Last weekend, Big Seymour spent hours hunched on his haunches, studying grooves in large prefabricated slabs, muttering as he went. He was trying to get his head around the ancient technology that is UNDER FLOOR HEATING. Yes, as he quite Read more
I have turned into a dirty rotten liar. I am ashamed to say it, but it’s true. I am about to confess all, and I must remember that, whilst this post won’t be read by many, it will be read. Read more
Last week, Little Seymour Number Two had to ask her teacher if she could put on her P.E. trainers in class, as her shoes were letting in water. Mortifying. On Wednesday, one of Number One’s friends pointed out that her Read more
January is a great time to have a sort-out, and re-assess one’s stuff. I seem to be struggling to get going with the concept; looking around at The Shed, you’d think I never throw anything away. Boy Seymour has no Read more
I have decided, as it’s 2019, that I must modernise. And so, I will draw The Four Little Seymours in colour from here on in. Revolutionary, I know. This is largely based upon a small fascination I have developed with Read more
Good morrow from the new year! And here we are, out the other side of Excessmas, getting ready for The Final Push. Ooooh, that sounds ominous. And optimistic. And delusional. And rather finite, too. There is a tentative plan brewing, Read more
Oh my goodness. It seems like only yesterday that Big Seymour and I were Celotexing in Number One’s embryonic bedroom a year ago. Back then, the air was thick with choke-inducing, man-made dust and our breath was visible in amongst Read more
On Friday, The Four Little Seymours had a day trip. We went to London – that legendary place where the streets are made of gold, where the BFG lurks in the Queen’s garden and where everything is posh, stylish and Read more
There is boot polish in the bread bin. There are Christmas cards in the biscuit tin. There’s a patio set on the rubble pile, and there is an infinte number of additional boxes, packages and parcels squirrelled into every available Read more
Shuffle, creak, thud. Down the ladder he came, the wrong way: a man on a mission. Yes, Boy Seymour was so adamant that my birthday on Sunday would be “a good day” that he took it upon himself to get Read more