Excerpt:
'I have so many ideas,' he says. 'I can get carried away with the plans. I have to stop myself and get on with building.' He shows me a small portfolio filled with recent drawings of childhood memories. These are not slick sketches. They're a skilled child's drawings, careful of clothing and the details of objects. Duncan looks on with pleasure and pride. Each triggers a story from him. I mention that his childhood seemed longer than mine. 'Well, I'm not sure it's over yet,' he says.

Duncan leads me into a small room now dominated by Migraine Headache, an overwhelmingly detailed Big Ben-shaped sculpture. Instead of bearing a clock face, each side is an aspect of his own head. There are spinning peep-show dials below, lightning shapes above, and crowns of winged devils and flying angels. He's been working on it for ten years, and it's not finished yet. I put my face into the front negatively sculpted face, and look through the sculpture's eyes.