Tim's flat is still failing to sell on its slashed price, and everyone's else's slashed prices are colder and colder comfort. I'm edging toward the dark (and possibly reality-menacing) suspicion that Jeremy Clarkson may be right, and what we have now may be what we're stuck with. In the past few months, sales of flats in our area has pretty much stopped. So there's that.
I went out to one of Tim's London gigs on Saturday, and Lewisham is nicer than I remember it being but still a pig to get to. The guy who runs the gigs there looked so much like a character I'd design for those old ongoing series I couldn't maintain in the face of a full-time job...
Speaking of which, I bit the bullet, stifled my financial anxieties, and asked my boss about going down to part time should I, say, be awarded a residency at the V&A, and he said yes. So I'll be going for that, although to be honest I'm not even expecting to be shortlisted; they've framed it so that it's open to new arts graduates, people working in other areas who sort of fancy doing comics, and so on, so everyone from here to kingdom come is going to apply. Including, doubtless, many of my friends.
On Sunday I converted my old black bins (no longer in use) into specialist compost bins, one for leaf mould, the other for acidic compost (I'm giving my robust worms soft lelandii clippings, to see what they can do, following a successful experiment with an old wheelbarrow full of well-rotted lelandia and some heathers). It's all looking very farmyard back here, said Damian.
Well, we do what we know, I guess.
P.S. I've just realised that I've been forgetting to post my post-date weekly strips (while my computer was out of action, they stacked up a bit). There's about three up on the all-new www.jeremydennis.co.uk but the one most relevant to you lot is called Overload the System.