I wish I had done more of them. And kept more of the ones I did. So many sketches have gone. And each one meant more than most photos ever will. I did a whole series on a godawful bicycle ride I did between Cambridge and Plymouth - a round trip of 500 miles - in February when I was nineteen. I remember the messy, horrible bleak brown watercolours of ploughed fields in dying light. They are all gone but they helped to set the memories of that doomed trip when there seemed nothing better to do.