Now, I know I’ve said before that both my parents enjoyed painting. And even though I knew I’d based my main character on myself, I didn’t realise I’d made her a painter, like my parents. I wouldn’t have seen the link at all, except that I’ve been writing these positive posts and one of my days was on the subject of oil paint. Sometimes, I only really know what I’m thinking about when I see it written down.

Anyway, as much as I don’t have the gift with colour and brushes, I do have an appreciation of fine art. My dad always favoured John Constable.


He loved accuracy and fine lines, rich colours and the sort of landscape that could actually be lived in.

My mother much preferred Vincent Van Gogh.


She was more dream-based and interested in the essence of things, regardless of their reality.

For myself, my favourite has always been J.M.W. Turner.


I like that sort of ethereal, otherworldly, as-seen-through-a-hangover look. I love that sort of painting – something more imagined than dreamt, more possible than probable. I love him.