I often hang out with a stuffed bear called Bear, and Bear being a bear - my favourite animal of all time and one that is stuffed, is the best possible muse; he knows what it's like to hibernate and wake up starving. His edges depend on the pivots of hunger and sleep.

Most days I run up and down 208 meters' worth of stone steps on a giant volcanic dome of rock near my house, and the rock being nothing but an enormous rock is another great muse in my life: it knows what it's like to appear to have nothing on your mind - nothing at all - until lightning strikes and fire or rain takes place.

The last of my muses is a childhood dream, a repeat nightmare actually, about crossing the sea, from one headland to another, on an Indiana Jones type swing bridge that is falling apart. Far below I can see the circling shadows of waiting sharks. Those sharks are a muse in my creative life whether I like it or not: I can't go back even though the way forward is uncertain.