Great fun to be invited back to take part in the annual Fitzrovia Fete event organised by Lucia Jaffer and her Fitzrovia Community Centre team.
My drawing prompts this year were ‘Draw a Family Tree and/or Draw your Best Friend’, resulting in fabulous drawings and stories from participants of all ages.
With thanks to Linus of Fitzrovia News for the last photo. All other photos my own. The Comic Strip History of Space is still appreciated btw. And thanks to those discerning visitors who bought copies of The Handbook of Hopes and Dreams. As well as drawing events, there was music, dancing and a special sofa (did it have magical powers?)
Recently I visited 
George Washington’s teeth feature in one of my very early books, 
Yesterday at Blackfriars in the drizzle I was vaguely looking for treasure. Three canoeists arrived from Putney, taking a break on the foreshore before continuing their journey downriver. Two were disabled – one was blind. I’m happier on the water than walking on land, one of the men told me.
Printed ephemera, bits of packaging and one or two 3D items of interest collected over the years cover one wall of my apartment. One of them became part of a morning ritual. Some time ago, on a visit to Prague, working on a 
The only member of the Fowlers Troupe I recognised, from seeing his work before, was 
My tiny Penzance bedroom – more like a ship’s cabin than a 
Newlyn is a busy fishing harbour, with around a hundred fishermen spending several days at a time offshore. I met and chatted briefly with one of them who’d been out at sea for five days. It’s my life, he told me.
As well as the fishing harbour there’s a small 
There was a table in the gallery spread with pins, scissors, cloth fragments and coloured thread. No one else was around. I spent a short but happy time assembling a picture. Thank you 
After a damp few days eventually the sun came out and I walked through Penzance to 
Gulval lies on St Michael’s Way, an 
I’d used the wet weather to explore by bus, taking one 
I took a photo of his ‘Blue Ships’ tea towel on Alfred’s old windowsill, then asked a stranger to hold it up so I could photograph it. We got into conversation. ‘Of course you have to be a bit mad to be an artist,’ said the young stranger.
More than one hundred years ago this house in Bloomsbury, London became home to all things related to the 18th century polymath, including, amongst other things, his walking stick, a tiny piece of 
But what did the house signify to its
Islands are like magnets to me. Some I’ve visited because I was 