A Trip to See Paddington: A Sketchbook Diary

There's something rather lovely about a story that's been part of your life for so long it starts to feel like family. Paddington certainly falls into that category for me — that small bear in the blue duffle coat, sitting patiently at the station with his suitcase and his marmalade sandwiches, hoping someone kind might come along. So when the chance came up to go and see Paddington the Musical together — husband, daughter, grandson and me, three generations of us squeezed into a row of seats — I knew my sketchbook would be coming along too.

The Journey Down

It all starts with a train from Chesterfield to St Pancras, and for me that's very much part of the day. I love travelling by train for exactly this reason — it's a wonderful mode of transport for an artist, because you can work as you travel. Sketchbook open on the little pull-down table, paints balanced somewhere they won't tip, I get drawing almost as soon as we've pulled out of the station, watching Derbyshire give way to the Midlands and then to London while a page slowly fills up. There's something about the gentle rhythm of a train that suits sketching perfectly; it forces you to work quickly and loosely, which is often when the best marks happen.

A Family Outing

It's a rare treat these days to get everyone in one place at one time, let alone in a theatre together, but a Paddington outing is exactly the sort of thing that pulls a family together. Our grandson was, of course, the perfect audience — wide-eyed at all the right moments, giggling at the marmalade mishaps, and thoroughly unimpressed that the interval meant a pause in proceedings. My daughter and husband were just as taken with it as I was, and there's a particular joy in watching a much-loved story land with a new generation.

We saw it at the Savoy Theatre, which turned out to be the ideal home for it — small and intimate, so you feel close to the action wherever you're sitting. The production itself was thoroughly professional, and the props and stage lighting were stunning; there were moments where a simple change of light did more to conjure Paddington's world than any amount of scenery could have. The music, the mayhem, the sheer politeness of a bear who just wants to do the right thing — it's a couple of hours of gentle, good-hearted fun, and exactly what a Saturday afternoon should be.

Capturing Him in the Sketchbook

I couldn't come home from an afternoon like that without trying to put something of it down on paper. Paddington himself is such a joy to draw — that duffle coat, the battered old hat, the faint air of a bear who has seen a bit of the world and remains cheerfully unbothered by any of it. He joins a long line of animal subjects I've loved painting over the years.

I worked quickly, ink first to catch the shape of him, then a light wash of blue for the coat and a warm pink for his wellingtons, working wet into wet so the colour could bloom and soften at the edges the way it always seems to want to on a sunny afternoon. A dab of yellow, a few loose petals scattered round him, and there he was — not a polished portrait, just a quick, affectionate note to myself about a lovely day.

That's really what these little sketchbook pages are for. They're not meant to be exhibition pieces. They're a kind of diary in colour — a way of holding onto an afternoon with the people I love, long after the theatre lights have come back up and the programme's been tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

Why I Keep Sketching

I always come back to the same thought after days like this: the best subjects aren't always found on a dramatic clifftop or in a far-flung harbour. Sometimes they're sitting right there in a theatre seat beside you, or waiting to be drawn from memory the moment you get home, kettle on, paints out.

Paddington reminded me, gently, why I do this at all — not just to make paintings, but to notice things. A small bear with good manners and a fondness for marmalade has been reminding people of that for over sixty years. It was rather nice to be reminded again myself, sketchbook open first on a train table somewhere south of Chesterfield, and later on my knee at home, family close by.

If you enjoyed this, you might also like a peek inside my sketchbook from Rome.