Art

Wow!  I haven't posted here for ages.  I thought I'd pop in and post a picture I made for 7 Reasons.  It's called Stupid Stupid Stupid and here it is:

(Click on it to see it in its correct size)

Now you may be wondering why I made a picture of a hairless cat wearing Crocs balancing on a green lampshade.  Well you can find out here.

Something I Found In The Bathroom

Ever wondered what the severed head of a ginger child stuck on the body of a swan with an anchor attached to it and surrounded by a wreath would look like?  Wonder no more:

I'm staying out of the bathroom from now on.

Change

Anyone else sick of the word change yet?  I was going to play around with the Lib Dem posters too, but they already use the word change in them and I got rather bored of seeing it. 

Please politicians - of all parties - stop saying "change".  Say something else.  Say "serendipitous" or "marmalade".  Say "lumbago".  You will not get more votes just by saying "change".  Hopefully.

Missing: Men With Sandwich Boards

Whatever happened to men with sandwich boards?  When did you last see a man wearing them?  Have you ever seen a man wearing them?  Where have they gone to?

I see people carrying placards around our city centres advertising businesses.  I see people standing outside  shops and bars with placards that point toward them.  What I don't see, however, are men with sandwich boards advertising things.  I can't remember the last time I saw one.  Has the held-aloft-placard been proven a more successful marketing tool than the sandwich board while I wasn't paying attention?  Has the sandwich board become a relic of another age like the daguerreotype or the Jacquard loom?  Has anyone else even noticed their disappearance?

I think we should be told.

A Letter to the Wood Pigeons.

Dear Wood Pigeons,

For thousands of years, humankind has gazed enviously skyward, marvelling at birds and their capacity for flight.  In fact, in terms of what they wish they could achieve, unassisted flight comes second only to invisibility in the imagination of most humans.  I often speculate on what I would do if I could fly.  Liberated from the monetary and bureaucratic constraints that hamper human travel, I would certainly want to explore new and exotic places, and would love to experience the freedom of unrestricted movement in three dimensions, unfettered by the chains of gravity.  I would use the power of flight to better my knowledge of geography and landscape too, and would probably marvel at the altered perspective on both natural and man-made features that the ability to fly would accord me.

In the town that I live - York - we have one of the wonders of the medieval world; York Minster.  As a man, I can only climb to the top of the tower using an internal staircase; but as birds, you are free to explore all of the features and details of the exterior - and interior - of this magnificent building.  And I know that you know of York Minster, because you can see it from where you're sitting right now.

So, that's what I would do with flight if I had the gift.  So what is it that you use it for?  Where to start?

You use the wondrous power of flight to gain access to my roof - the area of it directly above my bed - from where you uproariously and insistently bellow "coo coooo coo cu cu" from dawn to late-afternoon.  You also use your peculiar avian talent to swoop down and shit on my garden gate, accurately covering it in your excrement with astounding consistency, up to four times per day.  To you, the gift of flight is an instrument that you use to terrorise my cat, who is now afraid to go into the garden.  You use your flying power to access next door's lovely maple tree, which you are tearing to pieces with astonishing rapidity, and when you tire of flying, you use your spare time to sit about.  Look!  Here you are lounging on my garden furniture.

Wood Pigeons, this is not good enough.  You clearly lack ambition.  The power that you could be using for your own enlightenment and betterment, you are squandering on the petty torment of man and cat.  Wood pigeons, rise up, realise that your great talent can propel you to a richer, more illuminated and fulfilled existence and then fuck off and leave us alone!  Yours sincerely,

Marc Fearns

Irony.

I've just been to see Kick-Ass.  It's hilarious, feel free to go and see it.  During this film about an ineffectual superhero I came up with a new definition of irony:

• irony n. (pl. -ies) laughing at a film portrayal of a man who overestimates his own strength and is far punier than he imagines, then discovering that you can't unscrew the cap on your bottle of sparkling water.

I had to take it home after the film.  I still can't get the top off.  It's on my desk right now, taunting me; mocking me.  It's my new arch-enemy.

***************Update***************

Briony has just returned home and has opened the bottle for me.  It is no longer my arch-enemy; she is.

Wife-or-Cat Sound.

I invented a new game earlier: It's called Wife-or-Cat Sound. It's not as good as Red Trousers, but then what is?

To play Wife-or-Cat Sound you will need three things:  A wife - don't worry if you don't have one one of these, any other person will do - a cat - don't worry if you don't have one of these either, another animal (or even a second person will suffice) - and a bathroom.

Draw yourself a bath, then disrobe and get into it.  When you have completed your usual bathing routine, stay in the bath.  While you're lying there, listen to the noises emanating from the rest of the house (or flat, or wherever it is that you live).  When you hear a sound, try to discern - in the first half second of hearing it - whether it is a Wife-or-Cat Sound (it's surprisingly difficult - I attributed the noise of the cat's scratching-post to my wife more than once).

Wife-or-Cat Sound has a points-based scoring system.  Award yourself five points for correctly-attributed sounds and take five points away for incorrectly-attributed sounds.  The winner is the person who realises that they should get out of the bath and go to the pub.