Acrylic Paint

My bold, brash chum. Beautiful, bright and bubbly, and if I’m honest, ever so slightly intimidating. I want to dive in and play but the sheer intensity of the colour makes me a little nervous about making any marks with the stuff. In Art Therapy recently I was invited to have a go at finger painting, and that seemed easier than being all artisty with a brush. So acrylic paint to me is a friend who wants to take me on and adventure but I’m not quite brave enough to let them. One day…

Charcoal

Charcoal’s a cheeky monkey. Unpredictable and a bit loopy. When I’m with them I’m guaranteed to be up to my elbows in dark dust within five minutes of using the stuff. It’s the friend who gets me into trouble whenever we’re together, but I love every minute of it.

Oil Pastel

Bright, happy and childlike. A friend I should spend more time with because I’m sure there is more to explore.

Ink

Another bold, brash and rather frightening friend. Apparently knows all my secrets and tells the world in blot patterns. One to be careful with.

Watercolour

My artistic BFF. It’s soft and subtle when I want to be soft and subtle. It’s bold when I want to be bold. It’s easy to work with (especially with Aquash brushes), and doesn’t leave a mess.

Good to be back with you, friends.

I started a ten-week course on January 18th, and as soon as walked into the art room and picked up an oil pastel, I felt like I’d come home. Something was connecting in a corner of my mind that had been neglected and left to gather dust. Even when the therapist was talking and we weren’t “doing”, I was fiddling, just remembering how it felt to have a stick of colour in my hand and the freeing sensation of applying it to paper.

When I returned home that afternoon I dusted out my old watercolour set. It had certainly been well-used back in 2005 and 2006, but there was plenty of life left in it yet. I opened up the massive Archie Grand notebook Michael had given me a few months before, and threw colour and images at it like a woman possessed. I was home.

The following session, last Wednesday, re-introduced me to the joy of painting (Bob Ross was with us in spirit). Just playing with colours, mixing different shades and seeing the images that came out of them. The therapist commented that I “went to another place” when I had a paintbrush in my hand. Indeed I did. And I like it there. When the challenge came for finger painting I launched straight into the bright blue in front of me and by the time I’d smeared, rubbed, daubed and splatted, I had filthy hands, an unshakeable grin and a rather nice picture of some very lively surf.

So, out of the sessions, I’m now re-connecting with a part of my life that I had neglected for so long. Geeking out over art materials, reacquainting myself with the ones I have, and catching up with the creative people I admired years ago when this here place was my own little world of art.

It’s good to be home. More soon.

“Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?”.

My latest (ad)venture – putting on an exhibition celebrating my favourite shows and the inspiration for my cough alter ego.

Should be a fun ride.

An interesting take on selling an album – release 20 songs, let the record buying public decide which 10 they’d like in an album, let them choose the order of the tracks and cover art. Then give them a chance to sell their version of the album, and send a quid their way every time someone buys a copy.

Well, I couldn’t resist having a play. Clicking on the banner will take you to the result. If you like what you hear, buy it. If you don’t like it, have a go at making your own.

For me and my gloriously nutty circle of friends, this is absolutely hilarious. So I dedicate this to them… to The LuLas – the best bunch of fans a TV show could ever hope for.

Scrambled eggs and marmite. If it’s 2.30pm does it still count as breakfast?

A lovely man in a lovely place. Looking forward to a nice long Easter weekend with Michael, hopefully spending much of it by the canal.

There comes a time, every now and then, when I get so frustrated with my barnet that I have to take action. Usually that action involves 3 hours in a hot, uncomfortable salon and parting company with an unpleasant amount of cash.

Not today. Today, I did it myself. Rather pleased with the results too.

Today I decided to get creative and start a journalling project dedicated to my upcoming adventure in London, to feature thoughts during the planning, the trip itself, and hopefully an autograph or two from the heroes I meet on the way.

I was diagnosed with ‘borderline’ Type 2 Diabetes recently. Shit, you might say, just got real. Hopefully I should be able to control it with sensible choices and the meds I’ve been prescribed. Sadly, these sensible choices involve waving a sad and fond farewell to the booze, and the deliciously easy processed foods that have elbowed their way back into my diet again.

Switching back to a healthier lifestyle after falling spectacularly off the wagon when I quit Slimming World a couple of years ago is going to be a tough old job, but I will find that balance again. This time I have the support of my new GP and a fantastic Diabetes Nurse. I’m seeing the Nurse every couple of weeks for weigh-ins and check ups.

I think this might just be the kick up the backside I needed. We’ll see.