Dr Who, Time and BBC Contracts

I sincerely hope I have the lay-out correct for this entry, otherwise it won't make much visual sense. Thinks: Why on Earth do they allow old men access to computers? It shouldn't be allowed. There ought to be a law. Ad tedium.

Annie whey, the black and white pikchar is the one I entered for this week's caption competition AT THIS PARTICULAR SITE WHICH YOU REALLY OUGHT TO VISIT BECAUSE I GUARANTEE YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED BY IT. Now, I thought long and hard about this one. It must have been all of two minutes. You need to understand that, in my head, that is an eternity, which only goes to illustrate the mutability of Time and its relationship to the vast, unending vacuum of space between my ears. My original thought-lines ran along Dr. Who's companions looking despairingly at their BBC contracts and Matt Smith looking smug (if such a thing were possible - he doesn't strike me as the sort of individual that 'does' smug), because his contract outruns theirs. Companions are expendable, but the Doctor goes on forever.

Then I started thinking about the Tardis. Tardis is an acronym for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space - at least, it was when I read it in my Armada Paperbacks for Boys & Girls (Dr Who in an exciting adventure with the DALEKS, by David Whitaker. 2/6 from all good book shops) in 1965. (Drifts into a nostalgic reverie). These things change in an ever changing world. It occurred to me that three people standing around, staring at contracts was unlikely to be the most arresting image in the world of cartooning, so I thought a little bit more and eventually came up with something even more obscure than my original thought. Tardis is Time and if that started running out... well, the Doctor wouldn't be quite so bloody smug, would he?

This would be my masterpiece (one of -ooh- so many you couldn't count them) and subsequently I set to with a will. Pencils came together well and I also intended to submit a coloured cartoon this week, but (irony of ironies) I ran out of time. I still got a very creditable number of points. The majority coming from some VERY distinguished names. I'm not a name-dropper and I actually think it would be very vulgar of me to mention Andrew Birch and Roger Kettle, so I won't.

I was very pleased with my drawing and I still wanted to colour it. So, post competition I worked on it and gave it a new caption. The result is above (HINT: it's the one that isn't black and white). Faults? Too trivial to mention really. The biggest fault is that the Doctor is behaving completely out of character, but I think that's just a bit of bravado on his part to cover up the lacerating pain he feels about the impending departure of Amy and Rory. Possibly.

Two Naked Men In A Urinal: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Do you recognize the joyful glee represented by the lettering in this addition to my infrequent epistles to the virtual ether? The drawing on the left here gained me bronze (in Olympic parlance) on the weekly Cartoonists' Club caption competition podium. The theme this week was gold.
 I'll let you into a little cartooning secret here: walking the dog releases the mind. While the dog wuffles about concerning her mind with things of doggy import,your author (and artist) is left free to wuffle about the cartooning corners of the cartoonist mind.
The theme was suggested by the London 2012 Olympics and thusly my mind turned to the ancient Greeks and thence to King Midas and after that the whole intellectual edifice came crashing down and my mind, as usual, descended to the toilet and men's gangly bits for a cheap laugh. Regular readers will know that I have no scruples.
So, why are they naked? I thought it would be a nice touch to emulate the style of the black-figure images on ancient Greek pottery. That's all. Nothing sexual at all. So, if you've come here looking for smut you'll be sorely disappointed won't you?
I drew some pencils in preparation for this one and for the first time in a long while I am more pleased with the final result than with the pencils. All in all, a jolly good week. I am, most definitely, a heppy, heppy ket.

That's The Way To Do It!

Now this, O best beloved, is a bit more like it. Pencil preliminaries, Universal Pictures horror reference and ladies' wobbly bits. What more could a struggling cartoonist ask for?
This is the third cartoon I have drawn involving Frankenstein and mammary glands. Could this be the start of a worrying trend? Watch this space, but only if you're a little bit warped.
Onwards and upwards and alongwards and hospitalwards.