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This is a painting of, erm, the cancerous tumour that I found in my breast in 2021. It's gone now. I felt much better after the painting was completed, sort of serene. Despite the brutal treatment that is chemotherapy, I have depicted the cancer as drifting away, parts of you do drift away while going through treatment, and some parts return while others do not. That's how I feel anyway. I moved house last year. My rented house was too big with just me in it. It was fine when occupied with my daughters, a grand-daughter, a grand-daughter's dad and my lovely dog, but people grow and need to move on. My dog reached the end of his road. The day I lost him was the saddest day of my life. I know I probably shouldn't say that but he was deep in my heart and I loved him unconditionally. I won't ever get another dog, that 'going to sleep' business is a train wreck, one that you are watching and also feel responsible for, even though you are not. I am now living with

Even the word is harsh - Brexit- it sounds tough on the tongue, an ugly word, brutal in pronunciation. A politically emotional word, one that makes me flinch while others preen. I think of Paris, the Paris of today as well as the Paris of my past, a visit on a school exchange aged fourteen, a romantic trip with my first real boyfriend.  Bomb blasts, carnage, heartbreak, and tragedy encompass European cities as well as our own, but I feel for us and them with a sense of love, a sense of comradeship.  I think of Portugal and my first paintings inspired by the colours of the cliffs, the freezing sea, the wobbly restaurant attached to a rock face. Sardines on the beach and yellow houses. The quiet of the afternoon, the clanging of church bells. I find it hard to believe that we are going to turn our backs on something so wonderful. Our friendship and alliance with Europe have brought us so much. Sumptuous food, oozing garlic, red wine drunk in pavement cafes, rich aromatic coffee, gin