Well, that went predictably pear-shaped. Apparently my blog ‘lacks direction’. It’s the first one! How much d’you want me to say? And if it lacks direction it’s only because it holds a mirror up to the goings-on in the InkyLab office. You do nothing, I have nothing to write. 


(And Gaz says he does not lie about drinking all day thinking up one word – he fucking does or he could write this bastard blog himself, lazy shit! And Phil is not sessile, even though he didn’t even know what the word meant till I explained it to him. Or an oak. Well, he should’ve seen the multiple revisions I had to make to come up with something so polite!)


So here I am in this veritable beehive of industry, buzzing in the rarefied air of creativity. How’s that? Better? Good. Right. And what am I doing here, why am I writing this blog? Well, here are Phil’s own notes which Gaz generously passed onto me. 


  1. We’ve agreed to give K his own platform in return for him compiling a history of InkyLab and the day to day running of InkyLab.
  2. K needs to introduce himself, how does he know us? 
  3. I don’t mind the insults (apart from obvious fat jokes, heartless bastard!) but it needs to be clear what the blog is about.
  4. We need to give K a job title. 
  5. Could he have a sign off that he uses for every post?


How does he know us!? We’ve been friends for years, you pair of twats! I lived with you, Gaz! I gave you my heater so you didn’t freeze to death in your sleep that winter the boiler broke. We bought a pair of brandy quaichs together. I didn’t report you to the police when you clanged me over the head with a frying pan and I was hospitalized because ‘this isn’t a Tom & Jerry cartoon’. And Phil, I had to thank you every time you came out with us for the first two years. Admittedly, it was Jimmy made us do that, it wasn’t you. But it was weird. That’s how I know them.


And I do need a job title, yes. Just a job would be nice. This is a fucking charity. 


And I’m out of words. You’ll have to wait till the next instalment for more. I’m done. 


K Weismann, beer-wallah, it seems. 


PS: you can fuck off with a catchphrase sign-off! 

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