(click for bigger)

Here is a picture of my Dad. Pretty badass, I’m sure you’ll agree. Here is a poem about an important fact:


My Dad’s a badass, that’s the truth,
He opens bean tins with one tooth,
And chugs them down straight from the can,
Dang, my Dad is such a man,

He shaves with blades that cut down trees,
And cuts down trees by snorting bees,
And spitting them at such a speed,
Their stings make sawdust - just the leaves
Remain and he’ll make woodchip bricks,
And chew on them like Wheatabix,

His favourite drink is acid from,
The stomach of an alien,
That he defeated with a slap,
Oh sorry, did I mention that
The alien was twice the size,
Of your fat mum, with laser eyes,
And killer tentacles that writhed,
With razor sharp electric spines,

Dad just climbed up with a laugh,
And shouted “Mate, you ain’t the last
Big bastard that I’ll teach to be
Afraid to get a piece of me,”
He hopped up on its rocky shoulder,
Bigger than the biggest boulder,
Pulled his arm back til it cracked,
And let loose an almighty slap,

The alien’s cheek caved right in,
The flesh beneath was bubbling,
And all its brains flew out the back,
Dad pursed his lips and said “That’s that,”

He whistled for his motorbike,
And rode away into the night,
The stars and moon shone half the light,
For fear they may incur the might,
Of my Dad’s wrath, and they’d be smart,
To hide away coz after dark,
My Dad sleeps like a dormant geyser,
Always poised to quick release,
A thousand volts of kick-your-arse,
It’s true, my Dad is purely class,

And everyone thinks he’s the tits,
So, gutted mate, coz your Dad’s shit.


The other night I was at a hip hop thing in the back garden of a cafe. It was very nice! Good atmosphere and good music. There was an open mic aspect to the proceedings, which was very supportive and fun. Unfortunately the microphone was distorted and muffled, which made it hard to hear what the MCs were saying. I noticed the bass on the mic’s EQ was turned up loads — bemuddening the sound. I built up the courage to ask if I could tweak the EQ a bit and the man on the decks said “Do what you gotta do,” so I did but it went very badly because when I touched the EQ knob the mic cut out in a crackly way and I spoiled the poor MC’s flow! What a cack-handed doofus! I think it was a fault of the mixing desk rather than mine, but still, I leapt back with a “Sorrysorrysorry!” and vowed never to do anything ever again.

A guy next to me leant into my ear and said “It’s not the EQ man it’s just their mic technique. See they’re all holding the mic at the top, their hand’s covering the whole bit where the sound goes in. You’re supposed to hold it at the bottom, then it sounds clearer. I did an A-Level in this shit man, I know the technique.”

Now, it was partly to do with the EQ but he was definitely right about that being proper mic technique. I was looking forward to hearing how his methods would improve the sound during his performance, so when he leapt up to MC I was all ears.

But do you know what he did? He grabbed the microphone at the top with his ENTIRE FIST! There was barely a centimeter of microphone left for the sound to go into! Immediately after telling me you shouldn’t do that he just blazed right ahead and did it anyway! Without remorse! What a fickle fellow.

I don’t know, maybe he didn’t want anyone to hear him clearly because his lyrics were substandard. Or maybe he just got a bit overexcited that it was his turn and forgot all about his A-Level certificate: hidden deep in a dusty drawer, weeping softly and whispering “Why are you doing this? I told you it is wrong. You have let me down.

But he would never hear the sound of the weeping and whispering over the boomy muffliness of his reckless abandonment. It’s just a sad, sad story, I’m afraid.

Don’t forget about your A-Levels, everybody. Don’t you ever forget.


It’s been roasty hot in Cambridge over the past week or so, meaning every person has leapt at the chance to lie down on the grass with their skin out.

My favourite guy enjoying the rays was a guy I saw as I walked across Parker’s Piece. He had his ribs out, sported a wide brimmed sunhat and shorts, and he was just lying back peacefully enjoying a nice spot of knitting.


I dunno, I don’t want to make a big thing out of it or whatever, because maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe he was out to freak some squares, or otherwise challenge social preconceptions, and that’s fine because I think social preconceptions ought to be challenged, and squares should definitely be freaked as often as possible.

It is certainly uncommon to see a man knitting, which is a shame because I did some knitting when I was a kid and it’s an enjoyable process that more people should trifle with; but knitting a scarf in this heat? You have got to be kidding me! I guess I must be a square because the very notion freaks me to my core.

It seemed like he didn’t give a rat’s hat what other people thought of his activities, and I suppose he wasn’t hurting anyone apart from subverting their ideas of what a gentleman’s summertime thing-to-do should be, and I just want you to know that I respect that level of steez.


Tonight I went to see a play with my Mum. The play was boring but on the way there I was walking up the main road behind a bunch of lads who were gently strolling along, maybe on their way out for a beer. As I got nearer the chap on the right let out an incredibly loud, burbly fart. It was remarkable! They all tried to maintain composure, and I tried to hold it together as well but an involuntary grin spread over my face. As I walked past they were still struggling, and when they turned round and saw me avoiding eye contact, trying not to laugh as well, they lost it and started giggling, falling against the wall and doubling over. I kept walking but now I was laughing too! I kept laughing until I got to the theatre, at which point I stopped laughing even though it was supposed to be a comedy.

I guess the lesson I learned is that you can try hard, write a complicated script, learn your lines and rehearse for hours, but why bother because farts are hilarious.


A couple of weekends ago was the wedding of one of my oldest friends, Ali and his now wife Sarah. Andrzej and I were tasked with filming the occasion so we went and bought some new suits so we would look like real cool guys, all poncing around with cameras, in fancy attire, frowning artistically as we try to capture the perfect focus-pull of some flowers to a chandelier. But suits are well expensive, yo. Nice ones I mean. Luckily, Andrzej had heard of this place called Cenci which is a treasure trove of vintage clothing where we were assured we could get a nice suit for £70 or so.

So I took a trip to London (I live in Cambridge now) and we jazzed it right down there, joined by Andrzej’s girlfriend Stef for her invaluable style advice. The place was musty and full of clothes piled everywhere. There was an exuberant, no nonsense Italian man called Masimo who helped us find suits that fit well and yanked my trousers up so hard my balls popped. Him and his wife Deedee (I assume they’re married but I don’t actually know) run the place and seemed like nice people. I wanted to interview them both because they had a great way of speaking over each other, telling stories and giving firm opinions but he wasn’t up for it so we did a quick one with just Deedee instead. Here is Deedee’s interview followed by her picture so you can imagine her speaking:

Read More


This afternoon I decided the mustiness of my duvet had become too apparent from too far away and thus the time had come to wash the thing. So I filled the bathtub full of hot water and shoved the duvet in, mashing it down with my hands. I left it for a while, did some other stuff, but thought it could probably use a bit more mashing around, because it’s not like the bath spins around washing machine style, is it? I bet someone somewhere has a round, spinning bathtub because they thought it would be amazing, but actually the water would just stay in one place so, yeah, nice waste of money, jerk.

Anyway I went back to the bathtub, took my shoes and socks off, rolled up my trouser legs and commenced to knead the duvet with my feet, like the grape stomping lady without the falling over and going “AAAUUURRGHGHGHGUHGHHGUHUGHUHGUHGHUGH,” and with 100% more duvet.

I’ll tell you what, soon a remarkable calm fell upon me. The warm water lapped at my ankles and the soft duvet gently hugged my feet. I trampled and trampled, shoulders loose, breathing deeply. Honestly, it was a great feeling. So great in fact that I was overwhelmed by the desire to lie down and experience this bedtime-bathtime combination properly.

So I took all my clothes off and climbed onto the heavy cloud of comfort — lying naked on a Sultan’s lilo in a hot spring just for Sultans. And I lay there for about 15 minutes. And it was amazing. Better than a bath, better than a bed. Bedbath! But softer… b’db’th.

Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve ever done this and if not maybe you think it’s weird but all I’m saying is that you should give it a go before you judge me because it might change your life forever.

I Put A Spell On You - Lip Sync (by jimmyslo)

This guy does a good lip dub and faces!

ELCAF & Urban Cotching

This Sunday I went to ELCAF which stands for East London Comics & Arts Festival. It was full of flippin’ loads of comics and art, being hawked by their creators on tables in a lovely warehouse. It was very busy and crowded and I got stressed out so I left before too long, BUT before I did I got a chance to have a quick chat with Kristyna Baczynski who draws stuff like this:

(click for bigger)

She was very nice and told me she was working on a larger comic project with more pages, so keep an eye out and buy some of her work in the meantime!

I was there with limited funds so I only bought one thing from the place, and it was this:

Not the man, the t-shirt haha. The design is by Drew Millward who is one of my favourite illustrators. Here’s the illustration a bit closer:

It’s good isn’t it? The project is called Spirit of the Animal and the guys have animal designs by different illustrators for sale. You can check ‘em out and buy them right here.

Last year I made the first part of a film about a guy (me) who sells his soul to the devil for a T-shirt, but the devil gives him a magic one by accident and it’s got an animal on it and gives the wearer the power of the animal in a powerful way. I got two t-shirts designed by my friend Alex Woodhead. One was a dolphin, one was a wolf. I HAVE NOT YET COMPLETED THE FILM. I just don’t think it’s that great. But I’ll try and finish it soon because it’s good to polish things off (hurr hurr), and the t-shirts are awesome and should be released to the world. The reason I bring it up is so that you don’t think I ripped these spirit of the animal guys off. Claro?

Anyway, back to the day at hand. I was with my friends Tim and Tom (who should be a puppet duo with names like those) and when we’d had enough of the comics bustle Tom and I went outside to wait for Tim. While we were hanging around we only got bloomin’ recognised from the internet! A lovely girl called Katy Bednarz came and said hello and that she enjoyed our videos on Vimeo (example). We felt like like actual megastars and our step was made buoyant. Katy is a talented illustrator too, seems like she’s interested in morbidity and the ethereal. Her website is here.

After talking to Katy we left and it was a sunny day. We bought a can of beer each and wandered around East London for a while. I suggested we find a park with some greenery we could relax and enjoy our beer in. Tim was like, “Nah mate, let’s just find an urban cotch.”

I had no idea what an urban cotch was. Tim said it was a place of serenity in an urban environment, or “a place to chill the fuck out in.” As luck would have it we stumbled upon a couple of wooden pallets propped against a fence, so we perched upon them and sipped our beer — cotching out, wholesale.

Here is a picture of Tim and Tom at the cotch:

(click for bigger)

We sat for a time and soon a remarkable peace fell upon us. We saw three guys walking past pushing their fixed-gear bicycles and Tom said, “Doesn’t that defeat the point of having bikes?” and we agreed for we had reached a state of serene clarity.

Here is a picture of Tom enjoying the joyful calm of the cotch:

(click for bigger)

Tim felt like the coolest dude in the world and rolled a cigarette, taking a moment to stand, effortlessly wearing his shades atop his head — appearing cooler than any dude had ever appeared before:

(click for bigger)

Even the top buttons of his shirt were undone! Just a brief moment of chilling out at the cotch had afforded him a deep, natural cool that lasted for the rest of the day.

Anyway, eventually we grew uncomfortable because the pallets dug in, so we went to the pub.


The new Hot Head Show video is awesome!

I made their last vid, if you ent seen it check it out:

New Simon Selects! This one’s been sitting around for a while, I forgot to upload it. PUMP IT UP!