Like most wrongdoers though, I enjoy pointing the finger and pinning some of the blame on circumstance. Akin to the sort of parent who keeps her child in a cardboard-box under the kitchen sink, my excuse is really just being too busy to pay proper attention to it. Having moved back to London in November last year, I spent a few (glittery, tinkling) months at Fortnum and Mason. However, finding a full-time day job to be incompatible with the life of an illustrator, I started working four, five (and even sometime six) nights a week in 'The Endurance' on Berwick Street. In the beating (but verging on cocaine-induced cardiac arrest) heart of Soho.
Meanwhile though, I'm lucky enough to be developing a book idea with Templar Publishing. I LOVE Templar's list - if you aren't familiar with it, the best description I can offer is that if it were edible, it would be the sort of cream cake you'd want to bury your face and suffocate in.
They win awards, too.
So, informed by my somewhat bleak Northern childhood and a perennial feeling of isolation, I'm piecing together the domestic landscape of my protagonist - 'The Boy'. He escapes the confines of his pedestrian surroundings in fantastical, marvellously magical daydreams. Like a sort of infantile Willy Wonka.
Here are some excerpts from the sketchbook...