2012 Scroodl Challenge - 365 Days 365 Drawings

Way back in 2012, I idiotically set set myself a New Year’s Resolution challenge of producing a piece of artwork of some kind –be it ever so humble– every day for 365 days in a row [or, as some people like to call it "a year"]. As you can imagine, once the novelty wore off [after about a fortnight!] the Scroodl challenge became a huge albatross round my neck and an unbelievable heap of effluent was the result.

On the up-side, the Scroodl challenge did give birth to Colonel Wanderbury, the oft-times-forced-transvestim suffering WWII British spy and a host of other supporting characters –a scenario I may revisit again at some future date, as I think it’s got some potential.

Anyway, I’ve tried to spare my blushes and your eyelid matchsticks by culling the most half-arsed efforts, leaving only the semi-decent or semi-amusing ones. The numbering relates to the original 001 -366 order the drawings were produced in [it turned out to be a leap year!]. So you can see for yourselves where the will-to-live was most lacking!

BTW –The name Scroodl is a portmanteau of Scribble and Doodle.

No. 2 MasterChef in action

Wherein, on New Year’s Day, our hero takes the lazy “order a takeaway online” option, when confronted by an empty fridge and no supermarkets open.

OK. The neck’s gone a bit wonky

No.4 Looking at you, looking at me

As stíobhart tried to think what to do for that night’s Scroodl, he had the strangest feeling that someone was watching him…

Memo to self: You can’t draw cats. Please put the pen down and step away from the table! –although drawing the fur was quite therapeutic

No.5 Flower Power

As I sat down to do do today’s Scroodl, staring blankly at my graphics tablet, wondering how the hell I’d run out of ideas after a mere five days, a courier came to the door delivering a load of plant-pots etc. for the missus. Hence today’s botanically inspired offering. Available from all good garden centres, this is that perennial favourite Totalmentus Fictitious.

Most annoyed at badly screwing up the shading on one of the leaves.

No.6 Crap-Bot

The planet Zarquon 3 was a harsh, lawless world, where an embarassingly badly drawn robot could be gunned down in the street on the flimsiest of pretexts.

Oh dear. The less said about this one the better. Look

No.7 Car–toon [Geddit!]

Tonight’s motoring themed Scroodl is inspired [if that’s the right word] by my just having sat through the appallingly piss-poor Top Gear India Special. There’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back!

Hated this while I was doing it

No.9 Running Man

No idea what’s going on here. This is just what fell out the end of my pen tonight, when I sat down and started randomly scribbling. Maybe it’s some deeply symbolic commentary on the Olympic Games?

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No.10 Excruciating punnage

In honour of my reaching my first decade of Scroodls, I present…"A tenacious tench playing tennis by an untenable tent tenanted by a tense tenor” [I’ll get my coat!]

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No.11 Unfinished symphony

Tonight’s Scroodl was going to be some lumpy nosed bloke caterwauling into a microphone. Unfortunately, I left it a bit late to get started and, with work tomorrow and beauty sleep needed, I’m going to have to leave this one as an ‘unfinished symphony’.


No.16 Space Debris

Tonight’s Scroodl is dedicated to the unfortunately named Russian Mars probe ‘Phobos Grunt’ [or Фобос-Грунт, to his friends], who plunged into the pacific ocean today.Due to a malfunction* after launch, the wee fella didnae quite make it as far as planned. Not even getting out of Earth orbit.

[*or sabotage by the Yanks, if you want to believe the conspiracy theorists!]

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No.26 The Snooty Show

No idea who this banana-faced oul’ bugger is. But I’d venture to suggest that his curlēd lip and sneer of cold command, show that the Scroodler well those passions read.

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No.30 Bad Egg

I lost interest in this one about halfway through, after making a complete and utter balls-up of the hands. Stuck with it though and saw it through to the end. Scroodling, after all, is a marathon, not a sprint!

What’s much more interesting –nay spooky– though, is that this is the second time that me and Robert have Scroodled the same thing on the same day! I wonder if we could hire ourselves out for one of those telepathy experiments where you try and draw what the other person is thinking of?

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No.33 Thought Crime

Tonight’s Scroodl is inspired by this story, which I heard on the BBC news, this morning: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-16811042

At first I was overwhelmed with the possibilities this technology opens up and imagining where it might go in the next decade or so, if they keep developing it. Then I thought about what it’ll end up being used for, when those lovely people like DARPA and GCHQ get hold of it.

I couldnae believe how ham-fisted I felt, trying to draw with a pen, tonight. Just shows you how you get used to things. When I first started drawing with a graphics tablet, or on my iPhone, I felt equally as clumsy. I seem to have got used to that, at the expense of now drawing like a man with boxing gloves on, when I try to work on real paper, with a real pen.

Memo to self: Keep mixing those media, kid!

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No.34 Dogged Pursuit

A man who, for no apparent reason, is in the nip, being chased by a fat, farting dog.Drawn on real dead tree with a real pen again. May not be as polished as working with the graphics tablet but it sure is a lot faster —which is what counts, after a long, busy day at the office, daahlink!

No colouring-in from me tonight; my laptop’s in me bag

No.37 Nipple-tweak Johnson

…Pictured at the height of his reign of terror.

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No.50 –The Great Escape

Colonel Wanderbury sped along the rocky trail, leading from Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s castle. If only he could make it to the harbour, before his absence was noticed! But, even as the thought flitted across his mind, he heard the chilling clamour of the Baron’s vicious hounds, baying for blood -Wanderbury’s blood!

Wow! –It’s Wanderbury HD!

No.51 –Dogged pursuit

As Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s hounds howled and strained at their leashes, it wasn’t clear whether they had picked up Colonel Wanderbury’s trail, or were merely attempting to escape the eye-watering aroma emanating from the pair of Wanderbury’s government issue Y-fronts, which the Baron was utilising to familiarise the beasts with the colonel’s scent.

Painted myself into a corner –pun intended!– by mentioning that the Baron had a pack of bloody dogs yesterday. Just between me and you though

No.57 –Interlude

Having had to work on my latest bloody PGCE paper on and off for most of today, it’s a wonder I can summon up the will to live tonight, never mind find the enthusiasm to start inventing new scenarios for Colonel Wanderbury and Baron von Brücken-Stempfl to play out.

So, instead, I contented myself with a [pretty futile, in the end] quest to try and standardise the facial proportions of our two heroes boring fuckwitts, as I’ve become painfully aware that every time I draw the feckers, they end up turning out looking completely different from the last time. As you can see, it wasnae exactly the most productive of sessions.

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No.58 –Undercurrent

Colonel Wanderbury’s spirits soared, as he realised the thin, faint grey line on the horizon had to be the White Cliffs of Dover. But, even as he began to think longingly of the comforts of home, his small craft was carelessly tossed aside, as the sleek, evil form of Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s private U-Boat surfaced, directly beneath him.

"Vhy, kolonel…" sneered the baron "…I appear to haff zunk your battleship!"

Colonel Wanderbury’s heart also sank, his dreams of freedom floating away, like so much driftwood, borne on an uncaring tide.

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No.59 Pen-portrait

Well, kiddies. No further plot development for you tonight, I’m afraid. I’ve got a couple of ideas for what’s happening to Wanderbury & Co. next. But I wanted to wait until some exciting new drawing pens I ordered at the weekend turned up, to do them. Thought they might arrive today, but they didnae.

So, in the meantime I dug out an old dip-pen and a bottle of Indian Ink for tonight’s Scroodl; a picture of the Baron, in all his supercilious finery.

I’d forgotten how much I used to enjoy drawing with the oul’ dip-pen and ink. Back in the day

No.60 –Constructive criticism

Lashed securely to the periscope, Colonel Wanderbury could only look on in alarm, as Baron von Brücken-Stempfl began to assemble some sinister apparatus before him. What foul machinery of torture was being constructed for his torment now?

Ballbags! –I made a right arse of the Baron’s face in tonight’s  Scroodl. Tried to hide my guilty shame with some deep shadow and extra shading

No.61 –Photo opportunity

As the nature of the equipment Baron von Brücken-Stempfl had been setting up became clear, Colonel Wanderbury realised the Baron’s invitation that he try on the traditional black bra and panties of the submarine corps had been a cruel ruse.

"Zo, mein kolonel…" sneered the Baron "A man of zuch British spunk and stiffness of ze upper lip as yourzelf laughs at ze very idea of physical pain. But I am zinking perhaps you are not laughing zo much vhen I am damaging your zo much valued British reputation!"

"You unutterable fiend!" groaned Colonel Wanderbury, already imagining the headlines in next week’s Times.

Still not quite got to grips with these new

No. 62 —Colonel Wonderbra

In wartime rumour and scandal spreads like wildfire. Even the plush reading rooms of Colonel Wanderbury’s Pall Mall club, were not immune from Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s evil scheme to discredit the colonel.

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No.63 —A moment of high drama

Baron von Brücken-Stempfl stared at Colonel Wanderbury, who stared back at Baron von Brücken-Stempfl. For a long time neither man spoke. This was followed by an extended contemplative reverie, which gradually gave way to an equally lengthy period of mutual introspection. Eventually both men lapsed into a prolonged sullen silence. The drama of this chain of events is captured in this stark image, showing Colonel Wanderbury at the height of his impassivity.

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No.64 –Vegetating

Languishing once more in Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s dank dungeons, Colonel Wanderbury dreams of happier times, spent with his faithful dog Colin Parsnip.

I’ve got my girlfriend to blame for this one. She told me the other day she’d dreamt that she had a dog called Colin Parsnip and said he should feature in Wanderbury’s adventures. So here he is!

No.65 –Schweinhund

Nor even in the arms of Morpheus, was there any respite for Colonel Wanderbury. Even those happy memories of his faithful dog Colin Parsnip, seemed to be warped and tainted by the Baron’s malign influence

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No.66 —Danse macabre

Left to rot in Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s dungeons, Colonel Wanderbury passes the time, teaching the mice and cockroaches his celebrated Masai war-dance.

Whoops! —drew and scanned this in last night

No.67 –Dig for Victory

Generations of in-breeding have left the Wanderbury’s with a predisposition towards strong, equine teeth. Colonel Wanderbury decides to use this genetic trait to his advantage, by eating his way through the dungeon’s solid rock walls to freedom.

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No.71 –Boys on the Docks

Finding out that Mains-mal-Dessinés has a small harbour, Colonel Wanderbury decides once more to put his public school background to good use, aiming to earn his passage back to England, from the local fishermen.

Yuk! –what a horrible

No.72 –No More Heroes

Meanwhile, back in Blighty:Made to stand in the corner and think about the difference between right and fuckwitted idiocy, Colonel Wanderbury’s young nephew Torquille, is disappointed to learn that not everyone holds his uncle in the same high esteem, as he does.

Help! –Far from managing to kill off my annoying creations

No.73 –Ship of Fools

Thanks to the unique tickling properties of his ginger handlebar moustache, Colonel Wanderbury’s career as Mains-mal-Dessinés newest pox-ridden whore is a huge success and he soon earns enough money to buy passage back to England aboard the good ship Presse-Pantalon.

Clutching the inflated inner-tube on which he is temporarily forced to sit, Wanderbury stands on deck, waving the French tricoleur in valedictory salute —a tear running down his cheek as he listens to the cries of "bon voyage!" and "je t’aime, monsieur chatouille!" from the fishermen, gathered on the quayside.

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No.74 –Gong Show

Back in Blighty at last, Torquille Wanderbury’s sycophantic hero-worship finally seems justified, as Colonel Wanderbury is decorated for ‘Services to British Venereal Espionage’

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No.75 –A Kind of Homecoming

Torquille Wanderbury’s vicarious glory is short-lived. Back at school on Monday, the day starts with cruel taunts; "Your uncle is Hitler’s girlfriend!" and ends with a jolly good pasting at the hands of Fotherington-Smythe and his sidekick Timpkins minor.

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No.76 –News of the World

In a forbidding castle, high on a mountainside in occupied France, news of Colonel Wanderbury’s triumphal return to England also reaches a less than sympathetic audience.

Oh no. I thought we’d seen the last of the baron!

No.77 –Shake a Leg

Torquille is not alone in his devotion to Colonel Wanderbury; Colin Parsnip is also exceedingly enthusiastic about his master’s return.

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No.78 –Shitdog

Yes, it’s everyone’s favourite flea-bitten hound, Colin Parsnip.

I apologise to the dead generations from which I spring that I couldnae summon up anything a bit more ‘green-tinted’ for St. Pat’s day!

No.79 –Pant Moustache

Several days of captivity and fiendish torture at the hands of Baron von Brücken-Stempfl, followed by a hair-raising double escape and then a spell as a dirty two-bit hooker in Mains-mal-Dessinés has left Colonel Wanderbury’s ‘lower body topiary’ in a terrible state of dishevelment. Armed with razor and comb, he determines to embark on a spot of  much needed ‘pubic tonsure’.

This feeble effort is the kind of crap that results when you realise

No.80 —London Calling

At Waterloo station, there is something vaguely familiar looking about the bowler-hatted ‘English’ gentleman, who has just arrived on the 12:15 from Dover.

If the last few day’s  Scroodls have looked even scruffier than usual

No.81 –Roarrrrr!

In honour both of the fact that my new Moleskine sketchbook arrived today, and that I am [not for the first time!] bereft of plot ideas, I present this saucy picture, taken from the ’Old Quivesonian College Yearbook’, showing Torquille Wanderbury in a steamy pose, under the heading "Pupil most likely to get the shit kicked out of them, for no apparent reason".


No.82 –Sting in the Tail

On a lavatorial outing to the local park, Colin Parsnip is brutally attacked by the local flora.

I’m currently re-reading one of my favourite books; “Day of the Triffids” for about the zillionth time. It seems my brain is leaking ideas from one compartment to another

No.84 — Spectator Sport

Colonel Wanderbury looks on in horror as Colin Parsnip battles for survival with the triffid. Such is the tension, that some wee escapes the colonel’s dressing gown, as the drama unfolds. [snapped on my phone, as I’m not near the comp, for the next couple of days]

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No.85 —Remote Control

Why the sudden outbreak of triffid attacks in Wanderbury’s village of Potheringron-on-Smythe? Could the machinations of an evil mind be at the root* of it all?

[*pun intended]

snapped on my phone

No.86 —Product Placement

In honour of the fact that last night, in the pub, the subject of those moustache nets that people like Wanderbury and Hercules Poirot wear came up and, try as we might, we couldn’t find out what they were called. Googling for such likely candidates as “moustache net”, “moustache hammock”, “moustache guard” etc. proving fruitless.

This morning I continued the quest and eventually discovered that, of all things, said devices are called “moustache snoods”. So now we know!

snapped on my phone

No.87 – Match Point

The tennis balls scratching his back with shame, Torquille Wanderbury listens, head bowed, as the headmaster explains in no uncertain terms that he will not tolerate boys who snore loudly in dormitory at night and keep the members of the rowing team awake, on the eve of the big race against Frimpington Academy.

Another one to blame on the missus; she read that you can allegedly prevent someone snoring by making them wear to bed a bra backwards

No.88 –War Horse

Some good news for Colonel Wanderbury at last; His faithful old war-horse Wheatley, blown to pieces in a minefield at the 2nd Battle of Ypres has finally been released from Bletchley Park’s top secret “Advanced Equine Medical Unit”, where the country’s top boffins have spent years painstakingly rebuilding his shattered body.

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No.90 –Trot On!

Happily reunited with his old steed once more, Colonel Wanderbury takes Wheatley out for a morning gallop on the Sussex Downs. The boffins at Bletchley Park have done a fantastic job and, belying his age, Wanderbury’s faithful mount shows an impressive turn of speed.

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No.92 –Blowing Hot & Cold

Woke up with what I first thought was an unexpectedly bad hangover this morning, only to realise, as the day progressed that it felt like I was coming down with that feverish flu thingy that’s been doing the rounds.Here is an artist’s impression of me valiantly feeling sorry for myself, on my sick-bed.Donations of Lucozade, grapes and bed-baths to the usual address.

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No.93 –Careless Whiskers

Featuring a scene of unspeakable violence and horror, in which an unsuspecting Colonel Wanderbury has his moustache cruelly tweaked, by a passing ruffian of the lower orders.

Anyone who was expecting me to produce anything more than this risible half-arsed crap on a lazy Sunday

No.94 —Surprise! Surprise!

"How typical of Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s disregard for convention, to play his prank on the second of April!", thinks Colonel Wanderbury, wryly, as the anti-tank mine hidden in his underpants detonates.

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No.95 —Huddersfield Tapestry

For the past two days I’ve been in Huddersfield at the Subject Specialist Conference, which is part of my PGCE/Cert. Ed. Given that the entire course up to now has consisted entirely of essay writing and spreadsheet sucking, I was expecting the conference to be similarly creativity-sapping. So imagine my delight when, on arrival, we were all given long strips of paper and invited to make some kind of ‘artistic reflection’ during our two days there. 

Wow! –official licence to doodle. Usually I’m getting told off for not paying attention in classes and meetings, when I have to keep scribbling to preserve my sanity, but this lot were actively encouraging it. Get in!

Anyway, here’s my effort. It’s the tale of my first day in Huddersfield, from getting on the train at Manchester Piccadilly to falling asleep in my B&B. Some of it was drawn on the Monday, but I finished it today, so that qualifies it as today’s Scroodl, in my book. Actual size is about 2-3 feet wide. All drawn in begged, borrowed and stolen black biros, as eejit that I am, I forgot to fill my drawing pen before I left.

BTW -Those pining for their daily dose of Wanderbury can seek succour in the train section!

No.100 –One Hundred, Not Out!

Having donned his best driving bra and taken a firm grip on his joystick, Colonel Wanderbury is looking forward to an exciting evening’s racing, when he discovers to his horror, that the rampaging triffids have completely smashed his Scalextric!

With apologies to B-movie fans

No.101 –Vegetation Decimation

Baron von Brücken-Stempfl does not tolerate failure —and the surviving triffids are given a right good kick in the green fanny.

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No.102 –Heeeeere’s Wheatley!

Wheatley is so psyched up after his battle with the triffids, that Colonel Wanderbury has a hard time getting the old war-horse to go back into his stable.

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No.103 –Fuck You, Arschloch!

"Zo, kolonel.." mutters Baron von Brücken-Stempfl darkly, "You haff von zis skirmish, but…""I’ll be back!"

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No.104 –Paws

With the evil baron’s machinations defeated and peace once more restored to Potherington-on-Smythe, Wanderbury avails of the opportunity to take Colin Parsnip back to the park, where the faithful dog enjoys fetching the sticks the colonel throws into the duck pond.

Bit of a rush job

No.105 –I can smell your cuntishness

At Torquille Wanderbury’s public school, the teachers begin to realise that entrusting the school’s rare butterfly collection to the Colonel’s fuckwitted nephew, over the Easter holidays, might not have been such a good idea after all.

Well folks. Thus endeth my short series of excruciating visual puns on iconic movie posters. Back to work again next week which means normal service

No.106 —Padding it out

If Colonel Wanderbury disnae look quite himself tonight, it’s for a very good reason:I finally succumbed to gadget envy over the weekend and got myself a new iPad. So, earlier today I was testing out Sketchbook Pro on the bigger screen and did a random doodle of some [non-Wanderbury] geezer. Then, when “ Scroodlin’ time” eventually rolled around, rather than draw something new, I opted for the lazy option of sticking a giant ginger moustache on the guy I’d drawn earlier and hoping he’d pass for Wanderbury, on a dark night.So there you have it… or him.

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No.107 —V[W] Signs.

“This triffid is rear-engined and air-cooled”, announces the professor conducting the autopsies.“German engineering!”, mutters Colonel Wanderbury, darkly.

Done on the iPad in Sketchbook Pro. I think I need to experiment a bit with some different techniques. My old faithful ‘scribble’ approach

No.109 — V-2

Having made it back to his secret lair in occupied France, Baron von Brücken-Stempfl is once more his arrogant self.

"So, kolonel…", he muses, "You are zinking you are ze big man, because you haff defeated my little green friends. Maybe you vill not be laffink zo much ven you meet zer successors, my V-2 Vergeltungstriffids!"

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No.111 —We shall fight them on the beaches

On a trip to the South Coast, Colonel Wanderbury is alarmed to discover that the government is perhaps relying too heavily on the traditional German respect for authority, in its defences.

Bit of a cheat this one. I didnae do it totally freehand

No.112 –Sign o’ the Times

Colonel Wanderbury’s misgivings appear to be justified, as the fresh wave of invading Botanical Bosch, show scant regard for the local anti-triffid bye-laws

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No.113 –Blackboard Jungle

Colonel Wanderbury is summonsed to Bletchley Park, where one of the boffins brings him up to speed on the latest in hush-hush anti-triffid weapons research.

Bit of a shit sandwich

No.114 –Dressed to Kill

“Not again!”, sighs Colonel Wanderbury, after being fitted with the prototype anti-triffid weaponry

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that, old boy”, drawls The Chief, “We had originally planned to use a female operative, on this mission”


No.115 –Booby Trap

The first test firing of the anti-triffid weapon does not go as well as expected and, not for the first time, Colonel Wanderbury regrets not taking a smaller cup size

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No.116 –Munchies

With no weaponry yet ready, to use against them, the V2 triffids continue to wreak havoc amongst the defenceless population.

Ah! Remember the days when it was

No.117 –To Boldly Come

For no apparent plot-related reason, Wanderbury dons his best Star Trek uniform and, thinking fondly of the scene involving Lieutenant Uhura, Yeoman Rand and the gallon drum of Swarfega, looks away. Far off to where his wound had bled.

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No.122 –Not an Olympic event

In which our eponymous hero, on the point of getting ready to head down the pub, suddenly remembers his scroodular duties and exclaims “Shit! I havenae done my Scroodl. Better throw that cunt out of me quick!”

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No.125 –Airlift and Separate

Back at Bletchley Park and sitting astride the cockpit of the new Prototype Large ArtillerY Triffid EXterminator [PLAYTEX] Bomber, Colonel Wanderbury is disconcerted to hear barely suppressed sniggering from the throng of boffins, gathered to witness the test flight.

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No.126 –Bra Buster

Pulling out of a tight turn over Dogger Bank, Wanderbury is forced to bail out of the PLAYTEX bomber, when one of the controls gets jammed and he is unable to work out how to undo it

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No.127 –A Marrow Escape

With the boffins at Bletchley Park seemingly powerless to stop them, the V2 triffids continue their relentless advance, penetrating inland as far as the sleepiest corners of rural Kent.

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No.128 –Ring of Fire.

Battle is never completely one-sided however and, in occupied France, British commandos score a notable coup, when they successfully substitute a tube of chili purée for Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s piles ointment.

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No.129 –Icing on the Cake

To celebrate Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s discomfiture, Colonel Wanderbury invites Torquille round for a couple of Wanderbury’s famous home-made cupcakes. The bluff old cove can barely suppress a chuckle, as he watches his young nephew’s eager tongue snake out and fasten around one of the colonel’s succulent red cherries.

Sorry Karl. I unashamedly nicked your Freezing Freda gag. I’m pleading diminished responsibility due to insanity

No.130 –Jar Head

Meanwhile, back in occupied France, Baron von Brücken-Stempfl is out of intensive care and once more able to sit down without sedation. That said he is still going through industrial sized tins of soothing creme at an alarming rate.


No.132 –Plant-fool

In order to combat the triffids, the boffins at Bletchley Park need as much information about them as possible. Colonel Wanderbury has been charged with returning to France in disguise and infiltrating the Baron’s secret base, to steal the blueprints. Sewn into the boffins’ latest ‘Textile Wearable Anti-Triffid’ [TWAT] costume, Wanderbury almost pines for his bra-wearing days.

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No.133 –Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

That night, the skies over occupied France are lit up with the probing beams of searchlights and the criss-cross of tracer fire, as Colonel Wanderbury parachutes in behind enemy lines, in his TWAT suit.Luckily for Wanderbury, the German gunners are too wracked with hysterical laughter to aim straight.

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No.134 –Heavens Above

The inept German gunners aren’t the only ones watching the night sky. From the balustrades of his castle, Baron von Brücken-Stempfl is also scanning the heavens.“So…”, murmurs the Baron, ”…it seems ve are going to meet again, kolonel”

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No.135 –The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep…

…but Wanderbury has promises to keep.

Watching, stealthily, from his vantage point in the woods surrounding Baron von Brücken-Stempfl’s castle, Colonel Wanderbury’s spirits soar, as he believes he may just have found a way through the castle’s seemingly impregnable defences.

Bloody Hell! –Trees

No.136 –Going Underground

Wanderbury tiptoes in through the triffid entrance, after the retreating nazi legumes.

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No.137 –Where’s Wandy?

After slipping into the castle unseen, Colonel Wanderbury sidles in amongst a throng of triffids, moving with sinister intent, ever deeper into the Baron’s lair.

Really pissed of with Sketchbook Pro tonight. Amongst other bugs

No.138 –Flag of Inconvenience

The triffids eventually file into a huge underground auditorium. At the end of the room a tall podium stands, draped in the hated banner of international chlorophyl-based oppression. In the shadows behind the podium a silhouetted figure stands, waiting to speak.“Who can this sinister personage be?” muses Colonel Wanderbury, who has seemingly not quite got to grips with the paper-thin and repetitive nature of the plot yet.

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No.139 –Surprise! Surprise!

Suddenly, the lights above the podium flash into life and reveal the identity of the figure waiting to speak. Immediately an awed and respectful hush falls over the auditorium. A hush broken only by the strangled "Fuck me!", from the unusually baggy looking triffid with the ginger handlebar moustache.

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No.140 –Suspicious Minds

Wanderbury wouldn’t previously have believed that a mere vegetable had the facility for bestowing dirty looks. But the triffid next to him was giving all the indications of being deeply suspicious.

Another Friday night weekend wankfest for you. Now back to the booze!

No.141 –Pawn, Crackers

Meanwhile, back in Blighty and receipt of the finest public school education money can buy seems to be paying off for Wanderbury’s cock-brained nephew Torquille as, for the first time ever, he manages to hold his bedroom window to a stalemate, in their nightly game of chess.

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No.142 –Into Another Dimension

I was just trying out a new freebie 3D app called 123D Sculpt from the makers of Sketchbook Pro and thought I’d try and give Colonel Wanderbury the 3D treatment. Unfortunately, the geometry wasn’t up to adding sufficient polygons to extrude out the full majesty of his moustache.

Still, crap though it is, I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty amazing what you can do on a mobile device these days. I remember college getting a Haptics 3D system a few years back that cost several grand and needed a special computer to run on. This does practically the same thing, costs nowt and runs on a tablet!

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No.143 –J’Accuse

As the Baron’s speech turns to the subject of "traitors and the enemy in our midst" Colonel Wanderbury begins to feel decidedly uneasy. The rest of the triffids edge away from him and the Baron’s accusatory finger seems to nail him to the floor.

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No.144 —Today We Have Naming of Pratts

"…and zat means you, Kolonel Vanderbury!" thunders the Baron and, suddenly Wanderbury is grabbed by the triffids and dragged off. [which can really make your eyes water!]

Bit of a hybrid one today. Scroodled it on real dead trees

No.145 –Lights Out

Wanderbury is thrown into a dark dungeon.

OK. I know! I know! Look

No.146 –The screens! The screens!

Colonel Wanderbury awakes to find himself strapped to a hospital gurney and being overseen by a saucy triffid nurse.

Another one drawn in the sun at lunchtime and then imported and coloured in Sketchbook Pro

No.147 –Screen Shot

Just another “cannae be arsed” day in Scroodlsville. Nothing to see here. Move along please!

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No.148 –Blood Bothers

The saucy nurse triffid attaches Colonel Wanderbury to a sinister looking machine and, suddenly, the sneering face of Baron von Brücken-Stempfl is at his bedside.

“Zo, Kolonel” sneers the Baron “I’m zinking maybe your British blood is too blue. I zink you are causing me less problems ven I haff replaced it viz triffid sap!”

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No.149 —Pump Action

The sinister machine Whirrs into action and Wanderbury looks on in alarm. What fate awaits him, after his plucky British blood has been drained from his body and replaced with diabolical Nazi triffid sap?

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No.150 –Green Line

Wanderbury looks on in dismay as the Baron’s machine goes about its diabolical work. Already he can feel the spunky stiff-upper-lippidy Britishness beginning to drain out of him, as the triffid sap starts to flow into his veins.

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No.151 —Crate to See You

Back in Blighty, “The Chief” is surprised when a mysterious crate is delivered. Addressed to:

Top Secret [ha! ha!]
British HQ
[Gott Strafe] England

The crate bears no other markings, apart from a smudged French postmark.

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No.153 –Jolly Green Giant

Suddenly, the crate splinters open and a strangely familiar, tho’ chromatically errant, figure emerges.

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No.155 –Boys Toys

What young jackanapes of a scamp hasn’t dreamed of owning one of these, in the run up to Christmas?

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No.170 —Wallflower

Meanwhile, back at HQ, the chief is on the phone to the MO.

“I’d like you to come up and take a look at old Wanderbury, doc. Ever since he came back from France, all he does is stand in the wastepaper basket, turning his head to follow the sun”

Tonight’s celebrity drawing app is Paper. Very unusual: only a handful of drawing tools [most of which you have to buy extra], a similarly limited colour palette and you control things like stroke and transparency by how fast or slowly you move your brush, pen or pencil. I cannae decide whether it’s amazingly zen, or a complete rip-off: I love the ink pen, which I did the outlines with but I’ve never been too hot with watercolours. Hence the piss-poor colouring.Oh well, at least I seem to be transitioning ever-so-slowly back towards Wanderbury’s adventures, once more. Whether or not that’s a good thing is another matter.

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No.171 —Strange Brew

"Ah, Doris. Could you bring me a cup of tea please?…. and Colonel Wanderbury will have a glass of Baby Bio"

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No.172 —Germ Warfare

I don’t know who this wee fecker is, but him and his mates have been running up and down the back of my nose and throat, with barbed wire on their backs, for the past two days. Hence the “strictly for medicinal purposes” Export Guinness I am forcing myself to drink, at the mo’

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No.181 —Green Shoots of Recovery

Meanwhile, at HQ, Colonel Wanderbury’s condition continues to worsen. As well as being orally, nasally, ocularly, vaginally, anally and penilely incontinent, he has begun to fart clouds of pollen.

None of which is visible in this picture —thank God!

No.183 — Alfie Line

I dunno who this rancid oul’ fuck-tosser is, but his once ginger whiskers and propensity for getting his cock out in public suggest he might be an elderly member of the Wanderbury clan.

In other news, with this year being a leap year, this Scroodl marks the: Halfway Line! Go me! —only another 183 piss-poor daubs to go and I’ll have fulfilled the most idiotically ill thought through New Year Resolution I’ve made in a long time.

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No.184 —Robot & His Dugg

Pretty random tonight. Just playing around with Procreate’s water-colour brushes and ink pens. The dugg is a bit pants, coz I didnae put enough fur shading on, so he looks like he’s made of foetid kebab meat

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No 185 —C’mon Baby, Light my Fart

Treated myself to a couple of extra brush sets for Procreate last night. So this drivel is just me practising with the fire and charcoal brushes.

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No.187 —Phew! What a Pen’n’Ink

Quick scratchy one, I did with a dip pen, in work this avvy. A pen’n’ink in every sense of the word.

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No.190 —Animation Sensation

Tonight’s Scroodl depicts a bizarre parallel universe, where a vaguely familiar figure somehow conjures up the time and inclination to get some stopframe animation done.

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No.191 —Big ‘ead

Consternation back at Bletchley Park, as Wanderbury’s [remember him?] head begins to swell alarmingly.

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No.192 —Duck and Cover

"Look out, Chief! I think he’s about to…"

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No.194 —Kitchenerbury

Tonight’s Scroodl is the proverbial “back of a beermat*” job, done in the pub at lunchtime and then scanned and coloured in later, when I got home. I was idly doodling some idea based on the iconic Lord Kitchener posters, when I realised that I’d become so institutionalised with my drawings lately that I’d given Lord K a Wanderbury moustache.

[*except it was the back of a menu]

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No.197 —Sex Education, Gibson Style

Inspired by an horrific incident, recounted to us over dinner, by my mate Andy

By the way

No.201 —“Look out, Chief! I think he’s about to…”

…Germinate!!![cont’d from no.192]

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No.209 —Grotty Colour-challenged

Seeing as I’ve become strangely addicted, of late, to watching old episodes of Watercolour Challenge on Channel 4’s iPlayer thingy, I thought I might try a bit of watercolouring tonight, for a change. Whilst fine in principle, this plan was let down by:

  • Lack of watercolour paper
  • Lack of watercolour brushes [except for a kwik-save brand crappy plastic one]
  • Lack of watercolour paints [except for an old dried-up box with half missing, that belonged to my dad]
  • Lack of talent

However, thanks to eBay and Amazon, the first three of these things should shortly be taken care of. The fourth might be harder to rectify!

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No.213 —Mud Bath

Recovered from his ordeal as a suppurating triffid seed-pod, Wanderbury treats himself to a hot soapy rub-down, whilst listening to Vera Lynn on The Light Programme. [Expect a deluge of muddy daubs like this, over the next few weeks, as I try to dredge up what little I can remember about handling watercolours, from back in my Art School days —a long, long time ago!]

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No.214 —Mud Corner

Another dismally muddy attempt at watercolouring. This is a bit of my fascinating view across the room, in work. Oh well. If at first you don’t succeed, and all thon. More mud-spattered goodness to come!

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No.215 —WasserFarben… er… Challenge

"But what.." yawned the viewing public, in total apathy ”..has become of the evil Baron von Brücken-Stempfl? Is he still firm of fetlock and ruddy of jodhpur?”

Who knows? Who cares? He does seem to be suffering from mud ingress, though

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No.222 —Golden Bollox

As expected, Torquille Wanderbury puts in a sizzling performance, in the final of the 100m Walking in a Nearly Straight Line at the London Parafuckwitt Olympics and —with the cheers of a grateful nation ringing in his ears and the gold medal hanging proudly round his neck— accepts his congratulatory blow-job from Lisa Simpson.

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No.224 –Mudflag

I thought I’d combine my ongoing experimentation with creating muddy watercolours, with a long-held inability to draw draped fabric tonight.Onwards and downwards!

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No.233 —Fuschia

More back garden Scroodling, on a lazy summer’s day.

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No.235 —LighthouseSt. John’s Point, Donegal, Ireland.

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No. 236 [again!] —Glenade Loch, Co. Leitrim

Scroodled on Tuesday 21st August 2012.

Cue mighty catchup session as, back in [relative!] civilisation, I upload all the Scroodls I’ve been doing whilst out of 3G and EDGE signal range, in the wild west of Ireland

Hah! I bet you thought I’d fallen by the wayside. Well, read ‘em and weep, suckers. Old stobsaí is still on course for the Scroodl challenge

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No. 240 —Cill Rónáin Harbour, Aran Island, Co. Galway

Scroodled on Saturday 25th August 2012

Cue mighty catchup session as, back in [relative!] civilisation, I upload all the Scroodls I’ve been doing whilst out of 3G and EDGE signal range, in the wild west of Ireland.

Hah! I bet you thought I’d fallen by the wayside. Well, read ‘em and weep, suckers. Old stobsaí is still on course for the Scroodl challenge!

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No. 242 —Ruined Cottage, Dunmoran Strand, Co. Galway

Scroodled on Monday 27th August 2012

Cue mighty catchup session as, back in [relative!] civilisation, I upload all the Scroodls I’ve been doing whilst out of 3G and EDGE signal range, in the wild west of Ireland.

Hah! I bet you thought I’d fallen by the wayside. Well, read ‘em and weep, suckers. Old stobsaí is still on course for the Scroodl challenge!

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No.255 —Wiggler Holders

Never let it be said I’m the kind of lazy Scroodler who disnae look further than the end of his nose for inspiration. Tonight I looked all the way to the end of my legs!

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No.256 —Silly Old Bag

Another ill-advised attempt to practise drawing folded material. This time a cloth bag full of catnip which, judging by the level of interest the moggy has displayed in it, would have been better named “cat-completeley-ignore”

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No.258 —Iron Fist

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.Or scrawny artist’s paw.

No.260 —Pinch Paws

I’m on a bit of a hand drawing, or ‘hand-attempting-to-draw’ mission at the moment. The human paw has always been one of my bêtes noires, so this is a bit of a challenge for me. Maybe if I stick at it, I’ll get it eventually!

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No.261 —Fist Fucked

Oh dear! —I think I should have quit while I was only slightly behind. At least the first paw I drew looked vaguely humanoid!

In my defence for inflicting this monstrosity on the world, I would like to say that, the postie came to the door, while I was drawing it and, try as I might, I couldnae get my hand back into the exact same position again, afterwards. So this is a bit of a mixture of two slightly different viewpoints and positions.

Mind you, that disnae excuse the shading looking like it was done by Stevie Wonder with boxing gloves on!

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No.271 —25 Expressions

More ‘mucking in’ at college, reconstituted as a Scroodl.

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No.274 —Another Unfinished Symphony

Another unfinished paw.Started this in work this avvy but, as usual, got disturbed halfway through, so had to abandon it. One of these days I’ll actually get a Scroodl finished!

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No.277 —25 Expressions 2

Well, 22 Expressions actually. Another one “to be completed”

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No.278 —Destroy!

There might have to be a Stewards’ Enquiry as to whether or not this one constitutes a legitimate Scroodl or not.We did the Destroy Project today with our first years, which basically involves taking photo portraits of yourself and “destroying” them in artistically creative ways [idea shamelessly lifted from the photographer Rankin].

As ever, whenever possible I like to play too, so here is one of my efforts. I know it’s not strictly a drawing, but it was assembled by hand, with lots of tearing up of paper and getting covered in glue, so I’m hoping it’ll slip in under the radar as a hand-made piece of artwork, in keeping with the spirit of Scroodling.

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No.279 —All Fingers and Thumbs

Another risible attempt at drawing one of my paws.I made a right arse of the thumb and, no matter how I tried, couldnae knock it back into shape.

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No.280 —Fist of Fun

Another day, another badly drawn hand. Oh well. at least I’m trying to something worthwhile with this bout of repetition. Not like those pointless cartoon fizzers I used to do.

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No.281 —25 Expressions 03

The third time I’ve done this lesson, in about the past week and the third time I’ve “mucked in” and had a go myself. I left myself on a bit of a hiding to nothing with this one as, by nature skulls tend not to have very expressive mouths.

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No.283 —Drapery Crapery

My oul’ raincoat, draped over the back of a chair. Bit of a shit-fest really. My heart wasnae really in it. It’s been a long day!

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No.284 —Paw [Interrupted]

Another unfinished pawzzle, started in work and then interrupted… you know the drill by now.

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No.285 —Heffalump Overload

Been getting my students to do some tracings from Edweard Muybridge photo-sets today, with a view to photographing them on the rostrum and making them animate. Given the nature of the technique and the fact that the Muybridge material is so old, I have coined the following term to describe this form of animation: Retro-scoping. Do you see what I did there?

Anyway, mucking in as usual, I chose some Muybridge heffalump snaps to work from. Here is a sample of the day’s output.

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No.288 —Gridlock

Did a lesson in creating copied and enlarged artwork from photos using a grid today, with my FE students. Here’s my customary “mucking in” example. A bit wonky, but it’ll do for a Scroodl.

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No.295 —We’ve Been Here Before

Another day, another unfinished paw.This one wasnae going very well anyway, so it was a bit of a relief —to be honest— when the sun went in and all the shadows changed, thus giving me the excuse I needed to run up the white flag.

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No.299 —Harold the Heffalump

Maybe a bit of a cheat, since I drew the individual frames a week or two ago —but I stuck it all together today and made it move, so I’m counting it as a piece of work done today. Besides which, There are 24 individual drawings in this sequence, so just be grateful I didnae try and get a month’s worth of Scroodls out of it!

No.300 —Finkly Wrist

I’d like to have come up with something a bit more auspicious to mark reaching the mighty 300th Scroodl landmark —it’s downhill all the way to the finish line now! But time defeated me again, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to make do with yet another wrinkly fist —and not a very well done one at that!

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No.325 –Van-tastic!

Just a wee bit of doodling I did in work today, trying something out in after Effects. Remember folks –recycling is good for the environment!

No.350 —Incoming!

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No.362 —Festive Ballbaggery

The finish line is in sight!

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No.366 –Woohoo!

366 days after making one of the stupidest New Year Resolutions in his already idiotic career, stobsaí staggers across the finish line. Full post-mortem post to come, once I have finished digesting the full momentousness of this historic occasion.

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