I am making new drawings. The man I drew looked like Judge Doom, once a Toon, now out to kill all Toons. (Rather like Hitler, if it’s true he was Jewish). I tried to remember the story, and it mixed with other tales; maybe Judge Doom, like any wicked witch or wizard, had cursed all toons casting them inside mountains, trees and inanimate things. I thought about the toons, locked inside the mountain, as I cycled home. On my way up Kentish Town Road, the late afternoon sun caught the bell tower in the Greek Orthodox church steeple, and for a few moments it blinked back at me, the smiling face of a Toon, clear as day. As I cycled closer, the light changed, and the face disappeared.

I must draw more and paint more, to give my toons a home.