I've finished the jigsaw! I bloody have! But I haven't written any WORDS about it yet as I'm collecting my thoughts. So hang on in there, it's coming...
But the pressure you feel having not posted in days! It's like a weight around the neck. (That last bit to be read with a kind of Frankie Howerd indignation. Oooh, yes. Noooo. Missus etc). So, to remedy that, here is an upload of a recent sketchbook page featuring the late Norman Grasshopper, until a couple of days ago, a living, breathing guest at our humble abode in BN3.
He took up residence on the hall ceiling much to the Junior Marvel's amusement and stayed there for days. Then, tragedy struck, and I found him one morning, dessicated and immobile, relieved of life's onorous duties by the unfeeling hand of time. I felt it my responsibility, nay my DUTY (Frankie Howerd again) to record him as I found him for posterity's sake, so that future generations of grasshopper enthusiasts can say, this was his finest hour. (Except for all those hours when he was alive and hopping about and doing IT with lady grasshoppers). Think Napoleon's death mask, think Lenin's stately corpse, THINK! Think about what you're tryin' t'do t'me, but don't think ill of such Micawberish drivel on my part and allow me to gush forth on this desperately sad occasion.
Ladies and gentlemen, doff your caps and pause for a moment to reflect on the passing of such a legend. Truly, we shall not see his like again.
Click on the image if you want to see a big picture of a dead cricket.
