The Worst Journey in the World: Graphic Novel

The Chinese Zodiac rotates through twelve animals, which give their personalities to successive lunar years. There is also a cycle of elements and colours, so every year gets a slightly different mix. 2026 is the Year of the Red Fire Horse, and as usual the raft of very online artists did their own rendition of the mascot, usually a cute pony with flames for a mane and tail. I thought this rather missed the implied personality of the Red Fire Horse – Horse years being, apparently, characterised by dynamism, unpredictability, passion and drive, with the fire element amplifying that – so I countered the trend with this:

I am not an astrology person in any way, but I can’t deny that it has been a Horse year.

At my follow-up oncology appointment in December, I asked what I ought to do to minimise the risk of cancer returning, my doctor gave the usual advice – healthy diet, keeping fit, avoiding alcohol – much of which I did before getting cancer. But he also said to avoid stress. Now, this is the glorious 21st Century where no one can avoid stress, but I could have avoided it a little more studiously than immediately throwing my hat into the property market.

I’m a Millennial and have spent my adult life in a series of cities with absurd property prices, so despite saving compulsively and hopefully from day one, I never expected I would actually be able to buy a place of my own. Working in comics rather than animation, and nearing the end of the time in my life when I need to spend a lot of time in the archives at SPRI*, I realised that I wasn’t constrained by Cambridge property values, and that I actually could afford something a little further afield in a place that ticks all my boxes. And I found the perfect flat, for the perfect price, at just the right time to move in before the renovation work on the house I’ve been looking after got so intensive as to make it unliveable. I made an offer. The seller accepted. And so began three months of frantic admin which ate up most of my time and attention, with the remainder given to packing. It was pretty much the definition of stressful.

*not that I don’t want to, but the research has to turn into books now

But it was all working towards that moment when I took possession, moved my stuff in, and for the first time in probably my entire life, had a place I knew I could stay for an indefinite period, and could get some work done. Momentary pain for long-term gain, right? Well, we were supposed to exchange and complete at the end of March, but then the seller went uncharacteristically silent, and … it turned out he had died. Funny thing about legal documents and contracts: the signature on them has to be from a living person for them to count. So three months of conveyancing, and almost a master’s degree worth of money, was up in smoke.

Now, the good news is that the person handling his estate does wish to complete the sale to me, or at least did when a flurry of panicked phone calls went around in April. So in that respect it wasn’t a complete waste of time. But the renovation work on my erstwhile dwelling is going ahead as planned, so I am now floating about the country, housesitting here, staying with friends there, trying to get a bit of work done while I can. It’s not all bad – I have lovely friends in lovely places who like having me there, and it’s lovely to have an excuse to visit them. But it is disruptive, and tiring, and, well, stressful. Half of what I need is in boxes, and the other half could be anywhere from Edinburgh to Folkestone to the room next door. It takes up a lot of mental bandwidth.

My regular dwelling should be habitable again in July. It’s anyone’s guess how long probate will take, which will allow the seller’s heir to sell me the flat (if they still want to). Should I unpack when I move back in or hold tight? Will living out of boxes be more stressful, or unpacking and repacking again? I don’t know. It’s one of many things I’ve having to play by ear. And I’m not good at improvisation.

I am, however, managing to eke out a few hours a week to move the writing ahead. All my writing materials live in one leather briefcase, which can come with me wherever I go, so provided I have the headspace I can get something done – and sometimes I do! It’s not what I’d like, but it’s better than nothing, and at least the writing phase is one of the more mobile ones. If I were drawing pages I’d be hooped.

I had a similar period of de facto homelessness and uncertainty in the last Year of the Horse (2014), which ended happily after a lot of bucking and braying. I hope this will go the same way. But in the meantime it’s … interesting times.

One of the other things I can do during this unsettled period is techy stuff. I am currently in the process of moving the hosting for this site from an American server to a Swiss one, via the Canadian service where the domain is registered. This is, unsurprisingly, turning out to be a bit more complicated than it needs to be. Service may be intermittent, and may disappear entirely for a time, but should be back to normal in a month or two, and I might even add some pages. I’ve also been stacking up posts for my Patreon, which for the time being is still the port of call for all things Worst Journey and otherwise. You can sign up to get monthly updates for free, or subscribe at a very nominal rate to get pretty much everything else. I don’t know what I’d do without my loyal paid subscribers, so a massive thank you from the bottom of my heart if you have already joined them.

I wish I had better news to report … maybe next time! Thank you for your patience while the Red Fire Horse has his day …