Sketch Diary: The Doors of Perception

I saw this unfair but amusing reflection of myself as I came home from work, a bit boozy, on Friday evening. Click on the image to make it larger. Please, come on, click on it.

PLEASE!

Actual Diary: Mega-stardom, at last

I've been given the opportunity to illustrate a short story and contribute to alittlepoison.com. It's a pretty little site for a bunch of people in London who, like me, ooze creative slime and would like a place to smear it.

Here's my first illustration for them: The River of Life

Sketch Diary: Smoking Bin

Here's evidence of Hammersmith's nicotine-addled office workers, hundreds of whom simultaneously dump their burning death sticks into a bin by the tube station as they rush home. It reminded me a bit of the smoking thing that mental Pope dude waves about.

Sketch Diary: Greenway is.. Grap

Sorry about the considerably lower standard of drawing here.

This is my 'refreshingly honest' marketing campaign for the Greenway Walkway that runs from Hackney to Newham.


Newham's Mayor, Sir Bobby Spittle, says:

"Come to Greenway, a dead-straight tarmac path cutting through Newham's overgrown industrial wasteland and scrap yards. Try and escape the heavy stink of sewage as it follows you down the path's six, long miles! When you get to the end, you'll find yourself in a field, miles from anywhere, with some horses tied up, and wonder why it is advertised as a nice walk on the Walk London website. See you there!"

Sketch Diary: Poopy Time

I abseiled down a 100ft castle turret as part of a birthday suprise that was so fun, I won't be able to make my usual sneering, cynical, miserable little comments about how crap everything is.

I doubt I actually looked this scared as I lowered myself through the medieval trapdoor of doom, but you get the idea. Poopy time.

Sketch Diary: Park Tavern

Here is an incoherent old drunk from one of the grimmest pubs in my area, the Park Tavern.

Instead of telling him to shut up, I've drawn an unflattering picture of him and posted it on an obscure corner of the Internet. That'll teach him. Although I can't imagine him doing anything with a computer other than just shouting: "Karmo' ya cunt" at it.

He was the landlord apparently.