swivel-eyed

I recently served a mad woman in the Big Gay Department Store. The conversation went something like this.

"Hello darling. Does this come in a box?" She's brandishing a frying pan.

"I'm afraid not madam, it comes as is. I could wrap it in some bubble wrap for you...?"

"That would be wonderful darling, thank you." I set to expertly smothering her shiny new cookware in bubble wrap.

"You're doing a marvellous job..." she looks at my name badge "...Ben."

"Thank you. You're very kind." And possibly quite mad.

"You don't have spiky hair like him." She gestures to my colleague Tim, a quite exceptionally gay man with whom I hardly flirt at all.

"No madam, he's a wild anarchist. I'm more of a mild-mannered hippy."

"I see. How old are you Ben?"

"I'm thirty-two."

"You must call me mummy."

"Errr..."

Cue shrieks of laughter from Tim.

In an entirely unrelated story, the Pixie and I bimbled over to see my parents last week. We spent a pleasant few days battling giant spiders, smashing furniture with axes and devouring delicious Thai food. The day after our return I inadvertently found a cure to my near crippling Forza/toy soldier painting addiction, by getting some sort of job or something. It's a temporary full-time position, working at the university for some guy that's researching fuel saving aerodynamics. Essentially, it's Pimp My Heavy Goods Vehicle. I start tomorrow, when we'll have a bit of a brainstorm in which we'll try to work out exactly what my job will be.

All of which means that today was pretty much my last chance to get any painting done; and here it is.

Yup, I finally managed to get some actual boyz painted for my super retro old skool rogue trader ork army. The photo is a bit blurry, because a) it's late, and I've had a few glasses of delightfully cheap red wine; and b) this conveniently covers up what a rushed job I've done on them.