He drives down the Oxford Road most mornings at about nine, as I'm on my way to Willis and Short for the paper. He is big, shaven head and stubble, bouncer's shoulders, arm hanging out of the open car window, festooned with tattoos. He looks like Desperate Dan on speed, without the hat. His stereo's always up to eleven, usually playing deep roots reggae, hissy hip-hop or Grinderman grunge. Once, though, he'd chosen 'Touch Me In The Morning'. Summer mornings, he stands outside his shop up the Oxford, in his white bodybuilder's vest, wishing passers-by a very good morning, with eye contact. His vehicle of choice is a little blue Ford Ka.
I admire this man very much, because he has created a work, if not of art then at least of performance, out of mundanity. I tend to do the opposite. I was going to try and draw a caricature, but then luckily remembered that I can't draw.