I add to it every year and wonder each year if it’s reached its conclusion.My twin US grandsons live in California and they visit us once a year generally around their birthday in the Summer. Some years ago I made them a cardboard city. Loads of old boxes collected through the year and saved for new architectural delights. The architects are the boys themselves helped at times by thier two cousins, the boys from Yorkshire. We cut out bits of card and before they come I get busy with a scalpel and will cut out windows here and there. The … Continue reading Hotel for Mildly Balanced Lifestyle

This is the midway part of a painting of an oyster shed, from a photograph taken in South West France. I was going to do more on it, but my son visited and liked it as it is. I gave it to him. Am I missing something here? Less is more. I shall do it again. Continue reading Shed unfinished

Driving a large van delivering cakes and in the North West of England, getting up at 3.00 or 4,00 in the morning. This was the start of my career after art school. My intention to save enough money living at ‘home’ with the ‘rents’ to enable me to kick start a glamorous career in advertising in London. I hoped to find a ‘flat’ with my college mates in the West End somewhere and live the life of Riley. In an effort to help me, and my parents never did anything not to help me, my mother said she’s pay for … Continue reading Suited and Booted

As long as it’s not on one of those ridiculous barbecue things. Best used for drawing and great for messy hands. This is the River Coln meandering through the area where the Romans lived near Cirencester. They might possibly have been able to see a similar view to mine way back then, which is so lovely to contemplate. They may even have had one of their number do a little drawing with the remains of some fire, their own stick of charcoal. What they would not have had was the means to add a bit of colour to the drawing … Continue reading Just love a bit of charcoal

This is the hollow tree at Deerhurst down by the River Severn. Started painting it after a trip there with fellow Dalai Lama Painting Club group, a unique gathering of three people who wander about the Gloucestershire countryside contemplating what to draw or paint next. In this case, I chose not to draw or paint the river, but this tree against a busy sky was my best option. At A2, this is about as large as my paintings get, and they are not done on site; I do them from drawings or photographs. The second is a landscape that has … Continue reading Big Daubs.

This is not quite the ‘Trooping of the Colour ‘, more like the ‘Trooping of the Black and White ‘. I was asked to wear a Birthday Hat by my youngest grandson, helped my next one to do a painting, and my oldest grandsons did vital work on the crown I was to be wearing. We all paraded and much fun was had by all, especially me. My real Birthday is in October. Continue reading If the King can have two, so can I.

This is one of a lot of drawings I did more than 20 years ago for a signage type of company. The idea was that the drawings would be used, after they had amended suitably, on a CD that customers would buy. They paid me no fees but promised me a royalty on sales. I enjoyed doing the drawings, but to be frank, the royalties would not have bought even a very small camera, or perhaps a small caged budgie. Continue reading Photographer

Taken from a photo some months ago, for full information on the story behind it go here I’ll keep it brief in this scorchio weather. Such a shame that this field is no longer used for cricket, mind you, it’s a game that to me, is not as interesting as watching paint dry. Stay cool! Continue reading Dalai Lama’s cricket field

Close to the Roman Villa at Chedworth. Charcoal on paper, any old paper; I’m not one of those who go on about Japanese-made paper rolled by Tibetan monks, but I draw the line at cardboard boxes. There’s a bloke on Instagram in Australia who paints on nothing else; fine paintings at times ruined by THIS WAY UP print. I’ve told him but he won’t listen. Continue reading River Coln

They were the true journalists, parked out on the streets in any weather, always wearing the same ‘plumage’ of the gaberdine mac and flat hat. Their call was unintelligible to most, but generally horse racing-related, with an ability to keep a small Wild Woodbine stuck and still alight throughout their shouted calls. Unlikly to be seen at all these days. Continue reading Newspaperman