Wouldn't you know it? It's raining.The morning sky is orange, filtered though a pall of leaden grey. The sea surface is glassy, although it undulates gently as a long, steep swell rolls in. A dozen surfers are sitting on their boards about a hundred yards off the north end of the beach, waiting for the sets to build. The air inside my house is cool but clammy.I was going to lie around and sulk about what a shitty day I had yesterday but I've wasted enough time, this year, feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I'm going to draw. It's been several months since I made art just for myself – the downside of an over-filled order book and a couple of shows. I've missed working loosely and without a plan, letting the marks associate in a kind of stream of consciousness to reveal the picture. And if I don't like what it becomes, I just tear up the paper and start again without having to worry about the clock and a contractual obligation to deliver something. Of course, I could also get to grips with tidying up my studio. But that feels too much like hard work.