I’m sure you’ll all agree that it’s time for a post that doesn’t mention my Drawing Challenge. This, sadly, will not be it.
I have discovered a small problem with the task. My normal blogging modus operandi is to write something on the bus on the way to work, and then on the way home hone it, refine it (I’m still trying to decide whether the bit of Latin makes me look like a twerp), or decide that it’s shite and scrap it altogether.
This does not work with the Drawing Challenge. It has to be done in two stages, the text on the bus and the artwork (no, seriously) at home. This is because my fellow passengers (and they are pretty well the same people every morning) already suspect that I’m mad, not just because my typing seems to consist mostly of hitting the backspace button at the speed of a machine-gun, or because last year my hair was blue, but mainly because every few months I get off the bus six stops early, right outside Dublin’s best known mental institution.
I have no intention of confirming their suspicions by taking out a notebook and a load of child’s markers, and trying to draw the Titanic.