Good Morning Doggerland!

"There were two white men in charge of the trading station. Kayerts, the chief, was short and fat; Carlier, the assistant, was tall, with a large head and a very broad trunk perched upon a long pair of thin legs." "Kayerts had been in the Administration of the Telegraphs, and knew how to express himself correctly....He regretted the streets, the pavements, the cafes, his friends of many years; all the things he used to see, day after day; all the thoughts suggested by familiar things--the thoughts effortless, monotonous, and soothing of a Government clerk; he regretted all the gossip, the small enmities, the mild venom, and the little jokes of Government offices." "Carlier, an ex-non-commissioned officer of cavalry in an army guaranteed from harm by several European Powers.." "Society, not from any tenderness, but because of its strange needs, had taken care of those two men, forbidding them all independent thought, all initiative, all departure from

Nagg, Nell, Clov, Hamm. Hamm. Hamm is supposed to be blind in the play, and the actor will generally wear a pair of dark, "blind man's" shades for the part. I prefered to draw him with eyes visible. Empty, yet looking away from the scolding Clov.

Inspired by a trip to a public baths in Gdansk. There was an outdoor pool there connected to the indoor pools. When it started raining, only a few remained. In this quick sketch they've been turned into Günter Grass, Klaus Kinski and Lech Walesa.

Clash references aside, I hope this to be an at least partly sympathetic portrayl of someone who is honestly lost in the supermarket; whose life options seem to have become reduced to which enormous bag of chips to chose. I find taking photographs of badly dressed and overweight people at Wal-Mart (or whatever) from behind and posting them on the internet to be a mean and sneaky thing to do. Adding snarky (though not especially bright) comments to such photographs is, well, a comment in itself.

Ah, a thimbleful of orange juice, a greasy slice of faded pink bacon, a shaped fried egg, a croissant of the hard and crumbly kind, raw toast, a cheap marmalade, a cup of sour coffee, and a cumberland sausage. Anyone for seconds? Time took a cigarette? Actually, time took a whole pack of twenty, King Size, and got stuck in traffic behind the annual granny's steam-banger veteran's parade droplet-damp chafing dish bacon rasher basher's bash! So hang your head, and hold your manhood cheap, when other's speak of those, who took the plunge, and smeared their honeyed knives, along the crisp-baked cake!