Except tomorrow, when I am going to Finchley Road to meet a friend of my mother's, because - and I cannot fully express my horror at all this, so I'm not particularly going to try - mother has decided she wants a portrait of me.
Just what is all that about? I like Kay, the artist in question; she's a sweetheart and very understanding and actually very good, from what I remember. That's not the point, though. I won't even let my mother take photographs of me, most of the time, and at least those are theoretically accurate, photograph badly though I often do. But a portrait?
And besides, she sees me all the time. Why would she want a portrait of me?
Anyway, it does fill me with horror, and though Kay is one of the least threatening people in the world, and it's only for preliminary sketches, I'm still really not looking forward to going over to see her tomorrow.