new weird shit from Clifton Street Cardiff

Tantrum Records

SO HERE IS THE NEW VIDEO!!! which Cosmo and Flapsandwich put together a supergroup together for, for one song only!!!! BINGO WINGS presents CHEAP BACCY!

donate anything from 1p to £1million (go on) and you will receive a download of the album in your email TODAY and a CD in the post in a few days!!!!

thank you…. click:



in case you missed the first video which travelled around the globe and made headlines:

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ON THE GOULASH! & Getting busted by the police

winter’s over, lets get dressed in a onesie and dance on a roundabout

Tantrum Records

So, the album’s landed and here’s the first video, including the cops busting us, on the magic roundabout in Splott:

to own the full album, which includes ON THE GOULASH, donate anything from 1p to £1million  and you will receive a download of the album in your email TODAY! nice one…. click:


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beat the music industry, creation, life, my shit

becoming a drummer. day 1.

I packed my rucksack, had a big arsed brekky, exported the rest of the instrumentals and headed off out into the sun.

I walked through town with a bounce in my step. I was feeling good. I had a focus now. Getting back from france last week I hit a rocky bottom immediately. The food and the sun and the good living had come to an end. The morning after landing I found myself in tesco, surrounded by nutrition free lumps of corpse wrapped in plastic. And pesticide laced identical looking vegetables; Gone were the wonky misshapen, beautiful fruits that nature seemed to squeeze out with pleasure. I could no longer pluck them from the vine, still warm from the sun as they squelched their organic goodness directly into my blood stream.

Now, I could unwrap an avocado from Kenya, which had  been force fed chemicals and forced to grow in a factory then shrink wrapped,. stuck on a truck, then a plane. Then a truck, then a warehouse, then another truck and now I was stood in front of it feeling sorry for the poor bastard. There was no goodness left init. They may as well print one out on a 3d printer. And it had probably been injected with something to make it last. When I was picking veg from the potage in france if I didn’t eat it immediatley then with in two days or so it had gone soggy and disgusting. But tesco’s finest veg was probably plucked weeks ago and it still looked unripe. suspicious.

I walked around the strip lighted cube of shrink-wrapped death.
I left. I hid under my duvet for 2 days. The grey poured through my window. The view a derelict building covered in pigeon shit. The smell Subway Meatballs pumping out of a silver chimney. to the left outside of my window a glass panel was still boarded up and the smell of death hung in the air. my neighbour had fallen through it to her death a year ago. I read some Marcus Aurelius. No amount of Stoicism could fend off this paradise hangover.

I ignored all texts and calls.

Is this my reality? Is this the reality I have chosen for myself. A shithole housing association flat. Is this where I want to be as I approach 40? Alone, unloved and unloving, in my pit.

I looked around., half the room was piled full of crap. I didn’t want any of it, but yet couldn’t throw any of it.  The other half of my room contained my studio which I had just set up. 2 large yamaha speakers a consellation prize for 9 years of hard work in my previous band, before we lost a bandmate and it all crumbled to nothing. And the brain of the studio was a mac mini, a computer that used to belong to a friend who died of alcohol related problems. All my leads were crammed into a box which i inherited from my mate’s dead dad’s workshop. A vinyl record of my old defunct band hung on the wall shot to pieces with a gun. sicknote: the johnny no-cash remix. Behind where my exflat mate’s head board used to be there was a wide mass of fading grey / black drips all down to the skirting board. One wall featured a big orangey brown stain about face height that also spread out and dripped downward to about knee height. The place stunk. Lots of holes and cracking plasterboard and big stains and shit on the smelly carpet.

Why am I such a messy cunt.

Surrounded by death and grey.

Luckily I had no time for much musings. I had a deadline. A live gig in 10 days for a project I had never taken live. We had created a collection of songs last winter in the bigger room, when I was set up in there. We released it as an album and a few people got off on it. Not that many. Then we got a booking last month. I flew back from France. And if it wasn’t for the gig I don’t think I would have.

So I snapped out of the gloom over the course of 6 icecreams and a huge dose of Montaigne.

I cleaned the room bit by bit over a day or 3. I met a few friends in cafes and drank tea and talked shit.

Then today I headed down to the crypt: a local rehearsal space for the community. I was presented with a present from my band mate and good mate, Pestis. My first set of drum sticks. Buzzing my tits off. I set up the Crypt’s drum kit. in completely the wrong way. discarding the kick and bringing a tom, snare, crash and the bottom of a hi hat all to about waist height. I stood there surrounded by my new friends. Fuck playing the mouse. Lets GO…..

But,.Could I play?

Dj Slipped Disc Jocky clicked the tunes into motion. Pestis grabbed his 50s style ribbon mic and started to strut his stuff. Flakey adorned her silver waist jewels and began to rotate her hips.

And I smashed the holy fuck out of the drum kit, completely out of time, all over the fucking place, with not a single fucking care in the world.

I will never play a mouse on stage again as long as I live. And i may never fill a pot with compost again….
Who knows whats next…

But for now………………………….

Let the clusterfuck commence.


Shared Misery (draft)

The things to write about. Its been a series of splurges trying to scratch beneath the surface. Nothing that interesting is coming. I am beginning to wonder if there is any point in writing any more. It was fine as a diary to catalogue the daily events of an adventure i embarked on. But to speak daily here when there is nothing exciting happening seems pointless. What can i talk about. I can keep going around in circles with my continual eternal head fucks, but to what end?

I start a new paragraph here. Because im empty. I suppose i want to get somewhere deep. Without preaching. Just lay something bare on the page that some one else recognises. Some one else relates to it and sees it as a part of them too. And just recognising that tiny glimmer of shared experience in the writing suddenly feels like they are not alone. A shared moment across time. A shared feeling. A connection through time and space. A feeling shared. Lifted from my soul and laid bare on the page, and understood and felt and shared by a lonely stranger in the future in another land. I guess this is the power of writing. This is what excites me

I read the self help books, they tell you what to do. In 10 neat steps to make your life better. But you rarely do these things. Nobody does it. They just read it. And feel like they are doing something to improve their lives. You leave with a set of instructions on how to fix a problem. But sometimes a set of instructions isn’t what we need. If we go to a friend and tell them our problem and before we’ve even finished they come up with a ten point plan for recovery, we’d leave feeling pretty lonely. And unheard. I guess this is the feeling i am left with after finishing the latest trendy self help book of the moment. Initially i come across an article, review or recommendation. I get excited. I think this sounds amazing. The dopamine kicks in, I buy the book asap on amazon and am excited by the thought of it turning up in the next few days and how im going to drop everything to devour it. In the whole process this is probably the best time. Then it comes and i tear it open. I rub my hands on it. I smell it. I flick through. I read the back. I read the contents. I am so excitied about devouring this information. Another fix. I know i am going to be a better person once all this is in my brain.

At the first opportunity i sink all the introductory bits into my brain. I read fast. Im looking forward to getting to the meat of the system. I pummel through the story of the authors failures and eventual success. I go through the obligatory Flight of Flight bullshit they all seem to talk about. And how we don’t have the need to fightsabre tooth tigers these days. Why the fuck did we evolve so excellently into the most cleverspecies on the plant but for some reason a part of our brain still thinks we are cavemen and there might be a tiger in the stationary cupboard. I skim through this chapter, as it seems to be the same chapter in every one of my self help books. And i know its leading up to thecrux of the system, and i need the system, because im broke. I dont work . I need fixing. I need Self Help…

Usually thenwe are presented with 10 chapters. 10 tools. 10 steps to take. One per week often, like we are going to be still messing about with this in10 weeks time!! Dont they understand we want the info in ASAP and in 10 weeks time we’ll probably be half way thru another book after stuffing our confused brains with the techniques of several other books and articles that promise to fix us.

I read it. And try and get through the bits where the athour talks about imself or name drops by skimming and just fly toward the bits where there is anything i can learn. It all seems to be common sense, but it feels like revleations to me. I get excitied. It tells me to do exercises but i keep going, i just need this wisdomin me. Selfhelp.! Im helping my self!!! Im reading, thats good init?

At the end of the book i have a vague recollection of a load of techniques that i havent tried and the acronym of some system that is already dissapting from my memory. I close the book whack it on the shelf. Do i feel better? Noi dont. I havent helpedmyself.
This is not self help. This is asking for help from an author you have never met. And that author getting a lift from amazon to your house. Instead of listening t o a word you say they start blabbing on about how they are so succesful, they wereonce like you, but now theyre not. They sussed it. And they are friends with Branson and Gates now. But you’re not. Dont worry they once hated themselves and lived in a cupboard and ate fluff for 6 years. But now they are so succesful, they got it sussed. And here they are in the shape of a big shiny white hard back book just gleaming at you like come cocky know it all bastard. And for a minute you are impressed. They are going to share all thheirsecrets with you,the loser!!!! If you just shut up and listen for a few hours, they are going to completely outline every single step they took to become rich, sexy, and loaded. And if you can remember this massice volume of random advice, maybe, just maybe you can be like them.

But dont moan! Thats the lizardbrain you unevolved bastard. I dont want to hear your story .I dont want to hear excuses.I just want you to folow my ten week plan. And you too can be clean and loved like me.

But i

Dont want to hear it. I told you, i was once a sad lonerwith nolife but this is the system to stop that life. You want to stop your existence? Then stop moaning. And listen to me, the winner here.

Eventually this guy fucks off. He shuts the door and i remember practically nothing he said,. Other than i am a loser and i could be like him if only i could be like him. But… He failed to mention most of his money and success and come from the sales of this book shich were pushed on people who were lost in life. People looking for answers and susceptible to anyone selling what they claim to be the answer. He goes. With a wink and a click of the toungue he shuts the door. I look through the dirty nets as he slips into his jag and sits in the drivers seat. He doesnt movefor a while . I see him look at himsel in the rear viwe mirror. He looks athimself for a whilre. His steely grin has folded down into a lumpy sad face. He stares. And then slowly drives off.

A few hours later after trying to remember all the techniques that Chad gave me and trying to do some of them but just feeling like a twat, i flick throught my phone book. Im feeling pretty shitty . I dont think ill eve be Chad. I cant even get a job and i dont socialise. I cant be this networking machine with gun ho attitude and an acronmyn for every situation. I have problems.

I stop on C in my phonebook. Scribbled is Chuck, i had a chat with this guy in a bar one night. he seemed like the loneliest guy in the world. His eyes contained the pain of many pasts, far too many for one man. people seemed to keep away from him. he smoked constantly and poured spirits into the split in his wrinkly face.

I picked up the phone. Buk i said

Who is it.

Its tristan, you propbably dont remember me

Hey Tristan man hows it going?

Yeah ? Um what you up to.

I m just here going stir fuckin crazy again man, trying to process this goddamm mess. How bout you? Fancy headin out for a chicken sandwich

life, my shit

Stand Up Comedy – The Experience (Or… Shit Myself, Have You?)

Stand Up has always been the number one fear to conquer for me. And it was even more scary than i had anticipated! I’ve always had an irrational fear of being the centre of attention.


But there is a chihood memory which may have been the birth of this fear.

It was a talent competition in Butlins in the 80s with several hundred parents watching kids perform.

My little brother had gone up and was mid way through his tap dancing routine, the audience were crying. Everyone loved him. As usual. The Christmas before he had brought the entire school and all the parents to tears with his rendition of The Snowman. The hardest kid in the school turned up at our front door with 50p for him the next day, coz he loved it so much.

I was a weird reclusive type who mainly locked myself away and tapped away on computers. I was weird. But in Butlin’s i thought id get up and tell some jokes. I remember having a loose plan in my head of some stuff i’d talk about to the big crowd and i was up for it. I tugged on my tearful Mam’s shoulder pad,

“I’m going to go up.”

“Hmmm?” she said turning back to cry at my sequined brother do the Good Ship Lollipop.

“Mam, i wanna put my name down.”

“What? What would you do up there?’ she asked

“I dunno, tell jokes and stuff,” I replied.

She looked at me, tapping me gently on the leg, “shhhhhhhhhhhhh” she said. She continued to tap as she turned her attention back to my ginger superstar bro.

Jealous? Well i never wanted to be a tap dancer. But I wanted to have a go at speaking with the crowd. Shushed by my Mam. No Jase, what the fuck are you thinking?

I never touched a mic. I never was at the centre of attention. And whenever it seemed like i was about to be. I would fall apart. But i developed an amazing coping strategy: LEG IT. It seemed like the only way. Just get the fuck out of there as fast as possible. I often wonder what would have happened if i had walked onto stage in the 80s. Would i have been a hit! or a flop. would it have helped me overcome my shyness or made it worse?!

Even when i was in my band, touring for 8 years, i managed to stay hidden in the shadows. I took care to never stand out, and somehow managed to escape the limelight despite our growing fanbase. Most people didn’t even know i was in the band. And that was the way i liked it.

So what is this all about? Why am i like this?

I’m all for facing my fears and pushing my limits so i decided i’d try and face this weird aspect of myself and iron it out.  I joined a Speaker’s Club in Cardiff. This was terrifying. I done my first speech, to introduce yourself, to a crowd of about 20. I went into some dark stuff and scared the hell out of my fellow club members. I left in an embarrassed flood of despair, and didn’t manage pluck up the courage to return for almost 2 years.

I then rejoined and done a couple of speeches and freestyle speaking, some went well and some were total disasters, but i made some great friends in a friendly supportive environment. I still didn’t know why i was doing this, and when people asked I said i had no use for public speaking and that i was simply doing it to overcome a lifelong fear.

Then i went for it. I went for the big one. I was booked on to do my first ever 5 minute comedy warm up slot. I had guidance from Keith Palmer, who, without, I don’t think i could have done it. He spent several weeks helping me pull a set together. On the night the Fear was unreal . I was backstage with several other folk who were doing it for the first time and we were all a total mess. Sweating, pacing, crying, talking to ourselves, rocking, and lying on the floor sick. My name was called. I had a friend, my partner and my parents in the crowd. I had told them about it, really didn’t expect them to turn up to St Pauls in Bristol on a Saturday night! Especially as my Dad was usually in bed by 8. There it was. The lights were hot and 30 years after Butlins my Mam was sat there waiting for me to take centre stage. I was about to die in front of my loved ones.  I was fucking terrified. My body shook. And i was ready to run. fight or flight? i was definitely preferring Flight! Who the fuck was I to say hey everyone, you bought your tickets, and hey, im the entertainment, and I THINK IM FUNNY. And thanks to everyone who drove here and made the effort. IM HERE!!! fuck fuck fuck . I didnt wanna go. Keith stepped up moments before i hit the stage. He shook my hand, Looked at me deeply in the eye. I felt like i was tripping. everything sloooooowed down. The compere introduced me . I cant go out. Clapping!! oh fuck.


I stepped out, about 70 people looked at me and the host whispered into my ear, take your time, and shook my hand….. here’s what followed:

youtube link here

below is my original script as it looked the day before i went on stage, as you can see most of the ‘jokes’ didn’t land, and i forgot half my fuckin script. but hey… and the hecklers?wtf…. Any how, it was exhilarting and im chuffed as fuck i’ve finally done it. I may get back up. i’ll decide after i’ve got over the complete trauma of my 1st gig. Cheers for checking this shit out.///..

Hiya. Hello wembley. How are we?
I am Jason! Hello!
I am from Wales! (arm gesture to get crowd to cheer)….

Did you know Welsh is the fastest growing language? The number of WElsh speakers doubled last year. From 2 to 4.

I learned some Welsh phrases.
Yakidar!!!! YAAAAKIDDDAAAAAAA – Popydping
Bulbosbluuch -that means i have a spacehopper for baLLS….
Im really Proud to be welsh , i love wales….. i m moving to france tomorrow..
my freinds in wales describe me as…………………

Jonathan Creek.
Ronald McDonald.
Frodo Baggins.
A Big Issue Seller
Rolf Harris
Angela Lansbury
A Short Arsed Hairy Jippo Bastard ….Cheers Nan! (thumbs up)….
Any one got any phobias……
I got one…… WEIRD Fucking Noises!!!!!!!!!!!
Volume ,,,,, everything same]
More gentle sounds can send u nuts cant concentrate…..
Ii have been pursued my entire life. Pursued By Small Noises. Small crap noises that
don t belong where i am. They are not meant to be there but they turn up and fuck with
my mind. The common ones are breathing and eating….
I came across an article recently and it exists, and its called Misophonia! Thankfully i
have found that this is actually a recognised disorder I text my my girlfriends Ive got
Misophonia! she relpies Ok ill stop making you Miso soup . It s weird how in Alcoholics Anonymous there first thing people tell you is their name.
At last i belong to a group…..I am Jason and I am a Misophonic.
I love silennce…… Except at a comedy gig -when i need laughter!!!!!
Breathing in here back there . Keeep it downnn/////
i m not sure if im completely mental but even right now, (pick out a sound – traffic / seat
squeeking / etc) i am listening to that and am finding it very hard to concentrate on
speaking to you.
Big noises don t bother me. They are supposed to be there. These are the sounds of
things happening. What i m talking about is the noises that dont belong there. The ones
that sound apologetic for existing. Just creeping up behind you like some weird sex pest
that keeps stroking you.
My flat mate, well, my ex flat mate, was a lovely Chinese guy. I really liked him.But at
5am every night from the opposite end of my flat the coughing would begin. Quiet and
pathetic. Like a Chihuahua with a pube in its throat.
(Ch Ch Chu Chu Cheugh).
Then minutes later he would be over the toilet clearing his throat of phlegm Cecking up
flem all over my toilet. I would lay there listening. (Puking sound eeeeuuurgghhh
wwwwuuuughhh wwrruuugh! )
I would then slip back into a dreamy silent sleep. At 7am he would be having Noodles for breakfast! (Schhhhklllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp pop
SChlllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp POP).
DAN SNORING!!!! My friend, wouldnt wake up, I Stood him up! still snoring….
A Fart 3 blocks away in the middle of the night and im up and 
on the prowl with a torch…..
A previous flat mate (theres been a lot) used to sleep in all day. He would come into the
kitchen around 2pm most days, and glide past me crusty eyed with his cat in tow. I
would be working at the kitchen table (laptop keyboard gesture) and he wuold open the
fridge behind me and take out some sliced ham. He would then take a scissors and begin
to snip the ham into smaller pieces and put into his cat;s bowl. The creepy ham snip
behind my lug hole was enough to send me over the edge.
Schnnnniiip Schhhhhhnip! Schhhhjnip! >>>>>>the sweet sound of a nervous
breakdown . More sound in roommm……… Point it out.
This strange disorder has been with me all my life. AS a child i would awake 2 hours
before my family to enjoy some peace before school. Pure bliss. Then my mam would
come into the living room. She would cross the living room carpet, her slippers slapping
on her heels:. (Thhhhhhh slap Thhhh slap thhhhh slap). Then she d open the blinds
(chhhh chhhhh chhhhh chhh).
Id go and eat my sugar puffs in the kitchen/. Now dont get me wrong, I dont mind if you
stir your coffe with some vigour. You know grab the spoon add gthe sugar and stir the
fucker up and dissolve the sugar like that (vigouroues stirring motion) VOILA!!!!
However, a feeble coffee stir in the morning is one of thr worst wounds in the universe
for me. Dont ask me why but it has always sent me into a rage.
Tin Tink Tin Tink Tin Tink tink Tink.
Now the odd thing is I love to MAKE noise. I am a music producer! I love dance music….
Big it up….. Maybe i chose this career to get my own back! I love the sound of my own
At the moment i took a job on the side, all great performers have to take side jobs
Roni Size had a paper round, Pete Tong was the Avon Lady, And …..I, I sell Eggs.
My mam is well proud of me! I love to eat eggs, I fucking hate selling eggs. But the eggs
are paying the bills…. Just stood there all day as people come up and ask about the fuckin
Are they happy chickens? – squeeky voice
No, they are on Prozac mate.
Do they have space to roam around?
No mate, They’re under the counter….

I have become pretty successful at selling eggs, much more than i have as a music
producer. (SMIRK)
Each week while I am selling my eggs a busker comes along to the market. Now i love
buskers. I fully encourage people to perform in the street, However this busker is the
bastard love child of James Blunt. That cockey rhyming emotional wimp who croaks out
his song which for some reason millions buy. I mean have you heard his voice? This is
the same voice as the busker who joins me every week. How can something so FEEBLE
make me so MURDEROUS? Sounds like he s crying……….
(himmy himmy heeem himmmy heeeem heeeem) <<<<<<<<<<<<<<shorten it………
Im off now, please keep it quiet. And gimme a shout if you want some eggs. 



massive shout out to Keith and  The Comedy School and all the excellent charity work they do, respect.


camino, creation, life, my shit

19 Mistakes I made Publishing my First Book

Many people are self publishing these days. Aside from the Success stories of 50 shades of Grey, The Martian and a few others, is it possible to actually make a living from this?

I say NO! At least not until you have published many titles and have a solid fan base. My book has received positive feedback from anyone who has read it which is lovely but it has failed to spread into the world and make me rich!

Here, are the mistakes i think i made in publishing my first book.

  1. I failed to generate any reviews from any media. Aside from one review from a friends news site, I failed to get the book into the hands of the people who could have got the word out there.
  2. The content of the book was spread out over a measly 84 pages, much of which were illustrations.Was there enough literary content to make an impact strong enough to engage the reader to recommend it?
  3. I gave away approximately 50 copies of the book to people I thought may scream about it. I received a few private messages with feedback on the book, which done nothing to promote the book!
  4. I priced the book too low, at just £5, the profit was only £1.40 per book and therefore it was impossible to make enough to pay the contributors and make it profitable. (see point 20)
  5. My writing style was very messy. It was my first book and with little experience felt I was yet to find my voice. Luckily I had a friend who was an editor who made the whole thing make sense before we went to print.
  6. The spine on the book failed to print, and I only learned later that the minimum page count for spine printing is 130 pages. The book can never be recognised on a shelf, and looks more like a pamphlet from that angle.
  7. A team comprising of Welsh author, Welsh illustrator, Welsh graphic designer and Welsh editor then relied on an American company to manufacture and deliver the product. Shame we couldn’t complete the whole thing locally.
  8. I failed to get the book into any stockists or reviewers in Portugal or Spain where the events of the story took place. Or in Wales, the living place of the author.
  9. I failed to mention the Camino in the title of the book which has made it impossible to market it to people who are keen walkers or are familiar with the Camino de Santiago. I would definitely re-title the book to appeal to these people, as i am yet to sell one book to actual Camino walkers!
  10. The Web address that I printed on the inside cover is a dead link. I need to build a website.
  11. I did not arm my early adopters with the tools to spread the word about the book, and only gathered a few Amazon reviews. If they liked it, I just prayed they would recommend it, but a more solid plan could have helped it spread.
  12. The author should, as recommended by successful self-publishers, have a follow-up book within 3-4 months to keep the buzz going and build momentum. I am writing, but i dont have a book. I just have pages and pages of nonsensical rants with absolutely no thread – Brain Farts. (Now there’s a book idea!)
  13. We made the book paperback only, forcing physical copies of my work into the world, as real books are my preference. I now think it would have made more sense to release the Kindle and other E-book versions simultaneously, as many people read this way, the price is much lower and the profit MUCH bigger.
  14. Making my 1st book illustrated, although beautiful, made the whole process much more difficult, as we had many problems with formatting. Also it made the task of creating an e-book version much more difficult and contributed to the decision to postpone it.
  15. Having so many people involved in the book, unpaid, also extended the time frame as I was reliant on people for favours who had other more important things going on (ie. Paid work!)
  16. I had little capital to invest in marketing or promotion and compared to a publisher’s marketing clout my marketing plans were pathetic.
  17. Contacts in the world of publishing were minimal as I am a music producer. This means it was difficult to acquire advice or experience in this world. I failed to reach out to many people who had done it successfully. (Apart from Sue at Starships & Aliens and Derec at Opening Chapter – Thank You!)
  18. No Pre Promo, no buzz built, No launch party – locally or online, again just a facebook post on day of release. I relied solely on social media for promotion.
  19. I walked 200 miles, wrote 15,000 words and untold hours were spent by various friends editing, formatting, designing and illustrating the book. All in all making it a labour intensive project which has so far only netted approximately £300. Take away the cost of the free copies and i have so far made about £200. And i haven’t paid any contributors to the book!  Was it worth it?


There’s nothing more exciting than seeing your first book in print, and i would highly recommend it! When i ripped open the box and first cradled it like my first born, i squealed and popped like cheap bacon in my new tefal titanium pan.
The book is getting great reviews on Amazon and it has inspired a fewfriends to change things in their life and has made others laugh. Surely effecting people is more important than MONEY?

Huge thanks to everyone who has read it and had the time to share their thoughts or recommend it.

If you don’t have a copy yet, some Amazon sellers have now completely devalued my art, and for some reason you can grab a copy for £3.01, here!

massive thanks to Norris Nuvo, Laure Lajarthe, Paul Bevan, Cai Hughes and Eleanor Burns.




‘PAIN? It makes you more spiritual!’
-Thomaas the Astronomer