A portrait of the artist as a young man.

No, not James Joyce. Me in 1977 resting between floor board sanding sessions in our flat in Leith. Today a spring cleaning frenzy by Mrs FP has uncovered a wealth of ancient photos (a number of quite saucy ones!). Attempting to digitise them was a bit frustrating so I have just spent far too much money on a scanner which should arrive by the weekend.

We were dashing young things. Where did the years go?

The extra is Mrs FP before she ground me down to the miserable old curmudgeon that you would meet today. How much money to turn the clock back? Every penny I have. Even just for a day.