Caught Short

One of the occupational hazards to being a cartoonist is that as soon as someone finds out what it is that you do, they immediately launch into the retelling of something funny that once happened to them and inform you that it would make an amazing cartoon and that I should drop everything I’m doing and pursue it.

Although the stories are invariably funny, they are funny as a one off and as a result would not work as a cartoon strip. But when you look into their expectant eyes, all filed with hope and promise, you realise you haven’t the heart to tell them that their idea just wouldn’t work; that it’s too one dimensional and definitely falls under the category of ‘you had to be there’. And seeing as the vast majority of the human race wasn’t there, it’s a fair guess that it won’t work.

That’s what I should say.

But their needy, whimpering, Bambi eyed and largely pathetic looks lead me into saying, ‘you’re right, what an amazingly funny idea. I’ll draw it up when I’ve got a few moments and see if I can sell it’ They beam and rush off to tell their friends that they’ve just given me a great idea and it’s going to be a worldwide sensation and to remember this night as the night that it all began. Thankfully they usually follow this up by getting blind drunk, falling over, passing out somewhere inconspicuous (like the back seat of a Police car) and promptly forgetting the whole thing, leaving me to get on with the nuts and bolts of getting a life.

But since I started this blog revamp, I’ve realised that this is just such a vehicle for all those wonderful tales: The teller of the tale gets the kudos of having their story recounted and illustrated; and I get an amusing blog post. Everyone, it would seem, is a winner.

So with this in mind I started casting my mind over what I’d been told by friends past and present. And by eight thirty in the evening I’d reached my teenage years and the end of my tether.

There were indeed plenty of tales I could recount but none I was willing to retell here, as I was pretty sure the Police files weren’t closed on at least five of them. So while chatting to Karen about my frustrations she suggested I tell the story that her friend had recounted to us over Christmas. So here it is.

The incident happened some time ago while Karen’s friend (we’ll call her Sue to protect a little more than her innocence) was out riding her horse. She’d gone a little further than she’d actually intended to and had found herself in an unfamiliar field with a panting horse and a sudden urge to go to the toilet (Not the horse. Sue)

'when a yelp of both shock and surprise escaped her lips, the horse did what all easily startled creatures do in situations like this and bolted'

She looked around and saw no bushes that she could crouch behind. She looked further still, but all she could see was rolling field after rolling field with nothing that could afford her the privacy of such a delicate act.

As is always the case, in situations like this, when you realise you can’t go, the urge to go increases exponentially and soon the initial urge grows into a desperation that has you at bursting point. A quick glance around once more told her two things: First, there were definitely no bushes or trees with which to hide behind and second, she was in the middle of nowhere.

The second point made her think.  She thought ‘If I can see no one, then logically there’s no one around to see me’ She looked once again, chose the point at which the sudden arrival of walkers, hikers or fellow riders would most likely be, dismounted her horse and put ‘it’ between herself and that spot.

She then set about the delicate act of pulling her jodhpurs and knickers down while both squatting and holding onto the horses reins at the same time. That done, and set at an unnatural angle, poised as she was between a rock and a thistle, the tension began to escape her body and the trickle became a torrent of blessed relief,  and that was when the incident, upon which this whole story lies, began.

The horse, suddenly aware of the weight distribution no longer being on its back, assumed that this was its down time and decided to get a spot of grazing in before its mistress could leapt astride her back once more and head off to explore pastures new.

Sue, unaware of the horse’s intentions, was using the reins for balancing purposes. So when the horse suddenly dropped its noble brow, sue dropped with it, right onto the previously unnoticed thistle. And when a yelp of both shock and surprise escaped her lips, the horse did what all easily startled creatures do in situations like this and bolted, with Sue still attached to its reins, her knickers around her ankles whilst presumably still attending to the call of nature.

Valiantly Sue tried to disentangle herself from the reins but every time she hit the ground the momentum of the bounce sent her into spin, tangling her up even more, which caused her yelps of pain to increase in both range and volume, and this, in turn, spurred the horse onto even greater speeds and panic.

So imagine  the look on any walker’s face, who happened to be exiting from the dappled shade of the spinney that bordered this field, and into the expanse of open Herefordshire country, bordered as it was by bramble hedge and thorn, only to be confronted by what can best be described as a horse in the white heat of panic, dragging a spinning woman, who had clearly wasted her time straightening her hair that morning, and was gyrating out of control, with her trousers at half mast whilst doing her impersonation of a water sprinkler.

It’s unclear exactly how Sue’s adventure came to an end as her mind, justifiably, has erased most of it through pain. But at some point she must’ve either stopped screaming for mercy or the horse had just ran out of steam. But before that could happen, it had leapt four stone walls, cleared three brambly hedges and forded nine individual streams -- all with Sue still attached and screaming like a banshee. So there Sue lay at journeys end, panting and emitting great clouds of steam. The only thing on Sues mind was to get home, find the savlon, plasters, bandages and a large brandy. The horse, oddly enough was now at peace with the world and the panic driven romp was but a misty memory as it chomped peaceably on some succulent clover it had just discovered. Sue disentangled her hand and let it go before slumping back to the ground---presumably with her knickers still in a come hitherto fashion.

If you have any tales of your own, please feel free to contact me and I will do the honours---I’ll even change your name if you like, I just did for poor old Sue.

Also, if you are in need of books, DVD's, games, electrical goods or a whole host of things and you're going to use Amazon to buy them, please click onto it through my site on the banner add to your right; for every person that does I get a payment from Amazon and if you order from that click then I get a commission on what you brought. It doesn't cost you a single penny extra but it does help fund me to carry of giving you free cartoon advice and stories that I keep giving you.

So remember, every click helps me entertain you

Creation of a New Character---Part 3

Creation of a new character part 1

Creation of a new character Part 2

First I’d like to apologise for the change in plan that I’d originally promised in last week’s post. I won’t be dealing with the Photoshop tutorial as advertised as it’s a much larger project than I first imagined. And to be honest with you I just couldn’t do it justice as one half of a post.

When I looked at it again and realised just what does go into colouring or greyscaling a cartoon in Photoshop I realised it was more like a two or three post topic all of its own, and even then we’d only be scraping the surface.

So on this, the third in the ‘How to create a Cartoon Character’ posts I’d like to show you how I break the main character, Captain Alzheimer down into workable chunks.

The reason why I do this; and the reason why so many other cartoonists do it is simple: If you have a structure to work off, your character will always look the same, no matter how many times you draw him or her.  

So without further delay, let’s get our pencils and paper out and dive right in.

1                     First off draw a kind of light bulb shape

2                     Then divide both the rectangle and the round sections into four as I have.---These will eventually be the head and body. Also put stick arms and legs in with circles for the hands and bread stick shapes for the feet; the little ‘arc shapes’ on the arms will be the tops of his marigold gloves.

3                     Now give him a v-neck, (this is the start of the shape of his cape) Also draw a circle to denote where the knot will end up. Add the gloves and the shape of his thumb and finger on His left hand

4                     To finish off this section fill out his arms and legs and complete the shape of the fingers. Then move onto the cape; think about the folds and how they will sit. Finally do little cartoon toes on the end of his feet.

Now it’s time to move onto the head. I’ve given this its own section as it’s so important to get the face right. The wrong facial expression can ruin the look, stance and personality of your character.

1                     Using the dividing lines (as set out in fig. 2 above) extend the horizontal line to just outside of the rectangle on both sides. These will be his heavy eyebrows. Next put the nose in, using the horizontal line as a guide; try the have it going down the centre of his nose

2                     Now put the lines in that denote the bottom of his mask. Also put his eyes in place. Note I’ve rounded off the top of his head using the extreme left and right of the rectangle as a guide.

3                     Finally put in his mouth. This particular expression gives him the look of confused pomposity that I want in this character. On top of his head put the capital A attached by a piece of wire

I will be dealing with facial expressions in another tutorial, sometime in the not too distant future. But for now we must move onto the final stages and clean up the finished drawing of Captain Alzheimer by filling in the solid black for the back of his cape and the word ‘err...’ on the front of his thermals. Also put a few dots here and there to show that they’re thermals

In Part 4 on 'How to Draw a new Cartoon Character' I'll be dealing with the writing of a comic page script. Keep coming back for more courses, tales from my life, anecdotes and tom foolery from my Diary of a Cartoonist.

Also, if you are in need of books, DVD's, games, electrical goods or a whole host of things and you're going to use Amazon to buy them, please click onto it through my site on the banner add to your right; for every person that does I get a payment from Amazon and if you order from that click then I get a commission on what you brought. It doesn't cost you a single penny extra but it does help fund me to carry of giving you free cartoon advice and stories that I keep giving you.

So remember, every click helps me entertain you

Broken Toe

A couple of weeks ago I broke my toe. It was the little one on the right foot for those of you who need to know these things, and I did it while rushing out to the back room of my house and catching it, full on, against the side of the kitchen units. I, quite naturally, dropped to the ground like a stone and assumed the foetal position in all its exactitudes with the exception of one leg pointing directly up like a pole without a flag and a fastly colouring toe on the end of it.

Once my vision had cleared enough from the tears of pain, I turned the air blue with my thoughts and protestations on the subject, following it up with a whack of retribution to the offending sideboard; and the sideboard thanked me by almost breaking my knuckles.

So for the past few weeks I’ve been hobbling around like an invalid and getting little or no sympathy from the ones who purport to love me: When I told Karen she emitted the briefest of ‘Ah Blesses’ before launching herself into a tale of how she broke two toes (note it had to be one more than me) when she was younger and was forced to work for a whole day cleaning and mopping up after a bunch of ‘Oldies’ at the day care centre she worked at. I did think of saying ‘but mine really hurts’ but she’d already adopted that look that all females adopt when their man talks of suffering; that of: Don’t talk about pain until you’ve given birth. I saw the danger signs and sat down to read my book and Karen walked off humming the hum of the victorious.

My eldest daughter Hannah was equally as distraught. When Karen and I went to her house last Friday and I got out of the car, with the aid of a hiking stick I’d grabbed to help me walk, she took one look at me and roared with laughter saying, ‘I didn’t expect to see you with a stick for at least another ten years’.

Having realised I was on my own so far as the TLC stakes were concerned, I decided to just get on with things and restrict the self pity to bedtime and tea breaks.

One thing you will learn about me, as I tell you more and more about my life, is that I’m not exactly one of life’s great organisers. In fact I’m hopeless. I have tried everything I can think of to plan my life with more accuracy and precision; I’ve laid all my chores and plans out for the day on the computer, and then forgotten to set the timers on the reminders. I’ve forgotten just about every appointment I’ve made; so much so that the Doctors, Dentists and Bank have taken to giving me half hourly phone call reminders right up to my appointment--- I’ve even tried post it notes, but I put them somewhere safe and to this day there where-about are a mystery.

But without a doubt, the thing I’m most incapable of getting right is having both house phone and mobile phone with me at the same time. I can have the house phone but not the mobile or the mobile but not the house phone. And because I draw on the third floor and the house phone is on the ground floor, it’s always a mad dash to get to it before the answer machine kicks in.

So there I was a couple of days ago, in the studio and deeply involved in something or another when I was abruptly reminded that I’d forgotten the house phone again (due to the fact that it was ringing its merry little head off downstairs while I was upstairs). I knew I probably wouldn’t get to it in time, but I had to try.

So I set off hobbling down the two flights of stairs, jarring pain shooting through my toe with every step--- nearly breaking my neck on the smooth kitchen floor as I took the hair pin bend to the front room.

I’d been trying to count how many times the phone had rung and how many rings I had left before it cut off, and as I neared the phone I could see the light on the LCD display. Convincing myself that this was the last ring I launched myself into the air, over the armchair, grabbing the phone as I sailed towards the sofa. I had the phone almost to my ear when I collided with the far side of the settee, dislodging a half drunken cup of tea from the shelf above and spilling it all over my head.

But I didn’t care: My toe throbbed, my hair was crystallized with cold tea and sugar, but I’d made it through the assault course of my house, and with a broken toe. I clicked the receive button with a sense of victory. I’d earned this phone call and I was going to take it.

‘Hello’ I said.

‘Hello’ came the reply in a faintly foreign voice, ‘My name’s Basil and I am calling you from Powergen’.

My mood dropped with an audible huff. If there’s one thing I’ve learned to hate over the years, its sales calls. But if there’s one thing I’ve grown to hate even more, it’s someone trying to make me believe they’re someone that they patently are not. And with a thick Indian or Pakistani accent, this guy may very well be an Aslaf, or Ibrahim but what he was not. What he most assuredly, most definitely was not, was a BASIL.

'On once such occasion when the muse was upon me I answered the phone to a Lord Cecil Humpington the third from Bangalore'

I, like most people, hate the intrusions made upon our daily lives by these parasites, and no amount of caller protection seems to stem the tidal wave of their nuisance phone calls. They offer us thousands of pounds from mis-sold PPI’s--- If we sign now we can save 400% off our windows or have our energy bills frozen for two years, which, paradoxically, is what we are doing due to the fact that we can’t afford to put our heating on in the first place.

How I deal with these numpties depends largely upon what kind of day I’ve had. They can either get short shrift from me by my calling their parentage into question, or I can have a little fun with them.

On once such occasion when the muse was upon me I answered the phone to a Lord Cecil Humpington the third from Bangalore, who was enquiring as to if, I was Mr Dixon. I replied that I hoped not, and when he enquired why I hoped not, I said because I’m a burglar and I’m doing his house over and promptly put the phone down. I then waited to see if he had the decency of mind to call the police. He didn’t. And that’s why I’ll never buy my dual fuel from Scottish Electric.

But on that day, and as I sat there, wet, toe throbbing and out of breath, I had a strange attack of levity and below is the transcript of the actual phone call between myself and Basil from Powergen. It is worth pointing out that all of my words were spoken with the voice I had adopted of a simpleton, for comedic effect.

Basil:      Hello, this is Basil, and I’m calling you from Powergen, how are you today sir?

Me:        Hello

Basil:      Yes, hello Mr Dixon, My name’s...

Me:        Hello

Basil:      Hello my name’s Ba...

Me:        Hello

Basil:      Hello, am I speaking to Mr Dixon?

Me:        Yes

Basil:      Good, hello Mr Dixon my name’s...

Me:        Hello

Basil:      Er...

Me:        Hello

There was then a pause. I kept the silence up

Basil:      Sorry did you say you’re name is Mr Dixon?

Me:        I’ve hurt my toe you know, I hit it with my head

Basil:      Er...I beg your pardon?

Me:        Hello

Basil:      I said I beg yo...

Me:        My mommy said I shouldn’t talk to strangers

Basil:      Really, why?

Me:        Because I like to find out where they live and cut them up into tiny pieces with my scissors

There was a very audible click and Basil was gone; presumably to buy a flak jacket and a set of dark sunglasses.

Telesales callers--- Normally they’re a pain in the ass; recently they’ve become a pain in the toe!

Pot Boiler

Cartooning can be hazardous to your kitchen. I know because today it very nearly was.

I had been working on the scripts for a new comic strip when the incident happened. It  had just turned one O’clock and time for my lunch, and I found myself in that most pleasant of past times, deciding which mouth watering option to go for: Should it be the beef with watercress and the merest slivering of horseradish sauce, resting idly between two spring fresh pieces of bread? Or maybe the pork loin chunks smothered in seafood sauce and sweet corn then topped off with fresh iceberg lettuce and crushed croutons; pressed gently between two willing slices of lightly buttered and salted bread?

My mouth watered as I arrived at the fridge, but as I opened the door, my gastronomic dreams fell crestfallen to the floor when I took in the stark interior of my underworked fridge.

Two half used empty jars of jam, a well intentioned bottle of light mayonnaise, a bottle of pop (flat), some cheeses that were doing their best to stay in date and a box of eggs.

‘Egg sandwiches it was then’.

I turned forlornly to the depressed looking bread bin, it didn’t hold up much hope of having fresh ‘anything’s’ in its interior, but it did offer me two budget baps from the petrol station down the road. I nodded in resignation and grabbed the eggs, closing the door on the ghost town that is my fridge as I trudged off.

I put the eggs in the pan, filled the pan with water, turned it on to the ‘as-quick-as-you-like’ setting and went back into the front room to continue working on the gags while I waited for boiling water and time to do their bit.

Now there are two things that happen when I’m deep in thought or swimming headily amongst my own creative juices: first, my mind starts to wander, and as it wanders it usually drifts, followed swiftly by me as I drift off to sleep.

Not that I’d ever admit to being old or anything and I don’t really consider it sleeping, because thanks to political correctness, an afternoon sleep is now referred to as a ‘power nap’, and it was one such power nap that I’d drifted off into, with the smile of a contented baby on my face.

'I’ve done a few things in my time whilst attempting to cook, but I’ve never made an egg disappear before'

Twenty five minutes later I was awoken suddenly to a strange, but very audible POP sound. And seeing as I was still in that trance like state of the half asleep and therefore not fully awake, and yet to discover that I had a pen lodged up my left nostril, it was all a bit confusing.

Then the time space continuum thing did its bit and reality struck me like the slap in the face “The eggs!!”

I shot out of my seat, rushed headlong into the kitchen--- removing the pen before I tore my nostril off on the high back of my dining room chairs, and saw that the pan was dry and about to weld itself to the hob; and my eggs had disappeared.

‘My god’ I thought, ‘I’ve vaporised the eggs’.

I’ve done a few things in my time whilst attempting to cook, but I’ve never made an egg disappear before. And as I pondered on the triple thoughts of having to start lunch again, preferably this time with none vaporising eggs--- if the pan could be salvaged or whether I should leave it melt a bit more and sell it as a piece of modern art or finally, was there a new and burgeoning career for me as ‘Karlo, the amazing egg vaporiser’, when I was brought back to reality by the not very pleasant feeling of something ploppy, overcooked and half covered in shell, hitting me on the head.

I looked up, and there they were, my two eggs, splattered across the ceiling.

In the time it had taken me to snore like a chainsaw through a power nap, the water had evaporated and, having nothing else to do, had decided to start its own space race by launching my lunch onto the ceiling.

So whenever anyone asks me where I get my ideas from I say, come and stay with me for a week and I’ll show you.

Karen, are you still sure you want to live with me?

Creation of a character--- Part 2

Creation of a Character--- Part 1

So here we are again on the second part of five posts on how I personally go about creating a character, taking it right up to the point where it's ready to be posted to prospective client editors.

The first post (which you can read by clicking on the link above or just scrolling down) dealt with how my creation, Captain Alzheimer went from a rough sketch to fully fleshed out character.

On this post I'll be drawing Captain Alzheimer in a variety of poses. I do this purely to see how versatile he is and how he looks from different angles and how he performs with different emotions.

Below is a typical example of one of my character sheets. Some cartoonists use these sheets as reference, some  use them as a way of warming up in the morning. I personally don't do either as I've never felt the need to warm up --- I just like to get straight to it, and once I'm into drawing the character, I tend to throw these pages away.

Action is a big thing for me so even when Captain Alzheimer is standing still (as in the top right illustration) he's still got signs of action; like the bend in his knees or the pondering finger to the mouth or the way that his cape droops along with his stance. Also you may note how the capital 'A' above his head aides greatly to his movement; if he's moving fast the 'A' is stretched far out behind him. If he's surprised it could be poinging straight up as if in shock; or when he's looking confused or dejected, it could hang low with almost a look of depression. And finally, and for this character in particular, I needed to see how his cape would affect his movement. The cape in a super hero is almost like a supporting actor and can aid greatly to a panels mood.

And speaking of supporting actors, the next thing I needed to do was create Captain Alzheimer's immediate supporting cast.

But before I did this, I needed to get the idea of the strip right---I had to create a premise or a world for them to live in. A world which would continue to produce storyline after storyline---very important if you want your idea to run past the first few weeks.

When creating a character, the most important thing to remember is your market. If you're looking for a syndicated comic strip then you want pink and fluffy things. If its political, then the character or idea needs to be more hard hitting, angular and less fluffy.

In this case the market I was targeting was for over the top humour --- strips that took on adult themes through the medium of a children's style comic format, but a format that most definitely was not for children. So the thought of a pompous superhero who kept on forgetting things seemed like a great idea and something they may very well be interested in and if you add to that all the superhero cliches and standard story lines then this was an idea that had possibilities. But deciding to have him run around in his thermal underwear and a towel because he could remember to change, but couldn't remember what he'd done with his costume, made me realise I was on to something.

The other characters in this strip needed to be at a minimum and act mainly as a 'straight guys' to his ever confusing activities. So I drew the characters below:

His wife, who is very calm and tries to get him to realise that he's no longer a superhero and to stay indoors where its safe. She also seeks respite care and this causes more fun when he tears around the day centre causing even more confusion --- seeing the nurse as a super villain called Miss Matron or the psychiatrist as Dr Psychobabble, the evil mind controller.

The next character was the Police sergeant who Captain Alzheimer keeps on referring to as the commissioner; almost like Batman would to his police contact.

The sergeant is a frustrated character who has to juggle budgets with crime figures, ever more increasing pressure groups and a total lack of faith by the public in the system of law. Now, it would seem, he has to deal with an idiot in long johns and a towel who thinks he needs him to solve the cities crime wave.


So the cartoon had a socio political theme with a silly side. The two would, I feel, work very well together.

I hope you've enjoyed the second of my posts and got more of an insight into how an idea is formulated. Not all cartoonists use the exact same formula, but as a guide it will work very well for the aspiring cartoonist.

Next week we'll be looking at the character breakdown or how he is put together in stages. I'll also be showing you how I put the grey shading on him in Photoshop.

See you then...

The Creation of a New Character---Part 1

Cartooning is by no means an exact science and therefore any ideas I come up with are very much hit and miss; I can never tell if I’ve invented another Snoopy or a Titanic that will sink ingloriously without trace.

The only constant, in this inconsistent world of mine, is that I keep creating. If an idea comes to me and I think it might stand a chance, then all I can do is go with it and hope for the best.

The main difference between normal people and cartoonists is their brain. Normal human brains are divided into three sections: the hindbrain, the midbrain and the forebrain; the last one involves the cerebral cortex. But a cartoonist brain has two more sections: The pink fluffy bit which creates all the stuff that political correctness loves--- and the dark side. This is the part that creates what most cartoonists look at, laugh out loud to and then discard as too much fun to be publishable.

So without further ado I would like to take you through the whole thought process of a character created from scratch right up to the day that it’s dispatched to the editor of its chosen market. This will be divided over something like four to five separate blog posts.

 But I give you fair warning, whereas most of the ideas you see come directly from the pink fluffy side of my cerebral cortex, this one flew right out of the dark matter which resides on the wrong side of my brain tracks. And when I tell you this characters name is Captain Alzheimer and the comic I’m aiming it at is Viz a comic in the traditional sense but with a humour that crosses the borders of the anarchic with aplomb, then I think you can consider yourself to have been fairly warned as to its insensitive nature. This idea is not for the faint hearted or the PC obsessed.

Today’s post will start with the rough pencil outlines of Captain Alzheimer and the idea behind the strip:

1. This was the first ever sketch of Captain Altimeter. I didn’t like it as it was over complicated. He had one slipper on one foot and a boot on the other, too many warts; you couldn’t really tell what the significance of his shorts were, the towel on his back was a little confusing, i:e; it might be a tablecloth or settee throw--- The idea was to have a confused superhero not a confused looking one.

2. Next came the more geriatric looking Captain Alzheimer. But once again there was a problem. Mainly in the fact that he wasn’t going to be durable enough to draw from all angles; and the confused costume problem was still there. And anyway he didn't look confused he looked dazed and stupid, and when ever you create a character there must be some sort of empathy within it.

3. Then I settled on a more rounded character with the look of pomposity that all superheroes seem to have. But still he was too complicated, costume wise, but I did like the capital ‘A’ that wobbled on the top of his mask as he moved.

Then I hit upon what I thought to be the right mix. But first I had to create his reason for being. Captain Alzheimer suffers from memory loss, so logic would dictate that he knows he has to change out of his civilian clothes but he can’t remember what he did with his superhero outfit. He has his mask but nothing else, so I had the idea of him improvising; what I came up with was to have him stripped to his thermals with a tea towel for a cape and his wife’s marigolds for gloves. The final bit was to replace the letters of his name on his chest with the word ‘Errr....’ as an instant signifier as to his mental state.

Below is the finished, cleaned up drawing of Captain Alzheimer. Incidentally, I knew I’d hit upon the right idea when I showed Karen the finished picture. She just shook her head and said “There’s really no hope for you is there?”

All good super heroes have catch phrases and mine had to have one that befitted him. Spider Man had a phrase that I just knew could be changed to suit mine. Spider Man’s was ‘With great power comes great responsibility’ but Captain Alzheimer’s differed only slightly, his was...

The NEXT post will deal with the durability of Captain Alzheimer as I produce the first character sheet which will shows him in action, and from all angles. I’ll also be creating his supporting cast and their personalities and their relevance to his world.

Monkeying Around

Going further on from my other puzzle page idea that I talked about a few weeks back, I thought I'd give these pleasing little asides some more thought. The result is the page below.

My puzzle of choice this time was the Word Puzzle.

Naturally, if I was going to have anything to do with this kind of project, then it would have to involve a lot of action, loads of characters,a silly, yet comical situation and possibly a word search.

The idea I eventually settled on was to have a set amount of words with one missing---how this was to go missing went right to the centre of the idea.

The elephant had slipped on a banana skin---left by one of the careless monkey puzzle constructors---and as a result he'd slipped and slided his way around the pond; knocking some of the chimps into the water as the hungry crock looked on, and eventually coming to a crashing halt against the large word puzzle---knocking the word out and most of the other monkeys off.

After I'd finished it (it took me a whole day to complete) I went downstairs to the front room where Karen was reading her take a break puzzle magazine. In it where some word searches, all black and white, devoid of illustration and basically functional. I looked once again at mine with its lively action, vibrant colours and countless hours of construction and thought to myself: 'Why do I knock myself out doing this stuff'


The honest answer is simple; I love it. I love the thought process, I love the construction and layout of my piece of work and I love seeing it come together. But the bit I love the most is when someone picks it up, looks at it and says 'Wow, that's great'. And lets face it, who wouldn't love seeing or hearing of the respect of another person  for what you've spent an age lovingly constructing.

So go take a look and if you think what I've done is worthy of a wow, then post it below and feel my glow of pride come right back at ya!

Enjoy

New Years Eve 2012

The plan was to go out for a quiet New Years Eve drink, and until we hit the final pub, that’s exactly what we did do.

We’d stopped at a few places but for one reason or another we couldn’t settle and had moved on.

Eventually we stopped at a pub that we’d both seen on more than one occasion but had never actually been into, so we thought we’d give it a try, and boy were we in for a surprise.

When we walked through the door it was like hitting a time warp; the wallpaper was from the 1970’s, the bar from the 1920’s, the carpet from the 1950 and the locals from the loony bin.

Right from the off I knew this was going to be my cup of tea. The bar was populated by every pub cliché you could imagine. There was the late middle aged guy with his shirt hanging out; (having given up its previous role of ‘beer-belly-hammock’) he was accompanied by the couple from the cave on the village outskirts. Both were of hugely disproportionate proportions and had that greasy haired look that didn’t come from a bottle. To my right was the silent guy who everyone spoke to but whom he resolutely ignored as he poured over the sport and TV section of his paper. Next to him was the village oracle---the knower of all village gossip.

I turned and smiled to Karen who had a sinking feeling when she realised that I’d met my kind of people.

We sat down while I settled into a personal favourite past time of mine: people watching.

After a few moments, a young girl of about nineteen or twenty came in with her lost –little- lamb of a boyfriend, who appeared to have brought himself a black shirt in an attempt to make himself look hard; sadly the national health specs had killed the look. Not that it mattered as all eyes were on her and for good reason, for she had the most gargantuan set of breasts I have ever seen; and even though she was quite obviously a local, the locals hadn’t quite gotten used to the spectacle as they all turned round and ogled the poor girl. Even Mr TV guide looked up briefly before busying himself, once again with the 2:30 at Kempton.

She sat down just as the jukebox (yes the pub actually had one) suddenly blasted into life. It was one of those songs that started and ended on abrupt notes --- no lead in and slow fade out as is the norm with most songs. And it was this that caught the locals out, or to be more precise, caught one of the locals out.

Because the music was so loud, voices had to be raised to compensate. But when the music stopped with all the abruptness of a whip crack, the bar oracles voice was still set two decibels higher than that of the record, and sailed across the room for all to hear, and the fateful words he was left uttering were: “...the size of her tits!”

Next, the beer belly decided to treat us all to an impromptu dance with what I can only assume was an invisible partner. As he sang sweet incomprehensibles into her invisible ear he pin-balled off locals and tables alike before ending up in the middle of the room to rapturous applause. He took a bow, shoved his hands down his trousers and started playing with himself until the greased up cave man stuck a pint in his hand, presumably to give it something to do.

But the award for the line of the night went to the barman. When I was up getting a drink he was talking about Elvis. Not the pop star, but a local. When I asked who this Elvis was he said ‘oh he’s the village idiot’. I looked at him with eyes that obviously needed a little more than that to go on and he said, and I quote:

“We haven’t had a village idiot since the last one moved away so we had to ship Elvis in --- but he’s only on loan”

I looked at him open mouthed, he handed me my pint and said, “Welcome to the countryside Mister, that’ll be £4.76 please.”