NHS hospitals are... interesting. If you're not snapped, bleeding or visibly dead then you can expect to wait at least four hours before anyone will so much as speak to you. However, if you should be lucky enough to be snapped, bleeding or visibly dead then you're guaranteed to see someone... after a brief four hour respite, naturally.

My brother was supposed to wait around for a chest x-ray but after the first few hours decided that 'couldn't be bothered' and went home. A bit stupid considering that he hit the steering wheel... on account of him not wearing a seatbelt... which again seems a bit on the retarded side. Hmmm, I think there's a lesson to be learned here, kids.

Regardless, he's as okay as I suppose he's ever going to be. Which is good news... of a sort.

I got home at about 4am. I was woken up at 8.30am with the news that my brother had been in an accident. I was then instructed to head down to the site of the crash and take some photos... for insurance purposes and such:



[ gallery ]


Those with keener eyes will have noticed that the building directly next to my brother's car is indeed a Police Station. Having noticed this you may have also have noticed that his front wheel is, indeed, down an open manhole. You'll notice that the car itself is partially blocking the main crossroads of the village causing a backlog of traffic. You'd have to agree that the lamp post he's collided with is looking a little shaky. All in all a bit of a bad situation really. So, here's one question for you to ponder: where the hell were the Police?

Hmmm. My brother's in the hospital at the moment. I'll update you on the details later...

Yeah, I know, two updates in a row! You lucky sods! Erm, that aside i've just emerged from the shower. Drying myself I couldn't help but notice the appearance of 'Article X' about my personage.

Some people call them skins tags whilst some refer to them as beauty spots. I'm going with the dermatologists on this one and i'm branding 'Article X' a mole. Or, more precisely: another bloody mole!

I noticed a tiny red blip after my shower last night and this morning it seems to have bloomed into a full grown mole. This might not seem like a devastating issue until you take into account The Others. Allow me to illustrate:



Honestly, i'm turning into a game of join the dots! I think they're planning to form a line down the centre of my body. That or they're going to spell out the Secret Name of God. Regardless, i'm starting 'Mole Watch' as of this afternoon...

[ in other news:: jill's heiny ]

( more )

I just caught the end of 'Ill Met by Moonlight' on BBC2. Now, I don't know why but I find black and white movies terribly sexy. There's just something about them. The richness of the tones and the strength of the opposing shades... it's just... pleasing. I suppose that's the reason why i'm so drawn to black and white photography...

There was a particularly nice shot of some black shiny boots on a wooden floor that screamed of being wonderful...

Erm, regardless, i'm now inspired to make a movie. Black and white, naturally...

'The eternal spreads itself out over the omniverse; enfolding and corrupting the All.'

Not finished, but in need of being shared...

( more )

Being woken up to take photographs of a dead magpie is the way every day should start. Honestly, if that's not a sign and portent of doom I really don't know what is.

"One's for Death, two's for Mirth.
Three's for Marriage, Four for Birth.
Five's for Silver, Six for Gold.
Seven's a secret ne'er to be told.
Eight's for the Heavens, Nine for the Hells.
Ten's the Devil his very own sel'."

( and the survey says )

Last night I traveled to the little known village of Poke Stoges, Buckinghamshire. The town is thusly named after the controversial sport of 'Poking the Stoge'. At night the beast is lured into trap of honeyed ale where it becomes intoxicated; falling into a deep sleep. At first light competitors trawl the traps and using a stick, at least one inch thick, the Stoges are violently poked into a wakeful state:



[ the call of the stoge poker ]

Some believe that the Stoges should then be left to skulk back into the undergrowth. Others, however, believe that the Stoge should be beaten to a messy death and then made into sausages. It is heartily believed by the inhabitants of Poke Stoges that Kenny makes exceedingly good sausages.

Here are some photographs and moving imagery which record my visit. Sadly, there is no footage of the elusive Stoge as it is currently 'out of season'. There are images, however, of the Chinese Banquet which was kindly arranged for us by the King of Poke Stoges to mark our visit.

Ergh, I woke up with a complete inability to walk this morning. I hit two walls on the way to the bathroom and had to sit down to urinate. Like a lady. I suppose those five am drinking binges have got to stop...

But not quite yet. No, next on the agenda is a trip Down South. Yup, another one. It's becoming a regular weekend activity! This time i'm off to see my cronies from Millwards.

I think you can judge what kind of night it'll be...

Until later, my little space-chickens.

You see, i'm supposed to be emptying my room to make space for a 'painting area'. Instead i've been trawling through Japanese themed message boards for the past few hours. Some of the content i've turfed up is beyond questionable. Honestly, even I was surprised by what's out there.

Erm, regardless, please enjoy the following Thundercats Bloopers. I particularly sniggered over Mumra's contribution concerning his desire to... ah, you'll see.

Hmmm, back to the emptying I suppose...



Hey! put down that mouse, bitch!

If you've ever had the misfortune of caring for a sick child then you'll be well versed in the art of random, projectile vomiting. Whichever direction you try to aim the child's head, as you carry it toward the nearest bathroom, the Law of Unfair Averages dictates that you'll destroy at least two carpets and stain at least one wall.

What is it They say: never work with children or animals. Yup, sick animals are even more dangerous. Today Grey Cat is sick. He's been producing liquids of varying colours and densities from... various holes. His ears are burning up and he's generally nonplussed with the world around him.

After the last spate of vomit I decided that he must be empty. After all, how much stuff can one cat hold? I decided he was empty. I also decided that i'd let him sleep on my bed where I could keep an eye on him. Hmmm, i'm guessing that you're already three steps ahead of me by now! Because, yes, he wasn't empty. He wasn't empty very much.

He began to convulse slightly and began making squishy, gurgling noises. I'll give him points for trying to stand up but by that time i'd grabbed him and was heading for the door. Naturally, all a fraction too late.

It was like carrying a canon. A living, wibbling and convulsing canon that was streaming molten, biscuit-like lava from its gaping maw. Said lava splashed all over a pile of paintings. It hit the door and the carpet. It flowed over my portfolio. As we headed East it hit the wall and the mirror and finally cascaded down the stairs! It was horrific!

Sitting in the kitchen a few moments later I was washing Grey Cat's paws and introducing him to a bowl of chilled water. He was looking pretty groggy by this point. I put him in his bed and closed the blinds.

I'm guessing he thought this was the best place to be as he's still curled up there now. Now being twenty five minutes later. Twenty five fun packed minutes of carpet scrubbing and vomit scraping. Not the best twenty five minutes of my life yet not the worst.

Right. Time to scrape sick of my artwork! Mmmm, those are the perks!