We have just returned from a fabulous Christmas break in the southern climes, where we ate and were merry many days on end. Those days having now come to an end we find ourselves at home and hungover with uncomfortably tight pants; all signs of a Christmas well spent.
Since it has been a couple of weeks since my last post I do hope you'll indulge me this little Christmas wrap.
The season started brilliantly with the discovery of some irreverent Christmas artworks a few streets away from where I live:
Such tasteful composition, don't you think?
And I'm sure da Vinci would be pleased with the subtle enhancements to his half-smiling Florenzian:
I'm not sure who was originally responsible for the waif to the bottom left of Ms Lisa but I like the cut of her tights.
At a friend's work Christmas party I met the Santa Most Likely To Die From Eyeliner Exposure, which was a particular thrill:
Finally, a match for my drawing skills: this Santa couldn't draw his way out of a dot-to-dot. Happy days!
Some things have deeply mystified me this Christmas season, like this:
What in God's name is a 'glamour camper'? And who goes 'glamour camping'? And who pays $140 so their son/daughter can play pretend 'glamour camping' (whatever the hell it is)? This is everything that's wrong with Christmas.
Equally as mystifying as the glamour camper but $140 less expensive was the sight of this car, motoring along in an adjacent lane on the way out of town:
I like to think it's a tribute to a feminist rock-climber, on the horizontal for transportation only.
Less surprising was the damp end my annual attempt at filing came to:
But the best part of my Christmas break was that everyone was too busy rolling about to stay still for photos. Blurry shots are the best, don't you think?