Another Vitriolica Fab Thing

I promised last week that I'd tell you about a wonderful restaurant we found in Lisbon the other day... the drawing is of our fellow irritating diners.

When we accidentally found A Flor da Laranja in Rua da Rosa, a Moroccan restaurant, I couldn't have been happier. I was starving. And grumpy. And tired. And in need of something different to eat.

The food was a-mazing. I urge you to try it if you're passing. And you might even get the free floor show that was these three. Well, these two and their friend who spent the whole hour and a half on the same phone call on her mobile. The other two were having a lovely canoodle at their table... don't know if they ate a thing... except each other... but they kept at it, and so ferociously it got rather boring. But the worst was that one kept taking flash photographs of them, half watching ther camera, half watching where her friend's tongue was going, while being tweaked and licked and garrumphed (i think I just made up yet another word, sorry)... FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH... while I was trying to eat a deep dark romantic meal with grumpypants... FLASH FLASH FLASH.... oh, isn't this food effing wonderful? FLASH FLASH EFFING FLASH! Bloody hell fire.... STOP with the FLASHING!

Last night was also irksome enough when el grumpy prof and I sat in our favourite indian (he didn't mind... boom, boom) with about ten future tias and betos, thinking themselves terribly funny, grand, important, interesting, intriguing to the rest of us as they shrieked their terrible shrieks and wailed their terrible wails - oh how they will sadly never be disabused of those ideas, a whole life ahead of them thinking they are better than everyone else - and told jokes worthy of a Morangos com Açúcar script (guy,
did I ever thank you for that Reuters snippet?).

Oh, did I say it was going to be a quiet week? oops.

just so we're clear

there WAS a four foot long stripey blue and white willy, two forklift trucks and two bob the builders playing giants. Honest. It wasn't just me that saw them, was it?

There was MANY a tia who did not know what to do when the four foot long willy came out.

Oh, and there was a toad and a warhead.

cool.

No more about that opera, now, honest.

I was on the stage at São Carlos!

But I was joined on stage by about 400 tias and their husbands/yes-men, for that was where the seating was, turning São Carlos, a pros. arch theatre into an in-the-round. Very odd. Very exciting. And as I walked in I tried to capture ten seconds of BEING ON THE STAGE AT SÃO CARLOS.

And WHAT an opera. The hate part of my love/hate relationship with opera (see below, somewhere) has waned a little after last night.

But opera for me will always be difficult. I WANT to get involved with the story, understand what's going on, be carried away with the plot and the characters and the music and the motifs and the drama of it all. But without understanding the words they're saying it's very difficult. I can read the libretto before I go which helps. I read the Portuguese (or even English) subtitles, but one's (my) eyes have to leave the action for a few seconds to see them, and it gets broken up.

Wagner wrote his operas to envelope the audience in the story... I'm sure he wasn't thinking about LED subtitles at the time.

What we're supposed to hear:

Boss-man troll/niblung/gnome bloke: Ooh, ooh, ooh... let me shag one of those mermaids with my enORMOUS blue and white stripey willy (it's true, I saw it)... they're fantastic... but what's that I hear? They talk of the Rhine Gold? Gold? I want the Rhine Gold! and I want it NOW!....I may shag a mermaid or too while I'm at it!

Mermaid-Fairy things: lalaalalalalalalalalallalalala.... we're so pretty and silly and dim.... lalalalalalalalalllaaaaaa and HOLY SHIT! Who's THAT ugly bastard? He must want the Rhine Gold, so we're going to tease him and pretend we're going to shag him (don't ask me why that should make sense)! lalalalalalalalalalal alallalalalalalal.

Boss-man troll/niblung/gnome bloke: HOO-FUCKING-RAH! I got the gold! Now I can forge myself a magic ring and bollocks to anyone else... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH HA!

Mermaid-Fairy things: OH BUGGER.

...later...

Some god or other: I WANT it!

Another god: BUT SO DO I!!!!!!

A giant: I'm going to have your sister in law

The other giant: phwoar, yeah, she's GORGEOUS! Give 'er one!

Sister in Law: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

A giant: Too bad, you're coming with me on my forklift TRUCK!!!!!!!!

etc etc etc...

But, if one (me) doesn't speak German and tires of reading the Portuguese subtitles, this is what one (me) actually hears:

Boss-man troll/niblung/gnome bloke: I'm singing something, lalalalalalal...aaaaah! something something something something something SOMETHING..AHAHAHAHAHAHA

Mermaid-Fairy things: something blah blah blah blah

Boss-man troll/niblung/gnome bloke: SOMETHING HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA something I could be singing a shopping list for all you know you ignorant english dog (well, he WAS German) and your inability to speak any other languages something something something

Mermaid-Fairy things: lalalalalala

...later...

Some god or other: BLAH!

Another god: BLAHAHAHAHAHA blah!

A giant: blah, something something I hope you like my bright orange boilersuit blah something

The other giant: phwoar!

Sister in Law: Neiiiiiiiiiiiin!

A giant: something something something forklift truck something blah blah.

What's my point?

I have NO BLOODY IDEA! (to be sung in E flat!!!!!!!)



(that ain't his tail)

the life changing machinery... kissing aliens!

ever the foreigner

However long I live here (seven years so far if you're counting), I will probably always find myself in conversations thus:

Portuguese Person: My god, this heat is incredible.

Vitrischmolica: Yes, it really is very hot.

Portuguese Person: I mean, for May, it's really too much, isn't it?

Vitrischmolica: Yes, it really is a scorcher.

Portuguese Person: Really, it's unbearable. I don't know how I'm going to make it to the summer... I think I may end up sick because of it.

Vitrischmolica: Yes, it feels rather like August already, doesn't it.

Portuguese Person: I can't quite believe it. I feel like I might melt at any moment, I've never liked it when it's this hot. I'll never get used to it. Quite quite unbearable.

Vitrischmolica: Ooh, yes, it really is too much. I....

Portuguese Person: Well, you just aren't used to it yet.

*big sigh*

(and that's before we get into the fact that Great Britain lies under permafrost and the sun has never been seen there. ever)

LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Another "interesting" week to look forward to... what with work, weather and wingeing, madness, chaos, opera and stuff .... work: lots of (good) ... weather: extraordinarily hot and fuggy for May (hmmm, okay, but not great for brain function) and wingeing: girls at home still covered in scabs (love em, but boy, five days so far stuck at home and I'm ready to sell them to the gypsies... thanks for all the home remedy ideas), madness: el prof and stupid book finishing, chaos: as always... and I just hoping we manage to get to the opera tomorrow night. What with my love/hate relationship with opera, it SHOULD be a good evening, especially since they've swapped São Carlos round (Lisbon's stunning eighteenth century opera house, like sitting in a big bath of baroque) so that the audience sits on the stage and the action takes place on another stage that has been built on top of the stalls, and in the boxes. So I've started on another opera singer (above), though she is a fat Carmen rather than a fairy (oh god I HATE fairies) from Rheingold (tomorrow's opera).

I haven't forgotten to finish the neverending Life Changing Machinery, nor my new avatar, nor my illustrated contribution to blogstory... I'll get there in the end.

And then at the end of this "interesting" week, Saturday, I'm going to be painting faces at a big charity day for Liga Portuguesa Contra o Cancro... so if you're near Azeitãoland on Saturday, June 3rd, come to the last event in Dia Pela Vida, Azeitão at Aerset, 10am to Midnight. (blimey, I'll be knackered!)

So, if I go a bit quiet this week...

technorati tags: Art, illustration

1-2-3... BLOGUEHISTÓRIA!

I just did the bloguehistória lottery (as I was rudely awoken by a scratchy four year old at seven thirty on a saturday morning.. where's the justice?) and here's the list:

(btw, we all know that bloguehistória is going to be the next BIG thing... LUX, Caras, 24 Horas, Correio de Manhã, will ALL be talking about it... obviously. And as the word spreads worldwide, you non-europortuguese speakers will want to know how to say it properly. here it is: Blog-sh-TOR-ia. Goddit?)

Bloguehistoriadores:

ashitaka de ougado
renato de inepcia
lucy de vitriolica webb's ite
sara
polly de diotima
joão de prometeu agrilhoado
coffee addict de Nyasha's Coffee Corner
célia
pedro de /var/log
pedro de para português ler
bev de em duas línguas
paulo de ex-patria
luís de nova floresta
ana de palavras dos outros
paula
josé luís de bluesboy
vitor de blogovitor
ana vf de cantar de erva


bloguilustradores: vão ser nesta ordem, e se juntarem mais bloguilustradores, adicionam-se ao fim desta lista e continuamos assim até esgotarem todos! certo?

hedonista
nancy de full circle
patchouly de nao sei pra mais
ana vf de cantar de erva
pedro de para português ler
lucy de vitriolica webb's ite
jc de nao sei pra mais
xico de loja do xico


(se deixei alguém fora da lista, diz me já... mas acho que tenho aqui todos)

As regras... realmente, há só uma:
Continua a história do capítulo antes do teu.

Estilo, tamanho, etc, são contigo.

Quando vier a tua vez, emailo-te se já não reparaste que é a tua vez.

Escreve o teu capítulo, manda para mim para postear no bloguehistória blog (bloguehistoria.blogspot.com, but don't go yet, i haven't made it look pretty yet nor, obviously, is there anything to read yet!!!).

Depois, ou tu grava (digitalmente se for possível) o teu capítulo lido a voz alta, ou pede a um adulto/pessoa cuja voz gostas para te ajudar/gravar e manda para mim, mas diz-me primeiro e dou-te um sítio para uploadeá-lo se tiver mais de 10mega.

Qualquer dúvidas, DIZ.

Right. I'm going back into English. Good luck Ashitaka! :)

Get your pods ready!

As the podcast of Chapter One is (or should be) up. It's a biggie, so put your feet up, plug your pod buds into your ears and listen to the dulcet though slightly mad tones of Ms Clare Sudbery, novelist extraordinaire. She won't mind me saying that, cos she's gone into hiding for a week, so she won't be reading this for at least a week, by which time I can be in hiding myself!

There's a subscribe button on the blogstory podcast page, or you can manually subscribe with "itpc://rss.mac.com/lucyepepper/iWeb/Blogstory/Blogstory%20Podcast/rss.xml" through iTunes... it should work with other rss aggregators... I think/hope.

This will be bigger than Ricky Gervais.

Entrada à bloguehistória já está fechada. Vou fazer a lotaria durante amanhã. Temos um escassez de ilustradores... por isso, entrada para ser ilustrador vai se manter aberta.

Esta vai ser maior que Ricardo Gervaisão. (se Gervaisão é uma asneira muito má, fico contente).

ooh, we're getting started early this year...

Here we go again.

Brejos de Azeitão.

It's gonna be a long summer.

(more at flickr)

spotty, grotty and AT HOME

Sigh. A lovely hard working week planned and what happens?

They BOTH come down with good ol' Varicela Zoster i.e. good ol' Chicken Pox.

I had really forgotten how poxy chicken pox is... really repulsive pustules all over their poor little bodies. (have you had lunch yet?) And boy, are they miserable. As is their poor little mother who has been up for most of the last two nights with their itching.


Feeling itchy?

the inky pen is mightier than the wacom tablet pen

I hate to say it, but it's true. Real pens, nibs and inks (and on other days, brushes and paints, water, oil or acrylic) are so much cleverer, so much more controllable, so much sexier than anything electronic... (I'm whispering so my wacom can't hear me and get offended. I don't know where I'd be without real ink and real nibs... and why the hell do I have to get my nibs from Britainlândia? I have never managed to find any in Portugalia... if you knew where I might find some good (detachable) nibs in Lisboa you would tell me wouldn't you?

LOVE.

And bravo to all our latest mad volunteers to Bloguehistória... there's still time to join... till the end of tomorrow. Friday. And don't forget there are only two or three non pts joining in... COME ON, don't be scared, you expats! :)

oi, portuguesitos!

excuse me while I speak portuguese for a second:

ena! onde são todos os nossos voluntários pela bloguehistória? enh? enh? Até agora, temos onze. ONZE???? (incluíndo apenas TRÊS ILUSTRADORES!) QUERO MAIS!!!!! (também quero ser presidente do mundo)

Então, VAMOS, pts, emailem-me! juntem connosco! votem em mim para ser presidente do mundo (okay, podem esquecer o último). Vou estender o prazo até o fim da sexta feira.

Caso não sabem a ideia da bloguehistória, é assim: Temos uma lotaria pelos autores dos capítulos. O primeiro autor inicia a história, inventando o que quiser, de estilo qualquer, de protagonistas quaisquer, de época qualquer, de tamanho qualquer ... de QUALQUER QUALQUER (vejam lá, escrevo pt tão mal como escrevo inglês!) Depois, o autor seguinte continua a história no capítulo dele. FÁCIL!

Autores até agora:
bev de "em duas línguas"
paulo de "ex-patria"
ana de "palavras dos outros"
ana de "cantar de erva"
renato de "inepcia"
célia
paula
joão de prometeu agrilhoado
pedro de "/var/log"
xico de loja do xico
coffee addict de Nyasha's Coffee Corner
oh, and lucy de "vitriolica webb's ite", obviamente.

Vamos a isso!

agora:
pedro de para português ler
polly de diotima
sara
luís de nova floresta
jc de nao sei pra mais
ashitaka de ougado
hedonista
vitor de blogovitor
nancy de full circle
josé luís de bluesboy

switch the swatch

Shopping centres. yuck.

But anyway, I was wandering round one last night, waiting for the Prof to finish doing his thang, so we could go out and have dinner together for our mutual birthday (how many couples do you know with the same birthday... it's much cheaper than having to go out for dinner TWICE a year, you know), of which more another day, as it was so good it shall be be this week's Vit's Spesh Pick. (must find a better name for these arbitrary, random, silly reviews of mine)...

So, anyway, there was I, wandering around when I remembered that I need a FOURTH strap for my wonderful Tin Tin Swatch whose only failing is the fact that the strap disintegrates every few months (maybe it's one of those Swatches you're not s'pposed to wear?) and headed toward the Swatch kiosk.

And there was this couple, happily discussing whether she should buy this watch or that and whether he like it or not.

And behind the counter, the teenage shop assistant from hell, with no social skills WHATSOEVER who just glared at them, though her body and face were turned away from them. Her look was kind of contempt mixed with fear mixed with loathing mixed with terror mixed with boredom mixed with stupidity.

I was very close to going up to her to explain that I was going to politely request a new watch strap from her but that I had decided not to because she obviously didn't like her job and I didn't want to make it any worse, but I saw sense and decided just to draw her instead when I went upstairs for a warm strawberry juice (vile) from a so-called "healthy" fast food place with an enormously fat gold toothed woman selling me this so-called warm but healthy strawberry juice (vile).

If you were that girl... I apologize for not coming and suggesting you get a different job. You need a new expression on your face.

a mostly good day with some shitty news mixed in

two times eighteen, three times twelve, four times nine, six times six, four and a half times eight, seven point two times five or in other words:

thirty six. today.

not forty four (zed, IT'S the PROF who hits forty four today, as you jolly well know, but thanks for the generous extra years! :P).
but thirty six. three six. bloody hell. How'd that happen?

It's good to be a gemini dog. I think.

The life changing machinery. The end.

a little hastily finished. click here to see the whole story with subtitles.

the life changing machinery... almost at there, folks

we're getting closer to the point. honest.

Pick of the Zits

And out from the archives comes VITruvio to beatify and beautify this week’s Pick of the Vits (okay, so there have only been two so far - Lila Downs and Seu Jorge - and they weren’t weekly, but you can’t say “this random time period’s Pick of the ...” can you? No). And, no. The pick ain’t the film of The Crap Vinci Code, though The Crap Vinci Code is the reason for the return of VITruvio.

The pick IS a weekly podcast from the Beeb that I’m already hopelessly addicted to. It’s Mark Kermode’s Friday Film Review from Five Live (with Simon Mayo, o lord, I’m a teenager again...he sounds exactly the same as he did twenty years ago), though Five Live is a radio station I have never actually listened to - far too much sport. (I hate sport. I don’t get sport. I’m going to be really miserable with you all in the summer if anyone mentions goddam football). The podcast is about 40 minutes long and just plain funny.

I want you to hear this week’s review because a. Mark Kermode’s review of the original pile of doggy doo that was the book is one of the best I’ve heard/read yet and b. his review of the film is even better. I hate it when rubbish gets huge undeserved success. So, go to the Beeb website or iTunes and get practising your podcast-subscribing skills for when the Blogstory Podcast and the Bloguehistória Podecasset are ready.

By the way, for anyone in a cold place, I’m sitting in my garden on my pink IKEA foldable beach chair thingy, under a huge sunshade, with my mac on my lap. S-I-G-H.... I just need a large caipirinha on one side of me and another one on the other side. My four year old is attempting to recreate her version of military school by marching round the garden with a large backpack on her back saying “I don’t want to be at military school”. I think it says a lot about our household.

Tonight, as always on my birthday weekend (monday, just be nice to me, i found more grey hairs again), is Eurovision. I can only say that I will be taking a sleeping pill rather than feeling compelled to watch it and that very VERY bad English song. What WERE they thinking?

And don't forget, Bloguehistória! Voluntários! Autores e Ilustradores. Já! Inscrevam-se por me enviarem um email com o assunto "Bloguehistória". Até o fim da quarta. Na quinta, quando tiver todos os nomes, vou colocá-los num "chapeu" e fazer uma lotaria para fazer a lista e a ordem dos autores. Até agora temos mais ou menos dez pessoas/bloguistas. Mais Mais Mais!

(just in cast you haven't worked it out yet, we're starting a PORTUGUESE BLOGSTORY, called, obviously, Bloguehistória, which is why I keep drifing off into Portuguese)

Great Social Ills of Our Time

Firstly, darling Cream has just posted a great Chapter Seventeen - go read it! This story just keeps moving in unexpected directions!

Secondly...



Sometimes I like to imagine myself in a big crinoline dress of the 1860s, with big hooped plaits of hair, writing great tracts of social conscience about society's ills. One of Azeitão society's ills is THIS prada/gucci slave illustrated above that is rife around here (she is specific to Azeitão... Lisbon has its own version... Setúbal has its own, Porto has its own different species) ... she who thinks that to be rude to anyone she deems beneath her is stylish (why does this person think that it is acceptable to be stingingly snotty and rude to the girl behind the bread counter, just because that girl is behind the bread counter?). She has FAR too much time on her hands... just look at those perfectly tonged curls at the back... grrrrrr. grrrrrrr. grrrrrrrr.

Thirdly:

Right. If you don't do Portuguese, switch off now, cos you ain't gonna understand this:

Pronto! Sabes o que vamos fazer? É a ideia/culpa do Sr. Carreira... e, sendo sem juízo, eu disse que SIM, que BOA ideia, era GIRA... (esquecendo que eu é que vou ter de escrever um capítulo) ... já advinhaste? Um Blogstory em PORTUGUÊS! Ou, antes, uma históriablogue? uma bloguehistória? que achas? Espero que os meus amigos ingleses que falam português também vão entrar.... (realmente, vou insistir).

Se quiseres ser voluntário/vítima/maluco escreve nos comentários deste post. E precisamos ilustradores!

E, CLARO, vai haver podcast assim como o blogstory inglês.

:)

ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah.

ha.

Increve-te até o fim da quarta-feira da semana que vem (dia ...er... 24)

faces

FINISHED! blimey.. that was a bit of a drawing marathon over the last four days, three different deadlines... sixteen different drawings.... meltdown... so, instead of actually drawing anything else today, here is a really badly put together montage of my last train journey's drawings.

I'm making myself collect more faces. Bodies I can invent in all their grotesqueria. But faces I find harder to drag out of my subconscious... and train are so good for face harvesting. So, if you ever take the Fertagus Setúbal to Roma/Areeiro route, look out!

It seems that all of the blogstoriers are up for podcasting the blogstory. What a huge riot. So, stay tuned and keep some space free on your pod!

deep thunking

Sitting waiting for el grumpy prof at the train station is where I do my deep thunking. The car park is not the most interesting in the world, and I sometimes forget my iPod with its vast (and growing) collection of podcasts that I specifically collect for the many times I have to sit and wait for either children or the other grumpy half.... (I had a spanking idea of podcasting each chapter of the blogstory. WHADDYA reckon???????).

..er.. where was I... so, last night, waiting for the train to get in (which is two minutes before the start of Desperate Housewives and it's seven minutes to my house, which means that I miss the first five minutes of each episode, which means that I have to try and catch one of the FIVE weekly repeats and thereby waste vast swathes of my days watching even more telly than normal) in my tiny little moleskine sketchbook (I can't bear to draw in a big one, far too expensive) I wrote:

"An idiot cannot know if he/she/it is an idiot because he she it is an idiot, so there's no point condemning idiots because they'll just say "ha! too true. good job I'm not an idiot!" and carry on being an idiot.

Obviously, when I hear idiots being condemned I say "Ha! too true. good job I'm not an idi....."

Remind me next time to take my iPod, would you, please?

another happy accident

with about sixteen drawings to finish before wednesday for various people and things, I've not got time to write any nonsense at all today. Besides, today I don't feel funny. Or clever. Isn't it funny/odd not funny/haha how one's sense of humour fails one some days, like one's artistic inspiration does on other days. sigh. tell me how the extruded fat prodding went this weekend.

i have no words....

EXCEPT to say that Wendy has saved the day and written a fantastic chapter SIXTEEN! Who needs the Da Vinci Code, that's what I say!

by the way, on the subject of the blog story contributors... I seem to have mislaid Mr Whiskers. Anyone know where he might have gone? His leopardspag blog seems to have been taken over by an alien porn concern! Let me know, anyone.

unleash your inner imp this weekend

and PROD the STODGE!

Go on. I dare you.

Each time you see someone with THAT bulge (even skinny people manage it with bad trouser management) would you, for me, little old me, prod them. Please? With a big innocent smile on your face, obviously.

Then report back here with your results.

the s-curve

Why do those teenager "people" stick it out front like that.
Are they THAT desperate to mate?

When my children become teenagers, I'm sending them away until they can promise to come back as human beings. Don't tell them I said that.

be prepared

I pride myself on my low maintenance-ness. You could drop me on a desert island or even the middle of Lisbon and I'm not going to complain that I haven't brought my mascara and lipgloss. I'll live if I haven't had a bath today. I don't even really care if I don't get lunch. You don't have to massage my ego for me to be contented with life nor do I have to surround myself with minions or friends for affirmation of myself.

But....

I DO like to be prepared for eventualities. I do like to know that if I go out, I'm ready for anything. So, I always have my handbag well stocked:



Well. A girl needs her wallet, ID, car documents, sketchbook big, sketchbook small, pencil case with several different types of pen and pencil, mobile phone, digital camera, extra recharged batteries, extra data card, portable macintosh, with cables, memory stick, drawing tablet and pen, card reader, iPod, earphones, miniature unpowered loudspeaker, cardigan, sunhat, chewing gum, hairbands/totós, small watercolour pad, watercolour set, ibuprofen.... AND when the girls are with me, a cardigan/coat each, sunhats, bottles of water, at least two polly pockets, a packet of sweeties for swift global-scale conflict resolution.


Thank the accessory gods for big handbags, then. With lots of pockets.

the life changing machinery, the story so far plus today's chapter, vorsprung durch technik

sometime in the last century...


There was this young lady who had spent her whole life drawing pretty little things and intended to spend the rest of it doing it too. One day she decided to become a professional.



She went to art school and good things were seen in her future. Afterwards, she had to go to London. To do the portfolio thing.


She met a few art directors and publishers. They scared her. But a few things came her way.



She got to work in her leaky garret.



She delivered her work, all nicely done on PAPER, for these were the olden days.



And the art directors were pleased to see her. And paid her.



Oooooh, wonga, dosh, spondoolicks. How I love thee.



And so, she carried on, thoroughly dismissive of some new machines that had been invented.



She waited by a newfangled contraption called a telephone, for more work to come in.


But it didn't. She was terrified of doing the portfolio thing again. So didn't. The money started to dry up.



She had to earn some money quick. The life of a typist looked the glamourous way to go.

So she went to typing school to join the typing pool.



And as quick as a flash she learned to type.


Got work. And got carried away.


Got into the 'puter side of things.

and slowly became a geek.


Life as a geek was ok, although it wasn't doing too much for her creativity.


Then she met the little green man from far away. He was very very clever and read too many books. But apart from that he was very nice.


But after a while he had to go home.


So she went with him, leaving everything behind her.


At first she was very lonely.


Then she started getting out and about and learning about her new planet.


Then got herself some company.


But, boy, she was bored.


Even though she loved her little squidlets like mad.


One day they finally started going to squidlet school.


She still had to find a way to enjoy her new life.


and spent a lot of time smoking and thinking.

One day it was time for the fags to go.


and she had so much more time on her hands. She tripped over some of that newfangled machinery that had been hiding in her house.

She had a little think. And drew some stuff. And wrote some stuff.


And discovered that, yet again, the world was her oyster.

And all because she learned to type once upon a time.