Should there be one thing in existence that one human being should never force another to sleep on, it's couches, particularly without the comfort of a doona. With this uncomfortable thought sticking in my brain in the nanoseconds before my innate ability to sleep in the most uncomfortable of places kicked in (cold tile kitchen floors included), I spent a mere six and a half hours slumbering on what was possibly the most solid three-seat lump of material in existence. Couches themselves though aren't so uncomfortable, and given my amazing ability to sleep anywhere, I shouldn't have been complaining, however, when one's host only provides you with two baby (emphasis on baby, especially in size) blankets and her old quilt for comfort, it gets...well...erh...a bit chilly. I regretted almost at once removing my sloppy joe, but unfortunately, my arms somehow cemented themselves to my torso in what was, conceivably, my poor heat starved self's autonomous attempt to reduce the amount of skin exposed to shiver the night away. 

But I digress. The purpose of this pain- discomfort, fine, I'll stop the hyperbole- was an early awakening to travel to Pakenham's most esteemed of weekend attractions; Robert Gordon Pottery (DON'T LAUGH!). As a child, one of my fondest memories was visiting this factory outlet in order to embellish blank plates and bowls with my own stamp of kitschy absurdness. My obsession with farm animals was palpable at the time, and as a result, I adorned practically everything with my own comically frightening depictions of cows, chickens, horses, cows. Upon one of my lurid creations, I recall spending a lot of time and effort sketching a caricature of a cow; a very detailed, yet equally  disproportional and charming little thing. To my horror (and no doubt the glee of the person operating the kiln at the expense of my own innocent stupidity), I discovered upon receiving my now glazed and shiny masterpiece that pencil was burned- washed off?- in the process. Alas, my artwork was nothing more than the most abstract of organised black and white blobs. In that time, the staff at RG have perfected the art of explaining that pencil does not stay on in glazing to a tee, emphasising it for the particularly dim by writing it everywhere. Maybe they did say it to me as a child. Maybe I was just an inattentive little shit.

So we painted, and given my particularly predilection for anything remotely Asian, I selected a noodle bowl, and in atoning for my childhood instruction lapse, I outlined all detail in a strong shade of black.

For those wishing to show off a bit of artistic hidden talent, or sate their fetish for clay and porcelain, I'd recommend you go. I have to be frank- you're not going to create Faberge quality delicates or Maxwell Williams style modern plates. You paint- plain and simple. You're assigned a number at the start of your session (society's favourite way of reminding you of how laughably easy they've commodified your existence) and sat down with no more than eight colours to paint with. These shades will look as dull as anything dull, but examples rest around to remind you that glory is only eight shades of hell and a paint brush away. In terms of the actual colours, in a nutshell, there's light blue, dark blue, light green, dark green, mauve, yellow (SUNSHINE!), brown and pale pink. To frustrate matters more, there's no way of mixing the colours without the end result looking remarkably like an oil slick to a dog, however, therein lies a greater sense of satisfaction knowing that you've achieved something aesthetically significant in the end.

I could ramble on. In short, it was a wonderful little activity, if somewhat marred by the moral outrage at a girl of no more than ten sporting a Supre bag (and no doubt clothed in their merchandise! PARENTS!). This is probably the most I've written in the entire week, and it has exhausted me for the best of 45 minutes. I'm hoping to work on my comic with more concept arts, and maybe continue with my playthrough of the Wind Waker.

I promise this won't sound quite so self-indulgent next time- it's hard for me to remember that I have an actual diary with actual pages for the actual purpose of sustaining a writing habit. 

I sign off now, feeling somewhat accomplished.
Toodlepip

X!