I always have great intentions to produce some worthwhile art while I’m on holiday –and not just spend the entire time pickling my liver and eating lard by the wheelbarrowful. In reality, if I produce anything at all of an even vaguely artistic bent, it’s usually 'sub-back-of-an-envelope' scrawlings, which make mockery of the selfless sacrifice made by the trees who gave their lives that I might have something to daub upon.

And my recent sojourn to the homeland was no exception.

I did manage to drunkenly fill a few pages of the sketchbook I took with me. But, as you can see, after a solitary abortive attempt to do a bit of landscape sketching near the start, I was soon running for cover back to my comfort zone; namely badly-drawn cartoons and in-joke nonsense.

Oh well. I [nearly] tried!