One of the joys of my job is the unpredictability of some of the requests received. To my great delight, I have been invited to draw a picture of my own a***ehole, as an appropriate way to mark the passing – as it were – of the great Kurt Vonnegut, who drew his own in ‘Breakfast of Champions’. Eric Spitznagel, who extended the invitation, claims that there is serious publishing interest in a collection of similar self-portraits. On the one hand, I can’t draw to save life; on the other, the subject – unless I possess a particularly complicated and/or beautiful one – would require really very little talent. And how long could it take, really?