'Swansong' by 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

Extracts from 'Boog' by Jack Burston

c. v. x. ii. iii. ix. xiii. xiv.

'Bouncer Ice Creamin Again' by Jack Burston

'Every- Fills Out In The End' by Jack Burston

Every- fills out in the end, got to maintain the levels and the heights, a protein there and a complex carbohydrate in the back. Plastered walls covered with papers, diets, sick promises and apologies surround the central: the clover smelling seller in the middle. Pleading through the walls and posters to the surrounding crowds. And in no clearness: from the outside, this is a simple mound of 'art installation' dirt that has excelled in the city for years, but still, it houses its artist.

When Sarah slipped in to its design, she received the plaudits with a grin and gratitude that charmed them in to cushioning her commission with hints and advice.

As she went to the building stage, she delegated too far and relied on the workers, she took no place in the construction. Leaning on the concept post, she ordered them and tarnished them with curses when errors were made. Sarah cursed and ordered until the very last moment of construction, when pointing to the middle of the design, the construction workers placed her in the centre of the mound. Fulfilling the concept -- the builders locked the door permanently.

'Ringbinder: Reactive: Rest Up Through' by Jack Burston and Murray Somervile aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

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'Spogg' by Jack Burston and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

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'Every-dahdah People' by Jack Burstona and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'.

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'Red Chilli' by Jack Burston

In presence are the following:

Tee
Elle

Excellent, but I've got to leave along the line and there are a few distractions in here, games console, chatter and bad jokes. Little food in the cupboard, but bean chilli becomes a possibility when I spot a few kidney and pinto beans, chillies and chopped tomatoes: barely enough though. I experiment with keepy-ups and a few swings around the tree in the falling. I await the gate that the landlord promised several months ago. I question the purpose of the Droop Inn opposite.

And red as it isn't after the events of Blue Sunday, the twitches through the morning and the itchy nose in memory of vodka and soda. It isn't red anymore, just pale to tanned, settling for the simple and the constant, despite need for the complicated and the diminishing. No chilli, just toast and vegetable oil.

'Bouncer Ice Creamin' by Jack Burston

Saluting the sun with a couple of ice creams, the bouncer sat up early in the day. Usually a later riser, and starter, the bouncer was at work early today - he wasn't a friend of football but he did involve himself with the larger lanes of European football, still though: early start, late finish. The ice cream though, was melting slowly and despite the time, the sun wasn't heating the black uniform.

Awaiting 'Zaza in Tempestuous'?

The 'first' one page piece of comic/storyboard shiz from 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'
is coming soon.

Excellent.

Emancipation: Thursday through September.

Tune, from Thurs. onwards, I'm emancipated like a serf in 1861. Flat-out-tune. As such plans hatched before the date, and revisiting texts is becoming surplus when added to plan hatching, ergo, a variety of missions appear like 'visions of Zim' and the 'cares and whims' of a tune free for the Summer are unwieldy.

Consequently, got a friend, he's moving in to Avon Cottage, going to keep everything in 'Proportion' and there will be a grand range of work produced by 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'.

And so as such I introduce to the stage a triangle of tunes, designated for limited, wide audiences: I, understand, the, paradox.

"Welcome to Tunington."

"Thank you."

"Tip!"