I used to read the London Review of Books avidly, from the age of about 17, because my friend Hugh Barnes worked there. He was older than me (still is) and had a degree from Oxford and I thought everything he did was Pretty Bloody Impressive.
I was a would-be author myself, even at that age, so I needed to know what a literary journal was all about.
Anyway.
Fast-forward a few years or decades and I’m a published author who is also (always have been) a keen artist. Don’t ask me why I mocked up this cover of the LRB. I couldn’t tell you. Just seemed like a good idea.
I drew the bus, and the traffic coming up the other side, because I was excited by the light and dark of twilight and headlamps etc.
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