Late August; France. Some time ago, I finished the last of the three tomes I brought with me and the other two that I found in a brocante in Brignoles, so I had to revert to sketching indoors to pass away the long hours of sunshine that afflict this country. (Fortunately, Trevelyan had thought to pack my trusty pad and 3B pencils in my gutta-percha leggings).

This unattractive and surly fellow followed me for some days, seeking my shoes as additional payment for several unauthorised minutes use of one of his pedalos (we were at odds due to his refusal to accept GMT).  I had nothing with which to fend him off, save a newly-sharpened Faber-Castell. Did the trick.