Nicola Sturgeon: Herald cartoonist Steven Camley on First Minister's 'angry Glasgow' face

Or turn Richard Leonard’s hairstyle into a pelmet, portraying the Scottish Labour leader as a Disney-esque simpleton?

And how to manage not only to process the utter mindfankle that is the day’s news – but to put a comedic spin on it?

Steven Camley, for the past 15 years, has taking all the political and social world can throw at him and drawn it in cartoon form each day in the Herald.

His work has long been incredibly well received; Camley has graced the Scottish Press Awards so often he’s on first-name terms with hotel doormen. His pencil-thin arms are all the stronger for carrying home the top prize.

Now, ten of Camley’s best cartoon shots at making us all smile are being published in the latest compilation of Britain's Best Political cartoons, alongside works by premier league satirists such as Steve Bell, Peter Brookes and Nicola Jennings.

But what of the mind of the cartoonist? What conclusions can we draw of the mind that reduces the political world to lampoonery?

Steven Camley is soft-spoken and seemingly introverted. He seems as keen to answer questions of himself as Boris is to name all his offspring.

Camley, it’s clear, lets his work speak for him. But is he a natural cynic? “I think I am,” he says, with a hint of a chuckle. “But that helps with this job.”

As a young boy growing up in Balornock in Glasgow’s north side, Steven Camley never could have imagined a career as a newspaper cartoonist. “But comics really grabbed me and I loved drawing,” he recalls, when lightly coaxed. “I’d copy all the time from the likes of Commando Comics.”

That must have made him the envy of his classmates? “Certainly my pals, sitting up closes with them in Springburn, drawing all the time.”

Camley goes on to explain he didn’t have any direction when growing up, taking on a series of jobs on leaving school. “I was finding my way. I was in my thirties before I realised I needed to focus and wanted to learn so I took off to the College of Building and Printing, to gain an understanding of art.”

The new focus led Camley to work as an illustrator and he quickly gained attention in the newspaper world. Gradually, he found his own style, which led to the now 60-year-old working for the Herald.

Having been politicised in his early twenties, his motivation, he admits, is to prick the bubble of pomposity. Political cartooning is perfect for the mischievous mind, the outlet for the dissenting voice.

When he draws Nicola Sturgeon, for example, Camley has relocated her mouth off-centre, which speaks volumes. “It’s that Glaswegian temperament I was trying to capture,” he explains, grinning. “She often has that look which is slightly angry.” And then passive-aggressive at times? “Oh yeah.”

The emergence of such features aren’t planned out. “They develop as they go along.” It’s the same with his take on Richard Leonard, a man hidden from reality by his hair.

Steven Camley’s Boris Johnson is also immediately recognisable, yet slightly different from the work of other cartoonists, with Johnson’s backside hanging out of his trousers, underlining the dishevelled baloonery which our Prime Minister brings to the post. “I just don’t think he’s the sort of guy who should be representing our country abroad. He doesn’t have the cachet of Prime Minister about him.”

Camley’s work is often uncompromising. One cartoon features the Queen telling her Government they are liars. His track and trace cartoon – which ask how the track ’n’ tracers can be traced – is funny. “I don’t like to be too po-faced.”

Yet, being a political cartoonist can be dangerous. Hopefully, British cartoonists will never suffer the horror the Charlie Hebdo writers suffered in Paris, but social media allows for the easily upset to produce an angry voice.

Cartoonist Mark Wright, for example, was accused of racism and misogyny when he captured Serena Williams’ US Open tantrum. “You have to be extra careful these days, particularly with the Black Lives Matter campaign running so effectively.

“In fact, I got into a bit of debate [with editors] recently when drawing Humza Yousaf [Cabinet Secretary for Justice] and it was suggested it may be considered offensive. I pointed out I wasn’t drawing him as some Third World character – he was wearing a smart suit. And at the same time, other papers were carrying cartoons featuring Priti Patel and Rishi Sunak, who are Asian.”

You can’t stop cartooning politicians because of their ethnicity, surely? “That’s true. But going back to the Mark Wright cartoon, I felt he had created a racial trope of the Angry Black Woman. He went a little bit too far, probably without realising it.”

Regardless, if you draw the First Minister with an angry face it must elicit an angry response on social media? Does he stroll the streets of Cumbernauld, where he now lives with his wife, wearing a crash helmet? “I keep a low profile,” he grins. “The critics wouldn’t recognise me in the street.

“Sometimes, however, if I’m doing Nicola I wouldn’t Tweet it because the cybernats would be on you in a heartbeat, so I just have a wee chuckle to myself knowing I’ve done it – and that the First Minister will have seen it.”

Are some people too easy to draw, such as President Trump? “Well, no, in the sense he’s the gift that keeps on giving, but you’re right in that I don’t want to be doing him all the time.”

Has he ever been tempted to get a real job? “Every day,” he says laughing. “Especially when it comes half past five and you’re staring at a blank bit of paper.”

He checks a moment. “No, the truth is I do really enjoy what I do. It can be stressful, but it gives me purpose.”

You must love the day when you feel you’ve captured the zeitgeist, really cracked it? “I don’t like to bum myself up,” he says, his voice now suggesting a warm smile, “but yes, there are some days I like to think I’ve given someone a good kicking who deserves it.

“And that feels really good.”

Britain’s Best Political Cartoons 2020, Edited by Tim Benson, Hutcheson, £12.99