My most recent project involves creating a manifesto; humorous or seirous, local or global, idealistic, evangelistic, succinct or detailed.
I decided that I was going to focus on the queueing system and my loathing for it, but after further consideration I came across the realisation that abolishing order in establishments such as banks and supermarkets would be ridiculous and quite obviously detrimental to the whole consumer society.
So instead I hooked onto the idea of promoting queueing and embracing the conversational opportunities on offer when standing with strangers.

WeHateYouYouHateUs.

An article I wrote for my friend's zine about my holiday in Suffolk.

If there is one qualm I had, and still have, about Suffolk, it would have to be that it is full of inbreds. It's a shame really, because it's a beautiful place full of enthralling Georgian architecture and cute topsy-turvy cottages that belong to celebrities' mums who have spent their mature years sponging off their Z-list offspring in an attempt to fill their monotonous lives with other people's, and pretend they are the most proud person on earth, when actually they couldn't give a flying fart if they got run down by a bus then raped by a flock of geese and had their remains exhibited in the Horniman Museum.
But the fact of the matter is that a large proportion of the population of the county often find it tricky to distinguish between family members. Everyone's eyes are too close together and a large majority of men appear to wear those retarded orthopedic shoes where it looks like they've gaffataped a slab of cheese to the bottom of one of them. And I swear they must brush their teeth with garlic paste because any time I approached a townsperson to ask for directions or a lighter, I suddenly felt on the cusp of vomiting all over their wanky, lopsided shoes. I guess this, my friends, is the perfect reason for the charity shops being so fucking good. Hugh and i almost ejaculated; farmer shirts and waxed jackets galore, a plethora of animal jumpers, and even a good crowd of boat shoes and loafers.
The funny thing is that Suffolkers/ Suffuckers all dress as if they are taking the piss out of themselves. For instance, among the middle-aged fashion-conscious souls there is a running theme of 'Scout Camp'. The look comprises outdated England football shirts with make-your-fucking-mind-up three quarter lengths and studiously stretched tennis socks. Like, it wouldn't surprise you if they all started playing 'crab football' or tying reefknots in eachothers trouser cords. The trend is usually rounded off by brand spanking Hi-Techs, which, by the way, are categorically not acceptable in any context, unless you're a 40 year old sports teacher making minors running around the school hall in their skimpies, which is still pretty disturbing.
As the saying goes, hate is a strong word. But what do I care, they shouldn't be so fucking backwards.

This is just some of the shit I do when I'm not asleep.

This is a logo for my dad's brewery I created by making a card stencil and screenprinting it on A2 paper. He gave me a cliched brief of 'traditional with a twist'. I wasn't sure it was the right look for him but fortunately, he really liked it.