Many years ago I shared an East London studio with my dear friend Kathy Prendergast, the distinguished Irish sculptor. I revel in happy memories of this time: I particularly enjoyed the messy side of artistic life. Although Kathy tells me that I am exaggerating, I remember quite well that we used to sit down and have a tea break, then cheerfully throw the teabags over our shoulder onto the floor. Eventually, we would have a sweep-up, every two months or so. I was gloriously and childishly happy with being able to be as messy as I liked, and wonder if this is some sort of psychological condition, the ‘mud-pie syndrome’(?), which found its culmination in my building a mud hotel?