Blog of Funk Christmas Giveaway

Much as I am enjoying the speculative nature of selling comic goods as part of a trend, there is a serious side to why I have chosen this month to write about financial resources, since this is not the Blog of Fuck Off and Die, that is a different and extremely unfunky blog, written by someone else. This month is not about capitalism, although a bit of healthy pre-christmas trading is never a bad thing. We all look forward to winter break - seems like we need it more than any other. It really is a chance to spend time with family. It can be joyous or it can be hell.

Personally, since I left home 24 years ago I always opted out, refused most invitations, and spent time doing what I wanted for a few days. A week to myself, blessed time to answer to nobody and do whatever I choose. How beautiful it is to be not depended upon, not asked to solve problems, not having to dry my shoulder of someone else's tears, again. Not having to utter a word. A retreat, just by going nowhere. Jesus God I sound like such a martyr. I hate even the sight of the word. It looks like zephyr and myrrh. Soon there will be more, myrrrh, then myrrrrh and then myrrrrrh as wordsmiths start to expand existing words to claim new semantic space in the commercial semantic web.

It is one of the ways I stay sane, opting out. I am so busy with people, I need to find the balance. I need to let my mind relax. I often go for days without saying a word.

One of the reasons I write so much is as a result of all this solitary time.

Not that I haven't had some bloody amazing christmas, romantic, insane, magical, sexy, breathtakingly gorgeous winter holidays with other people... just that I have also had them totally on my own. This year, I will be mostly going for a couple of days to stay with GGF's relatives three miles from the place which on Sunday morning just exploded, miraculously - Halleluya! - killing nobody. And they say God does nothing!

Yes yes yes baby jesus presents mincepies stockings tinsel kwithmuth la la happy family bollocks

I don't do cards. I have done, and enjoyed it, but now I cannot be arsed to contribute to the annual mound of trash. I ask for no presents, I give only to those closest, if I can be bothered.

Think of the tremendous psychological, necessary freedom that I am afforded by this. The expectations that I need not carry. The brussel sprouts I will not turn into methane.

Christmas, we love it carols mistletoe vodka fireplaces snogging chocolates advent calendars..

You see, my house was built of cards. Quite literally. My father made a substantial part of his living from turning artists original illustrations into colour reproductions. He was a lithographic retoucher. My childhood double-glazing was these immense sheets of plastic film from his work, all taped up around the place, because we were hellish cold, and we were in cheap council housing with no improvements on the horizon. All around our tall three storey stairs and in the hallway and behind the sofa were sheets of card and paper and film, red sellotape, and sable brushes.

Being a fairly good illustrator by the age of fifteen, my semi-doting parents asked me whether I couldn't possibly make some cash from painting sweet bunnies. I tried but it was no use, I was into MAD magazine, Monty Python's Gilliam, psychedelic art, Heath Robinson and DC mags.



You can understand my parents dismay.

Secondarily, on a serious personal note, I have to pay the taxman very soon, and I am not anticipating this with anything other than creeping dread. Anyway, fellow victims, my cheerful self enjoying the festive conviviality, I am also serious about selling some things. But, scam my fabulous funky loveable readers with cheap crap? Never. Never. Never.

Only best kwality crap-o-la for you on dis Blog.