Last night I had a lovely time. Dinner with two of Best Beloved's oldest friends, who were in town for one day only on a home visit from England, and then a liquidy visit to the launch of Artwranglers, an enterprise supporting both Zoe and I financially (she did the blog, I did the stationery), where I met and had a lovely drunken chat with Peter Fay about the melancholy freakiness of limited edition premmie dolls.
Today I woke up a touch squidgy. But. I am professional. So I got to school early and set up the press for a day of printing the aforementioned Wanted Posters. We (a very keen student and I) printed them all day, letting people make up their own crimes and set their own names. I didn't get time to make spare ones for helpful bloggers, but I will do another session next week, because they're too much fun not to share. Those who suggested things and want a poster had better email me their postal address.
Here's a selection of 'crimes' I managed to remember to photograph:
We used the same large words with varying leader sentences at times, depending on the preference of the purchaser...
...like this. This is the combined name of a couple of collaborative printmakers.
This was requested by an obviously long-suffering girlfriend.
Made for The Shopping Sherpa in person, who blogged about the experience here
Requested by an academic's wife
And this one I made for Bumblebee. Happy to recreate it for other parents.
Others I didn't get a chance to shoot were: CRIMES AGAINST HIS SISTER, INCORRIGIBLE ACTS OF GAMING, REPEATED ACTS OF HERESY, HEINOUS CRIMES OF FASHION and OBSESSIVE USE OF FACEBOOK (made for a student!). There were others but my brain hurts. Anyhoo, on with the story.
We printed solidly from 10am to 4pm. And then at 4.10, as we were cleaning up, Best Beloved looked at one of them and said 'Oh!'
I know that 'Oh!' noise very well, and my heart sank. It was a typo. Hopefully it was a typo in one of the customised bits. But no. It was a big typo of an omitted word and it was on every. frigging. poster. we'd. printed. all. day...
And NO ONE picked it up or mentioned it if they did.
All the fun of the day just flopped and I felt stupid and tired. And my feet ached.
BB and I went to the movies straight after, which was a good idea because it gave my feet time to stop throbbing and was something to distract me from feeling grumpy. We saw This is England.
[*clasps hands*] oh golly, you have to see that movie. It's horrendous and poignant and funny and ... and... and the music is great. The last scene had me weeping into my sleeve to hide my face. I hate it when they turn the lights up 2 seconds after the credits start. There's no time to really react to an ending. In The Lives of Others I was so riveted I couldn't cry until it was absolutely all over, and even with the lights up I sat there and bawled, to the consternation of my fellow travellers, known and unknown. Turning the lights up fast is mean-spirited. There's a lot of that about these days.
It was an emotional rollercoaster. I came out utterly drained emotionally after being drained physically. Then we got takeaway and ate it in front of Dr Who, which pulled me through the mangle AGAIN. I don't have another drop of water in me, honestly. I feel pulled in all directions. Even The Sideshow couldn't make me smile, although that's actually not unusual. I watch it for the acts it showcases, not the inbetweeny bits.
I'm about to go to bed, and hope that tonight the cats will NOT use me as a parking station, as they have done for the last few nights. I woke up a couple of days ago with my arm around Mr Pooter (he'd wriggled under the covers) and Mr Padge sitting squarely on my chest, purring deep vibrations through me, after giving me dreams of being buried alive under an earthquake. They seem to think I'm very relaxing...