“I used to make drawings…”

Up, Face like a Petershill pizza dusted with the fag-ash of a hundred Embassy Regal. Hair like a Dennistoun deck access washing line. Voice like a dirty Hieland whelp (Nickety nackety noo, noo. noo) Morning.

Up. Face, Hair and Voice like Marty Feldman escaping (to victory) from a Barlinnie Special Unit by crawling the length of Hampden Park through a six-inch sewer pipe connected to the local community outfall during a prolonged widespread dysentery epidemic. Morning.

T-shirt by @weare1of100.bsky.social Sentiment by The Bluebells Graphic by Robert Hodgens Smoulder … model’s own

Up. Face like a toddler's Etch-A-Sketch portrait of Marty Feldman. Hair like it was made out of grey Sticklebricks. Voice like a dial-up modem. Morning.

Up. Face like the losers in an 18th Century Yorkshire gurning competition. Hair like a hill of discarded 1G AstroTurf. Voice like Quasimodo going at it over an etching of Esmeralda. Morning.

Up. Face like a haemorrhoid's hangover. Hair like an unwound C-90 cassette tape. Voice of the Windsor Town Crier proclaiming the Royal eviction like a devastated crack-addled busker waiting for his man. Morning

Up. Face like a Halloween pumpkin carved by Stevie Wonder. Hair like a bunkered Trump, devoid of mirrors and Cossack. Voice like Danilo’s dad after a triple Harthill tray bake. Morning.

On this day in Up/Morning history.: Copyright theft as Twitter’s AI trolled me with my own tweet. It was an Interesting development. ‘In case I missed it’…!? I fucking wrote it, mate!

Up. Face like a prison riot. Hair like a Parkhead skip overflowing with cut-price January Sales regrets. Voice like a 70s ice cream van being crushed in a squeaky compactor. Morning.

Up. Face like a rusty Honda Civic wrapped around a Gorgie lamppost. Hair like a fistful of mouldy cheese strings. Voice like a macerated carburettor. Morning. *’A Fistful of Mouldy Cheese Strings’ the new LP by the Macerated Carburettors. Out now!

Eight albums www.davidfross.co.uk/eight-albums/

Up. Face like a well-skelped arse. Hair like a lank 70s mullet sieved through a colander. Voice like the sound of teenage dreams being ripped at the seams. Morning.

Up. Face like Marty Feldman as the Turin Shroud on a Dennistoun dishtowel. Hair like a topiary Mohawk. Voice like thin ice cracking under the weight of Prince Andrew’s dishonesty. Morning.

Up. Face like it's gone ten rounds with the Raving Bonkers. Hair like a broken second-hand Ker-Plunk circuit. Voice like the aftermath of a Buckaroo boot in the chankers. Morning.* *script reveal for the new John Lewis Xmas Ad Campaign (Song: Dead Kennedys ‘Too Drunk To Fuck’)

Up. Face like a charred Haribo pizza. Hair like a Vietnam forest after a napalm strike. Voice like an acid-infused Freddie 'Parrot-Face' Davies. Morning.

Up. Face like the newly-born child of Hagrid and Zelda from Terrahawks. Hair like the shredded tape from an unwound C90. Voice like an angry drunken budgie, squawking abuse from a verandah in Springboig. Morning.

I’m gearing up for the Glasgow Print Fair at @thepyramidg38ds.bsky.social on the 25th October. I’ll have this Brutal Glasgow print available, with some concrete inspired totes, tea towels and prints. It’s the print event of the year!

Up. Face like Plug from the Bash Street Kids, seeing his reflection in an oily puddle. Hair like a sheep-dipped 80s mullet. Voice like the Smash robots digging up a King Edward. Morning.

PS: Further to Up… Let it be known … David Ferencva-Ross, of House Hector’s. First of his name. Lord of the Piles. Keeper of the shed key. Protector of the Bacon Rolls … is on the throne in the unlockable chamber. He is not to be disturbed. Morning.

Up. Face like a plasterer’s radio. Hair like the Somerset Park pitch, mid-January. Voice like Frankenstein being chased from his temporary truck-driving job by pitchfork-wielding Reform MPs because he sounds a bit ‘foreign’. Morning.

Up. Face like Michelle Mone viewed through a locked steel door’s spyhole. Hair like Kojak’s slevery lollipop dropped on a mohair rug. Voice like a Yoker yodeller trapped beneath a collapsed naked Twister team. Morning.

Up. Face like the wind changed and it stayed like this. Hair like the ragged tawse of an over-used Lochgelly leathering tool. Voice like I’m being ‘ventriloquised’ by Captain Hook. Morning.

Up. Face like an American Ryder Cup fan, MAGA’d out his skull. Hair like twelve truculent Haribo-high toddlers have slept in it. Voice like a Thai sex robot with cauterised vocal chords. Morning.

Up. Face like a toothless Yorkshire Gurning champion during a bout of post-competition constipation. Hair like Ken Dodd standing on a live electrical cable. Voice like Barbapapa flying high on LSD. Morning.

Up. Face like the result of a disagreement between the Tollcross Wee Men and the Toogle Tongs. Hair like it was recovered from a Shettleston skip. Voice like a 70s Opportunity Knocks audition reject. Morning.

Up. Face like a Byzantine gargoyle’s sex face. Hair like yer average '68 Haight-Ashbury oxter. Voice like ET syphoning diesel for the long flight home. Morning.

So this is coming up and it would be great if people could get behind it! comedy.army

This morning’s activities in San Diego.

Up. Face like Marty Feldman passing a golf ball-sized gall stone. Hair like the rough surrounding a municipal golf course in Kabul. Voice like the dimpled ball from a Daly drive ricocheting through a Madame Tussaud hall of mirrors.. Morning.

Up. Face like it’s been used to remove Artex. Hair like the clumps Sarah Ferguson will have torn out this morning. Voice like the sound of cement being mixed. Morning.

Up. Face like a constipated gargoyle. Hair like it was pressed flat by a truck stop diner’s rusty waffle iron. Voice like Nigel Farage on his first full day in Hell, being rogered by the red-hot telegraph pole Satan playfully calls ‘The Brexit’. Morning.

Up. Face like a marzipan pizza left out in the rain. Up. Hair like a quilt made from the wigs of three Boney M tribute acts. Voice like I'm in skin-tight lederhosen, recovering from a boot in the baws by Kendo Nagasaki. Morning.

A STATEMENT FROM THE ESTATE OF DAVID F ROSS LTD: Out of respect for our founder’s ‘death’ (in 2002) today’s Up / Mourning has been cancelled. He died (apparently), trampled to death by a horde of bagpipe-playing marchers during the NYC Tartan Day Parade.

This is an amazing book. A real testament to Dan Jennings interviewing style, making everyone (especially Paul Weller) feel completely comfortable and relaxed in recalling stories and events that bind them to the life-affirming impact Paul’s music has had, and continues to have.

There’s a possibility this news might be overshadowed by the Trump UK vacation, and Oti’s debut novel, but…. nonetheless, it’s USA/Canada Publication Day for @orendabooks.bsky.social THE WEEKENDERS; a book about the unholy alliance of wealth and power, strangely enough. Oh say, can you see?

Up. Face like an innocent golfer accused of aiming a 3-wood at a deluded moron. Hair like the moron’s divots, collected as evidence. Voice like a gaggle of gormless gophers giving FBI witness statements under caution. Morning. *misty memories of the way we are.

Cool time @bloodyscotland.bsky.social this weekend. Also nice to hang out with the @orendabooks.bsky.social squad for a wee while. US & Canada Publication Day for The Weekenders tomorrow. Off to California next week to try and find myself, so to speak.

Up. Face like Marty Feldman reflected in a concave Rolls Royce hub-cap. Hair like a cottage thatched with Bobby Charlton wigs. Voice like Russell Martin facing a paintball firing squad coached by Nico Raskin. Morning.

Up. Face like the remnants of an impromptu prison riot. Hair like a single milk-sodden Weetabix slowly sliding down a beige wall of flaking eggshell paint. Voice like a drunk Peter Mandelson dictating CV edits to ChatGPT. Morning.

Full house @bloodyscotland.bsky.social for the BRILLIANT In the Shadows of War panel with Jacky Collins chatting to Alan J Parks, Dom Nolan and our own @dfr10.bsky.social 🔥

Today 2pm @bloodyscotland.bsky.social

After a contentious debate lasting well into the night, today’s ‘Up/Morning’ has been prorogued. The Hair lost yet another vote of no confidence, and the Face and the Voice have both resigned*, leaving their constituencies facing by-elections. *but still draw the salary

Trying to comprehend the amount of times ‘Will Harry meet Charlie?’ will be posed by Royal-obsessed journalists during the coming days. I’m guessing that if the phrase was bricks and mortar, Prince William could cure homelessness with it.

THE WEEKENDERS @bloodyscotland.bsky.social This Friday 2pm bloodyscotland.com/event/in-the...

Up. Face like a bucket of papier-mâché, dropped from the top of the Blackpool Tower. Hair like the hastily shredded deeds to a hastily bought Clacton home. Voice like Andrea Jenkyns’ constipated karaoke turn. Morning.

Up. Face like a destitute dermatologist’s carpet. Hair like a scarecrow’s intestines. Voice like Salmonella raging through a yodeller’s convention. Morning.

So chuffed to have contributed some thoughts to this amazing book. Dancing Through The Fire @paulwellehq.bsky.social Written by Dan Jennings Out on Thursday paulwellerfanpodcast.com/paul-weller-...

Up. Face like it's been rattled full on by a Mitre Mouldmaster 5*. Hair like Catweazle's skanky dog. Voice like Betty Boop on helium. Morning. *an old style 70s moulded football with dimples and ridges. Sore as fuck! Not the latest hip-hop/grime sensation from Brooklyn Heights.

Up. Face, Hair and Voice like a repurposed Nadine Dorries resurrected and reborn as a recycled recalcitrant asking ChatGPT ‘how much does a Reform UK groupie earn?” Morning.