I detect the smell of rum

This is what i’ve made for my tea tonight. Complete improvisation, all vegetables. It’s smelling great. Half an hour until I can eat it!!

This is a cute response to a child’s letter to Sainsbury’s about tiger bread. I wish i’d kept a copy of my letter and the letter I got sent back from the Post Office when I was about six years old. It was a time when we had to lick our stamps to get them to stick. I suggested that they should be flavoured. A strawberry stamp would be delightful. The posties said that it was a good idea but they said that people might lick all of the glue off of the stamps and they wouldn’t stick to anything. They sent me a colouring book, and some stamps. It was later that year when they invented the self adhesive stamp. I’ll take some credit for that invention. 

Wow. The real Seth Davy, the old Liverpool street performer which the song Whiskey on a Sunday is about. An actual photograph of him doing his thing. This is a really fascinating post about him —-> http://aliverpoolfolksongaweek.blogspot.com/2011/08/21-seth-davy.html

Meh. This is why I need to practice drawing.

This my shoddy attempt at drawing Tom Waits. Hah. Definitely procrastinating.

(via reibird)

I took this photo from my window this evening, It’s the most intensely orange sunset I have ever seen. Leeds can be very beautiful. I actually sat and watched it. It’s a shame my camera didn’t really do it justice. 

lofi-illustration:

A few more fruity dancers. I’m really happy with how these are turning out and I can’t wait to put the final image together…

Schnappi Das Kleine Krokodil. I’ve not watched this video in years, I’d forgotten how catchy the song is!

I love folk songs, I love the ones that tell stories such as this one. Whiskey on a Sunday is a lovely song, and it’s been stuck in my head for about a year now! I first heard it sung by Rolf Harris, the words tell the story of a sailor and puppeteer, who busked on the streets with little wooden dolls dancing on a plank. He saved up his pennies to buy his Whiskey on a Sunday. It’s a gorgeous story and a gorgeous song. There’s something so innocent and magical about it. I can’t help but smile when I hear it. 

He sits on the corner of Beggars Bush 
Astride of an old packing case 
And the dolls at the end 
of the plank were dancing 
As he crooned with a smile on his face 

Come day go day 
Whishing in me heart it was Sunday 
Drinking buttermilk all the week 
Whiskey on a Sunday 

His tired old hands from the wooden beam 
And the puppets they danced up and down 
A far better show than you ever would see 
In the fanciest theatre in town 

But in 1902 old Seth Daly died 
His song it was heard no more 
The three dancing dolls 
in the dustbin were thrown 
And the plank went to mend the backdoor 

But on some stormy night 
if you´re passing that way 
With the wind blowing up from the sea 
You can still hear the song 
of old Seth Daly 
As he croons to his dancing dolls three

An image of Seth Davy in Liverpool.