Category: Autobiographical

NO I’m not talking about that odd smell after sex, curious though it may be, on this valentines day I’m talking about love, strange love, and pheromones . All love slaves pay carefull attention. Not that you can change how your body smells I don’t suppose but it might explain certain unsuspected reactions.

If you asked me which sense I would get rid of if I had to get rid of one, I would probably say my sense of smell, since as an illustrator sight is rather vital, and being in a band tends to involve being able to hear. However, as the years go by, I am beginning to realise how important smell is to me.

When I was younger I went for good looking people, with somewhat disasterous results, then nice people, then charming people, then musical people, then those with a good sense of humour, now I’m thinking maybe it’s just smell that’s important. And I don’t mean pretty smell, or aftershave or any such disguises, I mean the smell of you. Animal smell. I stink, so I’ve been told by previous lovers, but they seem to quite like it, or at least they’re very tolerant.

Why do we cover ourselves in the musk scent of the male deer but are ashamed of our own smell?

I suppose one might be very fussy about smell. I’ve gone out with people whose smell I don’t like much with the thought that eventually I will get used to it and grow to like it. Very occasionally this has happened but more likely I just get bitter that I have to share my bed with an undesirable smell.

Kissing, so some scientists say, comes from smelling the hands and faces of others. In humans these carry a lot of scent apparently. So now I blow super stinky kisses across the digital waves to you and go get into the bath, wash away those smells for my valentines date.

Xx

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New years night i sat by an open fire in my sisters garden in Pembrokeshire. A fifteen year old boy was telling me how I should be thrown off a cliff, as the Spartan’s did to all epileptics. The stars were out and the fire was lovely and warm.

I said good night to my nephew, he shouted “looser!” I clipped his nose with my fingers as hard as I could (unfortunately no scissors were available) and went off to prepare the ritual.

A simple affair I thought, i would go sky clad down to the river the four elements would be used – water, mud, air and fire.

Down the bottom of my parents garden, which surrounds my sisters garden, is a fast running river bordered by wild overgrown trees. Anyone and anything can be hidden here, a troll is suspected of living under the small stone bridge.

I take off my clothes, leave them in a pile on the riverside along with a burning candle, and pad timidly into the water. It is very cold, feels like ice passing through my toes. Once thigh deep I decide to start the ritual. Mud between my fingers, water sliding through them, a swig of rum for the gods like that, then I see a bright silver flash in the corner of my right eye. And another a few seconds later. My eyes follow it, it is circling me and getting closer and closer. Then it is up really close to me, slithering against my body, it’s silver scaled skin flashing in the moonlight and the light of the candle. I reach down to caress it, how fast it moves, how powerful! It swims in between my thighs and across my breasts, slower now, taking time to caress me. I can hear it breathing softly in my ear. My heart races while my head whirls round, what is this? Am I really here? It is inside me now, and all around me, I am smothered, contained, enveloped in a silky wet flesh that smells of the river and the oceans. How incredible!

Next thing I remember I’m lying on the edge of the river but I nolonger have a human body, I have transformed into a giant Monster Salamander. Carnivoreous. Hungry.

My parents house is not far away. My slippery body drags itself swiftly towards the front door. I can hear my nephew snoring. Silently I climb the stairs to his room and eat him up in one enormous bite. Now that’s better.

By the morning I had transformed back to normal, and my nephew was nowhere to be seen.

All in all this year has been rubbish!

How was your year?

It started with me having a horrific hangover on new years day and vormitting all over my parents’ spare room. I thought at the time this was a bad omen.

It continued with the sewage from the flats above me coming up into my bath, which turned into a flood of sewage and a large number of my belongings being ruined.

It continued with the council deciding my flat should be turned into an area for the new bins and saying I had to move out, which seeing as they were incapable of solving the sewage problem turned out to be very fortunate.

But the move was, as most moves are, horrific and resulted in me having an epileptic seizure three times a day. When having this many seizures my grasp on reality becomes loosened, there were people spying on me, the devil tempting me, insects and fairies crawling across every floor and scattering the air. It is hard pretended to be sane at such times, i think I did well.

I then went to Lisbon with the thought that escaping London would help. It didn’t. I lost my bag and all my belongings – passport, wallet, phone. The man I stayed with was most definitely a servant of the devil trying to tempt me into his dark satanic ways (which mainly consisted of drinking vast quantities of alcohol) and I became convinced that he’d never let me escape. But he did.

0n geting back to London i find my Dad has been diagnosed with prostrate cancer. And it’s discovered that I have development signs of a rare form of glaucoma that needs to be treated immediately and my boss decides to do an inspection of my teaching the same time as the operation. I sulked.

Trying to look on the positive side the flat I’ve moved into is lovely, falling apart but lovely. And the eye operation and teaching inspection make me relize I don’t want to teach at citylit so much, if they now sack me for not having the paperwork filled in correctly so be it. I need more freelance illustration /animation work whilst I can still see. The seizures tell me I must take things a bit slower and learn to relax, and be a good girl.

Or at least start the year as a good girl…

Good luck and much fun in 2020, to you and your friends!xx

Thanks to Mat Green for the photo.

Well I can still see, which is good. My eyes feel like they’ve been beaten up by some large thugs down an alleyway but I can still see. Hopefully the operation means I’ll be able to see for much longer now, which is just as well, I’ve got one hell of a lot of art to get done, and performances to perform, and animations to animate. A huge amount of thanks to Steve who came with me to the hospital and bought coffee and cake when most needed. And thanks for all the good luck wishes. Right, this writing lark is hurting my eyes, need another cup of tea.

I lie here in my bed with the cat on my lap watching the large sycamore tree outside. It’s leaves have turned from green to red to yellow in the last month. There is trouble to come, but for now this is a very beautiful moment. I thoroughly recommend spending time just watching a tree.

Jo had a terrible month. She was moving flat, having four or five seizures a day, and battling with a new emergence of Gertrude at the old flat (the sewage swamp monster).

I, Miss Roberts, on the other side of the rainbow, was having a wonderful time on an abandoned forest island in the South Pacific where I discovered a new type of iridescent toad. My faithful man-servant-come-cocktail-waiter used his background as a chemist to create the drink that suited my precise mood at any given time, making the licking of a toads back a delightful experience indeed.

Jo tried to go on a calming holiday to Lisbon, but lost her purse, passport, phone, cards etc on arrival at the airport. She then spent the rest of the holiday trying to get them back, having seizures, and believing the man that was kindly letting her stay in his flat was in fact the devil.

I went to dinner with the Gods whilst Jo was away, but left early as it was all getting too rowdy for my liking. Their table manners are atrocious. And they won’t stop telling me how they think humans were a huge mistake so they’re going back to the drawing board. I try to remind them that I’m the alien in Jo’s head and not human, but they don’t listen.

Jo now has a lovely flat with a staircase. She can’t sulk under the staircase because she has already filled it with too much junk. There are lots of little things wrong with the new flat that need fixing, but at least for now she has escaped the sewage.

The cat fights away invisible one foot tall deamons on the stairs, and is mighty proud of herself for doing so.

My arrival in the small welsh valley in Pembrokeshire where my family live is greeted with shrieks and dramatic cries

“It’s the Witch! Run!”

I am prodded and hit and bodies sprawl across the cottage as I try to escape. I feel strangely appreciated. My plan to be the mad auntie seems to be on track. Many snarls, pokes and reluctant goodnights later and I’m left alone with just my parents.

“Woodchip” I say “the place is covered in woodchip wall paper”. I’m describing the council flat I will be moving into next Tuesday, for at last the council has said I can move into this flat so they can knock down my current one. I am so relieved that there will definitely be somewhere else to go and I won’t just be chucked out.

I must say I don’t mind being moved on since the current London flat keeps getting the sewage back flow from the other flats in the bath and hand basin. At the start of this year it flooded the flat and ruined several of my favourite books, now it seems to be about to repeat this so the sooner I’m out the better. I feel sorry for the gentleman who is staying there and looking after my cat though.

Woodchip. I’m told it is horrible stuff to remove. Has anyone any suggestions?

I’m staying in the loft in the family home. It’s tiny and secretive with bats living in the rooftop just above it. Appropriate for a witch I feel.

This morning my little nephew Ted tells me he sneaked into the room I’m staying in and smelt under the bed. He then came down to the kitchen where I was having breakfast and smelt me. I smell the same as under the bed apparently. He likes this because it means there are two of me.

I was over reacting about the eye. Went to the hospital and they said they’ll probably do an operation to enlarge the tear ducts and release pressure from the back of the eye. A rather terrifying suggestion but at least they didn’t say I’m going to go blind.

I’m also moving flat. Hopefully to the one they showed me the other day that has its own staircase. I’ll be able to pose on my very own staircase! And sulk. And hide under it.

It needs a lot of decorating though. It has terrible really old wood chip wallpaper that is difficult to remove. The internet says I need to hire an industrial steamer…

It’s quite exciting though. The council refuse to tell me when I might actually move so I’m floating in limbo again, which seems to be a common feature of my life.

Gertrude the swamp monster has been visiting again, bubbling up into my bath. Perhaps it is just her way of saying goodbye.

I’ve also been commissioned to create an artwork of the monster in my brain, a very intriguing proposal which I’m pondering and will almost certainly discuss in detail in a future blog.

For now here is a picture of the old flats I used to live in, mine was on the very top floor.

I went to the opticians last week. I rather regret it. They tell me I might be going blind in the left eye due to the pressure of the alien in my brain (large Alien Vein Monster) pushing behind the eye. They’re sending me off to Moorfields Eye Hospital.

For several days I fell into a pit of misery, I swam about in the horror slime ditches of my mind, I spitted bile at all who came near me and imagined endless pictures of eyes being dissected. I can’t imagine life without drawing or painting, i have drawn since I remember being alive. How unreasonable the Gods are being, not only do I have to cope with their rather unglamorous visitations, they also send me blind?

After a week I calmed down somewhat.

It’s probably not that bad. I know a brilliant artist and comic illustrator who has lost the use of one eye and he is still brilliant. Also far worse could have happened, 20 years ago they told me I only had 10 years to live so things are pretty good really. I might look good on stage with an eye patch. I struggle around for some deep meaning to make the potential loss of sight in one eye have a purpose – my hallucinations have increased over the last few years, although I assumed it was the brain alien it could simply be me filling in the gaps where I can’t see. Or rather peeping into the “Other World”. I see all sorts of things now days, insects, Wolves, donkeys, elves, doves, ravens, goblins (particularly in woods), faces in the blandest bits of walls, now I’ve got used to them they make life more interesting.

Perhaps it will be like Odin, sacrificing an eye to gain knowledge!

(Okay, so he was the right Eye, but I’m not worrying about details)

Now my eyes are aching and itching. All this discussion of eyes makes me feel squeamish, please don’t comment with stories about eye problems, I won’t be able to cope.

Now I’m going to strut and pose around my flat pretending to be Odin.

“Always look on the bright side of life…”

Tonight the Rude Mechanicals are supporting Ann Pigalle, a woman with an amazing voice, great sense of humour and amazing sex drive. Tonight we are a duo/trio, at the Dublin Castle, Camden. Thanks to all the beautiful dancing divas of last Friday, you were very much appreciated at the gig. Give yourselves a big snog ( I’ve no idea how, use your imagination).

The devil has been visiting me again in his waistcoat. He has a sweet smile and a monk’s tonsure, but he’s not fooling me!

I ask him if he’s the Devil and he smiles and tells me no, but he is the Devil’s helper.

He has gone for now, but has left behind large black insects to spy on me.

He has also left behind parsley, which seems to be his favourite greenery. As any expert on folk law will tell you, parsley is the devil’s vegetable.

Jo Fisher has made paper containing some leftover remnants of the parsley, She says she will paint a parsley worm on it. The parsley worm eats parsley and then turns into a beautiful black butterfly.

I don’t know what he wants of me, strictly speaking I don’t believe in him.