Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“So here we are.”
“Yep.”
“Hang on.”
“There we go.”
“Oooooh!”
“OOOOOOH!”
“OH WOW! OH WOMAN, WOOOOW!”
“Crikey hun! You weren’t that good ten years ago!”
“YeAH aNd thIs feNCe wAsNt EleCtrifIeD TEN YeaRs AgOOoo!”
“Ack…”
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“That took some explaining,” laughed Saturn. “Hey look at that! They’ve done some work on the beer garden out back.”
“Yeah, that’s where we first did the business,” grinned Jessie.
“Yep, up against the fence at the back,” said Saturn. “Say. Wanna have a go there again. For old times sake.”
“Sure,” said Jessie. “I’m up for some beer garden nookies!”
“Hey, at least they replaced the rickety old wooden fence with a metal one,” said Saturn. “The splinters I got last time were a planetary pain in the arse!”
“Ah, yes,” laughed Jessie. “I remember you asking on a web forum about the best ways of removing wood splinters from your bum.”
“Yep,” grumbled Saturn. “Bad post…”
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My good friend NotDonner asked about an old print this weekend. It gave me a twang of nostalgia. It was the very first post I created on this website. Spectre pointing to the sky. “That’s our future, Sprites. It’s gonna be awesome.”
He was right. He was also brown in the original artwork. It’s been so long I’d forgotten that.
Sometimes things are a certain way for so long, you forget how they were before. The colours of our memories change.
It’s a shame my Etsy store marketing strategy of not telling anybody it exists hasn’t changed…
Plonk
Capricorn (ep. 84)
Dear Illustrator
Residents are reminded that rubbish is to be placed out front of the block after 6 pm Thursdays. No recycling or items over 1 metre allowed.
I would also like to remind you, pets are not allowed in any apartments. Whatever is, we can hear it.
We sacrifice David on the altar in the basement at midnight on Friday.
Tea and biscuits will be served afterwards.
Kind regards
Doris
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Oops! I missed last weeks #Colour_Collective. Posted it to Twatter and nowhere else. Flight, something we’ve all dreamed of doing right? We’ve all probably had a fear of falling from said flight too.
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“I always thought our second time together was better,” said Jessie. “Though that phone call we got afterwards was a funny one.”
“The woman who phoned me up screaming about what a dirty girl you were,” laughed Saturn. “How you’d split up her relationship by tempting her partner into bed…”
“I remember,” laughed Jessie. “I said ‘Hey you listen here! If the problem you have with your partner is so bad, you should tell them that!'”
“Yeah,” groaned Saturn. “Then you handed the phone to me…”
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“Ah, this place,” said Saturn.
“Yeah I thought you’d recognise it,” said Jessie.
“Our first night when we…” trailed off Saturn.
“Yeah,” grinned Jessie.
“Good call for a date,” said Saturn. “I was only in here the other day.”
“Same,” said Jessie. “I met Fuen and Yuffie here.”
“Odd there’s nobody here,” observed Saturn.
“It’s like the parrot themed club we visited that had no parrots in,” remarked Jessie.
“Yes,” recalled Saturn. “Pollygone.”
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“Do you fancy knocking off early, Reala?” asked Yuffie.
“Nothing’s going on here,” she replied.
“We’re gonna go watch the pigeon races, have a little flutter,” said Fuen.
“Ah, good,” said Reala, putting on her coat. “My aunt used to race pigeons.”
“Really?” asked Yuffie.
“Yeah,” said Reala. “I don’t know why. She never beat them.”
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Capricorn (ep. 83)
“New hat?” asked Winston.
“Yeah,” said Charlie, twiddling his new trilby to the room. “Got it off an eBay house clearance for £1.20! It’s got a name tag for a Michael in it, but otherwise, it’s mint.”
“Reminds me of your old one,” said Winston.
“Yeah, that’s why I got it. Nostalgia grabbed me!” said Charlie. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Any chance I could have a Green Vesper?” asked Winston.
“Yeah sure,” said Charlie. Charlie had no idea how to make cocktails or mix drinks.
Michael did though.
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Ever noticed how the clouds in Britain take issue with each other? America has vast clouds that live miles apart. Above India, the clouds are temperamental. Having a tantrum, sending monsoons in anger. Above London? They’re all squashed together. Cockney clouds are fighting for airspace.
“Get outta ma way bruv, tryin’ ta shape maself like an island, innit!”
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Little Fears 