
Yesterday was a rare sunny day, at home. Two dog walks achieved with no changing of clothes needed. When a couple of free hours revealed themselves. I decided to do a quick sketch. What did I choose? A rain soaked pasture on Dartmoor. Misty enough to create a halo around the moon.
My only excuse for a rather sombre image, is the political storm that was billowing around me from the radio.

A classic tale of who knew what, when in the world of powerful men, disposable women and lots of money and influence.
I wanted to use the word turgid to describe the political clusterf**k, that has been emerging for some time from the fall out of the Epstein Files on Britain.

The situation is indeed turgid with both meanings of the word and my picture is a bit turgid, but over the last couple of years turgid+badger is a phrase that reminds me of a happily eccentric holiday spent in Abersoch, Wales.
For no particular reason I think it would be a fabulous name for a rock band or a trendy coffee shop. Or a graphic novel.
We were staying with some friends in a large house. In the early evening I had spotted a badger snuffling on the edge of a quiet path in a large garden. I mentioned it to our host.
“Ah ” she said.
“I have never seen a live one,but that does explain the turgid badger I found in my water butt”
Not a sentence I would expect to hear ever.
I wonder why it has stuck with me.
Firstly it was a lovely few days with friends that we don’t see often enough.
We were all slightly discombobulated by our surroundings and a way of life that we were unfamiliar with. Champagne at 4pm on an emptyish stomach gave none of us the maturity that matched our chronological ages.
The words themselves are delicious when paired together. So I am a little protective of the word, turgid.
I am not prepared to gift it to dodgy politicians and their even dodgier friends. I might just allow it for a painting.
Difficult times.
If badgers were not such lovely creatures the term could become a massive insult.
“You, Sir are a turgid Badger”


