Saturdays are for babysitting and eating chips. It seems a long time since i was earning any money for doing stuff. Living costs alot and London costs an extra amount for the privilige of feeling like life has some kind of cultural connectivity. someone asked me today why i dont move to the country for a while mostly for inspiration. . . .i was horrified. . .what do you think i am going to make fucking pottery frogs? My work thrives on popular culture and my junk tv addiction syndrome drives my creative force. . . trees and flowers are for retirement plans and wheelchair bound moments . . they are sure to come and i will be the first to get out me watercolours and 00 paint brushes to record in fine detail the lesser spotted letch. until then, i think i will take my chances waiting for a natural moment that the overwhelming need to say something about something forces my creative hand. Being a potter hasnt really been able to adapt to an impromptu urban existance. . .well not if you live in a council flat in Camden Town and have no realistic income. No doubt if i lived in the Home Coaunties and had a few succesful property developments under my casually slackened macrame belt i could fire up a decent soda kiln in the converted garage and be very convincing. saturdays are also for catching up on American idol and Jersey shore although the latter might just force me to consider moving to the country where they cant get a tv signal and no one minds the smell of smoke and dangers of sodium choride and other toxic fumes.