It was good to actually be able to stand around the artists’ booths to watch as pieces of work took shape and progress, and I stood for ages watching Jack Nicholson appear beneath the hands of Darren Stares.  Another portrait that drew a mass of praise was David Bowie.

Despite there being less people than at an event ike Expo, the quality of work on display was virtually 100% high in quality. Some interesting pieces were done over the course of the weekend.

The atmosphere was incredibly laid back and friendly, with an emphasis on the family feel, which isn’t surprising when you consider the event is organised by a family. It wasn’t until Sunday evening when I saw them helping to stack up chairs that I realised how many kids were actually there during the weekend.

The public were a bit thin on the ground on Saturday probably due to the inclement weather and the rugby. Despite the lack of numbers, the hall buzzed with a collective of bods enjoying themselves.

Around the outside walls were the traders, including one stall ‘Spellbound’ who were in the process of airbrushing fantasy art pictures onto jackets, waistcoats etc.  The centre of the hall was given over to the artists working throughout the convention.

We were frozen solid so went to grab a quick coffee, before diving into the fray. As we wandered about, our first impression was of a well organised, well thought out show.

Body Works took place over a weekend in February, at the grandly named Festival Hall, just outside the main centre (?) of the town. We arrived around Saturday lunch time to find Snep Pete, our resident tattoo artists come magazine seller already set up and raring to go.

He then shuffled off leaving neither of us any the wiser, as to the whereabouts of the water we so desperately sought. We were in Basildon in sunny Essex - territory of the East Saxons - the sort of place that gives the impression of being miles from anywhere, which is good, because it is.

My cheerful tone belying the frozen pain we were in is there anywhere around here we can get any mineral water ? (Lightweights ! What happened to ten bottles of dog and a curry ?). He turned his frozen countenance towards us and spoke: This used to be a one horse town, but the horse died.

It’s three p.m. on Sunday the twentieth of February. Sophie and I are on the bike, riding in ever decreasing circles around a very dead concrete jungle. It’s just started to snow… on the opposite side of the road, we spot a solitary figure, warped and hunched against the chill wind.