I'm beginning to wonder if it might be possible to make a living from photography without going any further than my living room balcony...


I could just pop my head out of the window every morning and let the photogenic subjects come to me.

But moving on from the sun to my daughter, Amelie returned home to us yesterday, bringing with her half a tin of Dulux and a roller. Since doing up the flat eighteen months ago, we've been storing the leftover paint at the headquarters of the decorating firm we employed, which just happens to be based in my parents' garage. So we asked Am to collect some supplies on her way back, in the hope of repairing the damage done by my over-enthusiastic mould cleaning on Saturday.

When I got home from work yesterday, she came running down the hallway to greet me, and the first words out of her mouth were: "Daddy! Can I help you paint the wall with a roller?!"

So I picked her up, gave her a hug, and said "Of course you can, darling!"

The look which appeared on Lisa's face is hard to describe, but I'd place it somewhere between horror, disbelief, and major panic that she might have married a lunatic.

Admittedly, the idea of handing your three-year-old a fully-loaded paint roller, and letting her loose within two feet of a cream-coloured sofa, might seem like the height of lunacy, but there was method in my madness: I knew it would make a good blog post.

As it transpired, Lisa's fears were entirely unfounded. I gave Amelie a thorough talking to before we started, explaining the finer points of interior design and the consequences of getting paint on my CD collection, and this was the result...


She's like a cross between Michelangelo and Rolf Harris. But with no clothes and more talent. I might let her do the whole flat.