Yes, I keep running around like an over worked farm wife in the unexplored american middle west mid 19th century. I would say they have nothing on me.
Yesterday I left work early to take care of my man and my hound. Once home it was pouring down so we all died on the sofa for a bit before me and Wool could brave the weather. Before that I cooked us baked potato with the last of the lojrom from mum (it lasted for ages, there is even enough for a cheeky toast tonight)
Hound chillin. When it comes to running around in rain or sleep on the sofa, sofa ALWAYS win. Smart dog.
Oliver, mysteriously better, got ready to create another (probably horrendous) rendering of my face. New technique apparently.
Pre study of course. These things cant be taken lightly. Then followed an hour of staring blankly into space trying to not fall asleep and feeling bad for old time kings having to do this all the time. Some things have definitely improved.
And the result…
The love child of Sigourney Weaver and an alien. I think this might be a new low of a portrait of me.
My scarred ego went into the bed room and stole olivers picture. He is using this for a project but I just stole it right off (well, im pretty sure his will be better, at least better than my portrait…)
After this evening of hard work and profound art we went to bed. 2 seconds after turning off the light the mini squid came in. Sleeping between us always. We nee to fix that door, love him but doesnt necessary want a hairy monster in my bed every night.
At last, giving you some bluegrass to celebrate this Friday: Alan Jackson – Appalachian Mountain Girl
Letters to my family 