You can tell that I was sitting on some rocks in the middle of a grassy meadow when I was writing this batch.

The legend is that if you can see the gold reflected under your chin, then you like butter. Which is a bit pointless, when you think about it. Surely it would be better to hold 500g of Kerrygold under your chin, and then eat the Kerrygold.

I’m being pulled in two directions at the moment. The Hastings Independent has a preference for biting satire, something I only occasionally indulge in, as the last thing I want is for the strip to turn into a bitter whine-fest like Mallard Filmore. So, contrarian that I am, I did a week of gentle cutesy humour, in the way that sitting in a grassy meadow only can, and then didn’t bother to submit them to them. Instead I sent the following week’s three Olympic strips, and all three of them got printed.