Dream Diary: Let's go home, Mr Obama

I'm resorting to drawing dreams again, sorry. The physical realm just hasn't been very interesting lately.
You have to admit, this one's fairly prophetic though. Just me and Barack, the lone survivors returning from a DREADFUL WAR.

In a MINIBUS. IN DORSET

Sketch Diary: BllaAAARGHHALP

Lunchtime in a pub in Caerphilly. A violent belch erupts from a woman on the next table, stopping me mid-sentence and blasting the stench of her spicy insides over me and my mother. No reaction from her or her friend.

Sketch Diary: Space Invaders

Tube travel reached a new level of discomfort this evening when a generously-fed woman decided to straddle me and give her fanny a well earnt rest on my knee.

Sketch Diary: MonuMental

Why is London's Monument - the largest free-standing stone column in the world - not more famous and well-loved? Because it's built in memory of a fire, and not some great war-bastard, I reckon.


The view from the top, where an insanely paranoid health and safety viewing cage has been created, is, as the Scots say, fandabidozi. But you do have to share two square metres of cage with about 50 amateur photographers and wheezing tourists.
I've added a man falling to his death from the top to help give a sense of scale.

Sketch Diary: 21st Century Band Practice

I've joined a band. This is how we roll.

We crazy.

Sketch Diary: Taxi Driver

I saw this merry little scene near my house the other day.

I couldn't tell if his face meant 'for god's sake, help me' or 'you've seen too much. I'll have to kill you too.'

I walked straight past because it was freezing and frankly I've got enough problems of my own.

Sketch Diary: Physio gets weirder

I'm not sure if my physiotherapist hates me but she made me do this on a treadmill the other day.