cleanskies

Turned out that pink hair was kind of what everyone was wearing. At one point I was sat on one of the sofas (well, luxuriating, really) and could see four people with pink hair (flat, particolour and mixed tone) without even turning my head. Fashion gaffes aside, it was a pretty wild night. Loud, full, howling sound (from a piano and drums! How?) and some kind of fantastic performance (no, not especially cabaret-ish, except, perhaps the song Mister Mister) from both the dolls. Unfortunately, sluggish from the sofas, I ended up in the boyfriend pen, stealing glances of the performers between a forest of men expressing their individuality through vast coats and unnecessarily big hair. Two groping couples (one straight, one gay) of vastly differing heights did their best to provide a little visual stimulation, but when the dewberry-stinking wall of fashion crusty in front of me lit up a cigar, I gave up fighting the misanthropy. OK, that's it. I was prepared to be tolerant but fuck it. Roll on the smoking ban.

He also manifested a perfect sense for when I raised my camera, swaying to block it. Hence the chicken.

I am ill and unfit. A migraine, another cold. I keep trying to exercise and having to give up. Even my coat seems too heavy. Lemon Spaghetti and parsnip soup last night at Jason and Charvy's. Jason may own more plastic crap than I do; transparent action figures are his favourite, but dinosaurs are good, too. When they went to New York they brought me back a plastic dinosaur earring. It was orange and had a little paste necklace. Now they might be going to New York for much longer. I'll miss them ...

Fans of my ongoing involvement with fowl may be amused to hear that we went home with eggs from Morpurgo and Murgatroyd, the denizens of their Eglu.

Final pages of Sindee Virtue pencilled and sent off. Hope they're not driving Andrew (inks and finishing) too far towards distraction. I think the shift from Hollywood satire into woodcut-inspired Ninja sex comedy went fairly smoothly, although the lavender ninjas all ended up a bit short (short lesbians, who'd'a'thought it...). This afternoon my father phoned me at work, asked me if I'd been doing any cartooning. "Oh, you know, magazine stuff..." He thoughtfully remembered to complain that he hadn't seen any of my cartoons in The Times yet. What a sweetie.

And while I was away, the spambots got weirder; a new bot turned up, and the vocabulary stretched out on some of the others, so far that I sometimes need a dictionary. For those interested in the joys of random text generation here's a very impressive prose cut-up by the new guy, and two rather nice two poems by random8. ( Collapse )