Charlotte Church Healed My Hand.

Some jobs feel destined.

Others feel like the universe has set up a series of small, increasingly ridiculous obstacles to see whether you are actually going to make it there.

Aardman’s 50th birthday was apparently the second kind.

It started with my hair.

More specifically, with a pair of 210-degree curling irons that my brain briefly decided were straighteners.

I usually use straighteners, which are not hot on the outside.

These were.

Very.

Ironically, I was wearing a heatproof glove on the other hand.

The hand I actually picked them up with had apparently clocked off.

A matter of seconds later, I had properly burned myself.

By that afternoon I was in A&E with a large dressing on my hand and a blister forming that looked increasingly committed to the role.

A sensible person would probably have gone home.

Unfortunately, I had tickets to Charlotte Church’s Pop Dungeon in Bristol.

My friend Matt was organising it.

So obviously I went.

The night itself was brilliant.

The only thing I had not appreciated was how much I apparently use my hands when I talk.

I gesticulate constantly.

I dance with them.

I point at things.

I wave them about.

All of this becomes significantly less elegant when one hand is wrapped up like you’ve just lost a fight with a toaster.

I had imagined I might look quite sexy that evening.

I did not.

Because Matt had access all areas, after the gig we got to say hello to Charlotte Church.

And she hugged me. Because she’s an absolute lush human.

Now, I am fully aware of how this next sentence sounds.

But I genuinely believe Charlotte Church healed my hand.

No joke.

She is one of those people who just has this incredibly kind, warm, slightly ethereal energy about her, and after the hug, the whole thing somehow seemed less dramatic.

We had also watched the series about her creating a healing retreat in mid Wales…so frankly I felt like I had received a very premium form of aftercare.

Forget aloe vera.

Charlotte Church.

Apparently effective.

Unfortunately, while Charlotte may have healed my hand, she did not appear to have healed the rest of my week.

A couple of days later, I fell down the stairs.

I was carrying too much stuff.

I was wearing slippery socks.

And my stairs are stripped wooden floorboards because apparently I enjoy living in a low-level domestic hazard.

Luckily, three men came running to my rescue.

Not because I live with three men.

They were fitting my new windows and doors.

For once, impeccable timing.

So that was A&E, Charlotte Church healing intervention, then stair incident.

Surely enough.

No.

Next, someone drove into my car.

Quite extensively.

Both passenger-side doors and the wheel arches.

Very kind of them.

Even kinder, they decided not to leave a note.

But the damage was cosmetic.

The car still went.

I still went.

Nothing catastrophic enough to stop me.

And all of this was happening just before what I think might genuinely be one of the most perfect clients Rubbish Portraits could ever have.

Aardman Animations.

Fifty years old.

Nine hundred guests.

Bristol Beacon.

Seventies disco outfits.

And one very handmade, very analogue portrait booth.

Perfect.

Not just because Aardman are obviously brilliant at what they do.

But because their humour makes complete sense to me.

That mix of craft, silliness, precision and not taking yourself too seriously.

It felt like a very natural fit.

The whole evening had this wonderfully analogue feel to it too.

Even getting everybody into the building took about an hour because there was an extremely old-school guest-list situation happening at the door.

No slick scanning system.

Just names.

Lists.

People searching.

People waiting.

Which actually felt strangely appropriate for a night celebrating a company famous for painstakingly moving tiny bits of plasticine around one frame at a time.

And once everyone was in, it was brilliant.

I set up the booth.

People sat down.

We chatted.

I drew.

Portraits came through the slot.

People laughed.

More people appeared.

And eventually I realised I had actually made it.

Burnt hand.

Staircase incident.

Mystery car attacker.

Still there.

Still drawing.

Still with both hands operational.

A cracking night, Gromit. Watch my reel here

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Dd4Pz0pCE6Y/?stkn=ZThhenNscjN2eWtl

And for the record, I’m still crediting Charlotte Church with the hand.😉