There are exhibitions going on all the time in the house - all free - and some nifty plasterwork, woodwork and brickwork. A fine selection of ghosts await the sensitive, a café in the car park awaits the masses, and the Tudor Barn pub does brillo sarnies and serves spirits.

Some of the work I've been doing in my residency at HP will be on show in May, for Museums Week. My approach has been led by the place. I hung around until stuff hit me forcibly enough for me to want to react. The first passion was the plaster roof in the NW wing, which is stonking and classic. Only when you sit and draw it and look and wonder at it do some things occur to you. I don’t want to explain that - the paintings tell the story. Might get them up on site after the show.

I started following lines and began with the line that slashed the night sky as a shooting star fell. One mean, metaphor-laden line; but a line nonetheless. The next lay in the garden at HP, fat and yellow and straight it dissected the ground to the back of the building, looking very purposeful. It was; it was a hose, used to take water pumped from the sunken garden to the river, from still water to the living. Too much undercurrent in this fat yellow line, still, a line, and very different from the preceding line. The next line is a luminous, vibrant blood red and it lies on the bed of the river Cray, broken into gashes by the fast flowing water. There are others. Come and see the show and discover if I managed to deal with them.