My friend Manda asked me to document her day as a stranger as part of her summer project set by Brighton.
27.8.08
Margaret.
My friend Manda asked me to document her day as a stranger as part of her summer project set by Brighton.
22.8.08
19.8.08
I'd rather sit in a bath of razor blades...
than actually sit down and do some work. You see, when i extract a portion of the day and tell myself i'm going to draw and typewrite and photoshop, i only ever end up playing nintendo wii. if you too own one, you will vouch for how fucken addictive they are. it's not just because of the uber-cool motion sensitive shit. oh no. if you have held but one conversation with me, five minutes will not pass with the excitable mutter of three words: Super Smash Bros.
After being introduced to the classic n64 version on a crispy winter's afternoon at college, jamming outside geo's ground floor flat with his outward opening window providing invaluable cover for television and console (teetering artistically on his windowsill) as well as the four hysterical contenders, i waited for the release date of SSB Brawl. And waited. The suspense was wearing me down like being repeatedly punched by Kirby, the little pink bastid. Now i have it and my life is complete.
After being introduced to the classic n64 version on a crispy winter's afternoon at college, jamming outside geo's ground floor flat with his outward opening window providing invaluable cover for television and console (teetering artistically on his windowsill) as well as the four hysterical contenders, i waited for the release date of SSB Brawl. And waited. The suspense was wearing me down like being repeatedly punched by Kirby, the little pink bastid. Now i have it and my life is complete.
16.8.08
Unenthused Artists Unite.
Uuugh.
It's been a while since my last post. I could lather you up with some soapy and overcomplicated prose about being on holiday and constantly having other, more important, things to do, but that would be bull.
Apart from the holiday bit. I went to Aldeburgh, Suffolk with my fam. I took Kirsty and Hugh with me because i knew that it would have been impossible to tolerate a week of my own company.
Turned out to be a beaut vacation; in addition to staying in a heffa of a house, everything was very cheap and the pebbly beach was a stone's throw away (geddit?) We spent a lot of time altogether as an extended family, which was lovely, cause i don't really seem to get the chance at home; either i'm in south london or the rents are working or sleeping because they work the rest of the time. I also jammed with my brother, which is pretty much unheard of. I think we have both grown up over the past year and a half and truthfully i don't think we argued once. Dad cooked some tasty mctasterson dinners and us kids even treated him and Pauline to a meal at a nice restaurant on the last night to say thanks for shit.
If there was one qualm I had about the holiday, it would have to be that Suffolk is full of inbreds. It's a shame really, because it's a beautiful place full of cute cottages that belong to famous peoples' mums. But the fact of the matter is that a large proportion of the population of Ipswich cannot distinguish between family members. And this, my friends, is the exact reason that the charity shops were so fucken good, Hugh and i almost ejaculated. Farmer shirts galore, and even a good crowd of boat shoes and loafers.
Suffolkers/ Suffuckers all dress as if they are taking the piss out of themselves. For the middleaged male fashion-followers there is a running theme of 'Scout Camp'. The look comprises outdated England football shirts with make-your-fucken-mind-up three quarter lengths and studiously stretched tennis socks. The trend is rounded off by brand spanking Hi-Techs, which, by the way, are not acceptable in any context, not even geek chic. If Hot Chip all donned these creps, there would be national outrage, and they would lose all credibility because everyone would realise that they, in fact, REAL nerds.
The hip youngsters dress head-to-toe in Jack Wills. Why, oh why, would you spend your hard-inherited dosh on such generic threads? You end up all looking the same, and as Kirsty pointed out, many a problem could occur. For instance, waiters may struggle identifying the seating arrangement in a restaurant full of the little shits:
"Hi there. We booked a table of five for eight thirty."
"Okay. And what was the name, please?"
"Jack Wills."
"Oooh..erm. Let me just get the manager."
I've gone so far off the point, I have no fucken idea what this post was originally about. Good day to you.
It's been a while since my last post. I could lather you up with some soapy and overcomplicated prose about being on holiday and constantly having other, more important, things to do, but that would be bull.
Apart from the holiday bit. I went to Aldeburgh, Suffolk with my fam. I took Kirsty and Hugh with me because i knew that it would have been impossible to tolerate a week of my own company.
Turned out to be a beaut vacation; in addition to staying in a heffa of a house, everything was very cheap and the pebbly beach was a stone's throw away (geddit?) We spent a lot of time altogether as an extended family, which was lovely, cause i don't really seem to get the chance at home; either i'm in south london or the rents are working or sleeping because they work the rest of the time. I also jammed with my brother, which is pretty much unheard of. I think we have both grown up over the past year and a half and truthfully i don't think we argued once. Dad cooked some tasty mctasterson dinners and us kids even treated him and Pauline to a meal at a nice restaurant on the last night to say thanks for shit.
If there was one qualm I had about the holiday, it would have to be that Suffolk is full of inbreds. It's a shame really, because it's a beautiful place full of cute cottages that belong to famous peoples' mums. But the fact of the matter is that a large proportion of the population of Ipswich cannot distinguish between family members. And this, my friends, is the exact reason that the charity shops were so fucken good, Hugh and i almost ejaculated. Farmer shirts galore, and even a good crowd of boat shoes and loafers.
Suffolkers/ Suffuckers all dress as if they are taking the piss out of themselves. For the middleaged male fashion-followers there is a running theme of 'Scout Camp'. The look comprises outdated England football shirts with make-your-fucken-mind-up three quarter lengths and studiously stretched tennis socks. The trend is rounded off by brand spanking Hi-Techs, which, by the way, are not acceptable in any context, not even geek chic. If Hot Chip all donned these creps, there would be national outrage, and they would lose all credibility because everyone would realise that they, in fact, REAL nerds.
The hip youngsters dress head-to-toe in Jack Wills. Why, oh why, would you spend your hard-inherited dosh on such generic threads? You end up all looking the same, and as Kirsty pointed out, many a problem could occur. For instance, waiters may struggle identifying the seating arrangement in a restaurant full of the little shits:
"Hi there. We booked a table of five for eight thirty."
"Okay. And what was the name, please?"
"Jack Wills."
"Oooh..erm. Let me just get the manager."
I've gone so far off the point, I have no fucken idea what this post was originally about. Good day to you.
31.7.08
canvazz bagzz
Today, Kitty and i spent the best part screenprinting and spraypainting the logos on the bags that she so kindly, and expertly, made. The aforementioned bags are going to be merchandise for the upcoming tour of Klaus Says Buy The Record, who is supporting Luke Leighfield across the country over the first half of august. We made an initial 20 with a view to make another 20/ 25 if they sell well. We will see. I'm pretty excited to find out how they do, if a little anxious. The pink 'K' is badboy, though, don't you think?
vontoge.
a couple of the attractive anomalies that i have acquired recently;
a label maker that i found in our loft when we moved house, a handmade journal with a recycled leather cover i bought from a hairy man at piccadilly market, and a kodak brownie from a charity shop in tonbridge (not terribly valuable, but rather pretty all the same).
28.7.08
Benicassim 2008
right. well, i've been back a while, but i have only just been able to find my macbook under the sedimentary layers of vestements strewn about my room. it's a shame i wasn't able to post my thoughts about the experience a lot earlier, because i have forgotten most of them now. the least i can do is piece together a sketchy amalgam of the festival....
we arrive at 11.30pm on tuesday night at benicamp, and pitch up in the car park, thinking that this was an ideal spot because of the lack of other campers. we proceed to get fucked and stagger around the campsite befriending northerners. we wake up at 8am, involuntarily, mind. the ruthless sun attacks the ground with rays of golden torture. we then realise why there is a lack of other campers; the heat has obviously melted both them and their belongings and they have been soaked into the ground, which is not too dissimilar to a quarry.
the subsequent two days consist of sprawling ourselves on the beach and frequenting the insanely cheap supermercados, which are constantly rammed with louts running about cradling beer and baguettes like their own offspring. outside the pedestrianised motorways, gangs of wilting youths, sporting comedy hats and aviators (and not much else) circle their wagons. what then follows can only be described as savoury mayhem. cheese, chorizo, chutney, countless other ch- foods all being sliced, diced and pureed. it's like watching ready steady cook with a bunch of kids with ADHD.
the beach is perfect. like faye dunaway holding a double barrell shotgun to warren beatty's loaf. except the sand is hotter than the sun itself. but apart from that, perfect. planes of caramel pulled taut along the flapping blue. cultured bathers refute bikini tops for the all-over tan, while michael jackson impersonators cower beneath octagonal oasis.
will update when i can be arsed.
we arrive at 11.30pm on tuesday night at benicamp, and pitch up in the car park, thinking that this was an ideal spot because of the lack of other campers. we proceed to get fucked and stagger around the campsite befriending northerners. we wake up at 8am, involuntarily, mind. the ruthless sun attacks the ground with rays of golden torture. we then realise why there is a lack of other campers; the heat has obviously melted both them and their belongings and they have been soaked into the ground, which is not too dissimilar to a quarry.
the subsequent two days consist of sprawling ourselves on the beach and frequenting the insanely cheap supermercados, which are constantly rammed with louts running about cradling beer and baguettes like their own offspring. outside the pedestrianised motorways, gangs of wilting youths, sporting comedy hats and aviators (and not much else) circle their wagons. what then follows can only be described as savoury mayhem. cheese, chorizo, chutney, countless other ch- foods all being sliced, diced and pureed. it's like watching ready steady cook with a bunch of kids with ADHD.
the beach is perfect. like faye dunaway holding a double barrell shotgun to warren beatty's loaf. except the sand is hotter than the sun itself. but apart from that, perfect. planes of caramel pulled taut along the flapping blue. cultured bathers refute bikini tops for the all-over tan, while michael jackson impersonators cower beneath octagonal oasis.
will update when i can be arsed.
9.7.08
Isometric shit.
Yeah, I know it's already been done, like, a thousand times, but isometric paper is the bee's knees. Yum yum yum.
4.7.08
K is for Klaus.
work was long today. my boss kept making awful jokes about my nose piercing. well, it was one joke, but hammered in several times throughout the course of the day. by four, my feet were killing me. i pretty much spent the last hour of work leaning on everything and anything in an attempt to relieve my poor footies. since i got home, i have only moved from my desk to have a cigarette and a cuppa cha. my poor eyes. oh and i also got up to spray this stencil. i spent last night cutting the shitting thing, christing fiddly it was. worth the effort, though. although i will do the entire thing again due to the retarded nature of the right limb. you get the picture though, it would look badboy on a bag. screenprinted in red. mmmm.
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