This morning, I have cut a grand total of 217 words. Which feels like f*** all, to be honest. My amazing mathematical skills having – in a SHOCK TWIST – completely failed me, I think I now have about 4 words to cut per paragraph. I bring you the image of my pain.
I should like to run away and live on Pizza Island. I am not a cartoonist. I would not let that stop me. I love Kate Beaton. She makes (I am into saying “makes” right now. It’s neatly effective as an alternative to saying “Beaton devises, draws, writes, inks”, and also I get to sound like a pos[e]y theatre practitioner who talks about Making Work. Making New Work. With my HANDS. As if devised theatre is drawn from the soil, sorry, ignore me, I’ve been on the SCUDD mailing list too long) Hark, A Vagrant.
I have been doing stuff and have ALL SORTS of interesting links &c to post* but currently I’m in the Radcliffe Camera with the sound of heavy machinery and the knowledge that Taylor’s probably still has at least one egg & cress mayonnaise sandwich for sale. I have two hands and two legs to get me there, and an ATM machine that doesn’t entirely despise my custom. Let’s do it.
*this may well be false advertising
CLAMOROUS VOICE 