P is for Prostitutes

I live in an area  of Melbourne which is famed for it's ladies of the night. And within that area I live on one of the main drags. I have been asked if i would like "a lift somewhere" more than once now... Perhaps, it's time to take a step back and re-evaluate my appearance.

Below you will find examples of the subtle sexual bombardment your subconscious is exposed to when taking a leisurely stroll down Grey Street. It's no wonder the sex trade is booming. 

Dogging anybody?

A sexual add for a removals company.

Hello Officer.

...indeed you dutty buggers.

O is for Opshop

An opshop is the Australian equivalent of a charity shop, and in Melbourne there is an absolute abundance of the little beauties. My local opshop serenades the senses to the max... no less so when the local homeless folk decide to park themselves on the sofas and pop a VHS on the telly, all of which are up for sale of course. Not to mention The Beatles background noise, only noticeable when you realise you've been humming 'Yellow Submarine' all day. 

Here are some of the marvelous offerings at my local opshop… A broken ironing board and some sort of granny transportation device. Perhaps, indicative of the socioeconomic standings in the St Kilda area… I’m sure there’s a used syringe on the floor there too.

N is for No Worries

The attitude Australians adopt towards worrying really is quite endearing. Now, if the response you get to every single statement/ apology/ offensive slant from an Ozzy is to be taken literally then I really have no reason to worry whatsoever. Thank you Australia.

M is for Money

The money here is made of a strange plastic material, which is wonderful... for surfers. Now, as I have already clarified, I am no surfer. So as far as I can see I reap none of the benefits associated with waterproof money.

I have however, fallen victim to one of the major drawbacks of plastic money. A curious characteristic of which is its slippery surface. This means, that if you have a note in your pocket it'll slip and slither around until it's free of its material confines. Then suddenly you find yourself having one of those 'I'm sure i had a tenner in my pocket?' moments. Yes! yes you did... but the fucker slipped out of your pocket when you weren't looking!. On the upside, somebody else is benefiting, I have unwillingly become a charitable person. I like to think my charity of choice is the Midget Circus Performers Rescue Operation (McPRO for short)*.

* yes i am lying.

L is for Lesbians

We have some rather riotous lesbians inhabiting the flat downstairs. Don’t go getting any romantic visuals of sexy young ladies, think more along the lines of Myra Hindley and what sounds like a female elephant. Fortunately, my bedroom isn’t above theirs, but my housemates is… let's just say they know how unsatisfied Myra must be. Ergh. That, coupled with a very loud Micheal Jackson megamix playing on repeat with accompanying dickhead friends who love playing the bongos on your average Tuesday night doesn't bode well for neighborly love.

Here is a highly conceptual piece: an origami elephant made out of Myra's face... unfortunately, you can't actually see ANY of her face, and this was my 1,000,567th attempt. I had to draw a line somewhere. I shall call it 'frustrating elephant'.



and so, here's another highly artistic piece of a red-eyed elephant sitting on Myra's face, looking like she's loving it.


I shall call it 'Rwaaaaaahhhhhh!'

K is for Koalas & Kangaroos

Koalas eat eucalyptus leaves, which have a certain appealing quality resulting in little fluffy balls of pure stoned joy. They literally live a teenagers dream. Here’s a Koala in it’s natural habitat looking shifty and paranoid, and like he's got the munchies... i wonder why.





Being English, I obviously get far too excited when I see a Kangaroo. I feel like I’m standing in an Australian postcard whenever I see one, and from nowhere Rolf Harris might saunter across the bush and wobble his wobbling board instrument thingy. However, Kangaroos are actually considered a pest here, as there are so many of them and they fuck up people’s cars when they get run over. And so, hunting and eating them is commonplace. That’s pretty much the equivalent of an Englishman hunting and eating rats.

J is for Jellyfish

Excuse me, Australians of London: you systematically failed to tell me a lot of things about Australia. Like, for example, that thongs are worn on the feet, how rubbish the telly is, that it rains and gets cold, of the mythical Drop Bear creature, that surfing isn't easy, that cheese is placed in two entirely different locations in the supermarket so as to confuse unsuspecting cheese loving foreigners, and... that there are lots of jellyfish in your crystal clear idyllic waters. If I'd wanted jellyfish with my beach I'd have gone to Wales thank you.


Looks a little bit like an abstract self portrait, i know.