Yam! Bam! mon chat Splash
Phil lifts the lid on the container and sniffs the contents. What is it? I ask. Soup, she replies.
The container holds a pallid greenish liquid. What kind of soup, I ask, my thirst for knowledge unquenchable. Up from the depths, says Phil. It doesn't describe a flavour so much as a location. Up from the depths of the freezer. Or the back of the fridge. It's the end of the week and we're scraping the edible barrel.
I launch into an off-key (but recognisable) rendition of the 1970s Godzilla theme. 'Forty stories high', I warble. It's actually thirty stories. Hard to gauge the height of an atomic lizard when he's threatening to squish you underfoot. We harmonise the 'And Godzookyyyy' part. I'm taken aback.
Phil's partial upbringing in Belgium means my pop culture references are usually met with confusion or incomprehension. That's not to suggest that Belgium is a pop cultural desert. It's the home of comic book kaiju Herge, writer Georges Simenon and, let's not forget, Plastic Bertrand.
I believe there was such a thing as television in Belgium in the early 80s, but it didn't broadcast the mountains of tripe that delicate young minds were subjected to in the UK. I often joke that Phil spent her formative years reading the classics and learning to play the cello while I watched Threads and repeats of Terrahawks. Phil had mayonnaise on her frites while I gorged on nuclear annihilation in Sheffield town centre. She grew up to be a productive member of society and I became a cartoonist.
Before we met, Phil had never seen Star Wars. How can you not have seen Star Wars, I boggled back in the early days of our romance. Not even once, let alone be able to regurgitate dialogue from key scenes or have owned a shoebox full of plastic action figures.
I'd wittily quote, 'Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?' hoping to woo the object of my affection with my Star Wars know-how, only for her to stare at me like I was an idiot. This would become a reaction I was familiar with over the years
Phil introduced me to Jane Austen. I learned that Jung wasn't pronounced Gung, Ingres wasn't In-grey and that the docking sequence from Elite was an actual piece of classical music. As has always been the case in our marriage, I have been enriched, enlightened and educated while Phil has had to patiently sit through a lecture on the key features of X-Wing and Y-Wing fighters.
That was then. Now my grasp and enthusiasm for pop culture has waned. I can no longer recall Han Solo soliloquies and the last time I watched The Empire Strikes Back I got bored and switched it off.
My head is fleetingly full of fresh learning. For example, did you know The Manic Miner theme is actually by some fellow called Greg and that Y-Wings are not ideally suited for anti-shipping, close air support, air interdiction, force protection and ground attack missions? They are an innovative form of sanitary towel.
Ça Plane Pour Moi?
So far, Plastic. So far.
P.S. Broccoli. It was broccoli soup.
Books new, books old, books digital.
I've tidied up my site and my new middle-grade book Punycorn is coming out November 14th from Clarion Books. If there's a placeholder on the publisher's site then it's no longer a figment of my imagination.
I have a short story sampler and DRM-free PDF versions of much of my backlist on Ko-fi and Gumroad. I recently added Princess Decomposia and Glister to the list.
I have a patreon which I update regularly. Tuesdays and Saturdays I post process and behind the scenes stuff such as Punycorn colour pages. Thursdays I post a one page comic story.
I still have books out in the world: Sunburn, Paris, Kerry and the Knight of the Forest & the awards nominated The Book Tour. Support my efforts through my store – digital comics – patreon or by leaving a positive review online.