Who Shot J.M.?

It sometimes seems as if my life is one surreal experience followed by another. If my life was turned into a film (if there are any agents out there, feel free to give me a call), it would be a silly Hollywood comedy full of montage sequences set to cheesy music: me opening a packet of my new book and doing a Cheshire cat grin; me driving along the motorway with a half-defrosted turkey in a bucket; me taking part in a photo shoot.

Yes, you read that correctly: a photo shoot. A few days ago I found myself in the odd position of striking poses in my kitchen whilst a professional photographer told me to smile while he took dozens and dozens of snaps. No, I haven’t fallen on hard times and have resorted to a spot of glamour modelling to make ends meet – it’s to promote my book 3 which will be out soon called veg.

Now, what you should understand is that there is no middle ground when it comes to photographs of me. In some I look happy and smiley and lovely, but in others I look like the Devil himself. It’s hard not to think about that when a man is pointing a huge camera at you and telling you to be natural. Seriously, it’s exhausting.

In a few of the pictures you can see me tossing a red pepper up in the air, in others stir-frying. The day before the shoot I took a trip to my local supermarket, where I spent the best part of an hour browsing vegetables to find the most photogenic. It’s like a tongue twister: James picked through a punnet of peppers for the perfect picture. So, there I was, casually rubbing vegetables, hoping that the security guard wouldn’t ask notice and escort me from my premises.

The pepper in question was then doused in lighter fluid to give it an eye-catching sheen. I prefer moisturiser and cleanser myself.

When I first started my company Whisk, little did I know that I would end up starring in promotional shots. So who knows what tomorrow might hold? First London, next Paris and Milan.

If I get carried away, and start demanding ten thousand pounds just to get out of bed in the morning, feel free to give me a slap.

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