Wednesdays with Bellucci

Hey, guess what? If you click on the images, you can go see FULL-SIZE VERSIONS OF THEM.













Monica Bellucci as Lisa. From my collection: 'Being Away from Work has Made Me a Bit Better at Drawing, Much Worse at Everything Else'.

I don't even have anything to say about Monica Bellucci, or L'Appartement - although I'm friends with the Internet's Foremost Authority on Both, so he can probably scratch that itch for you. I just drew her because I felt like it.

Over these past few months, drawing has become a real crutch for me. The ultimate distraction. I've found myself switching off movies and going back to my pen. I forget to eat, and then when I remember, I forget I'm cooking. I start colouring in and hours later I realise the album I was listening to is over, it's gone midnight, and I need a wee real bad. I'm not really drawing for anyone other than me, though it's nice when people praise. I don't feel like I can just kick back and do nothing - so I do something; I draw. Even though these doodles are just as self-serving as a day eating Ben & Jerry's in the bath

I've just got my bank statement. My income is not good. I think if you found it in a bag at the side of the road you'd feel gypped.

"Alright, drug money! I'm going to put my kids through college!"

You'll be lucky if you can put your kids through the car wash. My days as self-styled 'Out-of-work-writer' will probably have to end. I just wrote a fair few hundred words on how I feel about this, but you already know. You all know what a snob I've been about my precious 'career'. So I've deleted it all. We're sick of my kvetching, you and me both. Don't I ever do anything else?

Starting to resent Wednesdays. New Comics Day. The passing of another week. I'm nearly six months in... New Comics are great n' all, but being around all that awesome artwork can be depressing. You seen the Drink and Draw Social Club Book? Those guys can do in twenty minutes what I can't do after some twenty years of monkey-handing my pens. AND THEY'RE FUCKING DRUNK. All these books. Look at one panel of any Marvel book, just one face and a speech bubble, and you'll see something better than I can do in a week.

Still with the kvetch. Anything else?

Liverpool was full of hipsters today. Was something afoot? Even in Tesco there were about two dozen versions of me - except with bigger spectacles and somehow even skinnier, and they all had their versions of Josephine de la Baume, or Daisy Lowe, or whatever pixie-ish thing comes in those big woolly jumpers and Mickey Mouse Pants. The versions of me (much younger too, and sometimes they have suede boots on, or red shoes) and the girls match which two pizzas they are going to get in the deal. Or they buy cheap sandwiches at the end of the day. I couldn't turn a corner without colliding with a portfolio and red lipstick Urban Outfittie. They could easily have organised themselves into some sort of Art School Republic, booting out all the tracksuits from Toxteth to Croxteth.

But they didn't.

Shit. What time is it?

Wait. What day is it?

I have scones and clotted cream and ginger beer somewhere. I'm going. Bye.