Hand-drawn stories, process and play
A washed-out village cricket match isn't a cancelled afternoon; it's a different one entirely. These sketchbook pages follow the tea tent, the bin-bagged scoreboard and the quiet comedy of waiting for weather that never quite arrives.
A November visit to the local launderette turns porthole windows into comic panels, folding tables into stage directions and fluorescent light into a drawing problem worth solving. Process notes on catching motion with a soft pencil, keeping the wobble, and letting a very British evening loop like a strip.
A week of pencil studies at a local charity shop window in November 2026, where Christmas stock is slowly crowding out the summer leftovers. Each donated object — a chipped gravy boat, a hand-knitted tank top, a paperback with a name inside — becomes a tiny biography, price tag and all.
A slow morning in a UK allotment shed, where muddy tools, faded seed packets and one chipped mug hold the whole growing year. Process notes on drawing damp wood, fogged glass and a hand-drawn winter plan.
A slow pencil session at the village hall glass case, where curling Sellotape, tear-off tabs and lost-cat posters form an accidental collage. This is a visual taxonomy of local hope, handwriting and the handmade mark.
A wet November film night in a small village hall, drawn slowly: the projector’s wobble, the raffle table, the tea urn queue and the folding chairs that never quite behave. This is a sketchbook report on why the makeshift parts are the story.
A slow pencil project devoted to the kitchen drawer where receipts, school letters and fridge magnets go to be forgotten. Part close-study sketchbook, part process diary, it asks why the most disposable paper in the house can feel so much like family history.
Most autumn drawing ends up as a pile of brown leaves and a bit of regret. This year I picked one ordinary street tree, one low branch and the same short walk to the corner shop, then turned up twelve times with a pencil. Here is what twelve days of drizzle, patience and one stubborn leaf actually look like on paper.
A December 2026 sketchbook visit to a British primary school nativity, where tea towels become headdresses, tinsel becomes halos and the cardboard star is held together by hope and gaffer tape. Notes on drawing fabric folds, wobbling cardboard edges and the very particular nervous energy of a rehearsal before the curtain rises.
A November sketchbook trip to a British coastal town, where shuttered arcades and chip-shop steam make better subjects than summer crowds. Notes on cold hands, stubborn pencils and the quiet that changes how familiar landmarks look.
A December gathering, a pile of coats on the spare bed and a sketchbook open on my knee: this is a hand-drawn look at the British Christmas jumper, from quiet Fair Isle to flashing reindeer, and the small family stories stitched into all of it.
A pencil, a sheet of A3 and a rainy Sunday are enough to make a family board game from scratch. This is the process behind one wonky, biscuit-powered game, complete with smudged puddles, cardboard tokens and rules that fit on three cards.
A hand-drawn wander through the morning after Bonfire Night 2026, where flattened fireworks, wet grass and one very damp Guy Fawkes become a quiet study in soot, smoke and very British optimism.
Stir-Up Sunday is flour, steam, family politics and a hidden sixpence. This is a sketchbook account of drawing the Christmas pudding ritual in pencil and ink, from sticky spoon handles to the great clockwise argument.
Before the curtain rises on this winter's regional pantomime, there's a whole world worth drawing: the Dame's makeup mirror, the wing-space chaos of a four-second costume change, and the exact moment an audience decides to boo. A sketchbook dispatch from the 2026 panto season.
The weather map with its stubborn little cloud. The soap pub that everybody's been in but nobody's been in. Six ordinary bits of British television, sketched and argued about, and a case for why the telly is still the best life-drawing class in the country.
A low-pressure daily drawing ritual for the darkest weeks of 2026, built from frosty bins, tangled fairy lights and steaming mugs. Less polished portfolio, more paper evidence that you were here for the winter.
A process-led wander through the UK's everyday colour vocabulary, from terrace brick and stewed tea to mossy walls and chip-shop vinegar. Practical mixing notes for building a hand-drawn palette that feels collected rather than downloaded.
A practical, cold-fingered guide to drawing UK town-centre Christmas lights switch-ons in 2026 — from simplifying crowds to turning rough field notes into a finished festive illustration.
A mock-serious field guide to drawing the tiny monsters hiding in lukewarm tea, passive-aggressive notes and broken ticket machines. Part observation, part ink, part excuse to laugh at the queue.