Rather splendidly, this photograph has been picked from Flickr for an online guide to Brighton. This fills me with a little bit more joy than it should, I think. I fear that I have a longing for formal legitimacy that can only be satisfied when someone with the word editor in their job title approves of my work. This is clearly all wrong on several different levels but there seems to be nothing I can do about it. My default position for any creative endeavour is that everything I do is rubbish, with the occasional glimpse of something better peeking out to keep me going. I'm happy to hear criticism or praise but whichever is forthcoming I know the truth see? The only exception is when someone whose job it is to select work for some form of publication says they'd like to use something I've done. At that point I generally bask in my own brilliance for ten minutes before starting to bemoan the fact that I'll never be able to scale those heights again, that the piece they chose was a fluke of some sort, and that I'd be happier all round if I just gave up completely and found a less demanding way to pass the time. The human psyche truly is an odd fish.
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