I am a generally friendly human being. I give up my seat to elderly people on the tube. I smile at strangers. I give money to the Red Cross. I try to be a good listener. I like a good kitten-climbing-into-a-box video on the internet, just like the next person. But inside of me, there is a quiet darkness waiting. Rather than allowing it to ferment into a dangerous and explosive elixir of vitriol, I take to the press every couple of years and release a few demons in the form of MEAN CARDS.
Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is.
ooooh, that feels good.
You really do, you know.
Your dreams are boring. Take that.
But I am not a monster. These days I try to even out these binges by printing a few even-handed messages. Straightforward cards for expressing feelings directly. Like this one:
And this one:
I think I do the un-mean cards as penance. Many years ago, my father inexplicably showed my grandmother a set of particularly nasty mean cards. Brutally nasty cards with terrible words in them. She just looked at me and said: “Why?” It was horrible. She reads this blog, actually, and recently had her 100th birthday. Happy Birthday, Nanna! Look! I am shaping up!
More on the West Dean Design and Craft Fair soon (and for more information now, have a look at my Events page.) In the meantime, if you have a hankering to break some hearts, I’ve got mean cards (and their not so cruel cousins) for sale in my shop. Come on by!