October 20th, 2005

contaminantalert

I found out what the smell was but you're not going to like the answer

All week there's been a smell like someone was keeping a hamster in the filing cabinets in the corridoor. I'd checked the cupboards for obvious corpses, but the filing cabinets are not mine so I had left them.

Today Judy and Ruth were in and agreed that we needed to find out what the smell was. I opened the filing cabinets (no mice nests! bah!) while Ruth wondered if the dead wasps we'd been finding on the floor might be a factor. Six dead wasps? It seemed unlikely.

Then we looked up.

All the light fixtures were full of dead wasps and warmed by the fluorescent lights, they were rotting. The highest concentration (presumably just below the nest) was above the filing cabinets. Always, always look up. The cleaners were in there with a sacrificial hoover and heavy-duty disinfectant as I left. The smell was... very original.

So, sorry, mr_snips, it wasn't a mouse-nest, and no, TimScience, it wasn't robo-hamsters plotting our downfall, either. Some smug mister went for a suppurating wasp nest, who was it? oxfordhacker? truecatechresis? Whoever it was, I owe you 16p. And a much more detailed description.
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fluffyhoodie

drawn after dark with angled nib

Saturday's childIt doesn't make a whole lot of sense, this week's strip, but I went ahead and drew it anyway, rewriting it from my memory of scripting it about two years ago. Things about the plain of babbling heads have changed since I wrote it, and what happens is less showy and more matter-of-fact. Perhaps I've become more blase about neediness, necessity and the sense of all-pervading toil in my life.

I've not returned to the Under the Ice strips since mid-2003 (Sisyphus), which is a good thing, because they're about depression. So to go back to them, hmm. But I'm telling myself for now that it's just because all that mud is an interesting inking challenge. And performing intervention #1, which involves dicking with my sleep cycle. But then, I never did finish the series. Although, in a way, that's a good thing, too.

The title, "Saturday's child", of course, refers to the rhyme:

Monday's child is fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go
Friday's child is loving and giving
Saturday's child works hard for a living
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

I was, actually, born on a Saturday, a source of some amusement to my sisters (loving and giving, face, woe, gay, respectively) and a fine justification for my parents. Not sure what day you were born on? Ask Raymond.

EDIT: Apparently Raymond's skills are suspect. Here's a more reliable day-of-the-week calculator (thanks damiancugley).
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