go here

I’ve seen Barbara Woodhouse do it. I’ve watched Supernanny giving it a go, but now my turn has come to exact discipline on something that’s three foot tall and one of the loves of my life.

No, Gary Coleman hasn’t come to stay. It’s far worse. Despite his cherubic eyes and a mop of golden blond hair (his own), my son Tom has fallen into rather devilish habits of late. Classic toddler squawks, insistent demands and outbursts of defiance can only really be expected at his age, but it’s been his petulant swipes at both me and Vicki that have really brought things to a head. As such, and exactly 2 months shy of 34, I spent my lunchtime wrestling a three year-old to and from his bedroom, fighting back his attempts to wriggle out of my grasp halfway up the stairs with grim-faced, parental dedication (me, not him).

Trouble is, me trying to discipline someone seems a bit rich. Being the arch-procrastinator, timewaster and distracto-tron that I am, there’s more irony than iron about my attempts to lay down the law. I find it hard to take seriously myself, even occasionally corpsing a smirk when faced with the drama of the situation. Maybe on the inside I’m weeping, maybe it’s a cry for help. Either way, what’s certain is that it seems to make absolutely no difference whatsoever to the youth, outside of the forgettable trauma of being shut in a room full of his favourite toys and books.

Work in progress then…

Tried a stylized approach to draw up this giraffe (whilst working on some illustrations for a kid’s literacy course). Here, then, it is:

Together with Walt Disney, George Lucas and the chap from Fingerbobs, Jim Henson was one of the great, versatile, over-imaginative, creative geniuses of the Twentieth Century. But before achieving his popular success with the Muppets, Sesame Street and (of course) Fraggle Rock, Henson started out in the early sixties creating puppets for advertising (in the golden age of character-sponsored products).

Here’s a smashing comedy short (from 1965) that lampoons the ad-making process with the kind of sharp but warm humour that made the 8 year-old me laugh out loud every Saturday night. Watch out in particular for a young Frank Oz and the violent death of a proto-kermit. What more could you ask for on a sunny Friday morning?…

March 10th, 2008. Exactly 14 years, 8 jobs and 3 changes of hairstyle ago I met my future wife (currently my present wife) .
It was in a dingy club in Exeter, during my student days. I’d been dragged there against my better judgement after a few drinks in the college bar.
I made my way to the club in a rather shambolic fashion and got lost several times. Finally entering the cloakroom queue, free from company, I set about finding my clumsily disregarded friends. A while later and I had scoured the crowd without success when my eyes alighted on a familiar face – a girl from my English class I’d always thought was rather sweet…

14 years on and we’re now celebrating 5 years of marriage, a house, a family, 17 pairs of pants (combined) and the happy memories of almost a decade and a half of living in each others’ pockets.
Just goes to show..doesn’t it. I mean, doesn’t it?…

2DO to be translated into Czech – 7th translation in total…
more on this sensational news shortly.