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Hmm… 20, August 2010

Posted by babychaos in Art, General Wittering, Small Scale Disasters.
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OK, advice (please please) people… if you’ve the time or inclination. I’ve made some pathetic attempts to draw my characters. Big Merv is not ready for public display yet but he is, at least, beginning to look a little less like Gary Newman’s older, much camper cousin. More on that story, later.

I had a go at the hero of the thing… he’s not very good either, the pencil sketch isn’t bad, it’s the pen and ink effort that’s truly terrible. I guess I’m not very good at drawing in the comic book stylee… the economy of line required doesn’t suit my style, either that or I’m failing to identify the correct lines to pick.

Even so, I was hoping to achieve somebody who looked like the lad in my head and not Cliff Richard’s gay younger brother. Hmm…

Anyway, here they are, try not to laugh…

Character from Few Are Chosen, Book 1 of the Yarthan Trilogy

Hmm… so then I thought I’d try pen and ink.

The male lead in the Yarthan Trilogy

It looks better upside down.

For some strange reason, as the caption says, it looks quite good upside down… and then I turn it the right way up and think, hmm…

Yeh, in case I needed reminding, there’s a reason why I don’t usually draw people.


Advertising how it should be… 16, July 2008

Posted by babychaos in Art, General Wittering, Humour, Light Fluff, Play.
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Ok, crappy perfume advertisers pedalling bollocks, sellers of lard with made up names in it – yes laboratoire garnier with your nipozoniolipononyipids and other shite… All those stupid people who use advertising to make us feel shit about ourselves so we buy their crappy products out of desperation or fear… all those makers of wear these clothes, this perfume, drive this car, eat this chocolate and you’ll be shagged rigid every night for the rest of your life tossers… all those use our product or you will die dick cheeses, French – the joke was NEVER Fcuking funny – Connection et al…

THIS is how to make an advert. That is; without disrespecting or undermining anyone, without setting impossible goals of perfection, free from condescension and pretension, by being clever, original and witty.

Oh… um if you haven’t seen Thunderbirds – the original Gerry Anderson 1960s TV version, re-run in 1990 and 2000, as opposed to the film – you may not get that this is Brains, out of Thunderbirds… which will be a pity.

Household Hazard Number 32. The One Cat Disaster Zone. 9, June 2008

Posted by babychaos in Adult Content, Art, General Wittering, Life and living, Play, Small Scale Disasters.
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So I had a lovely day today, the weather was fine and sunny and I spent the morning having coffee with a friend round the corner and I sat out for the afternoon finishing some painting I have to do. All is going swimmingly, just finishing the last of the figure backgrounds and have mixed the colour for the lettering when the Kraken – who has spent the afternoon sleeping peacefully on top of one of my plants – wakes.

Yes, Mr Cat wants on to the table. There is no room. It containing a tray full of mixed inks, a piece of paper with various squiggles and further ink mixes, the paint water, brush and rag (kitchen roll) for wiping the brushes and of course, not forgetting the actual painting. I push him off and he goes back to sitting on the chair… for a few minutes, until he sees I am once again immersed in what I am doing.

He strikes, leaping onto the table and then standing on his hind legs and shaking to settle his fur. The table shakes with him, alarmingly but by some miracle nothing spills from the ink palette or drips off the paper and the paint water pot remains upright.

I remove the painting to safety and the paper with the paint squiggles… well… he puts his front foot in a soggy patch of watered down red and stretches but it’s not too bad, I manage to remove it before he steps into anything too concentrated. I get the water container, complete with brush oh yes and not forgetting my tea out of the way…

He is between me and the inks but he is not interested in retreating to that end of the table. He wants love and as my flailing hands remove soggy paint spattered things from his reach he tries to headbutt them, to get my attention… and get himself tickled behind the ears. I tell him he is a spanner and he suddenly realises I am laughing but at the same time, a little put upon. He backs away sitting down in the yellow ink. It’s all over his bum… this is a long haired cat, remember, with back trousers like one of those bizarre fluffy chickens.


I get the ink tray out of his way – that’s the try full of permanent, light fast inks – and try to wipe the bright yellow – oh look with some green, too – off his copious furry rear pantaloons. There is too much ink on the cloth for it to be much good but it works a little until he decides to sit down on the table. Now there is yellow and green ink all over the table, the cat and the only thing I have to hand to wipe it up.


I pour water on it to keep it wet in the hope I can wash it out. Nothing doing. I must go into the house to get more kitchen roll. Mr Cat leaps onto the chair – his hairy rear trousers acting like a giant paint brush – and covers that with yellow ink, too.

Mr Cat sees that the human is going into the house. Good. He will go with her and then she will stroke him while he eats his food.

No. She will not let him in. Not until she’s got the sodding yellow off the chair anyway – well… ok that’s only a partial success but it’s pretty well camouflaged and I can probably convince Mr BC it’s bird muck.

Mr Cat lurks by the door. I still refuse to let him in. Except I can’t stop him because he’s a bit quick like that whereas, conversely, I am currently built like a weeble and manoeuver with the grace, poise and cornering capability of the average oil tanker. So instead I corner him, hold him down and wipe the rest of the yellow off him. It’s dry now, anyway. He’s going to have to live with a yellow and green arse until it wears or moults off – whichever comes first.

Meanwhile back to the table. The nice wooden naturally weathered outdoor table. That’s yellow and green, too.

And dry.

Oh dear.

Mr BC is not going to like this. Never mind. At least I didn’t get any on the name painting and considering the determined onslaught of Mr Cat I did pretty well to disguise the fate of the chair and escape with merely the table daubed with ink.


Exit BC stage left to find some sandpaper.

Hell is other people… scaremongering gits who are already parents. 7, June 2008

Posted by babychaos in Adult Content, Art, General Wittering, Grumpy Old Bag, Life and living, Pregnancy Issues, whinging, winging.
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Today I am in good cheer on the whole but a conversation I had last night is beginning to really get to me. So much so that I thought that if anyone else out there has had this kind of experience I should put it here. At least that way it it might help someone in the same boat to know they’re not alone!

If they want to leave a comment on this post it’ll help me to know they’re out there and all – although I’ve posted it on a forum, too, which should cover that side of things.

Ok, as ya’all know this is my first pregnancy and I’m on the cusp of week 42, with an induction booked for Wednesday and yeh, I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before and now it looks like I may have to do something which is already difficult in what is, reputedly, a fairly grim manner. Although the jury’s out on that, I like the sound of labouring fast, even if harder is a slightly scary verb!

Anyway, the way I see it, there’s no point my crying or railing or struggling because that’s a waste of energy, energy I’m going to need. My little one is going to arrive soon. Labour varies from woman to woman but the odds are, it is going to smart a tad and furthermore, in the days and weeks afterwards my world is going to turn upside down – in a hard way, yes but also in a good way.

If he doesn’t engage and arrive before Wednesday, being induced may well hurt more than ordinary labour. The only good thing is, this being my first, at least I won’t really know… and at the end I’ll get most of my body back and I’ll finally get to meet the little blighter!

Well, when people ask me how I feel and I tell them that, I could really do with just being jollied along or reassured – honesty is not a problem, telling me yes it hurt like hell but all things must pass is ok – and most people do just that, or say nothing.

However, there’s another element, among my friends who already have children, who seem to think that making me as frightened as they can is a helpful and constructive thing to do.

Why? Explain please?

We all know that one of the secrets to a good labour is to be as calm and relaxed as possible. These people are supposed to like and respect me so how do they believe putting me into a blue funk is likely to improve the experience?

When I tell them I’m just going to do the best I can they ask me if I fully appreciate how difficult it’s going to be or how much agony I will be in, whether I realise how important it is that I somehow force the baby to come before the hospital steps in.

When I say Mr BC and I will muddle through they ask me if I understand just what I’ve done to my life and my marriage?

Hmm… well, what do they think I am? Stupid? I’m a first time mum after 12 years of marriage at almost 40, do they really think we haven’t had time to think this through?

I know when you’re pregnant everyone thinks they own you, I appreciate you are far less likely to be treated with courtesy by people you don’t know, to be offered a seat on a bus or served first in a shop than if you are say, on crutches (I have done both). Those are strangers, though. These are my friends.

Is it me? Am I too naive or too laid back? Or is it them?

What the fuck is going on?

The worst thing is, it’s quite hurtful and it’s getting to me a bit… and I really don’t need that kind of thing right now, I have enough to concentrate on. So… I wonder, has anyone else had to put up with any of this kind of shadenfreude? It’s like they think they had a crap time and now they want to make sure I do.

Sighs. There we go. Rant over.

Fucking annoying bastards!

Oh well, on the upside, an old friend, who was given one of my names for each of her little ones, has been made a godmother and has contacted me to commission a framed name, along with three sets of flashcards!

Boo yacka!

It’ll also be something to keep my mind off the going or not going into labour conundrum next week and for the purposes of my maternity allowance my first “keeping in touch” day – I’m allowed 10.

Wahoo! 20, May 2008

Posted by babychaos in Art, careers, General Wittering, Life and living, Light Fluff, Play, Pregnancy Issues, Work.
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The Muffin is now the right way round although he has disengaged… I knew that though, the reflux has returned with a vengence.


Have completed the art commission and been paid in cash.

More hoorah.

The other one didn’t come off… but hey. Guy wanted to commission some designs for rugs, I rang up loads of carpet companies, an artist and places like the Crafts Council to research the going rate but it was a start up company, in the States to boot so I think what with the exchange rate and all, even bottom whack was too much. Sigh. Recession schmession. Never mind.

Have also bought a stone polisher, or a stone tumbling machine as it’s sometimes called, at a car boot for £2. It’s not high quality but I’ve always wanted one… my bathroom is full of stones picked up off beaches, mountains etc and just as soon as I can find out how to do it properly, I’m going to polish some! I’m guessing jaggedy rocks will take more goes of sharp sand and longer to polish than smooth off the beach ones.

Hmm… we must be cautions…

Shiny stones!

Also tempted to start an art blog and put all my musings about writing and drawing there…