A Courtauld exclusive...

Today I spent one glorious hour wandering the hallowed expanses of the Courtauld Gallery. Contained therein is a bite-sized collection that satisfies like a seven-course banquet. I was positively licking the walls, groaning with culture-lust. And yet there was something far quieter than Modigliani's fleshy females, something more delicate than Monet's dappled waterscapes that caught my eye on the way down the stairs...

Illustration in three dimensions and two timezones...

In the summer time, when the pollen hangs heavy and promise fills London's parks, most folx pass time time sinking extra-strength brews and messing about in boats. Me? More likely to be messing about in hobby shops, I'm afraid. Sad? Or the way of the future?

Le visage, c'est bon.

Faces fascinate me. Especially faces of those I love. Or admire. So I am busy fashioning a collection of them. This is Sruli Recht, a man of many talents, just beyond the cusp of greatness, and possessing a lifelong platinum membership to my Mutual Appreciation Society. Have a look at his wonderful works at http://www.srulirecht.com/. Should you like to be immortalised as Mr Recht has been, rest assured I take requests.

I is a wrap star, innit.

Contrary to popular belief, the life of a pen for hire is not all champagne receptions and diamond-studded stilettos. At least not every week. Allowing oneself the luxury of a life carousing with pens and scraps of paper comes at a cost. Sacrifices must be made. Corners must occasionally be cut. And presents for loved ones purchased under extreme financial duress must be gussied up as much as is humanly possible. I know I will have reached wrapping nirvana when I can blithely impart a gift of an unwashed football sock, secure in the knowledge that the beauty of its papery veneer means it will remain forever under wraps.

La, la, laaaaaaa.

I sing in a choir, n'kay? And before you start with the rolling of the eyes and the chucking of the hymn books already, let me explain. We sing pop songs and edgy vocal electro mashups at nightclubs. Can I get a woop, woop? (Please? Just one woop would do...). Anyway, apart from me being top soprana (aka "The Screecher"), I am also self-appointed choir stylist and Chief Producer of Gig Posters*. Feel my raw power. Here's some of my postery handiwork. Oh, and pop along to see The Heard next time we materialise in the gig guide. You won't be disappointed. Swears.

* Capitals author's own.

A few of my favourite things.

An amalgam of three things dear to my heart: Bosi (my cat), plaques (and everything they stand for), and plaster rabbits (I'm only human). I made this melange-homage to all three some time ago, but it is still dear to my heart.

Ladies with pretty voices.

The crackling rasp of Nina Simone getting over a lost lover. Honeyed chirrups from Joan Baez, dreaming of a brighter day. Ella telling you Christmas is coming, there are such things as happy endings, and that love can come in many shapes and sizes. Such things help me to get out of bed in the morning and slide towards slumber at night. Here's an online album cover I made for a friend of mine who was clever enough to put together a compilation championing all the ladies with pretty voices out there.