Larry The Litterbug

My first ever comic strip was a joint project with my friend Laura at primary school.

We used to draw things all the time and were at that time working on various projects for a school newsletter, such as interviews with the teachers, pupil's favourite school dinners and the new baby sister of a member of the class.
You know, the usual.

We decided we needed to come up with something a bit less serious and "newsy", so thought maybe a cartoon of some kind would lighten the formal journalistic tone..

Doodling away at random sketches, we somehow came up with a character that took our breath away with his awesomeness:
Larry The Litterbug

Larry would be a clean and conscientious bug who would take a firm stance on mess and the environmentally unfriendly.
He would go out of his way to admonish those who flaunted the rules (of litter-dropping).
He would be a force for good in this sinful litter-dropping world.

We wrote a fair few stories about Larry. We even developed a voice for him (obviously for when TV producers found our scribblings and demanded to buy the rights).

I'm not sure if he ever ended up in the newsletter, I have a feeling me and Laura found that we had stumbled into something too powerful for us to handle.. so Larry remained a relative secret to all but a few privileged souls..


Long live Larry the Litterbug: A hero to many, a friend to all and a slave to none.

Recurring Dreams: Spider Attack!

I have always had recurring dreams.
Some good, some bad.
When I was a kid, mainly bad!

Luckily in my adult life these recurring nightmares seem to have mainly been replaced by the downright weird (Gathering up stray cats in a floating ice cream van after central London has been engulfed in water, anyone?).

I am at least aware of the origins of one of these recurring nightmares: the movie Arachnophobia.
It was on the television one night and I really did not want to watch it. I also didn't want to go upstairs on my own because I was already creeped out for some reason or another.
So there I was, waiting for my older sister to come up to bed with me, trying desperately to keep my eyes on my sketchbook... failing miserably and being witness to massive spiders galore!!

For weeks afterwards I had the same dream:
I was sat alone on the sofa when suddenly giant spiders would approach from every direction.
I was powerless, glued to the sofa, just waiting and watching as they crept closer and closer....

I would dream this every night and feared the time I had to close my eyes and go to sleep because I knew what was waiting for me..

Then one day my family and I went to a science centre - you know, one of those places where you get to try out lots of different things and learn about how the human body works etc..
Well, my mum spotted a section on the human mind.
In the room on a table was a box.
A Dream Box.

Oh the claims it made! Allegedly all you had to do was write down or draw a picture of the nightmare you had been having and put it in the box. Once there, the box would contain that dream, and all the worry associated with it..

A miracle! Maybe I could get away from those blasted spiders for good!
I nervously drew my picture and put it in the box...

That night as I got tucked up in bed, I thought about the Dream Box.
There's no doubt I was skeptical, I had but also secretly had fingers on both hands crossed for the spiders to have vanished from my sleeping life.

I had no need to worry, I drifted off and all night dreamed pleasant dreams of kitties and candyfloss and all the lovely things that should fill a young girl's mind.

I know as a rational human being that the nightmares went away due to trickery of the mind and by writing my worries down I had externalised them and therefore lessened them.

But part of me still wants to believe it was also a little bit magic..

Michael Jackson and my awesome mother!

When I was growing up I, like many people, was utterly obsessed with Michael Jackson.
I couldn't imagine a cooler person and was mesmerised by his singing, his dancing, clothes, everything.

I would spend hours listening and singing along to his music, trying out the dance moves with my friend Doug.

Doug could emulate every move Michael Jackson did perfectly.
He would slide, step and moonwalk his way around the wooden floor of his mum's kitchen.

I could do nothing more than stumble and step around in time (usually) with the beat.

I was SO jealous!!

Turn's out I'd never grow up to be the female MJ at this rate!

My 8th birthday was coming up so I went down to the shops with my mum to look at potential presents.

We'd got a few things and the shops had started to close when, in one of the many charity shop windows, I spotted the most awesome birthday present I could possibly imagine!

It was a gold jacket.

One very similar (to my untrained eyes at least) to a military style one MJ had worn on tour..

I just HAD to have it!

Being in a charity shop, it was only a couple of pounds so my mum bought it as I tugged on her sleeve excitedly.

It was massively too big for me but I insisted on wearing it for my whole birthday, pulling the sleeves around my elbows all day.

It turned out my mum had also made me a special birthday cake.

It had black, grey and white icing with the shapes of a hat and white glove on it.

The glove even had silver edible balls on it to make it look shiny like MJ's white glove!!

I decided then and there that I officially had the coolest mother in the world!!

Introverted Ninja

When I was a child, I was a strange mix of introvert and extrovert.
On the one hand I loved drama, dancing, singing, making up plays and recording radio shows with my sisters.
On the other hand I loved reading, writing and drawing and just wanted to be left alone to do so.

These two sides of myself have, over the years, fought many a feud. I feel they have now reached some kind of middle ground:
i.e I avoid places involving PEOPLE and NOISES and DISTRACTIONS when needed but then occasionally go to a big party or sing onstage or join a dance group.

I would often feel agitated when my calm was disturbed. Whether in communal areas, where the blaring TV or inane chatter would feel like steady drilling to the brain.

Or in the kind concern of my mother (who must have been worried at her daughter voluntarily locking herself away..) when shut up alone in my room.

I would get into moods when all I truly wanted in the world was a book to whisk me off to magical lands or a pen and paper to create my own..

I soon found a couple of hiding places to exercise my creativity in peace.
There was a wall next to our shed. If I climbed onto this, I could easily climb onto the shed roof and avoid being seen by my siblings playing merrily in the garden.

This became one of my favourite spots; a place I could indulge in creativity while still able to run out and play on the swings if I felt the need.

It was also where I would run to if I felt sad or worried, a sanctuary for my imagination.