How did those socks get in the toilet?


Well, it could have been the dog. Or the cat. Ginger is a rescourceful beast. He loves a sock. But two socks? Did he drop one in, and then go back for the other? I know for a fact they were in the living room. And how did he lift the lid? 

An awful thought arises, good grief, are Diesel and Ginger working together?  I've got enough to do without my fourlegged fiends finding collaborative ways to a amuse themselves. They watch too much telly, getting ideas above their natural evolution. Ginger will be typing my next blog at this rate. He's always mucking about on the keyboard.

And I have to prepare for the talk at Chesterfield college  tomorrow, try to make sense of what I do purely by instinct, and convey it in some sort of intelligible manner. Q: If I don't really know how I arrive at a finished product, how can I explain that to someone else? It's a good job I keep photographic records of my progress.

 

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