Why bother?

I went to the studio today and was surprised to see John there. We haven't been in the studio at the same time for ages. We went for a cup of coffee and had a long talk about painting and what it was all about and what it meant to us, what we liked and what we didn't, what we were trying to do and what we weren't and how we might overcome the terrible 'Why bother?' that has infected all modern practitioners .

It was a good talk, but by the time I had finished having it, I had to get back home and back to my book.

A lack of fireworks

I went to the studio this afternoon and did some serious looking at my paintings. Then I did a bit of tidying up, before giving them another good looking at. Then I took the rubbish out. Then I looked at them some more. Boy, did I look at those paintings.


My studio-mate Lynette popped in briefly and told me she had spent yesterday evening drifting up the Cam in a punt drinking champagne whilst watching fireworks. Then she left.

My paintings just sat there.

I am a bad blogger

I am losing a bit of discipline with my blog. I keep drafting them and then not getting round to publishing them.

Partly I suppose it is a continuing concern about what the blog is for, apart from giving me a chance to do a bit of product placement for my own work.

I often wonder whether the blog itself should be more creative. I like the idea of Chris Ware's journal/sketchbook/diary and I wonder whether that is not a better way to go. Maybe it ought to be more hand-done. Maybe I could write it all by hand and scan it in and do some drawings and cartoons and so on.

Hmm. Maybe I'll do that as an experiment next week and see how it works.

And then again - maybe not.

Am I bovvered?

After moaning about the quality of Doctor Who episodes this season, there was an excellent one this week, written by Russell T Davies. We didn't watch it on Saturday because of the football, but caught it on BBC iPlayer yesterday.

It was very like a Twilight Zone or Outer Limits episode and was all about the quality of the acting involved. There were almost no special effects and we never saw the monster. And because it was all about the quality of acting, Catherine Tate was inexplicably left back at the space hotel.

The script was sharp and the acting was great (the only clanging note was when Leslie Sharp - who was brilliant otherwise - practically shouted the word 'she' when talking about her ex, just so we would get the point that she was an inter-galactic lesbian - oooooooh!).


It was quality stuff though, right down to the almost subliminal appearance by Rose in the white noise on a TV screen for a brief moment. Doctor Who is at its best when it takes itself seriously - not when it is trying to be funny or camp.

I am probably not going to get a go at writing Doctor Who now after criticising Catherine Tate's acting ability am I, but look at me - am I bovvered?


Well, maybe a bit.

Uncle Montague's Postcards of Terror

I had a nice surprise in the post this morning. Bloomsbury sent me sets of postcards with illustrations from Uncle Montagu'es Tales of Terror and with one showing the cover of Tales of Terror from the Black Ship. I had no idea they were doing these. They are great.

What am I reading?

A big part of writing is reading - if you see what I mean. I have to say, however, that I read a lot less than I used to. Partly this is due to my no longer travelling anywhere on public transport. When I lived in Norfolk and commuted into London two or three times a week, I got lots of reading done. I don't miss the travelling, but I do miss the excuse to read.

I have lost the habit of carrying a book round with me as I used to do when I was younger. Instead of the paperback I always used to have on me, I have a notebook and when I have a coffee or whatever, I tend to write instead of read. I suppose I also do not have the genuinely 'free' time I had then. I also watch too much TV. And far too much bad TV. Television is a curse for both writer and reader.

That said, I always have a few books on the go. I have been reading a book about Hereward the Wake - Hereward by Victor Head - as research for a book I am writing about the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings. I am reading The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins as an aid to getting into character for my new book of Victorian(ish)creepy stories and because my son bought it for me as a present. And because it is a really fantastic book. And because I have a bit of a thing about epistolatory novels.

I have also been dipping into Chris Ware's Acme Novelty Datebook 1986-1995. This is a companion volume to the one I have mentioned in an earlier blog - the Acme Novelty Datebook 1995-2002 (though I notice I mistakenly called it the Acme Novelty DIARY in that posting). It has a sticker on it saying 'Not Suitable For Younger Readers'. This must me one of the great understatements of all time!

I am also reading My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell to my son as a bedtime story. I loved this book when I was young but I was older than my son when I first read it. I had forgotten how grown up some of the passages are. I thought my son would love the nature observations because he is a nature-lover himself, but it is the family scenes he most enjoys and finds so amusing - particularly those featuring the extraordinary Larry Durrell. But we are back to the silliness of age-banding again.

Speaking of which, Philip Pullman wrote a piece in the Guardian last Saturday on this very subject. Follow the link and have a read - then sign up if you feel moved to do so.

I hate flies 2

It turns out that the shooting and the canoeing/drinking are on different days. Shame. That's not nearly as amusing. In any case I don't seem to be able to make either date.

I tried to do some work on colour with the kids in Art Club today. We did primary and secondary colours and looked at the colourwheel. I got home to discover my flies had been open the whole time. I hate flies.

I had an email from Doodled Books saying that the books I'd doodled in had arrived OK and that they liked them. I actually found it harder than I thought it would be to doodle in the books. I didn't want to start illustrating them. David Roberts has already done that. I was also a bit worried about reducing, rather than increasing, the value with my scrawl.

I found myself looking in a book about Bonnard this afternoon. Oh, but his work made my paintings look a bit weedy and dull. It also made me see the connection with Peter Doig in the way colour is used and the way paint is applied.

Bonnard is one of my favourite painters and someone whose work I would love to own. I cannot imagine ever getting bored of looking at a Bonnard.

A good Bonnard, obviously. I'm not putting any old Bonnard on my wall.