Happy Christmas y'all

I'm still in the communications bunker at the council, but I hope all you out there, especially my farflung fans in Pune and deepest Texas.

High Wiccan

My mum has a couple of friends, lets call them Philip and Fiona, who write a yearly newsletter on Publisher that always has us in stitches for its content. The introduction this year began: "Peter has spent the year learning Arabic and amuses all his friends by breaking into it at regular intervals..."

However, as I read out this year's missive, we found great amusement in their description of adventures at the High Wycombe Philosopher's Association. Only Dee thought it was Wiccan, and went into a long monologue about dancing naked through the forests, burning pigs and worshiping outlandish pagan gods. Would have been wonderful if this misconstruction had happened face-to-face, and that at the end of Dee's eight-minute retelling of the Wicker Man, my mum's friends would reveal, shocked, that they were more interested in Hegel and Kant.

Noggin the Nog - Nogbad the Bad

Noggin the Nog - Nogbad the Bad

In memory of the great Oliver Postgate. Pick up his biography, Seeing Things, for kiddy strangeness and curios.

Deciduously arty

Attempts to be arty in Barton's Baysgarth Park.

A pier through the mist

Bartistic license

Off to the shuggy shores of Barton for the inaugural location recce for 'Get Barton', mine and Nick's 15-minute short film being made by the wonderful Singlespan, Dave and Kate's production company. Sadly, a freezing fug had descended over north Lincolnshire, making any location further than five metres away completely pointless. No matter - we managed to get a look at the abandoned tileworks where Ted L envisaged that Jack Carter met his demise - before the gloom, and the urge to take cliched shots of Scunthorpe, took hold. The main shot shows our director delightedly clutching a tile. It was that kind of morning.