Sat in my room. There is a light rain outside. I am hoping it will end because I want to go for a walk into town. The light is soft and reminds me of childhood in Scotland - or certain childhood days anyway - of sleepy headaches and old comic daydreams. In the rain there is a silence, and in this room, shadows of remembered attics stay in the corners. No. Not remembered attics - but attics that may be dreamt of. The shadows in this room are the shadows of attics with windows, and, apart from Wilbury Crescent, I have known no other attics with windows. I did know a cellar with a window once - my first house in Worcester, and a cellar without a window - my second house in Worcester. The latter memory has a nightmare-ish tinge to it. I had been living in the house for a few months before we found out there was a cellar, a great black room, empty and waiting for murders.
I use too much cross-hatching in my drawings. I need to minimise. I might get more comic strips done.
