Yes, I’ve been asleep at the wheel again. Long time, no post. To tell the truth it’s been a cocktail of Xmas panic, boredom and net fatigue.

I have been a bad blogger. I feel like the blog police are going to kick my door down in the night and put me in blog jail.

I went to the Transmission Christmas party which was the last one in the current space before the council ‘help the local arts community’ by fucking everything up and turning the area into some giant cappuccino artplex©. But it was a good laugh, not least because I saw Michael Wilkinson destroy part of an art christmas tree.

Then I went up north to Creiff Hydro for The Sunday Herald picture desk festive party which was a good laugh too. Once I drank my hangover away. I got drunk, laughed at acorns and played crazy golf.

And now I’m going down south for Chrimbo with Trish’s family. Which may or may not be a good laugh. But hey, it’s the festive season- and that’s just another pagan booze up with Jesus and fairy lights attached. So who cares.

We’re leaving tomorrow and I’m staying until boxing day; so if I continue to be a bad blogger, have yourselves a very merry Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Saturnalia or whatever it is that warms your heart and oils the wheels of capitalism for you. Otherwise I’ll post from my phone if anything unseasonally interesting happens.

* The Grid = Trish’s sister Ingrid

I’m back. Bet you thought I was dead (as someone once said). Well, I’m not. I just took another short holiday from writing everything onto the internet. For the first time ever I’ve used the magic of technology to backpost a bit… although it’s only a few crappy photos.

Glasgow has been grey and most days my studio is too cold to work in for very long.

One recent highlight though was picking up an old M. R. James book for a quid. I checked the inside and found that it was printed in 1955. It’s fifty years old. I was impressed at first, until I realised that it’s made of paper, was printed twenty years before I was born and is in better condition than I am.

It’s that time of year again. Trish’s parents sent us a box of Christmas stuff. Or rather, Sint Nicolaas stuff. It’s a Dutch thing that is, to all intents and purposes, identical to Christmas apart from two main points: It is celebrated on the fifth of december. And Santa has to be accompanied by a black person

Santa’s ‘helper’ looked far cheerier last year.