Tune and Ink From The Bunker

fuck Tuesdays. Been underground again in the bunker, working on a draft of new and old book, ‘Dear Mr Busby’. Surfaced for air and threw this up.

Better out than in.

Equivalent of sketching on a bar napkin, except a violin in screeching out of tune somewhere and so you burn down the bar, shoot the violinist and get back to work on the novel.

Mr Busby and I aren’t on speaking terms this week. He being both a young autistic boy and eighty-year-old man, his company is hard work when he’s not the most charming and brilliant bastard yet to be born. He’s quite content to paint alone in his attic, though, so he’ll forgive me for leaving him to it for a few days. Doubt he thinks much of my blue hair and swearing anyway.

Difficult not to pick up an instrument, having virtually met Ameen Mokdad. An interview with him coming soon.

The picture, ‘Boys With Books’ has been by my desk for a while now. An experiment with watercolour and ink. Prints available on my artfinder page.