Sunday, 2 June 2013

je ne parle pas francais

So then the Pixie came out to New Zealand.  We got drunk, played mini golf and romped around a spooky/lame/awesome maze.



We got back in time for Christmas, and made friends with my new niece Abigail.  She is tiny, and her special skills mostly involve drooling and pooping.



Three months passed by where I managed to not completely lose my mind in an intense work placement, I went to a bunch of gigs, and I painted a load of toy soldiers.  None of which I took photos of.

I now find myself to be, to a considerable extent, in France.  Wine and cheese are plentiful.  Everything else is a bit meh.


In my time here I have managed to see the mighty Godflesh, and also paint a bunch of grotz.




Grotz are ace because the only thing they are really good at is dying in huge numbers; so you only feel jipped if they don't die in droves.  And even then they usually survive whilst lurking about near some kind of strategically important hill or spooky ruin or magic barrel of stuff or something, thereby winning the day for any other greenskins that have not yet been exploded by space communists or future nazis or electro wizards or whatever.

This hopeless wall of cannon fodder was purchased from Target Gaming, the final solution for toy soldier excellence.

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