Floppy cars

I don't draw cars

DAY NINETY FOUR. Beautiful cardboard box for toy chess set by unknown Chinese artist. Floppy cars by me.

Proper diva

She was not what the public was expecting

DAY NINETY THREE.

Drifting off

It was sleep's twilight time

DAY NINETY TWO.

The frying pan

The pan was warming up a little

DAY NINETY ONE. Another episode in the familiar kitchen sink drama we all know and love.

Team No. 4

Team No. 4 guarded the bollards

DAY NINETY. Well, somebody had to, apparently.

Night pedestrians

Night pedestrians see things differently

DAY EIGHTY NINE. Black shiny streets. Lights and reflections. Your focus only on what is close by. Tyres sluicing the road. Footsteps shuffle, someone goes by with a bag of chips. The bus comes, then everyone is gone.

Sunset hues

Happy with his custom made tent

DAY EIGHTY EIGHT. He favoured clothing of a custard colour, but his taste in canvas was a little more frou-frou.

Afloat

 

Afloat on a crosseyed sea

DAY EIGHTY SEVEN.

Meet the hoists

A family with great dental work

DAY EIGHTY SIX. And surprisingly, never cranky. No doubt I'll be paying for that pun.

Viewer's vortex

 

Viewer's vortex. Verboten.

DAY EIGHTY FIVE. Assuming the position forbidden by his parents, he stared deep into the void(s).

Park

The park is shut

DAY EIGHTY FOUR. "Another struggle against the clock." "An insignificant struggle in the general scheme of things." "Another blow for stating the bleeding obvious." Said the little birds as they dashed across the quiet park.

Something in the sky

Something you don't see every day

Only on DAY EIGHTY THREE. They came from outer space, but the hangers just came out of the wardrobe.

Waving

Not shining, waving

DAY EIGHTY TWO. The Man in the Moon is actually a big-faced bloke made out of scrap metal, who lives in a high altitude log cabin and suffers from seasonal affective disorder once every twenty four hours.

Instructions

And no small print

DAY EIGHTY ONE. To be taken daily, while wearing stout walking shoes and adequate sunscreen. Follow with a nice lie down. Zzzzzzzzz.

Pencilled in

A few lines for St Patrick

DAY EIGHTY. (If you avert your eyes from the bundy clock).

Streaming

Streaming in the gloaming

DAY SEVENTY NINE. Not the streaming you were looking for? Hey ho.

Brick

There's only so much standing around you should do

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT.  A cautionary tale sponsored by the letter "A".

Window seat

Busy with a view

DAY SEVENTY SEVEN. Missing the Severn Bridge. Which has nothing to do with this picture. Sadly.

On Saturdays

On Saturdays, three are sat

DAY SEVENTY SIX. Thinking about the endless possibilities of Saturdays.

From tunnels

When no-one is watching

DAY SEVENTY FIVE. The sound of one hand skittering.

Legs

Chair-legs

DAY SEVENTY FOUR. Comfy?

Sleeping mountains

Sleeping mountains, off duty

DAY SEVENTY THREE. Sitting around, talking into the small hours.

Top box

I'll have a box of those farmers, please

DAY SEVENTY TWO. Tractor batteries not included. Ah well.

The onlooker

 

The onlooker always turned up for elevenses

DAY SEVENTY ONE. Still in the world of insects, but only by coincidence.

Things that fly

 

They may need some assistance

DAY SEVENTY, chaps. If I was making an atlas of Things That Fly, these might be nice: the wonderful irridescent fly found in the window track; the butterfly from a now mostly closed family scrapbook; and the small antlike creatures who wish to take to the sky in hand-propelled dirigibles.

Brick figures

Wobbling in the half light

DAY SIXTY NINE. I love a bit of architectural plundering, me.

Kettle and duck

 

Every day they moved round the garden together

DAY SIXTY EIGHT. A mutual admiration; not the name of a pub.

Angularity

Aerial angularity

DAY SIXTY SEVEN. Three men with a vision of a new kind of acrobatic entertainment. Something for the workers in the ice-locked industrial parks of the north. Something involving clenched teeth and trenchcoats.

Unknowable expressions

 

What's moving across that little face?

DAY SIXTY SIX.  She's in the world, but not of the world. Her face is made up of four disparate images. She's not real at all, but her expression is. How did that happen? Can I make it happen again?

Brown paper

They were always found loitering on the block known as Brown Paper

DAY SIXTY FIVE. It looks cold down that street.

Underground life

 

The seldom seen, underground life of daffodils

DAY SIXTY FOUR. Happy Saint David's Day.