As I walk down to the Studio this morning I am struck again by the beauty of this place – Causey Pike in front of me framing the Studio, the mass of Skiddaw behind. The ducks are diving in the pond, the cock pheasant struts and flutters, the cuckoo echoes through the valley, a red squirrel leaps past me. Opening the Studio door I am greeted by the smell of oil paint, the colours, the collections of objets trouves, yellow pottery from Vallauris, an old rug from Morocco and walls of paintings. I muse at the number of works celebrating the table, food and drink.  Surprise surprise! We rather like food.

Bob ‘scribbles’ (writes), not paints. He also dreams:

Jolly Waking Jingle

Last night I was a Stilton

Tonight I’ll be a Brie

Her arms wrapped around me

Sleeping happily.

I was in a pile of people

Somewhere half way up

The tea bell sounded loudly

And rudely woke me up.

(Bormes-les-Mimosas 6 February 1989)