Gauld’s whimsical cartoons have whiffs of Glen Baxter and Edward Gorey, but with less cordite. The literary world and its denizens provide ample provocations for his deadpan and gently subversive drollery. He’s particularly good  – or sly? – at dissecting procrastination, self-doubt, neediness, pretension, vainglory and other writerly foibles. (Make that a decaff latte with skimmed asses’ milk and a Bath bun?)