I spent my early life in an orchard with geese and ducks, waiting for the moment when the BIG WHITE GANDER would sneak up behind my dad (who was pruning trees) and prod his bum. As kids, my brother and I found this overwhelmingly funny.
Some of Geraldine Taylor's piece for the next Bristol Review of Books, that this picture accompanies. Seemed like a good idea to show the finished version, as it was 'work in progress' on the earlier post.
More watercolour paper stretching and drying on the board, and me doing a bit of sorting-out in the meantime. I've got a bag of readymix mortar in the back of the car, ready to go up onto the roof and fix the bit that's leaking. I stopped off at B&Q to get the mortar, and, as usual, went in through the door marked TRADE PROFESSIONALS ONLY because I'm bolshy and don't like walking round the long way, and I don't think you need to be a fat bald bloke with builder's cleavage to be a builder. Even though it's statistically probable that you will be.