Novelist, Journalist and other things ending in -ist
These pictures are all entries from various drunken scribblers, all hoping to provide the cover art for my zombie cow novel (which will no doubt become a blockbusting move starring Tom Cruise, Benny Hill, Angelina Jolie and that cow from the Magic Roundabout).
I omitted my own effort, for the simple reason that I draw like a serial-killer after a heavy lobotomy session.
Nats, Victoria and Esther are responsible for the doodles.
My tree-measuring next-door néni is having her house painted, but instead of moving her furniture from room to room she has transferred it all out onto the balcony, which is now stuffed with 1950’s floral armchairs and other brick-a-brack. It’s like living next door to a jumble sale.
Moreover, another neighbour – who we’ll call Washing Néni – has called summer open season and started hanging up her laundry outside my window (this spot provides the most sun). Yes, that means big old néni knickers will be fluttering gently in the summer breeze beside my house. If I leave my window open, dry gusset flakes will probably get blown in. Ah well, at least I won’t have to put sprinkles on my cappuccino.
Mind you, this all raises the issue of what Circuit Néni will do for her daily exercise. She isn’t limber enough to climb over the pile of furniture and dodge the big knickers. Although, this does raise an interesting idea: The Néni Olympics. First néni to circumnavigate the obstacles with her zimmer frame and complete one balcony circuit (preferrably in under one hour) wins the gold! Imagine the excitement.
With any luck there might even be a few casualties. These women are competive, and I could easily see one of them putting spikes on the side of her zimmer frame a la Ben Hur and attempting to push her competitors off the balcony. You can’t beat a bit of néni blood sport.
How much could I charge for tickets for ringside seats at my window?
My tree-measuring next-door néni is having her house painted, but instead of moving her furniture from room to room she has transferred it all out onto the balcony, which is now stuffed with 1950’s floral armchairs and other brick-a-brack. It’s like living next door to a jumble sale.
Moreover, another neighbour – who we’ll call Washing Néni – has called summer open season and started hanging up her laundry outside my window (this spot provides the most sun). Yes, that means big old néni knickers will be fluttering gently in the summer breeze beside my house. If I leave my window open, dry gusset flakes will probably get blown in. Ah well, at least I won’t have to put sprinkles on my cappuccino.
Mind you, this all raises the issue of what Circuit Néni will do for her daily exercise. She isn’t limber enough to climb over the pile of furniture and dodge the big knickers. Although, this does raise an interesting idea: The Néni Olympics. First néni to circumnavigate the obstacles with her zimmer frame and complete one balcony circuit (preferrably in under one hour) wins the gold! Imagine the excitement.
With any luck there might even be a few casualties. These women are competive, and I could easily see one of them putting spikes on the side of her zimmer frame a la Ben Hur and attempting to push her competitors off the balcony. You can’t beat a bit of néni blood sport.
How much could I charge for tickets for ringside seats at my window?
I am officially a fuckwit after accidentally glueing a teapot lid to the floor of the flat as I tried to put it back together.
I thought about leaving it there and claiming it as an intentional “installation piece” that would somehow signify the permanence of tea to humanity (I don’t have a tea obsession, honestly). This would also have served the dual purpose of showing Nats the consequences of getting me to do anything remotely DIY-related around the house.
However, I needed a lid for my teapot.
I am officially a fuckwit after accidentally glueing a teapot lid to the floor of the flat as I tried to put it back together.
I thought about leaving it there and claiming it as an intentional “installation piece” that would somehow signify the permanence of tea to humanity (I don’t have a tea obsession, honestly). This would also have served the dual purpose of showing Nats the consequences of getting me to do anything remotely DIY-related around the house.
However, I needed a lid for my teapot.
The Onion is possibly the best publication in existence, and this article, sent to me by Nats, shows exactly why: