Hello Powells,

6.30am. Friday. I’m sat in the garden at my victorian style cast iron garden table on a damp cushion because I forgot to put it away and it must have rained in the night. My cup of tea is already cold beside me. The sound of baby lambs bleating fills my ears. Birds of all sorts are talking to one another happily, and if my bird app would bother to load, I could even tell you which ones. Other than the occasional quarry truck rumbling past it is peaceful: I’m internally thanking my angels for this gift because this week has been the definition of an actual shit-storm.

It all started a week ago today when Stefan and I were cleaning Ziggy’s dirty bottom in the courtyard and I discovered our trench drain was filled with toilet paper.

We were eating dinner in the kitchen when Ziggy sloped past us towards the lounge after doing his nightly business in the courtyard. After I finished my dinner, I retired to said lounge with a bowl of ice-cream. Ziggy was in his usual spot in the armchair and so I took up my usual spot on the sofa. I had the spoon half-lifted to my mouth when my nostrils caught a whiff of something they shouldn’t have been whiffing and it wasn’t long before I discovered a smear of dog poo on the arm of the sofa… which lead onto a cushion… over a blanket… across the rug and culminated in a tiny poo near the bookcase.

Ziggy isn't in the habit of using our furniture as toilet paper, so we concluded his evening's business had been a messy one and he'd decided the lounge was the best place to wipe his dirty bottom. A lift of his tail confirmed our theory and Ziggy was escorted into the courtyard for a wash. Whilst there, I noticed a pongy stench. Naturally, I blamed Ziggy’s bottom and had I not glanced down into our courtyard drain that’s where this story may have ended. Unluckily for me, I did glance into the drain and saw it was filled with toilet paper.

Now, you may not be familiar with courtyard drains but I can assure you they are not meant to be filled with toilet paper. On closer inspection we discovered that there were other things in the drain, which should not have been there… things which I thought I had flushed away a while ago. The forecast for the next day was 32 degrees celsius and, considering our drain was literally backed up with shit, I think I was right to panic that it was going to smell pretty bad.

And so, instead of enjoying bowls of ice-cream in front of the telly, Stefan and I found ourselves donning gardening gloves and cleaning out old faeces from our drain. The next morning, in temperatures akin to a summer holiday in Greece, we and the plumber, endured a stench worse than the bubonic plague when she lifted our manhole to sort out the blockage. That reminds me, I need to pay her for the pleasure.

I didn’t think the week could get worse than that to be honest, but life always has a way of showing me just how wrong I can be and so it did.

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On Saturday, I arrived at Chatsworth House bright and early, slathered in Factor 50 and SUPER excited to host five Marty Moose drawing workshops at their family festival. Unfortunately, my excitement leaked away like a deflating balloon animal when I discovered that my first day of events were taking place in the potting shed—a location so obscure that most visitors didn't know it existed. At least I’m assuming that’s the reason barely anyone came and I was left sat in an empty room listening to everyone having fun at a circus. Literally, a circus.

On day two, I faced even stiffer competition, as both my workshops had been scheduled to coincide with a live, all-singing, all-dancing performance of The Gruffalo.

Stefan did several laps of the Chatsworth gardens, handing out free stickers and bookmarks in an attempt to lure people away from a woman blowing giant bubbles and a man on stilts making balloon animals. Against all odds, it worked, and I managed to fill the morning event. We all had a great time.

By Sunday afternoon however, as I found myself sat in an empty marquee, watching the man on stilts get mobbed, I was starting to feel a little beaten and I wondered at what point I’d become less appealing than a balloon giraffe. But my mood lifted considerably when, later that day, I received an unexpected email from someone who had taken the trouble to come and see me. They have no idea what this email meant to me. ❤️

Monday was mostly spent trying to locate a compost bin I’d ordered online. It promised delivery within two days, but two weeks later and it had yet to materialise in physical reality.

A good portion of the day was also devoted to trying to persuade the pole of my new parasol to fit through the hole in my garden table. Turns out, it doesn’t fit.

Tuesday I was home solo with Ziggy and, as I had a mountain of work to get through, I decided to walk him early before the temperatures rose. But Ziggy didn’t want to be walked. Ziggy wanted to sit down on the pavement and refuse to move. Ziggy wanted to go back home and eventually I relented. And then Ziggy had lots of energy because he hadn’t been walked. And then Ziggy tormented me all day and I got literally nothing done despite having two deadlines next week. Stress levels started to rise.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday. Stress levels hit maximum at 5pm when I took my eye off Ziggy for ONE SECOND to refill a fountain pen and he chewed through the strap of my bag and ate a good portion of my hat. After crying in the kitchen, I realised maybe I needed some support so I did what any sane adhd perimenopausal woman would do: I put Ziggy in the car, took him to my friends house and released him into their secure garden where he zoomed around with their dog, whilst I drank a mojito straight from the can. Then I drank another. I left feeling hopeful that Thursday would be better.

It was not.

On Thursday my iMac died. I spent 5 hours intermittently on the phone to Apple trying to resuscitate it but, at 6.04pm, it was officially declared deceased.

Thursday ended with me having to spend £2,749 on a new one.

In an ADHD frustrated tantrum which boiled over too quick for me to catch it, I impulsively threw my Wacom pen at the wall whilst on hold to the Apple Sales team. OBVIOUSLY it broke and so then I had to spend £65 on a new one. The new iMac won’t be delivered for a week so I will muddle through using my laptop and (hopefully) get some work done over the weekend.

The weekend, which I had intended to spend assembling a compost bin that still hasn't arrived and walking a dog who still refuses to be walked.

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Is it just me, Powells? Am I cursed?! Or is this just life? Please, answers in the comments.

Regardless, I am checking out. I’ve had enough! I am going to see my illustrator friend Penny Neville-Lee this afternoon to drink tea in her garden and if Friday even thinks about throwing some shit at me I will not be held responsible for my actions.

Until then, you might be interested to know the birds in my garden are: Jackdaws, Wrens, Blackbirds, Goldfinches, Greenfinches and, last but not least, the common wood-pigeon

Yours,

Powell x

P.S. A round-up of what I’ve miraculously managed to draw this week will be sent over the weekend. Subscribe so you don’t miss it.

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Please let me know in the comments how terrible your week has been so I don’t feel so alone.

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Hello Powells,

Monday morning, again! The week has flown by.

Tuesday I barely got anything done because I was the sole carer for Ziggy, whilst Stefan was in London. Ziggy is 8 months old now, has two pink testicles the size of grapes and legs so long Richard Osman would be jealous. He is cute and most people can’t walk past him without saying so, though I notice the compliment is never extended to me. Underneath the cuteness he is actually a demon wrapped in dense fur… or a baby-toddler-teenager all rolled into one - whichever is worse. On walks, he mostly sniffs every blade of grass and runs away from anything that moves, including me. That’s how I spent most of Tuesday: either walking at a snail’s pace whilst he inspected God’s every creation as though he was David Bellamy, or chasing him through dense bracken because he’d been spooked by an ant.

At home, Ziggy eats everything I own. Wednesday was a particularly bad day for this: he ‘re-styled’ my favourite pair of pumpkin orange fingerless gloves into wrist warmers, by eating half of them. He also made good attempts to eat my bobble hat, a Birkenstock, a brand new pair of bamboo socks and a 6b Koh-i-moor pencil. I managed to snatch a couple of hours work at the dining room table whilst the demon slept and, thanks to the ability to hyper-focus, got 9 hours of work done in 120 minutes. By the time I collected Stefan from the station at 10.08pm I had miraculously crossed finish The Swifts chapter heads off my list.

Thursday Ziggy had a lie-in and didn’t start tormenting me until well past eleven, so I snatched two hours of peaceful drawing time. In the afternoon I must have done something but I don’t remember what, because it has been overshadowed by a trip to the cinema to see The Devil Wears Prada 2. I spent most of the film thinking wow, isn’t Glenn Close amazing only to realise as the credits rolled that Miranda Priestly is played by Meryl Streep, not Glenn Close.

Friday I was so tired I actually called the doctor. I have a telephone appointment on 27th May, which feels unnecessary now as I don’t feel so tired. In the afternoon my eyes opened just enough for me to work on a couple of private commissions, a new venture for me which I’m very much enjoying.

Saturday Ziggy woke me up at 6.30am by throwing dramatically up on the bedroom carpet. I left Stefan scrubbing aforementioned carpet and headed to Nottinghamshire for two library events. I’m always a little nervous incase the events are attended by absolutely no-one or just a dog and baby (it’s happened, I don’t want to re-live it here) but I was pleasantly surprised to have 22 attendees, including one Marty Moose super-fan called Bonnie. I broke the ice by leaning against a table that I didn’t realise had wheels, causing the whole thing to roll out from under me so I almost slipped a disc. In-between events I skipped down the high-street to Wonderland Bookshop, a delightful shop packed to the rafters with children’s books. I tried to act nonchalant whilst frantically scanning the shelves for some Marty books but alas, came up short. I wasn’t feeling strong enough to suffer the humiliation of them not knowing who the hell I was so, rather than introduce myself, I sidled out without announcing my arrival and visited Holland and Barrett for some flaxseed instead. After great book-chat over a hearty bowl of soup with the lovely librarian slash events co-ordinator Carolyn, it was time for the second event. One child arrived in tears exclaiming that they wanted to go home and one father sat through the entire thing watching a football match on his phone. I ratcheted my children’s entertainer dial up as far as it would go and, by the end, the crying child did a complete U-turn and cried because they didn’t want to go home. #superfannumber2. The football mad father managed to grunt a smile at me as he left, too so I assume he is now super-fan #3.

Yesterday, I had planned to set up my compost bin but it hasn’t arrived so that put an end to that. Instead, Stefan and I took Ziggy out and discovered the local vicarage was having a charity open garden event. I am new to gardening and would describe myself as KEEN so I flung a tenner at the vicar and raced in there as fast as you can say Amen. I interrogated the Vicar’s wife Jane about her woodland ferns and geraniums phaeum 'Samobor' then snooped around her greenhouse, apple orchard, and courtyard taking notes and snapping photos like I was the perennial paparazzi. Then Stefan and I settled down for a nice cup of tea and a slice of Jane’s home-made cake, whilst Ziggy ate a nearby rose bush. Having no executive function to make decisions, I couldn’t choose between Jane’s Death by Chocolate Cake or her Classic Victoria Sponge. In the end, I decided to have a slice of both. I left an hour later, experiencing a sugar rush and clutching a Euporbia I bought for £3.50.

Today, I must do as much work as possible because Stefan is off to London again tomorrow and I will be left alone with my tormentor for 48 hours. On the drawing board this week I have the final full page illustrations for The Swifts book 3. At the weekend, I’ll be at Chatsworth House both days doing events at their family festival, where I hope to convert more uninterested attendees into super-fans.

I’ll be back in your inbox on Friday with a round-up of drawings from this week. Currently, I’ve drawn nothing so… it may be a short post.

Until then!

Powell x

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Hello Powells,

How are you? This morning was non-stop high drama! I was motoring home from dropping hubby at the station when I rounded the corner and encountered a goose crossing the road with six fluffy yellow goslings waddling behind her. Luckily for them, I was going up hill in an automatic and had a top speed of 14 mph. I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt just in time to stop them all becoming goose pate. Talking of food… I’ve just finished an exceedingly unsatisfying late lunch. It was meant to be a gloriously delicious chicken and pepper, harissa yoghurt wrap but I burnt the wrap, discovered the pepper was mouldy and the yoghurt pot was empty. So instead, I masticated on several strips of dry left-over chicken slathered in so much harissa my eyeballs won’t stop sweating. I’m juggling several things on the drawing board this week, including the illustrations for the third and final instalment of The Swifts: A Garden of Vipers. I’ve also started the cover for a new project which I can’t say a peep about! What I will say is, I’m very excited about it. It’s a one-off project—for a fab author!—which feels refreshing and lovely after working on so many series’s in recent years. I also have two private commissions to illustrate and I’m doing a day of library events in Nottingham this coming Saturday. You’re welcome to come to if you live nearby (tickets here). BUT all of that pails in comparison to the main event of the week: the eagerly awaited delivery of a compost bin and a herb ladder. When they arrive I will naturally stop all aforementioned work IMMEDIATELY to turn my attention to their assembly. I’ve been collecting tea-bags all week to get the compost going. I’m sure you’re as excited as I am so I will keep you updated. I’ll be back in your inbox on Friday with a round-up of things I’ve drawn in the past week. Until then, enjoy this drawing of the goose and her goslings, which I drew as soon as I got home this morning after almost squashing them flat.

Yours truly,

Powell x

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