the triangle sky : : : drawing and cartoons by bird : : :

What do you do when you realise that the man who is cutting your hair smells of alcohol? This very situation happened to me only this afternoon.

He greeted me into the (empty) barber's shop and ushered me into a seat in front of a mirror. He assured me that he recognised me despite my not having been at this particular barber's for about eleven months. I explained that I had been in Spain all that time and that maybe he was mistaken. He said he had a good memory and started telling me how I had had my hair cut last time.

Rob Stanmore was lying in misery on the floor of the boy's changing room. Green paper towels muffled the sound of his groaning and his wrists were tightly bound by his own school tie. His Ralph Lauren school shirt had been torn to pieces and flushed down the toilet, and on his bare chest the word "WHORE" had been carefully spelled out in pink lipstick. The fact that he was still wearing his trousers would have provided him a last vestige of dignity, had they not been soaked, drenched, dripping in four kinds of nerd piss.

I notice from my web traffic information that about fifteen people a day are still visiting the site. I haven't been posting anything, so I thought I'd just write a quick note of explanation.

Life hasn't been bad lately, but it has been a bit stressful due to a number of issues. Now that I think about it, I'd rather not get into it here, but when things calm down a bit I will get back into the comics.

It was Sunday morning. Chris Packham was tenderly arranging his collection of fossils when he noticed a shadow of a man. He became tense. He had been warned that this day would come. It was Terry Nutkins.

"Nutkins," said Packham through clenched teeth.

"Yes," said Nutkins. He was still sporting the same hairstyle he had made famous back in the days of the Really Wild Show: long at the back and sides and bald on top.

Nutkins roared and launched himself at Packham.

"Animal!" he shouted.

I was eating my lunch in front of the computer at work the other day. It was a kind of short, fat baguette with Spanish ham. It was satisfying, but I wanted something sweet to round off the lunchtime mini-meal.

Without much thought, I decided I wanted a Twix. I'm a Twix kind of guy. I headed out into the streets surrounding my language academy to find a shop that stocked sweets and chocolate. My regular sites for such a purchase gave me a shake of the head when I asked for chocolate. My disappointment grew exponentially with each rejection.

I am almost certainly not the first person to have noticed that Portugal manager Luiz Felipe Scolari looks uncannily like Hollywood star Gene Hackman. Are they by some chance related? I think we should be told.