Wild boar and wild night.

I normally manage to avoid photographers but got caught on saturday night when concentrating on keeping Moll upright.

Thoughts of Cliff Richard, et in Arcadia ego.

Moll the bag lady and I are off to the country for a week. After the exertions of the weekends parties it will be a welcome respite.

I am going armed with a new notebook and plenty of sharp pencils; the muse promises much and I find this time of year fecund, autumn woodland smells: leaf-mould and fungi, envigorate.

Moll the bag lady.

Sometimes an image is all you need.

Tristan, eggs, bicycle: recipe for disaster.

Tristan phoned to say he was cycling over to make eggs benedict.

We made do with an omlette.

El Dia de los Muertos. A live 'Jancast'.

Fluente has flown in for a gig at a party in Chelsea. This part of London seems to have gone Mexican mad. Anyway Fluente is doing his one man Mexican wave at the party and came round to change (he normally favours a pin-stripe suit) on his way. He managed to persuade me to accompany him, as his assistant, for the night. I was forced into fancy dress although I already look like death. I drew the line when he tried, once he had got me inside a skeleton Tshirt, Tailcoat and skull ensemble to put me in a straw hat.

No Fluente I said. I'm going for the sombre not the sombrero!

We compromised with the stetson Rusty had left behind. Let's just say it was a frightening spectacle.

Fluente produced from his man-bag a bottle of tequila and some limes, then raided my 1960's cocktail cabinet for the crusty bottle of triple sec last opened for the funeral of Winston Churchill for my Maiden aunt who had a penchant for 'stickies' day or night.

'Aye yai yai yai yai' Fluente shouted. 'Margherita time!'

The party now beckons...

Virus, Hank, pies and Joy.

Things are tough at Nieupjur Mansions right now; my computer has a virus and is all but dead. I must now rely on a very old sony vaio with a busted keyboard, no USB socket and a cat eaten power cable (the result of cat sitting Oscar a couple of years ago).

Blogs may be sporadic for a while until I get the virus geeked out of the other machine. Let us hope that it is easier to remove than Hank.

Hank was a male au-pair that my first wife Joy insisted on after the incident with the naked Danish girl in the laundry room.

Hank fancied himself as a photographer and insisted on making a photo-documentary of the life of a British housewife; this required him to photograph Joy at all times of the day, performing her everyday tasks. This seemed harmless enough in essence while she was removing casseroles from the Aga and suchlike but when I found him snapping away as she reclined in the bath I felt that things had gone far enough.

It took three more months to get rid of Hank and Joy soon followed him.

I learned some time later that Hank and Joy were living together in Harmony Nebraska. Rusty had bumped into them at a pie baking contest. Joy wasn't feeling too well.

She had a virus.

A cry for help.

HELP!

I have lost my yellow plastic spoon; it was a very important part of my life and work, it helped form me and inform me.

It was a teaspoon I picked up at the Hayward Gallery when having a coffee after seeing the Bruce Nauman exhebition some years ago. I had gone with a woman called Jane. I cannot remermber what colour spoon she stirred her coffee with.

Please, if anyone knows the whereabouts of a yellow plastic spoon, let me know.

I must return to the Hayward to see if I can replace it but deep inside I know it will not be the same...

Portraits of the muse.

Muse with dead artists. (private collection)

The muse posing. (collection of the artist)

Family portraits. No3

My father was a saint.

Family portraits. No2

My parents on their wedding day.

Family portraits. No1

Autumn

93 year old birthday cake...

It was a gift from a new friend. I had seen a skip with a box of old books in it and went to investigate.

As I looked into the skip a womans head popped up; a mass of glorious curls redolent of the fragrant nurse Caz.

Hello dad! She said. She rummaged in a sequinned evening bag then handed me an object wrapped in paper. It is 93 year old birthday cake she said.

I told her I only like the icing.

That's all right she said. Just eat the icing and lie about the rest.

That''s what every-body else does.