They're back! My lodgers are back!

Birds and other small critters have their own agendas, their own views on property and territory - and they aren't the teensiest bit interested in ours. Well, I've had starlings nesting under my eaves every December in all the time I've been in this house. I'm sure their ancestors had nested there for years and years before I appeared on the scene.

Then last year - nothing.

None of that distinctive scrabbling noise, no insistent chirping as the baby birds demand money with menaces from their parents. I even missed the cacophony when they'd all wake up in the middle of the night squawking furiously because someone had probably trodden on someone else's head and then retaliatory action had ensued. I could always hear the goings-on very clearly, and as my loft hatch is only a couple of feet away from where their nest is, it was always very easy to stick my head through and tell them to shut up. Which they would. For about ten seconds, before the furious squawking started up again.

But this year ... yep, I was woken up this morning by that scrabbling noise followed by that oh-so-familiar cacophony of little cheeping voices ... they're back!!!!

Illustration Friday - Pioneer!

Neptune was a pioneer in the 'Alternative Uses for Sharks' Fin' league

Dear Agony Auntie,

Auntie's Brainwashing & Laundery Service,
123 Forget-Me-Now Lane,
Loose Thoughts Folly,
Lower BrainStem,
Herts.

27th September 2008


Dear Auntie,

I am writing to thank you for the appointment for me to avail myself of your brainwashing service, but my problem is not one of having dirty thoughts but rather the lack of them. Or any action in that department whatsover.

I have come to this conclusion having read through the entire stock of pornographic literature you lend me (your reading list) and not being able to understand any of it.

And who is St George anyway?

Yours,

The Lady in the Cartoon on here dated 26th September 2008
xxx

Illustration Friday - Undone

The work of even the safest saver can be undone by unscrupulous Borrowers ...
(OK, earn ten points if you actually recognise these horrid little characters)

Dear Agony Auntie,

I think I may be on the verge of finding true love and romance. I met this nice man in a colonic irrigation parlour and he bought me a cappucino with sprinkles. In a coffee shop, not the colonic irrigation parlour. He wants me to get his name tattooed on my arm as a token of my love for him. His name is Bonky Chinkakronk (or so he says). Should I do it?

Yours,

The Lady in the Cartoon on here dated 26th September 2008
xxx

Illustration Friday - 'Hatch'

Hatching, cross-hatching, whatever ... there's lots of it in this piece!

For the sake of tidiness ...

Please would someone else sign up to follow my blog? 20 followers would look very neat; having 19 means it just looks as though I've lost someone!

This is one of the thingies I've sent to the Shrewsbury Cartoon Festival

Last year, when I was doing my 'bits', I'd finished a painting which had taken several hours and was about to add the hand lettering - when I lost my nerve. I added the text in Potatoshop, sent them as digital files to a commercial printer, and the original remained totally unsullied by foolish words.

However, these days I am made of sterner stuff, and I finally plucked up courage to do the lettering (in gouache) on my painting which I'd spent several hours, yes, painting! It wasn't as scary as doing a whole load of hand lettering (in gouache) in the travelling Moleskine, though.

If you're not sure what I'm talking about, it's this

Merry Christmas to all readers who aren't on my Christmas Card list!

And I'm sure none of you will be getting legless over the Festive Season!

Eroticism in Art (1)

The endlessly fascinating theme of eroticism in art will be explored in future posts on here, sometimes using contrasting images to explore the underlying concepts. So we'll kick off with a comparison between Elmer Fudd, and Elmer Batters.


The sexual references in this piece would leave Sigmund Freud (what did he really say?) gasping and groping for his notebook.

Rabbits, well known for their wanton and promiscuous behaviour, feature strongly here; their enormous propensity to breed being equalled only by their enormous propensity to inspire signs bearing their (highly suggestive) name. (Count them – looks like they’ve been breeding like, well, rabbits). The term ‘season’, referring as it does to the time of year reserved for mating activities, serves to heighten the sexual tension implicit in this piece. Nor is the symbolism confined to the signage of the work.

Elmer Fudd himself, a little bald character bearing a cap only half on is a clear reference to semi-protected sex, and the fact that he is grasping his gun – a phallic symbol in its own right – in such a determined fashion, makes the underlying message still clearer. The highly suggestive facial expression clearly conveys ‘I like shooting – and not just with a gun!’ Whether the intended act is onanistic or with a partner is left to the imagination of the viewer, and any interpretation of this will be, of course, purely personal. And possibly dependent on whether the viewer is male or female. The body language is also ambiguous – whether intended to convey a furtive stride, redolent with the pursuit of a quick grope in the undergrowth; or a more gallant pace, intended to convey the lure of the chase, i.e. with quick grope in undergrowth, like Paradise, postponed.

Yet, despite the references to ‘rabbit’ and ‘season’, this piece is clearly not about reproduction; the condom (at which his headgear hints), and, more importantly, the rather dead-looking spermatozoum in the lower left-hand corner make that quite plain. What we are talking about here is filth, pure and simple.

This lies in stark contrast to the work of Elmer Batters, an example of whose work is featured here:


Unlike the implicit and explicit eroticism of the previous piece, this work is devoid of any erotic, suggestive or pornographic content.

Both characters in are women, which automatically means that it isn’t sexual because women don’t do things like that with each other. Queen Victoria told us that, so it must be true. Granted, neither of them is wearing any clothes, and although this can be regarded as a sexual display in a society which is normally clothed, it does bear further scrutiny. The wearing of clothes is considered to be de rigueur in places like Northern Europe where to eschew them would lead to arrest, or to being f****g freezing, and is a practice best avoided.

However, there is nothing in this photograph to suggest that this scene actually took place in a colder climate. The background is socially and geographically neutral, though there are clues within the images themselves from which conclusions may be drawn. Both women are, racially, white Caucasian. Yet their bodies bear signs that they may have been exposed to a degree of sunlight not normally experienced in white Causasia, that is to say, bikini lines.

So they may well have travelled to this destination. They are both clearly having problems keeping their eyes open, which further heightens the impression of migration in general and jet lag in particular.

Finally, the fact that they are reduced to keeping each other’s bodies clean by licking them, hints very strongly at an environment which is totally lacking in modern plumbing. This type of grooming is common amongst primates but, again, not something which is usually seen in public in Northern Europe.

So what we are looking at her is a good example of a photograph used to illustrate travel articles. It isn't even as saucy as yer average saucy seaside postcard (which is generally reserved for destinations closer to home).

So, unlike the monstrous Elmer Fudd examined in detail earlier, this image is totally innocent and the sort of thing your mum wouldn’t bat an eyelid at were you to stick it on her fridge.

Happy Birthday, Dr Sketchy Birmingham!!!

Yep, yesterday, Dr Sketchy in the UK's Second City saw its first birthday. Here are some of the drorins what I dun:

This is Miss Suzie Sequin, who, amazingly, managed to hold this pose for ten minutes without that top arm move significantly. Short break, then arm goes back to the same place. Miraculous. Anyway, I won a prize for this one. And this one (Miss Sherry Trifle):

Another really amazing model, who didn't even seem to blink! With the most amazingly beautifully sculptural face. No prizes for this one, but WHAT a costume, modelled here by Miss Willow Blue:

The final pose actually featured three models, but I got so interested in Matt (aka The Decadent Gent) that the other two didn't really get a look-in! Here he is:

By the way, that was a birthday hat, not a dunce's one.

I really think I ought to mention Alex Hughes here. The last time I went to Birmingham Sketchy's he gave me a brush pen to try. It won me two prizes. Yesterday I couldn't find it; he lent me two more. It was these implements which were responsible for the above drawings. He didn't let me keep them this time. I don't blame him. I promise, faithfully, to order my own brush pens for the next one, Alex, and will have them surgically attached to my person so I can't possibly lose them between now and then! xxx

I actually get paid for this ...!

This has just been published in 'Health Focus', on behalf of Wolverhampton City PCT:

and just in case anyone was interested, here are some more shots of 'Muriel':

I must get some pics of the wall painting mentioned on Juniper Ward - it's designed by the patients and it's absolutely WONDERFUL!!!

Rats!

These critters are Arthur and Mehitabel; my wonderful partner-in-crime, Ray, was going to a fancy dress party dressed as a ratcatcher, and he made them to adorn his person. Arthur was perched on one shoulder and Mehitabel was halfway up one thigh.

I was so enchanted to see what Ray does with his old socks that I asked if I could keep one of them; relectant to be parted at first, Arthur soon took up his usual place in my car. He was pining without Mehitabel, and Ray was finally persuaded to part with her a couple of weeks back. He's moved on to making horses' heads with bits of cardboard box, in any case, so that rats are old hat now.

Here is a picture of my new hamster

Well, she's stopped swearing and weeing on people. And, as any fule kno, removing their own droppings and showering the results around is one of their favourite pastimes, and Tootsie does not disappoint on this front. She also has a penchant for piling up woodshavings at one end of her cage so she can burrow into the resulting pile, most of which ends up on the kitchen floor on account of falling out through the cage bars.

Looks like she'll be going into the storage crate where my previous hamsters have lived sooner rather than later.

Illustration Friday - Fast!

Stuck fast!

I've been and gone and chosen my new hamster

This isn't the new hamster, exactly, though she will probably end up looking like this. At the moment she's much younger and smaller. I've reserved one that's been bred by a breeder and am therefore confident (whoops, nearly put 'continent' there; though I am that, too) that she will be the gender they say she is. So far, Herbert, sold as a male, rather disconcertingly had two neat rows of nipples and no male apparatus; Falafel, sold as a female, didn't actually surprise me by sitting there licking her scrotum shortly after purchase. By that time I had lost all confidence in the ability of pet shop staff to tell the difference between boys and girls (though looking round at the staff - I'm not sure I'd have been able to either).

So I will be picking up the new hamster, who will probably be called Tootsie but I'm not 100% sure, on Sunday evening. She has very neat spectacles and has a similar paint job to Falafel, just very neat. Mind you, he didn't start growing his rather spectacular plumes until he was a couple of months old ...

Dear Agony Auntie,

My girlfriend's behaving strangely.

The other day I suggested we had sex, and she came up with some crap excuse like 'Well this is a hospital and I'm swathed from head to foot in bandages and one of my legs is strapped up and I can't move it'. Actually it did look as though she might be able to move it a bit if she really wanted to, so another crap excuse there, too.

Yes, there did seem to be a few people around including a couple of very bossy nurses who were trying to tell me to get lost as the doctor needed to see her, but she was also using this as an excuse not to have a bit of rumpy-pumpy with me.

I think I should try and get another girlfriend. What do you think? There was someone in the next bed who was also swathed from head to foot in bandages, with one leg strapped up to a contraption, so I probably wouldn't know the difference anyway. And the one in the next bed might be less inhibited.

What shall I do?

Spring Forward, Fall Back

I've been suffering with lower back pain for a while - ever since someone at the Sidmouth Folk Festival decided it would be a good idea to do can-can style kicks on a slippery floor. This would have been OK, but she was holding my hand at the time and when she went arse-over-tit she took me down with her. In an uncontrolled fashion. One might even say 'with a bump'.

Anyway, a treatment by an osteopath yielded only temporary relief and things were getting desperate - activities like driving, putting on shoes and socks and lying in bed were becoming excruciating; then I nabbed a physiotherapist whose consulting room is just down the corridor from the Occupational Therapy Office (Adult Clinical). (This is where I hang out sometimes). She prodded a bit, got me to do things and then, on the basis of when I yelped and how, informed me I have a sacroiliac joint injury - the ligaments probably being pulled when aforementioned Moulin Rouge (or should that be Moulin Rough) impersonator went into action.

But I digress. Now I am obliged to go to the gym every day, remedial exercises three times a day, and no high impact or twisty type things - which totally kiboshes any dancing for the foreseeable future. The worst was yet to come, though. I was wondering if going for long walks would be a good idea, or to be avoided, and looked online. Found a forum where someone had asked the same question, so it seemed, but then ... this is how it read:

'Dave has just been diagnosed with having a possible Sacroiliac Injury. The extent of the injury is not known but it is likely he did it when he was a racehorse.'

Well, it's indicated at least one activity in which I shouldn't participate ...

Illustration Friday - Pattern

Animals' fur, plumage, scales etc will often acquire a pattern which reflects their surroundings. The Loch Ness monster (depicted above) is particularly distinctive as a native of Scotland, and can be distinguished from other, similar monsters, like this one whose native habitat is further south.

Photographic identification may help ...

I've sent them this. Let's wait and see.

If you look carefully at the photo, you can see the blue sky reflected romantically in the pools of fuel surrounding the fuel pump (the yellow bit with knobs on in the middle). Luckily there's a lot less than there was, but I'm certain this stuff isn't good to breathe.

The Not-So-Great-Seal

The guy from the scrapyard said he'd send a seal. He hasn't. He's sent a gasket; it's quite a cheerful blue colour though. Right ... back onto them ...

Oriented in time, place and person

One of the things I like about this blog is that it tells me who I am, where I live (approximately) and what day it is.

Playing your cars right...

If I park my car on a slope, particularly if it's got fuel in the tank, I can create a pool of diesel with no extra effort. Sometimes I get concerned about the diesel atmosphere within the car itself. The culprit is a seal which screws onto the fuel tank just above the pump (easily located under the back seat). Mine's split. A garage doctor type I took the car to see could offer no assistance.

So ... I contacted a scrapyard. I even offered to pay for an entire fuel tank in order to get this seal (I suspect that this would be considerably cheaper than buying one for Peugeot. In fact if you added together the cost of all the parts from the maker, the total would be a vehicle I wouldn't be anywhere near affording). I explained exactly what the seal should look like, where it's located, all that stuff. Then the fuel tank arrived - without a seal on it!!!!

Well, I've been onto them, and they said they'd send one on. Let's see.

In the meantime, Bill Stott has sent me this:


And it helped, it really did!

I've just had an amazing piece of insight!

I have written an informative and interesting piece on how to make your beansprouts look like the ones in Chinese restaurants - to read it, you will need to get hold of Foghorn 41, which hasn't seen print yet and you'll have to wait to see it online.

However, as I produced this illustration to illustrate the article, I made a surprise discovery - my cross-hatched, water-colour, nit-picking style is ideally suited to depicting face flannels! I may yet branch out to include towels and bath mitts - watch this space ...

Illustration Friday - Infinite

Titus A. Newt was showing infinite patience with a barman, considering.

This is what I dun at the Big Draw ...

I was masterminding a workshop on the theme of 'There were Ten in the Bed', ably assisted by The Surreal McCoy, and there were some noble submissions on this theme. We started off by just drawing lots of pics to inspire people actually doing the workshop ...


until we were kicked off our table because it was going to be needed for the Battle of the Cartoonists. However, it was not long before the Real Battles started in earnest:


There were some absolutely wonderful bits produced during this time, e.g.


and:



(Photos courtesy of Gerard Whyman)

Meanwhile, another drama was unfolding as the Battle of the Cartoonists was raging ... I won't go into this in too much detail, as a fuller account can be read here, but the PCO were joint winners with the following masterpiece:



And here are our noble lads:



Reading from left to right, which many of us do, are Pete Dredge, Andrew Bunday, Nathan Ariss and Clive Goddard. And massive congratulations to them all!

If you enjoy the utter silliness of this blog ...

You might be interested in Foghorn Magazine - you can read it, for free, just by going to the graphic on the left - and clicking on it, preferably.

I've written a couple of articles for this magazine.

As of the current one, I write a gardening column for it. Not recommended if you really want information about gardening; if this is the case, a print publication on the subject would serve you much better. But then you get loads of adverts, and you won't with this one here!

Enjoy!

More naughtiness ...

Illustration Friday - Welcome

Albert's enthusiastic welcome to Maureen (aka Melissa with a cunning twister) did not meet with the response he had been hoping for.

Here's a bit more about the Saturday Events:

If any of you are in London next weekend ...

Come and support the Professional Cartoonists' Organisation as part of The Big Draw

as a fundraiser before the main events, which start in October.

The venue is:
Gallery at Idea Generation,
11 Chance Street,
London E2 7JB.

From 2.00 - 5.00pm, Saturday 12th September 2009

Organisers hope to close the street and use outside space too...

This artistic event will feature The Battle of the Cartoonists and also two workshops. Tim Harries will be running one on creating cartoon strips, whilst I will be running the other. To mark the 10th Anniversary of the Big Draw, the theme is 'Now we are Ten'; the theme of my particular bit of it is 'There were Ten in the Bed ...', so if you want to come along and draw nine people you'd like to be in bed with, or merely to laugh at people who are, you'll be very very welcome!

Illustration Friday - Strong

Colin and Betsy suddenly discovered that their bedroom ceiling was not strong enough.

Dear Agony Auntie,

My house has cracks in the walls. Usually when people say 'moving house', they are actually referring to themselves, rather than their dwelling place. Not so in this instance.

It's now got tie bars which have restrained its peripatetic activities somewhat, and now I'm trying to find someone to paper over the cracks, so to speak.

However, no fewer than three so-called craftsmen fixed an appointment to survey the carnage, and not one of them has actually materialised. Do you think they've fallen through the cracks and into a warp in the space/time continuum? Should I report them as missing persons?

Your advice is eagerly awaited.

Yours,

Preston Rumblestrips, CBE

Can anyone help me get rid of this wizard?

I can't wait until Halloween. He's driving me nuts. You remember I had a new hard drive a little while ago? Well, all's fine and dandy with that, plenty of house room and even my hefty potatoshop files have failed to consume all the spare space.

But ...

Every time I start the computer, this is what I get:


As you can see, he's really startled that hoopoe!

Now, I've been online looking for someone to exorcise this blighter. I've tried learning to live with him, and it's not going to work. Nor could I find anywhere online that seemed to have been visited by him. More specifically, nor could I find anywhere online that had been visited, and then deserted, by him.

Can any of you out there rid me of this turbulent dialogue box???

The perils of drinking beer ...

If you persistently drink too much beer, look what happens to your toes! This is a example of a big toe affected by gout!

This occurs most commonly in men's toes, and is not only extremely painful, but may cause your digits to morph into the opposite sex. Not only that, but they get very noisy and can cause embarrassment in public places, the persistent squeaking making it sound as though you have a nest of mice in the turn-ups of your trousers.

If you find yourself afflicted by this distressing condition, you have several choices: wear those toesy socks with sandals, so that the affected bit can be reassured by being able to see the world, and will stop making quite so much noise. Or you can wear wear several pairs of thick socks, each pair slightly larger than the last, finishing with a pair of very fluffy slippers. The toe will continue to push forth the decibels, but you won't be able to hear them.

The perils of both methods are obvious - you will be written off as a prat with no dress sense, and people won't want to be be seen talking to you in public.

Or ... you can stop drinking beer and switch to wine instead!

N.B. This is a Party Political Broadcast on behalf of The Wine Society

Illustration Friday - Caution

Birds should always exercise caution when flying through custard showers. (Birds Custard showers, of course).

Everyone should have one of these ...!

This gorgeous little etching came to me courtesy of Debbie Greenaway completely out of the blue, so to speak, and I'm just SOOOO delighted with it! Her website also contains a link to her shop, and do check this out!

Anyway, I'm particularly pleased with the image because it shows how garden pests, as mentioned a couple of posts down, should be treated.

Observe how this apparently innocent little bird is actually wearing a mask, to ensure that his identity remains secret. He's actually a robber bird. The button he's holding is all that's left of an intruder after our birdie held a pistol to his ankle and told him to twitter off.

What better way to ensure the safety and sanctity of your tits, then?

EBay Warning

Sometimes you might think that items sold on eBay are fake, and therefore suspiciously cheap. However - be warned! The above illustration shows what happened to Doris Clappers of Timberhonger, Worcs, when she bought a crocodile bag for 60p - and then found it wasn't fake after all. The wiley seller had attached some artificial flora by way of decoration to make it look like an accessory ... and the rest is history.

All condolences to her family and also to the crododile itself, which had a nasty attack of indigestion shortly after the incident. And at least he didn't eat her shoes.

Dear Agony Auntie,

The other day I was walking down my front garden path, when a man said to me 'Nice tits!' and I said 'They are rather, aren't they? Would you like to come in and have a closer look?'

He readily agreed, and I took him out to my back garden, where there were plenty of exemplars of the genus Paridae. I pointed out cyanistes caeruleus, periparus ater and parus major. I pointed out that I had known cyanistes caeruleus to be described as 'featherus nibblius cheekii', but that this was probably something in the nature of a jape.

Then, right on cue, entered a small flock of aegithos caudatus and I explained that these do not belong to the genus Paridae at all, but to Aegithalidae, which are African birds more commonly known as 'babblers'.

To my surprise and horror, he said 'They aren't the only ones!' and attempted to grope me in the chest region. So I hit him over the head with a bird table, he jumped over the garden fence and I haven't seen him since. Of course, this disturbed all the feeding birds and it took a good half hour before normality was resumed.

Dear Agony Auntie, how can I prevent garden pests attempting to ruin my paradise of tranquility in the future? Do you think a hand grenade would help?

Yours sincerely,

Titty xxx

Illustration Friday - Wrapped

Our punk 'Dr Sketchy' model was wrapped in a strategically torn t-shirt. This was greatly appreciated by a bunch of 14-yr-old boys when she nipped out for a fag!

Actually I turned up with my multi-coloured sketch pad and discovered I'd left all my materials at home; the surface of the paper is pretty awful for everything except brush pen, so I did my drawings in pencil and then worked over them once I'd got home. I'm really getting into the brush pens - many thanks to Alex Hughes!

Just to show I can do normal paintings

This is a portrait I did of my long-standing friend Bridget - it is actually a 60th birthday present for her partner, and now I've presented it to him then I feel OK about sharing it openly on here.

I was an interesting exercise as she wanted it based on a particular photo which, as it happened, had very strong contrasts of light and shade - which look great in a photo, but really two-dimensional in a painting, especially one which is as small and intimate as this.

I couldn't have done it if it weren't for the fact that I know her really well, so there are elements of memory involved rather than just working from the photograph. It wouldn't have worked if it had been a photo of a stranger. I also had to put it away eventually or I'd have worked it to death!

Lore of the Jungle, Part II

Lore of the Jungle

And just HOW had Bertie got his natty human print? Come back tomorrow to find out!

Illustration Friday - Impatience

Monty's impatience to get his choir started had led him to dress up in a donkey suit and nip to Bremen to recruit some musicians ...

This is what I went and won at Dr Sketchy:

This was in recognition of 'Rouge Rum's equine connections, and is a rather fine helium balloon who has since taken up residence on my ceiling. Because she is supposed to be a murderous mare, I also won a copy of 'The World's Greatest Trials', and then noticed that this worthy volume is penned by a gentleman by the name of Tim Healey. I know Tim from another life; not only is he the son of The Rt Hon Dennis Healey, but he is also involved with The Oxford Waits, a bunch of musicians who play at early music and folk festivals. Last time I saw him we had an in-depth discussion about the perils of eating custard. It's very dangerous stuff.

The other thing I won, after my rendition of Scarlet Fever, was the following cyberman:


He's actually properly articulated like a lay figure, which is useful because when I next need to draw a cyberman, all I need do is put him in the appropriate pose, which will save me the trouble of walking the streets looking for one to pose for me.

Alex Hughes won one of these, too.

Sketchies at Dr Sketchy's

Well, yesterday featured 'X Files' at Dr Sketchy, Brummagem, so, armed with my sketchpad and Alex Hughes, off I went. Alex laughed at my sketchpad:


asked if I'd brought my crayons, and then let me try out his brush pens. One of the problems I've always had with these events is working in a style which is quick enough to get a reasonable amount of information down, but the brush pen seemed to do the trick. In fact, I won two prizes that evening, for this one of Candee Handful as 'Rouge Rum - the Murderous Mare':


I've since had a play with this image in Potatoshop, and produced:


and I also won a prize for this one of Scarlet Fever:



Alex also won a prize, so we really didn't let the PCO side down. Actually Alex is a regular at the Brum sessions, and a regular prize-winner (I think the secret's in the brush pens) and considering you have ten minutes to get all this stuff down, whilst peering past the people in front, it really is a test of how much alcohol you've consumed beforehand. Apparently the shows get more and more surreal as time goes on - and I can't tell you how much fun they are!!!

Tomorrow - or at least when I can locate the safe place wherein I've stashed my camera - I'll put up pics of the prizes!