Thursday 11th March 2010. 30 new drawings total 314

I work late into the night and feel sick with fatigue. In the morning I am again delayed by loose ends that need following up: no interest in the flat I am trying to rent out, Tracey Emin has declined etc. We seem to be getting nowhere. And of course the sense that my art bag is never quite in order does not help me. I pack more stuff I know I will not need.

I am getting bored of drawing coat collars, scarves and hats. I head to The Place and draw dance students in the canteen. I see my old teacher and she introduces me to a lovely third year student. She says she has a number of male friends who visit prostitutes. I ask what she thinks about this. ‘I just think there is a need’ she says without any sense of judgement. I ask her whether she knows if her friends have used the services of a trafficked prostitute. She did not know of course, but she said ‘I doubt it, that would not be much of a turn on would it’?

I go by tube to London Bridge and draw the reluctant man in the sausage vending cabin. He says he has never had his portrait done since someone did a cruel caricature when he was 13 and he does not have the time to pose anyway. I say no matter, and draw him in the length of time it takes him to make a latte. He is pleased with the outcome and contributes it.

Spill coffee as I rush through the barrier resulting in first coffee stained drawing of the Drawn petition. High time.

I am welcomed at the South London Gallery. I am introduced to Michael Landy and draw my ‘hero’ for the Drawn Petition and all his team members too. I climb the magnificent two-storey staircase constructed from welded steel and toss my tiny original drawing into the largely empty enclosure before me. I notice that there are huge numbers of post cards in it. Surely it was original art works that were supposed to be donated. I am a little surprised by the massive size of the beautifully constructed see-through skip, but totally underwhelmed by its lack of content. The gallery is next to a large art school that probably fills a skip a week, especially at this time of year. Michael has essentially offered free recycling! I notice that my little drawing of HH is The Art Bin’s one thousand and twenty third contribution. The show has been up nearly six weeks and had full national press coverage and this is the level of the support it draws? I am coming up to the big three hundred and suddenly feel quite successful.

I take the 12 into town. Fall asleep and wake up on the approach to Piccadilly. Drag myself through darkened streets of Mayfair feeling exhausted and hopeless. This is the daftest project in the world. No one here in this most exclusive of quarters will give a damn. They do not give a damn about anything except amassing copious quantities of wealth and looking expensively and conservatively elegant. They all rush by or they sit looking impeccable in smart hotels. I have shot myself in the bloody foot by focussing on this distasteful unwanted issue. All that I had to do was a pretty little show to garner an audience for my work in this pretty little gallery. I am a fool. This week The Gallery is full of large expensive photographs of urban views like the Thames with the London Eye at night. There are red spots on all the frames and a prim looking lady with a machine for direct debit payments. I don’t have the energy to ask if I might leave fliers, the world is against me tonight.

I buy a plate of spag bol at the little Italian sandwich shop by the taxi rank at Shepherds Market. I draw the staff and they are friendly. I try drawing at the Market Tavern to little avail and go into the Shepherds Tavern. It’s hard work.