14 days of 12 hour days, a walk in shit and a relaxing lunch

📮 Spoiler - None of it was relaxing and I am tired.

Jan 28, 2025

Cutting out a gazillion tiny post things.

Hello Powells,

I won’t lie, I am feeling a little burned out this week.

Last week I was full of beans, not literally, I avoid consuming that particular food group as they percolate inside my belly and eventually shoot out of my arse as small gusts of wind with the same gale force rating as Storm Herminia. I digress. Last week I finished all the sketches for my second Marty Moose book in record time but doing so required my complete focus for at least 12 hours a day, for 14 days straight. It was a hard book to sketch, but I wrote it so I don’t know why that surprised me.

At the weekend I discovered my car tyre had deflated overnight due to a large nail I had driven over (not on purpose, obviously) and I had to call the AA. Stefan convinced me to watch Substance with Demi Moore which turned out to be the worst experience of my life and I am never deviating from period drama ever again. And I worked on a VIP mailer* for my first Marty Moose book, which publishes next Thursday. Naturally, I underestimated how long this task would take me. I assumed I would be finished by Sunday lunchtime leaving plenty of time to have a relaxing bath and be asleep by 7.30pm (my desired yet continuously unachievable bedtime). Instead, I was still wrapping parcels past midnight. The ink wouldn’t dry so at 1am I was dabbing it with loo roll. By 2am they were finished and all boxed up ready for the courier** to collect the following day and I fell into bed like a felled oak tree, albeit satisfied with my efforts.

A normal person would have had a slight lie in if they’d gone to bed at 2am but I am not a normal person. Instead, I had to get the car to the garage at 8am for a service and a new tyre. That was fine. I managed that task without any major issues. My mistake was deciding to stride home across open fields for some fresh air, instead of taking the short route on a man-made pavement. It started pleasant enough but at some point the field turned into a muddy cesspit. I found myself squelching and sliding my way across an acre of slop, which is bad enough on 5 hours sleep but was made worse by the fact I was wearing inappropriate brand new white trainers. I arrived home looking as though I was wearing two blocks of shit, one on each foot. It affected my mood for the entire day.

Today I had a haircut - miraculously fine - and then I returned home with the intention of putting together a presentation for a school visit next week. The inside of my brain however, resembled the Mojave Desert - empty apart from the occasional ball of tumbleweed. I decided to do some laundry but dropped a sock out of an open window (don’t ask) and I cried. I realised it was maybe time to take a break and so I went to my favourite bookshop for a bowl of leek and potato soup. It was lovely and peaceful, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself until a man asked to sit at the other end of my table.

‘Of course’ I said.

‘Doing my blasted tax return’ he replied, before he ordered a latte with a cheese scone.

He plonked his backside on the church pew that served as our shared seating arrangement, and got out everything he needed to do ‘his blasted tax return’. Then he huffed, puffed and swore his way through his two lattes and his cheese scone. He scrunched up four sheets of paper, called himself stupid, foolish and once banged his fist on the table—our shared table—causing my soup bowl to leap two inches off its matching saucer.

I left my relaxing lunch as he was sat with his head in his hands, asking god to help him.

I arrived back home and decided to leave the school presentation for today and instead I began the 100+ Montgomery BonBon drawings for book 4, which is out in the autumn and if I don’t get a move on will be picture-less.

I will be back in your inbox this Friday with a post about the artwork from my book, here are some teasers to whet your appetite…