Minimal (minimum?) effort update: this is very very good.

My housemate Adam wouldn't defecate in the toilet. His mother bought herself a Ghostbusters car. Adam liked the Ghostbusters car. An agreement was made involving Adam using the toilet correctly and ownership of said car being transferred. From that day forth, Adam knew where to poo. 

This is where I sleep. I actually sleep on the floor. If you put the bed back together it deconstructs itself at night. Shit off Ikea, this bed is a metaphor for any faith I ever had in you.

Sock has been here since my arrival. He never moves. There's been at least three storms in the past month, sock don't give none. This is the kind of social commentary the internet was made for. 

Morning coffeeannafag view. Nice touch. Cheers homely extraction system.

My other housemate Sid likes tea. Late at night, he proffers Sleepytime. (Phil - I know you're going to think I meant to write 'prefer' here, but 'proffer' is a word too. Look it up.) I was under the impression Sleepytime was his pet name for such a beverage, imagine the mirth upon discovering that's-what-it's-actually-called. LOL.

What I've actually been doing.

ALL CHANGE.

If you've just joined us, It's twentyonefiftyfive and we're drinking tea on the balcony. If anyone's been refreshing this page for the last month, tapping time telling devices, preparing the final inhalation before refund enquiries are made - je m'excuse.

The main reason for this post - A farewell to Compton St. That studio did me fine. Those guys, those guys. Couldn't have shared the space with a better bunch, infinite good times that shall be stored safely at the memory bank.  As feet are want to do, itches set as did eventual complacency. Grew restless and needed some world. Thus, I write this from my desk à la Montréal, housed in a top secret high rise studio complete with panoramic watchtower. 

Mega inspired to be getting back on with the kind of creative work I love doing, incredibly sound and equally talented individuals present and correct, shit's tight. 

Monthly spell is broken, regular updates to be resumed. Apologies for narcissistic rambles.

Indoor skateboarding reaches inevitable conclusion.

All's been quiet on this westerly front / imminent departure of country / last minute internship opportunity arises and must be jumped at.

Off to Montreal to work with long time design hero Julien Vallee, big time excitement. Selling all worldly possessions, cancelling phone contracts, acquiring thermal underwear, flying in less than three weeks.

Business shall continue as usual, systems have been put in place to facilitate the long distance running of industry.

Thanks this month direct at Domestic Sluttery, who's feature of a few choice Valentine designs led to lovers nationwide finding themselves in comparison with canine backsides on the 14th. Notably, also the first time I've been referred to as 'Design Porn'. Shanksh ladies.

Visa application - "supply two documents showing your current address, dated within the last six months."

Easy peasy. I've got two bank statements right hurr. Ne pas de problem Mr Government.

Attaching statements to form; notice recent transactions to friends and family probably done whilst in a good mood.

Can't say I've ever heard the one about the government official with the above average sense of humour. Sent it anyway. Fingers crossed. 

Show them you care, or at least remain quietly indifferent.

Why not treat your better half (left hand?) to a piece of folded card in honour of St. Valentine, who died for our sins.

Available, as ever, in't shop. Click to the left or click to the here. Jah bless.

It's a badge of honour.