Made With Paper

I tried to draw Walt on my ipad. He doesn’t look mean enough.


Finally drew Purrl

I cant stop giggling

A not crudely drawn cat.

Reblogged from Love Comes Softly

I Am Hangover.

My head hurts and my face feels a bit like someone with a massive fist punched me on the right side of my jaw, repeatedly. Stupid wisdom tooth. I’ve also had a feeling of impending doom all day, similar to a few years back after going on a coke binge and then spending 2 days in my bedroom, crying, convinced that everyone hated me. Except this time it’s that I hate everybody.

I look and feel like an 80 year old woman today. Wandering about the house all hunched over in my dressing gown and some over-sized pajamas, making tea and swallowing tablets. Fuck it, just get rid of all my teeth and give me some dentures, a hot water bottle and some Murray mints and I can pretend the next few decades don’t need to happen.


Here’s a doodle what I done of Psychic Sally


For those of you who have never seen Psychic Sally at work, this clip is pretty funny

I love how she makes generic statements in her cockney drawl like, “ohhhhhwwww, ‘e loved ‘avin’ a larf didn’t ‘e?”, and the punters all weep and nod furiously and are all “YES! He totally did love a laugh! That was SO him!”.

Yes, that definitely identifies Uncle Bob from all the other dead relatives that have floated their way into the Orchard Theatre, Dartford, desperate to pass urgent messages to loved ones from the other side. Important messages like, the postman’s name, a colour they wore once, and how much they ‘love a ruddy good laugh’. 

Maybe I’m being cynical and it’s just their mushy ghost brains that makes them blab random words. A load of ghosts milling about Sally Morgan in semi-vegative states, dribbling and floating into things shouting “BLUE!” and, “DEREK!”, until they get her attention like some needy Unit kid. If that’s the case then it explains why Sally comes across as a tit. Poor Sally, I don’t blame her. Have a cookie love, you deserve one. 


Life feels like one long series of countdowns to things that aren’t a) fun or b) healthy right now. I’ll work on that!


In her strange little life

With her strange little toys

And the strange little knick-knacks

She collects with her 2p coins.

And it gets me down, and it makes me sad

But she doesn’t know that it’s all that bad.

A house that’s dusty and full of stuff

With memories embroidered amongst the fluff.

And it gets me down, and it makes me sad

But she doesn’t think that it’s all that bad.

An empty marriage because she can’t love

She learnt to take, but she doesn’t take enough.

And it gets me down, and it makes me sad

But she doesn’t know that it’s all that bad.