With apologies for the delay, I can now direct you to my new blog. From now on, this is where the action will be and it's doubtful that I'll bother to continue updating here.
So, with a small fanfare (or at least a cheery kazoo), please join me on the voyage of discovery and confusion that I am calling my Creative Year.
Are you a fan of regular blog posts? Do you appreciate creative endeavour, even if the results aren't much cop? If so, prepare yourselves for the mildly exciting launch of my Creative Year. As mentioned previously, I have set up a new blog on Wordpress (no offence Blogger, we've had some good times) which I plan to update EVERY SINGLE DAY with something that could, if you squint a bit, pass for creativity. It begins on October 1st (that's Wednesday, calendar fans!) and the posts will be numbered 1 - 365. That's how many days there are in a year! Wow! The blog is called Once Around The Sun because - you guessed it - that takes a year as well! The whole thing has been planned with the intricate precision of a particularly pernickety horologist.
Stay tuned and I'll post the link on Wednesday!
I've just spent two hours watching online videos about the capabilities of this little beast:
I'm eligible for the cheaper upgrade copy, but even that's £540. Annoyingly it looks so damn good that I don't think I'll be able to resist, so between now and its release on October 30 expect to hear several news stories about a lanky ne'er do well in the Suffolk area mugging old ladies on pension day. If they knew about Content Aware Resizing, they'd understand.
And then reality was torn from my limp, unsuspecting grasp and sucked into a temporal vortex that eventually spat us out, like a couple of phlegmy hairballs, into 1985! Well it must have been, for we were staring at the following display:
At first I was excited about going outside and reliving 1985 all over again. Bright colours! Over-produced music! A cheery lack of taste! However, this feeling soon wore off. You see, I am a cold and rational man and it took me only a few minutes to realise that temporal folds are not really possible and that the more likely conclusion must be that we were still in 2008. Looking at a 23 year old Lotus spreadsheet. A spreadsheet that only runs in DOS. "When I first devised this spreadsheet," he explained proudly, "I thought it would only have a shelf-life of about ten years. And yet here we are, almost a quarter of a century later, and it's still going strong!" Well, yes. As long as you ignore the parts of the word 'strong' that relate to 'strength' and also that loud alarm in your head that's bleating FUCKETY-FUCK, HE'S STILL USING DOS. It's quite feasible that some people reading this won't even know what DOS is. All I'll say is that although the D doesn't stand for dinosaur, but it probably should have done.
So that's what I've been up to lately. Getting my head around a computer system that's about as advanced as a speaking birthday card. And yet, in a strange way, I'm enjoying myself. Not in a nostalgic sense - who can honestly say that things were better back then? - but because I love spreadsheets. I will, of course, be re-programming this archaic beast in a modern software environment and I'll find it hugely enjoyable. Some of you may recall the dance I created a couple of years ago called My Version of Excel is Better Than Yours. It wasn't a joke, I really do get that excited about spreadsheets. Perhaps in this admission I've lost you, dear reader, but the path of an Excel lover always was a lonely one.
It's okay, you can stop worrying - I have decided upon my next creative venture by not deciding at all. Instead I have set up a new blog in which I will spend one year posting a new creative effort every day - whether I feel like it or not - with no parameters whatsoever in the hope that forcing myself to try as many things as possible will show me what I do best. If some of you were to comment on things that you like, that will also help me decide what works and what doesn't. Essentially it's going to be a year long brainstorm, probably starting next week. Being a daily thing, most of the posts will probably be in the form of rough ideas rather than fully formed pieces but I'll complete them if it seems worthwhile. Watch this space.
In other even less interesting news, my new trainers have finally arrived. I had forgotten what springy footwear felt like. It's... springy! I haven't managed to go jogging yet though. Don't rush me. Also on a footwear theme, I have learned how to tie my shoelaces properly after 31 years of misery and tears. My laces have historically always come undone if I do them in a single bow, so for years I've been using a double bow to prevent this happening. The trade off, of course, is that occasionally they become knotted when you try to undo them, resulting in a frustrating two minutes of trying to pick apart said knot with (as sod's law usually dictates) recently cut fingernails. Just when I was seriously considering velcro shoes, I discovered... the reef knot. All those years I'd been using a granny knot! Why did no one tell me? WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? Anyway, I now tie my laces using a single reef bow and they never come undone. It's no exaggeration to say that this has changed my life for the better, and it's all thanks to Ian's Shoelace Site. Thanks Ian - you probably have no friends and your own family must choke with shame every time they think of you but you have my gratitude to keep you warm tonight.
The portrait in the preceding post was based on the following photograph. I wandered off script for the hair as it wasn't crucial to the likeness.
It's Claire Danes! Five points. Now that you've forced me to reveal the original photo you can see how cheap I was in not drawing the floral top. If you want to be nice to me you can say that this photo isn't a good likeness of her.
Here's number two in what I think I shall call the 'Unhealthy Interest' series. I've realised that it was a mistake to paint my favourite actresses first because, assuming I improve little by little, by the time I get it sussed I'll be left with a cracking portrait of Judi bloody Dench.
You can click on the picture to enlarge it. Again, I fear that it's not immediately obvious who this is supposed to be. Oh well. Expect this series to continue until your indifference can be measured in decibels.
I realised that my Natalie Portman portrait was nowhere near finished so after a couple more hours of titting around, here's the final version.
I rather enjoyed making it so I think I'll do some more. This could just turn into a visual list of women I fancy, but it beats sniffing glue I suppose.
I'm still trying to decide upon my next creative venture. High on my list of possibles was portraiture, so I decided to give it a whirl today to see if I could produce anything of value. This is the result:
I'm worried that it fails its most fundamental goal because I don't think it's obvious who it's supposed to be. Can you tell? If so, was she (I hope I'm safe in stating that it's a woman) instantly recognisable or did you have to think about it? I'd appreciate some feedback because I've been staring at it too long to be objective.
Either way, I've certainly succeeded in sucking out all the soul and beauty of the original photograph I worked from. Capturing a person's spirit is harder than I thought.
The following is an actual telephone conversation I had today with a customer. She had called us because she had no hot water. We replaced a faulty immersion heater.
Stupid woman: Hello, this is Mrs X. You sent a plumber to my property this morning to change an immersion heater.
Me: Hello, yes. How can I help?
SW: Well I'm a bit worried about it.
Me: Oh dear. What seems to be the problem?
SW: Well my old one made a sort of whistling noise when it was heating the water, you know? But the new one isn't making any noise at all. It seems to be dead.
Me: Right. So you still have no hot water?
SW: Oh the water's nice and hot, but the immersion heater isn't making any noise.
Me: Well if your water's heating up that would suggest that the new immersion heater is working.
SW: But it isn't making any noise. I'm just worried that it's not working properly. Could you come back and check it?
Me: If your water's heating up then it must be working. I don't think you need to worry.
SW: Really? Even though I can't hear it?
Me: Yes. The old one probably made a funny noise because it was scaled up.
SW: So you don't think there's a problem?
Me: No, I'm sure everything is fine.
SW: Okay. It's just that it seems to be dead. I'm a bit worried.
Me: It can't be dead if your water's getting hot.
SW: Oh, I see.
Me: Okay?
SW: So I don't need to worry then?
Me: No.
SW: It's just that the old one used to make a noise when it was heating the water.
Me: It was probably scaled up.
SW: But the new one isn't making any noise at all. It seems to be dead.
Me: And yet your water's getting hot.
SW: Yes.
Me: So it can't be dead.
SW: Right.
Me: Okay?
SW: So what you're saying is that I don't need to worry?
Me: That's right.
SW: Even though it doesn't seem to be doing anything?
Me: Your water is heating up. It must. Be. Working.
SW: Yes, I see. I'm just a bit worried, that's all.
Me: Try not to worry. Everything seems to be fine.
SW: The old one used to make a noise though.
Me: Probably scale.
SW: This new one doesn't make any noise at all. I've held my ear to the cylinder and I can't hear anything.
Me: Right.
SW: I just don't think it's working.
Me: *sigh*
SW: Hello?
Me: Your water is getting hot. That seems to suggest, quite strongly in fact, that the immersion heater - the thing that heats the water - is working. If it wasn't, the water wouldn't be getting hot.
SW: Ahh.
Me: You see?
SW: So what you're saying is, the new heater is working even though I can't hear it working.
Me: Exactly.
SW: Right. It's just that the old one used to make a noise...
This is the abridged version. The full conversation, during which I considered ending my life, continued along these lines for ten minutes.
I've just received an email informing me that my new trainers are OUT OF STOCK. Woe is me! Now that I know I won't have to, I can confirm that I was so definitely going to go jogging tomorrow night. But now they won't be here for another week and by then I may have changed my mind.
See how the entire universe conspires against me? How can a man compete with such forces?
This afternoon I ordered a pair of trainers. Yes, sports shoes! It is the most significant step towards fitness that I've taken in years. I haven't owned a pair of trainers since I was 15 so there's every chance that I'll at least remove them from their box and place them on my feet a few times, but the crunch will come when I have to decide whether to take up jogging or not. Current odds:
Jog on - 25/1
Jog off - evens
The trainers are made by Hi-Tec, my manufacturer of choice while at school. I did briefly defect to Dunlop, but the super squishy Hi-Tecs reeled me back in. Does Usain Bolt wear Hi-Tec? He must do, surely. Stay tuned for more fitness news.
No one will guess they're not Nikes.I appear to have fallen out of the blogging habit. I have had things to write about, but no inclination to do so. Instead I have been filling my head with all sorts of fanciful things, essentially trying to decide what form my next creative venture will take. It looks like it will be something based on digital illustration. I might take a few weeks to try different stuff and see if anything has a particular appeal. It is a very complex and exhaustive process. Already I have dismissed the following:
I'm dabbling with the idea of portraiture in some form. Bad form, probably.
The author Michael Kimball has granted me the honour of writing my life story. He's a bit short of time though, so he did it on the back of a postcard. Actually it's part of his Postcard Life Stories project which may eventually be turned into a book. You can read everything there is to know about me here.
In other news, I have started reading again. I cycle endlessly between reading and not reading, each period lasting about three months. Whenever I fall out of the habit, I instantly seem to forget just how beneficial it is. When I first started reading aged fifteen, I devoured nothing but classics; Thomas Hardy, the Brontës, Jane Austen. Then I bridged the gap with Graham Greene, who remains my favourite novelist, before moving on to contemporary fiction. More recently it has been biographies that tickle my fancy, but my latest love is for science. Not science fiction, but real science. Suddenly I feel like that Paul Whitehouse character - "Int science brilliant! There's all this stuff, right, that people prove by trying to disprove it. If they can't disprove it, it's like a proper fact. Brilliant!" I have a moderate obsession with Richard Dawkins right now. He gets pigeon-holed as a militant atheist, but he knows other stuff too! I'm just a sucker for things that make you lose yourself in wonder. Such as, if it were possible to fold a sheet of newspaper over on itself 100 times, how thick would the resultant wad of paper be? I thought maybe a metre or two, but the answer is that it would be as wide as the known universe (about 12 billion light years). Wow! Geeks like me are really impressed with stuff like that. We can't help sharing it. I'm also developing a healthy scepticism for all things supernatural and learning to accept that even the wildest coincidences have no significance whatsoever. It's amazing how much bullshit we swallow from people who convince us that perfectly ordinary things have deep spiritual meanings. The most remarkable thing about thinking scientifically is that far from robbing life of mystery, it makes it ten times more amazing. Believing in the paranormal used to intrigue me, but casting it aside and revelling in what's around us is immeasurably more satisfying. Every night I can't wait to read more, learn something new about this world we live in. The truth isn't just stranger than fiction, it kicks fiction's imaginary arse.
Have you ever been stopped for an in-car census? I hadn't, until today. I didn't even know such a thing existed, but I was driving into Ipswich when the traffic started to slow and I noticed a police presence. Then the signs - 'Slow: Census'. They appeared to be stopping cars at random so I tried to look uninteresting and hoped I'd be spared, but a petite woman in a dayglo jacket waved her clipboard at me and performed the universal 'please wind your window down' action (which is a little redundant in the age of electric windows, but I suppose the 'pressing the down button' mime is a little ambiguous. In fact I'd have to be monumentally thick to try talking to her through the glass, so no mime of any description was really necessary). I should say at this point that I hadn't been pulled over into a layby or anything - they were stopping people in the middle of the single lane road, which meant that by the time I was finished there were approximately 30 cars behind me. Our conversation went something like this:
Her: Good afternoon sir.
Me: Hello.
Her: I'd just like to ask you a few quick questions. Can you tell me where you've just come from?
Me: Rendlesham.
Her: And was your car parked there overnight?
Me: Yes. I live there.
Her: And where are you heading now, sir?
Me: I'm going to the cinema.
Her: In Ipswich?
Me: That's the one.
Her: And what will you be doing in Ipswich?
Me: (slightly incredulous) I'll be... watching a film.
Her: And how would you have travelled today if not by car?
Me: Rollerblades.
Oh, all right, I said 'bus' but I suspect that she'd have dutifully scribbled down whatever form of transport I could come up with. Perhaps when you've been asking the same stupid questions all day you lose your powers of reasoning. Anyway, she seemed content with my responses and waved me on but I had to say where I was for another minute or so because the car in front of me had also been stopped and the driver obviously had more to say for himself. The only purpose I can think of for the census is to gauge traffic usage with a view to easing congestion, which is slightly ironic given the tailbacks they were causing.
The film I went to see was Wanted. I can only assume that the full title is Wanted: Something Resembling a Decent Script because it was quite absurd. I spent the first three quarters of the film trying my hardest to like it and the remainder sat shrivelled in sad resignation. The basic premise is that there's a group of super skilled assassins who can do cool things like bending bullets round obstacles and healing quickly in waxy baths. So who do they kill? Do they advertise in Yellow Pages for new clients? Oh no, they take their orders from a piece of old rag. A mystical tea towel. No really, I'm not joking. The ancient loom weaves a piece of cloth and the anomalies in the threads spell out the name of the next victim in binary code. I'm not even going the mention the exploding rats. Utter nonsense. I can't remember exactly the dialogue that closed the film, but it was something along the lines of "I used to be a nobody, now I'm a super cool killing machine. So what are you doing with your life?" Well, since you ask, I've just wasted the last two hours of it watching your ridiculous film. Ta very much.
On the way home they were still doing the census but not in my direction. I was half hoping that petite dayglo woman would ask me how the film was in order to give Suffolk County Council a more rounded view of my Ipswich experience, but never mind.
It's late, I'm tired, I have to be up early to assist my mother with some decorating tomorrow but hey, I'm putting you guys first again. The reason being that it's quite rare for me to have a social event to blog about so it just couldn't wait any longer. On Saturday, you see, I breached the capital and delved into darkest Islington (which was actually very sunny) for Ariane's birthday party. She has one every year and they are always enjoyable affairs because her friends tend to be very interesting, sociable people. Despite being neither of these things myself, I'm a keen observer nonetheless and I don't think I embarrassed myself too much apart from when someone politely enquired how I knew Ariane. I told them, quite casually, that she'd answered an advert I had placed in a contact magazine. What I'd meant to say was that I'd placed a contact ad in a magazine. I did have a designated role in the proceedings though, which was to host a 1990s based quiz. I should be getting a dab hand at this; last year I was called upon to host an 1980s quiz. Having learned from my somewhat over-complicated Madonna v Michael Jackson tug-of-war format last July, I kept it simple this time. Questions, answers, scores, winner. It's enduring, isn't it? Still, when you're calling out questions to a room full of people you do rather hope that your voice will slip into a calming, authoritative Radio Four type of tone but of course I could only manage an annoying nasal whine. It seemed to go okay though, and the team who solved a nagging mystery by calling themselves The McCanns Ate Her were duly crowned winners. I had to then make a sharp exit in order to catch the last train home, where I read a copy of the surprisingly literary When Saturday Comes and remained oblivious, until I got home, to the fact that the cheap Sainsbury's ball point pen I had misplaced earlier had been in my pocket all the time and leaked thick black ink everywhere. I now have about five pounds in loose change that is legal tender only in Gloopville. Thankfully I was wearing black jeans, but still have a red mark on my leg from where it was necessary to scrub at my skin in order to avoid having the world's lamest tattoo. Next year I'm taking a pencil.
So I've been thinking -again - and after all the kind messages of support it appears that I may have been a little hasty in pulling the plug on Doormat Picnic. The comment that got to me most was Thom's: You always quit too soon in your projects. Sadly, he's right. And the reason I usually quit is because I believe that there's something else I may be better at. Perhaps it's time to concentrate on being good at just one thing, however long it takes.
BUT:
There's still a big time issue with producing three strips per week, so if I'm to continue I will have to reduce the quota to two, probably on Tuesdays and Fridays. Is that fair? Another problem is that story three was originally going to be a rather surreal affair where all the characters went on strike and stopped doing what I told them. Yes, that's what desperation does to my brain. Thankfully I have now seen sense and scrapped the idea, but that also means that I have to scrap the three strips I had done for it. That reduces my buffer to a single strip! So you may have to bear with me if I fall behind again.
It's decided then: the comic will continue for the time being. I realise this whole quitting thing now seems like a 'publicity stunt' - the equivalent of handing in my notice purely to solicit an improved pay offer - but it really wasn't. I just didn't think anyone would miss it that much. So thank you, especially to Thom, and I hope you'll be there for the start of story three on Wednesday.
Today is my friend Ariane's birthday. Although she still looks like a sprightly teenager, she is in fact 28 years old. She is great! This is because:
I am very lucky to have her as a friend... have a great day, Ariane!
(Oh, and it was Thom's birthday last Sunday but I forgot to mention that. Sorry mate. You're great too. And stuff. *Quick awkward man hug*)
I haven't posted lately because I've been deep in thought, contemplating all sorts of things. Do hamsters care that their lives are completely shit? Was that £6 car wash a waste of money? Why did I eat an orange last night that had clearly gone off? Chiefly, though, I have been considering the future of my webcomic; it appears, despite reasonable efforts at promotion, that almost nobody is reading it which wasn't the plan at all. I'm not an egomaniac, but since I was hoping for at least a modest following I have taken the decision to cease production. The arguments go something like this:
Pros:
Cons:
Yeah, I'm a quitter, whatever. The truth is that I've invested almost every spare moment since January in the project and it has run its course. I truly admire those who have kept their comics running for years and years, but clearly I'm not cut out for it. There are other artistic avenues that I want to take without the pressure of weekly quotas. More on that as and when.
So thanks if you were one of the handful of regular readers, I appreciate your support. The comic will complete its run on Monday July 14th.
I almost missed Thom's belated comment to my 'Ten Thousand Hellos' post, but I'm so glad I spotted it. It casually directed me to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine, which, incredibly, has several old pages of the original Hermit Guide for viewing. I was totally astonished to see them, and somewhat depressed to note that I was a far better blogger six years ago than I am now (is it bad form to laugh at your own writing?). Most of the images haven't survived the archiving process but it was still a fascinating journey. I must draw your attention to the page dated 28 November 2002, in which I moan about my lack of wisdom teeth. Does that sound familiar? I was also amused by my discovery of eBay on one of the early pages, even recommending it to my readers as if they wouldn't have heard of it! Anyway, the archive page is here if you're interested. There's plenty of embarrassing stuff too, but it made my day. Thanks, Thom!
I call it 'The Slaphead Pelvis Bisection'. And if that doesn't look painful enough, I'm afraid it's also necessary for the male to bury his head between the female's shoulder blades:
Let me know how you get on.
