bodyguard, but can ponce with the best of them. Also he had just, rather messily, split up from his girlfriend and had some free time, so he came along. 

The first night we just wanted to go for a quiet beer but somehow ended up in one of the worst bars I’ve ever been to.

The barman insisted that I take a photo of him, and when I did he proudly held aloft a cup. No idea why…

I turned around and Max was already bro-ing out with a tranny. For some reason Istanbul is awash with them. In fact, you could say its chock-a-block with cock in a frock…

In search of strippers we went to The Regina Revue nightclub.

The owner with some of the dancers.

They were all very nice to me at the Regina, but they did extract a price for the access; I had to shoot the new international advertising campaign for their sister-club Sultana’s.

Meanwhile Max was getting the full Sultan treatment. 

We spent a couple of nights in Tarlabasi, a neighbourhood that an estate agent might describe as ‘colourful’.

Sometimes Max would just grind to a halt and squat down like an Asian.

I’d have to promise to treat him to a milkshake to get him moving again…

We met this guy in town - he was cool. Throw up your guns yo!

And then there was the delightful Sahra Club…

The Sahra Club is a club for trannies, and for young, straight Turkish men who are backed-up beyond the point of making gender distinctions.

Max was a great wing-man.

I went back by myself one night. I had tried to get permission to shoot in the club but no-one would admit to being in charge, so I was just wandering around with a big camera and a massive flash taking photos. I must have shot the wrong guy at one point because the next thing I knew I was being dragged upstairs and pushed down an alleyway, while mustachioed men slapped me around the head and screamed incomprehensibly in my face. Obviously my priority was to preserve my good looks, so I yanked the film out of the camera, threw it to the guys and beat an undignified and rather hasty retreat. That was the last time I went to the Sahra Club.

On our last night in Istanbul, Max met the lovely Gizem in The Beatles Cafe. After a whirlwind romance she moved to Scotland and now lives with him. She’s a good catch too - certainly better than all the trannies he’d been slow-dancing with…

AKA MC PD and DJ D MaGee…

This is so easy I can’t even be bothered to make a crack about it…

The other day I was hanging out with my two very good friends, the Foreign Secretary, William Hague and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. We like to get together in Hague’s office every now and then to drink tea and do our bit for the New World Order…