'You do not want me to have to FAIL you on this assignment, do you?' she asked, ominously, knowing how cravenly I require approval.
'Noooooo' I whimpered. 'I must not fail. Failure is not allowed. Failure leads to being called up every Sunday by my father and quizzed on the contents of that week's Economist. PLEASE NO'.
'Then do it. WITH COLOURS'.
So here it is. It's terrible.
On top of being startlingly inept, it's very dark. My flash wasn't working. Sorry, innit.
Here are some details, in case clicking on the picture to enlarge it fills you with ennui and hopelessness, which I could quite understand.
Once I had taken the pictures I realised I should also have included an end to suffering and world peace and so on, but god only knows how I would have drawn them. My ideal summer would also involve me losing several kilos, particularly off my currently nonsensically large chest, but again, this is not something I wish to essay in the medium of chewed felt tip pen.
Erm. I am quite embarassed to post this, but I am more scared of M. Do please do me an inept sketch of your ideal summer, once you have stopped shaking your heads pityingly.