An artist of the floating world...........

Waking up this morning to the sound of rain beating on the open windows was music to my ears. A slight acrid smell rose up from the grateful scorched earth. The curtains ballooned into the room as a brisk breeze blew an accumulation of dessicated flies off the windowsill. The air circulating round the bedroom was fresh and carried the scent from the Albertine roses that scrambled in a clumsy sprawl up the wall. No more relentless sun and brassy blue sky. Just good old grim, grey clouds. The lingering odour of last night's turps and linseed oil wafted up the stairs. Time to get up and sieze the day!

Clutching a piece of buttered toast (none of that polyunsaturated wax) I check my emails and discover one from a sniffy gallery in North Wales. They have returned the slides of my paintings with the excuse that they're 'not suitable' for their gallery. The first of many rejections the day. On the floor of my kitchen cum studio lies a five foot canvas covered with an abstract design. A 'work in progress'. I have decided to walk over the canvas in barefeet covered in red paint. Hmm! Red footprints. Very avant garde!

At 3pm a neighbour and fellow artist comes round to share his angst and a bottle of wine. There's not enough wine to get seriously drunk on so he takes his leave, but not before he tells me about the opportunity to exhibit in the city library. (Yes, I know, but it's better than nothing!) Tomorrow is the last day for putting up paintings. I'll be there.