Where Men Chunder

While in Australia I spent the best part  of a year living in Kings Cross in Sydney. This was never the plan, like most people who rock up in Sydney, I'd intended to use it as a base to explore the rest of the country and -like most people who rock up  in Sydney - I found the country to be prodigiously expensive meaning that I burnt through my meagre savings in record time. Many backpackers I met would refer to the city as The Snare, given so many people found themselves stuck working a cycle of temporary jobs to survive in a city that they did not have the means to leave. If I'm sounding a note of negativity, I really don't meant to. There are far, far worse places in the world to be stuck. The Cross (or KX as t shirt vendors and the like insist on referring to it) is generally considered to be one of Sydney's more rough and ready areas. In addition to the problems common to any major city, the area is home to the majority of the city's prostitution, organised crime (allegedly) and a shit load of bars and night clubs. Despite/because of  the above it has a certain grubby glamour and a bohemian, cosmopolitan vibe that doesn't slip into pretentiousness. It's also only a few minutes from the CBD, botanical gardens and a great hot dog place down by Potts Point. I whole heartedly recommend going. Just make sure you have enough to leave.

The above is drawn from my memories of Darlinghurst Road and various doodles made during my time there. I doubt its an even slightly accurate representation. Among other things I'm fairly certain there neither is nor was a strip club called the Cherry Zebra, but I feel very strongly that this is Australia's failure, not mine. I've also just realised I've failed to include any of the bin chickens that are, to me, emblematic of the city.

Been off work this week and enjoying lounging round in my underwear. I did manage to get out at least one point and walked the coastal path from Sunderland to South Shields. Having got there I remembered there's nothing much in South Shields, so got the bus straight back to Sunderland. Then I remembered there's nothing much there either so retreated to the Dave Cave to work on the Great British Novel, doodle and play games that it genuinely depresses me are now classed as retro.

Below is a cartoon of a joke that I strongly suspect has been made a million times before and been better presented.

I make no apologies. I can only work with what the muse gives me.

Love and fishes

Dave Denton

Darling Buds of May

Spring has finally sprung here in sunny, sunny Sunderland. Windows have been thrown and coats have been cast off. The  air is filled with music and the sea has transformed from its usual sludgy grey colour to an inviting, sparkly blue. Pigeon chested young boys and wrinkly old men alike have stripped to the waist and are parading round the town in a manner that is making the rest of us feel slightly queasy. And once again my head is spinning as I grapple with the realisation that if I want to sit in the park, read and eat ice cream then I bloody well can, because I'm a goddamn adult and can eat as much goddamn ice cream as I feel like, so shut up. Happily for me the good weather has coincided with a weeks leave from work, meaning I find myself in the happy situation of having nothing to do and a whole lot of time in which to do it. I have no responsibilities beyond vague ambition to put my flat in some semblance of order and a not particularly anticipated visit to the doctors in the next few days (It transpires I require a handsomectomy as, apparently, I have been handsoming for far too long and far too hard*). 

There's also the Euro elections later in the week. Normally my interest in these would hover just above the nil mark, if for no other reason than round these parts you could pin a red rosette to a three legged dog and it'd win. This year however there is the rise of UKIP to contend with, a party that feel the need to tell people, unprompted, they are non racist and then proceed to run an election campaign based on foreigners coming over here and taking our jobs and about how discomforting it is when swarthy gentlemen move in next door to you. Depressingly, despite coming on like the political wing of the Daily Mail, it looks like they might actually win the thing, which, given they have no sitting MP's and were unheard of ten years ago is admittedly impressive, but ultimately depressing, like knocking yourself out with the smell of your own farts. Most people seem to be putting it down to a stick-it-to-the-man/a-plague-on-both-your-houses sentiment amongst the electorate (that, perhaps ironically, appears to be Europe wide), because nothing says anti-establishment like a party led by the white, middle aged, privately educated son of a stock broker. Frustratingly attempts to engage, reason and debate have been few and far between, with too many attempts to counter the party boiling down to drawing attention the fact that UKIP has a lot of reactionary nutters in its ranks, which is as much news as Noah building an ark, and is too easily dismissed as smears by the 'LibLab Con' (a phrase so steeped in fuckwittery that I actually got slightly angry typing it). It was therefore somewhat gratifying to listen to a rather prickly interview that Nigel Farage did with LBC where he was subjected  to the sort of aggressive grilling that, rightly or wrongly, we should expect to be given to any party leader. More of this, please. But next time try to bring in the utter bollocks that is their economic policy.

The above doodle is for a story I've been working on, provisionally titled Stitchskin. I write "working on" as if there is any other state my various projects ever exist in. My own, ever evolving, standards coupled with the fact that I write at the same speed that old folk make love means that I've been on with it for fucking ever, a Sisyphusean task that'd be utterly dispiriting if I didn't take joy from the act of creation. Common sense tells me to put the whole thing aside and maybe try my hand at something else, like, perhaps, joinery. However, like a loose flap of skin on the roof of my mouth, I find myself unable to forget it or leave it alone. Maybe some day it'll get it'll reach a state of demi-semi completeness and I'll be able to get it out there. Until that time it's a good source of inspiration as any when I'm looking for something to draw. Below is another picture of the protagonist (Meg Thomas. In case you care. I suspect you don't) done way back when. Because why not?

Love and Fishes

Dave Denton

*Warning: possibly bullshit

Brain Leavings

Around two years ago me and a friend found ourselves living in a caravan in rural Queensland along side a racist Irishman, a perma-stoned Frenchman, an alcoholic Brummie and two generally affable Canadians (is there any other kind?). When we were not engaged in donkey work at a nearby banana farm we lived an odd, limbo like existence watching endless repeats of Top Gear, chasing snakes out of the communal living area and decanting cockroaches from the kettle. 

Aware that I would be returning to Blighty in the not too distant future and, as a sort of project to break the monotony, my mate asked if I'd draw him something to stick on a T-shirt. Dutifully I scribbled out around a dozen designs, some rubbish, some slightly less rubbish. Above are two of my efforts from the time, cleaned up and coloured. One an expression of PG rated, pre watershed rebellion, the other a celebration of a time when our fathers were not simply tired old men, slowly fading to grey, but champions! Super heroes! Bad asses! In the event neither of these made the cut. It also transpired that I was expected to transfer the finished image to cloth using fabric pens, a medium I now know I'm not particularly good with and the finished result ended up looking worse than shit. So I apologise for ruining a perfectly good T-shirt. 

But, you know what, I tried, and that's what mattered

Love and fishes

Dave Denton

Alreet

Hello. Salut. Gutten tag. Hola. Jambo. Whatever your salutation of choice is, I offer it to you. After some gentle nudging I've created this blog as a depository for various doodlings, writings and the assorted detritus of my creative endeavours. I make no claims for the quality, but, like the chimpanzee contemplating his latest leavings, figured I might as well throw this shit somewhere. Please find below a picture of a squirrel and an owl.

That is all.

Love and fishes

Dave Denton