I have moved

I’ve moved house and can now be found at www.hayleyrestall.com. Come over and say hello, don’t be shy.

Plage it again, Sam (does that work? it doesn’t really work…)

I wasn’t going to write about this. I was going to be the bigger person, rise above it, shake it off and move on. But it’s been such an eye opener that I do think it’s important to record it, my very first experience of internet copycat, um, ness.

So, I’m relatively new to letting it all hang out (creatively speaking) on tinternet. I’m only half set up properly for image viewing, I don’t have an online purchase facility, I only update my blog when I a) think about it or b) have something hilarious and witty to say (“But Hayley, that’s all the time!” – The World). I have plans for the future but at the moment my work priority is 3ft tall and obsessed with her bum. So, there are lots of things that I haven’t quite thought of, professionally speaking.

One of these things-I-haven’t-thought-of is copyright, or intellectual property rights, which came along to bite me very firmly on the backside a few days ago when a friend sent me a link to a business page on Facebook. And there it was, a direct copy of one of my drawings. And I do mean a direct copy, you could practically see the drool where the, ahem, “artist” had been concentrating on making it exactly the same (she didn’t succeed, but that’s not the point). Much as I would love to, I will not reproduce her image here. I can hardly write a post that is basically abut a cheeky bitch stealing my ideas and using my images without permission, and then go and reproduce her image without permission. Shame (but *whispers* you can see it on Facebook).

Anyway, let’s remember that I AM BEING THE BIGGER PERSON, so the point isn’t the fact that she was a nobhead and not very talented (whoops, did I type that out loud?), the point is that I realised how unprotected I am. I’m pasting images on the internet left right and centre without a thought for what people might do with them. I need to do something about that, probs. All advice gratefully received. Right that’s my serious post over. Shall we have some pretties? COPYRIGHT HAYLEY RESTALL THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Ahem.

walkies!

Other News

I’m going to be back at Mystic Brew soon. This lady and some of her friends will be there this time. Pop in and have a look why don’t you.

and more pretties…

new year pretties

owl be seeing you!!......*tumbleweed*

This year I am determined to learn to use photoshop properly, and not make my husband despair with my layer incompetence. I just tend to make it up as I go along, which means that I never remember what Ive done and if I find something ace I don’t know how to do it again. I am even considering going on a course, although its been a long time since I’ve had to sit in a room while somebody over the age of 2 tells me what to do, so we’ll see how we get in with that. It would be nice to be able to make prints of my work in differing colour combinations, and I do like the combination of my own scribbles and collage, and flat computer colour.

I have lots of plans bubbling in my little head (it is little, quite literally. I wear children’s hats as anything adult sized slips over my eyes after about two wears).  When AB starts pre-school after Easter, that’s when I am going to get going. Those magical two mornings a week are coming at me over the horizon, glittering with their promises of uninterrupted working time and listening to MY choice of radio programme. In reality of course I may just be slumped outside the pre-school, pining for my little girl and asking if it’s 12.30 yet.  In the meantime, here is an owl, for your viewing pleasure.

Hey kids! it’s January, let’s all get as depressed as we can!

"um..darling? it's June..."

Today, my food intake as been as follows: 1 raisin and cinnamon bagel, 1 croissant, a whole bag of pumpkin rice cakes (sorry, AB) and 2 slices of toast. Er, 5 a day, anyone? No? Suffice to say Mr Atkins has not been invited to cross my (increasing, if you want the truth) threshold. Today is a bad day, honestly I’m not usually quite so carblicious but I have never and will never join the hordes of New Year Dieters (that’s people starting a diet on 1st Jan, by the way. Not all the people who make it their New Years Resolution to change their name to Dieter).

A January diet. A diet at the most miserable time of the year. Why why why for the love of all things sugary and alcoholic would you do that? Christmas is over, the weather is cold and grey, you’ve eaten your body weight in quality street (even the ones you don’t like because it was Boxing Day and Shrek was on and you were desperate), you’ve grudgingly put Phil Spector’s Christmas Album back on the shelf and your bottle of Baileys is nearing the end and you know you can’t buy any more because that would just be plain wrong and on any case it isn’t on special offer any more anyway. Oh, oh, oh….the misery. What could possibly make it worse? How about we willingly agree to not eat or drink anything nice for 31 days?  Oh, and don’t even get me started on Martine McCutcheon and her annual attempt at getting us all to start a yoghurt only diet on the day after Boxing Day. Piss off, Martine! Just because you’ve done bugger all since Love Actually, there’s no need to take it out on me.

I’ve been rebelling this year. Added to my usual post-Christmas sulk is the fact that we kinda rushed Christmas 2010, what with us taking the little step of promising the rest of our lives to each other just before the bearded fatso was due down the chimney, AND the pesky little stranded-on-honeymoon-until-just-before-christmas-eve debarcle (nice one, Heathrow!). So I didn’t get my favourite run-up-to-christmas-bit, therefore I think you will find that I am owed at least an extra 3 weeks worth of festivities. So, I did take my decorations down but the Baileys is still very much in action. Cheers! Tidings of comfort and joy, and that.

And another thing!

I added a Twitter thingy here and it’s stuck in the past, refusing to update. I have made so many inane and pointless comments since then. If anyone knows how to give it a good virtual kick and get it moving again I would be most grateful. Many thank yous.

I am what I am, and what I am is…er, not sure actually…

Here we are, then. My first post as a married laydeee. What do married laydees write about, I wonder? Grown up things, surely. Pensions, maybe. Or private healthcare. Or the best way to protect lettuces from slugs.

and...breathe...

I, however, remain excited by shoes and wine. Maybe I’m not legally married? Can’t say I’ve got the certificate out of its envelope to check, does anyone? Am I supposed to? It’s still sitting in the same place it has been since the day after the wedding, propped on the mantlepiece while I put off changing my name legally in favour of just changing it on things that don’t require legal proof.

Incidentally, I am going to change my name. Not on here but in all other ways. I am going to. I don’t want to have a different surname to my daughter and my husband (husband! check me out just dropping that in there all casually!). But I must admit to dragging my feet. I’ve had my old name for a long time now. It’s a big family name, a proud family name. I am not sure I want to just drop it entirely. I don’t want to just spend 10 minutes in an airless office in the Civic Centre and emerge clutching a piece of paper that tells me I am now somebody else. So I haven’t yet made the appointment to sit in said airless room. I will do, just not…yet.

Fabulously amazing photo above is by Emma Case.

I do (need a drink)

I’m getting married on Saturday. I. am. getting. married. Actually, that’s not the bit that scares me. I can’t wait to be married. I just am a teensy, weensy, little bit scared about the whole, you know, wedding thing. The whole, high-and-uncomfortable-shoes-combined-with-being-the-clumsiest person on earth thing. The whole, having to dance in front of everyone I know in said shoes, despite a monumental lack of dancing skills thing (but, oh, the shoes are beautiful, though. Would be be inappropriate of me to want to marry the shoes?).

It’s not panning out to be the bestest of weeks, this week-before-the-wedding-week. For a start, we are housebound due to pavement conditions I can only describe as Strictly Come Falling On Your Arse (isn’t that right, binmen?). Being housebound could be OK, of course. It could be cosy, staying in your PJs, drinking hot chocolate, watching Christmas Loose Women and Jeremy Christmas Kyle. I could do that version of being housebound. Unfortunately that TV Movie version of housebound-ness does not feature a bored 2 year old, hell bent on rejection of christmas crafts in favour of running around the house, screaming and doing every thing mummy says not to do. This is not the week-before-the-wedding-week I ordered! Shouldn’t I be in the spa, having my feet nibbled by tiny fish or something? Instead I’m having my patience – in short supply at the best of times – nibbled by a tiny person.

Also, sleeping. Not happening. Last night I lay awake for hours, working out a route from Victoria to Greenwich that didn’t involve going on the underground, for my tube-phobic mum. Once I had thought of one, I spent half an hour panicking that I was going to forget it, so off I trooped downstairs at about 2am to get the train times and send myself an email, reminding me to text mum in the morning. And don’t even get me started on the stairlift we need/don’t need/who knows and my cousin’s tomato allergy.

x

Of course, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is that lovely face waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Yeah, that registrar is pretty hot. No not really, you know who I mean. My man, who inexplicably puts up with me, despite the fact that I am utterly ridiculous, vain, moody, constantly dissatisfied, bossy and pernickety. My man who I love more than anyone, with the exception of our beautiful daughter, and that’s different. My man who gave me said beautiful daughter. I don’t think I care if I do fall over down the aisle, so long as I skid to the end and say my vows from the floor. That’s all I want, really. I love you, Ant xx

 

Want a piece of me?

At the mo, I do not have a buy online facility. If you would like an original Hayley, you can pay me by cheque, bank transfer or Paypal. For existing pieces, I despatch within 3 days of receiving cleared payment. For commissions, cleared payment is required before any work starts and delivery is usually within 2 months. Postage costs quoted are for UK but I do post worldwide. All enquiries to hayley_restall@hotmail.com.

Roll up roll up

I’m taking 10% off the price of most of my piccies for anyone that buys this month! Cashback! Actual prices and things for sale can also be seen here.

 

Please excuse our appearance while we update your store

It’s going to get a bit messy. I am trying to incorporate my picture site as part of the blog, but a separate section.  Not sure how to do it, so bear with me. I kinda thought that anyone who just wanted to look at pretties might not want to have to scroll through pages and pages of me swearing and complaining about Orpington. And that anyone who wants to read me swearing and complaining might not want to scroll through pages of drawings…so am a bit of a work in progress right now. Soz.