“Where have you been all week, James?” I hear you cry. Well, obviously I don’t because no one says things like that to me, and if you had I wouldn’t have heard you because I’ve been in Dusseldorf and Budapest this week. Which is why you would have been crying about where I have been.
Anyway, that’s a bit of Dusseldorf. It’s mostly cold and snowy (we sat in Edinburgh Airport for five hours waiting for the snow to stop so we could fly there), and there are lots of Christmas markets which also means lots of fat tourists looking at Christmas markets, which is what I like best.
This woman here had, like, bright flashing lights on her earmuffs, and a certain kind of tan which had a certain orange glow which I’m sure blends in perfectly in the summer but has a suspicious appearance in the winter.
We also went to an Italian restaurant, mostly because it was a cheap meal out of the cold, and it seemed to attract the most incredible diners, myself obviously included.
The woman on the right is my favourite. She had shunned the fake tan for a layer of blusher so thick that it became almost the same tone as her natural wine-induced complexion. I do things other than the fat tourists though; this is a chap cutting up roast pork in a diner which served roast pork and gluwhein and nothing else. It was wonderful and I wanted to stay there until I was as fat and as red as everyone else.
Of course like all holidays that I go on, a mandatory two-thirds of the time must be spend in art galleries. The Kunstsammlung has a very good permanent collection, there was also a very good exhibition of Klee’s work, and an exhibition in the Kunsthalle by Henry Flynt that was very uninspiring. Still, this is what German people look like when they look at art. Though interestingly, there were some French people in the gallery. This is what French people look like when they look at art. The one on the right is explaining that his grand-daughter could make that.
But after learning only enough German to construct the vaguest children’s book (Ich habe ein Pudel und ein Strudel. Der Pudel is lockig und der Strudel ist lecker. Und dann der Pudel esse der Strudel) or something to that effect, we were already underway to Budapest.
Not by bicycle, I hasten to add. This is a bicycle I drew, (the Beastly Bicycle, as I entitled it. Not sure why). But Budapest is a good city for people who own such bicycles, such as hipsters and old ladies with scarves wrapped around their heads.I have less to show from Budapest, because I was so busy doing exciting things that I didn’t draw as much. We did go for some thermal baths though, which was wonderful. Not many drawings from there either because it’s difficult to draw while neck deep in hot water. This one was made afterwards while my lovely girlfriend was drying her incredibly long hair.
Here are some cool people in a gallery. The one on the right is how I hope to look in forty years.This is a man serving mulled wine in the street. I didn’t try his wine specifically, but I can happily say that I drank mulled wine before noon every single day that we were out of the country, which I feel is a great achievement.
That there is a man with a green hair net on eating something in an airport, which was odd because he also wore a smart coat and a suit. That’s pretty much it. I’m back in Edinburgh now, and as the world didn’t end two days ago, I have to start making Christmas presents. When I learn enough Hungarian to write a dreadful children’s story too, I think I’ll move to Budapest.