In case you weren’t already aware, in January I became an inhabitant of That London. This is a very different living situation from the wilds of Herefordshire, but it’s generally proving pleasanter than I had expected. Cheap art and easily available friends are a good consolation for the constant lack of time and money, even if they don’t help much with the oversupply of diesel fumes.
It’s been a while, etc, etc. But I’m back, and I’ve managed to age at least thirty years since I last posted. Read on to find out more about my middle-aged life…
You may be familiar with the ‘Expectation vs reality’ memes that were everywhere a few years ago. They tend to be amusingly cynical or self-deprecating, and go something like this:
Thanks to Kate, who follows some excellent mailing lists, I managed to get a cheap ticket to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead at the Old Vic theatre on Thursday night, the same day it was broadcast as a National Theatre Live showing. The play is basically an Absurd take on Hamlet, and it’s very entertaining. You can still catch a repeat of the NT screening, so read on for why you should see it (or, if you’re so inclined, why you shouldn’t).
Well hello there. It’s been a while since the Archers debacle, so I thought I’d risk peeping my head over the parapet of the internet. For now it’s just a quick cartoon-post, but if I’m not pounced upon by hordes of trolls this time, I might just attempt to get back to some kind of regular posting schedule. Stay tuned.
Today, I spontaneously decided to give blood for only the second time in my life. I know, I’m a hero, but let’s not go on about that – no, really, there’s no need to applaud. Honestly, it was nothing! All I did was donate a whole pint of my life’s blood for the good of my fellow human… Oh very well, you’re right, I am basically an incredible person.
Anyhow, the whole mildly unpleasant process went quite smoothly at first; I passed the various forms, interviews and tests, and got through the stabby needle bit without wincing too conspicuously. After fifteen minutes of lounging in my reclining chair as the creepy swaying blood-bag filled up (by the way, does anyone know why they rock back and forth like that?), I was starting to feel quite complacent.
Unfortunately, my body had other ideas, and shortly after I’d been sat down and given a biscuit, I came over all woozy. Just as I was just starting to wonder if I should inform someone that my head had become a lot heavier than usual and the room had shrunk to half its usual height, I was swooped upon by a very observant nurse.
With terrifying efficiency, the other people in the recovery area were unceremoniously displaced so that I could lie across their seats. Despite my protestations, I was then propped up with wedges and cold-packs, given copious amounts of orange squash, and quite literally fanned by one of the nurses. My attempts to leave were firmly quashed for the next half hour, during which time I began to feel like more of a damsel than a hero.
Given that I felt fine as soon as I lay down, this all seemed a bit unnecessary, but I suppose it’s good PR to ensure that people don’t keel over on their way out of the donor centre. However, I’m pleased to announce that my release into the wild has been successful, thanks, no doubt, to my dutiful observance of the instructions in my slightly patronising ‘Feeling faint’ leaflet. Jane Austen would be proud.
By the time I reach the end of my Christmas cartooning marathon, Christmas itself usually seems quite a long time ago. And this year, what with starting a new life in the big smoke and a certain amount of internet-based drama, the novelty has worn off earlier than usual; I’ve begun to regret making such an extensive promise, although I’m pleased I’ve managed to fulfil it.
I have a feeling I might do my Christmas series differently next year. I’d like to spread my cartoons more evenly throughout the months, and doing 12 in a fortnight eats up an awful lot of time. I’ll have a think about how to cut the format down or space it out – if you have any thoughts about what you’d like to see (and aren’t an enraged Archers fans) then give me a shout.
On the subject of things that get out of hand, I thought it would be fitting to make the last cartoon of this festive season a tribute to the internet. Hopefully it speaks for itself…
Here’s the post you should have had yesterday, when I started my new job. In preparation for such an important Proper-Grownup milestone, I felt the need to spruce up the smart end of my wardrobe a bit, and so (as I mentioned on Day 5) I went clothes shopping, an activity I rarely enjoy.
The only thing I actually enjoy shopping for is coats – to a dangerous extent. I love coats. I could spend thousands of pounds on coats in mere hours if I had the money. It’s perhaps no coincidence that the coat section of my wardrobe is the only one to be amply stocked, and so I’ve had to confine myself to a look-but-don’t-buy strategy.
Well, it’s been a strange and eventful day. I generally avoid doing reviews on this blog because I’ve always been irrationally afraid that the person whose art I’m insulting will read what I have to say. It’s never been a big worry, because my online profile is pretty low, but now it’s happened.
I woke up this morning to find that my post about The Archers from the very first 12 days of Christmas had been shared on social media by the official Archers page. I now find myself in the confusing position of being both slightly star-struck to be tweeted by Lynda Snell, and horrified that I know who Lynda Snell is. And apparently I’ve displeased the fandom.