Today I met Izzy and was catching a bus to the city. My skirt was blowing up all day like Marilyn, but I don’t have her legs. I sat down on the bus next to a ‘harmless looking little old chap.’ He was evidently very pleased that I had chosen to sit next to him. He was from Ireland and wanted to talk; he was apologetic about this. We had a friendly chat into the city. He started up conversation by asking the route of the bus. I love these empty gestures of the general theatre. I felt sorry for him. Some of the things he said, I thought he was lying. He kept touching my arm. He kissed my hand good bye. I am telling this story so well, aren’t I! Should I have been frightened? I was not. I remember thinking that he had ‘clean hands.’ What a ‘frightful’ thing to think. Reminded of Che Guevara with the Lepers. I hate this whole city. When I become a Children’s Book Illustration, I am going to enlist my pencil&watercolour animal friends, and push it off the edge of the world. And the world will be flat. And very green.

I think I subscribe to a Lockean footnote theory. Admixture of own labour with research of others; advancing accordingly.

We should no longer smile for the cameras. It doesn't HELP anything.