Friday, 17 April 2009


So I made it.
And it's all a bit weird.

Still suffering pretty badly, not necessarily from jetlag, but constant spinning head syndrome. I imagine going up, down, up then down again isn't natural. It's messes with your mind man.

So I've been here about three days and I'm trying to get my head around things. I'm staying with relatives which is very nice and helpful for thine wallet, yet I think it's making it harder too. I'm very far out of the centre (much further than in London) and staying with people you know means you aren't thrown in the deep end with other travellers. Whish sort of sucks.

I also hope I can land a job soon, if I can it means I'll have more freedom to do my coastal trip huzzah! For now I shall keep my eyes peeled, perhaps stay in a hostel for a few nights to socialise with some other people. Though I reckon I'll have to sleep a bit more first, and get rid of this irritating spinning head. Arrrg!

Monday, 16 March 2009


"What the fuck!

Our days are running thin.
Our hopes will start to fall.
I can feel the world collapse around me from within.
And the letters keep coming by to let us know when time will die.
And please, God, will you forgive us and give us one more try?

If you will then we'll go as fast as we go far.
Maybe we'll be forgotten when the world is torn apart.

I've been up all night long counting days that all went wrong.
I opened my bedroom window.
I wish this pain was gone.
There are no useful drugs to escape from feeling numb.
I remember an amazing birthday.
I remember when I was young.

If you will then we'll go as fast as we go far.
Maybe we'll be forgotten when the world is torn apart.
'Cause the sun won't be so blinding and the rains will finally come.
The ashes will slowly pile up just to prove we're finally done.

If you will then we'll go as fast as we go far.
Maybe we'll be forgotten when the world is torn apart.
'Cause the sun won't be so blinding and the rains will finally come.
The ashes will slowly pile up just to prove we're finally done.

What the fuck!"

Good ol' Boxcar, for some reason this song is exactly how I feel.
Hopefully only stuck here for four more weeks hurrah!

Friday, 6 March 2009


So, irritatingly, I have been delayed.

For some unknown crime in a past life, the powers that be presume to punish me with none-to-serious-but-oh-so-annoying ailments. Mumps for example, christmas 2006. What a stupidly pointless illness?! And yet, may I add, horribly painful and none to attractive. I literally looked like Bubbles from Little Britain (just the face of course). My crimes mustn't have been too awful I suppose. I probably stole some cheese.

And now cruel fate, it happens again. Instead of being on my plane to Australia on Monday 2nd March, I was being wheeled into surgery in an incredibly un-flattering see though, backless gown, green stockings which are meant to stop the inset of deep-vein thrombosis (???) and with what felt like thousands of holes on my arms where the bastards were desperately trying to inject things into/draw things out of me. What did I do??! I think fate enjoys playing some sort of heavenly ping-pong match with my fragile nerves.

If at all possible by the way, avoid hospitals at all costs. They are, in a word, ming.
Firstly, you are surrounded by sick people who all insist on coughing periodically to keep you from sleeping. Secondly, in some cruel bid to lace your thoughts with nightmares of MRSA, all the nurses and doctors constantly inform you of everything that may go wrong, or illnesses you may contract. Considering my operation was on my back, I was disturbed when the doctor warned me they may accidentally chip or break off some of my teeth. I'm sorry, my teeth? Are you planning to access my back through my mouth? Is your chosen instrument actually a sledgehammer?! Oh no, of course not, but as we put the breathing tube down your throat we may accidentally on purpose....
Also, being told you may wake up with a tube coming out of your stomach (another bizzare way of avoiding D.V.T) is none to settling.

Good grief. Some things you just don't want to know.

Finally, you always seem to get stuck with the one person in the world you'd most like to kill, or at least inflict some sort of pain on in some awful way (perhaps flicking matches in to their eyes). Thus is was so. Now I am not a 'weightist' person. I am no skinny minny myself, but attempt to keep myself in some sort of shape I suppose. But sometimes, some peoples problems are clear. In this case, my Ward 7 nemisis was no more than a lazy, fat, cow. Harsh but undeniably true, and supported by several nurses who often had to restrain themselves lest they bop the stupid woman right on her head.

'The Wailer' as I affectionally called her, lived up to her name. She wailed the entire time I was there. She would cry out that she was dying, that she was in so much pain, that she couldn't breathe properly. The reason being, as conveyed to her by her doctors, was that she wouldn't get off her fat arse and walk around the ward and get moving. She even refused to go to the loo, using a bed pan instead. This poor womans ailment must have been severe I hear you cry! It was not. She had had her appendix out. Two whole days before I even encountered her in dreaded Ward 7. I know people who don't have bowels anymore who are more able than this silly woman. When you are laying face down on your bed after just being wheeled out of surgery, and The Wailer is wailing in the face of the nurses who are telling her she is keeping everyone else awake and to stop being so selfish as she's had all the painkillers they can legally give her, it's difficult to resist the urge to drag ones self from bed and strangle this woman with her own I.V.

There. Now I have ranted I feel vaguely better. But I am still stuck here, and will be for a few more weeks. Drat and blast.

Friday, 9 January 2009

In the beginnning...

In the beginning there was nothing. And then there was....the internet. And we saw that it was good (well, mostly).

And so the arteest (proper pronunciation) has arrived at blogs. She has grappled with pencils, paints, websites and irrational customers, so why not blogs.

A blog seemed to be the most sensible way to keep my multitue of fans (I believe I am up to at least three, not including the dog) up to date on my location and artistic scrabblings. For yes dear people, this artist is fed up, shockingly, of Melton Mowbray. I am off to Australia on 2nd March to travel around, inflict myself upon the Aussies and generally see what happens. For christmas I recieved a new A4 hard-backed pad and a travel pack for paint brushes. It did leave me feeling about 5 once again, but of course it means I can easily continue doodling my way across the world with ease, and I hope some of you may like to check back every now and then as to what I'm doing.

Now all I need to do is get through these next 7 and a bit weeks without;
a) inadvertantly spending all my savings
b) suffering attacks of panic because 'oh my lord everyone there will think I'm a nutter'
c) worrying that when I remove a relationship status from the ever present and omipotent 'Facebook', a number of people will write upon my wall or comment upon this action with helpful phrases such as "OMG!!!!111 What happened babe??"

Legitimate worries I feel.

As well as all of this, I must continue drawing, and hope for the best.