A relatively new phenomenon in modern football is that of the morose supporter realising that his or her misery is being broadcast on the stadium screen and immediately perking up to exhibit near orgasmic levels of joy. This is particularly prevelant at large international football tournaments;  keep an eye out for it during the European Championships next month. 

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything new on here (and even then it was a picture of some testes), as I’ve been working on episodes seven, eight and nine of Mungo for Twohundredpercent, to whom I am extremely grateful for allowing me to take on the doodling for a few months. It was a real treat, but I’m all done now, so I should have a bit more time to post cartoons more regularly in The Sunshine Room.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m trying to say with this cartoon, but I think I’m suggesting that Harry Redknapp has a scrotum under his chin and within the folds of that scrotum can be seen the face of Arsene Wenger. Yep, that sounds about right.

Of course, this North London testicular jolity is merely a vehicle for me to direct you towards episodes five and six in the latest adventures of the world’s most inept footballer, Mungo McCrackas. There are only three more episodes left until the end of the season, after which I’ll be spending more time working on comics for long-neglected Sunshine Room.  Like you care.

This is something I drew a while ago, but I thought I’d share it.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on here, but I’ve not been completely idle (although mostly I have been, obviously). I’ve been writing and drawing epsisodes three and four of Mungo for twohundredpercent.net. Hoping to find some spare time soon to stick up some new stuff in The Sunshine Room.

There’s a scene in the film Notes on a Scandal in which Judi Dench’s character says: “My father followed Charlton and it never seemed to give him much pleasure”. Now, my immediate and obvious reaction to this was: “Charlton, LOLZ!”, but Dench’s line is applicable to most people who support teams other than the small group of rich, successful, dubiously-financed, clubs. However, the lifetime of disappointment, ridicule and frustration is more than compensated for by the occasional days when everything clicks and it briefly feels like you support the best team in the world.

I actually depressed myself a bit drawing this – especially the last panel, featuring worms mocking the rotting corpse of our hero. Still, anyone who wears a replica shirt to the pub kind of brings it on themself.

Apologies for not posting any new stuff for a while; I’ve been pretty occupied doing stuff for the excellent twohundredpercent.net, who have been kind enough to ask me to take on the illustration of their online comic ‘Mungo’. It’s a real honour to be asked to take it on. You can see my first two episodes here and here. If you have time, I’d also encourage you to sit down and read the entire back catalouge, created by the frighteningly talented Dotmund.

I’ve noticed a trend in recent years for high street fashion stores to produce clothing that features the name of a city, a number, a year, and a thing. I was inspired to draw this cartoon a couple of months ago, following a fruitless shopping trip.

Thankfully, I was off my tits on a cocktail of prescription painkillers, so was at least able to derive some pleasure from standing in the aisles of a popular Australian retailer (it was Cotton On) and giggling at their ridiculous T-shirts; my favourite being one that simply read: “Amsterdam and Barcelona”.

I’m not picking on Chelsea (I am a bit), I just like drawing Roman Abramovich. I’m sure he’ll have the last laugh when he’s watching me be torn apart by a dozen robot sharks beneath his glass-bottomed yacht. In the meantime, I promise this is my last cartoon on the subject for the time being (unless he does something rash in the coming months, which I absolutely doubt).

Next time, something completely unrelated to football. Yes, you may well gasp.

The Football League returns this weekend, with those lovable Cockney scamps, West Ham United, finding themselves back in the second tier.

When their relegation was confirmed there wasn’t exactly a national outpouring of sympathy for either the club or its odious owners; some people even seemed to find it funny. Imagine!

However, with a good squad and an experienced manager it won’t be too long before they’re back in the top flight, blowing hard.

We’ve all had jobs we hate, but few of us actually cross the line of taking a firearm into the workplace. I drew this in February, when news broke that professional halfwit, Ashley Cole, had accidentally shot an intern at the Chelsea training ground.

I have to admit a certain level of sympathy for Cole here. Not only does he have to work with John Terry four days a week, he also has to cope with being Ashley Cole seven days a week. I don’t know how stable my behaviour would be in similar circumstances.

This was the first cartoon I’d drawn after a lengthy sabbatical. Eagle-eyed readers will notice that I can’t draw John Terry.

I’ve calmed down a bit since I drew this cartoon  My mood has changed from righteous indignation to morbid curiosity.

Admitedly, this cartoon will have fairly limited appeal, as it requires some understanding of the local geography of Swindon and a knowledge of what the board members of Swindon Town look like (take it from me, these caricatures are 100% accurate and in no way did I just take a wild guess at their appearance and in the hope that no-one does a google image search, oh no).

This cartoon isn’t really about Paul Gascoigne; it’s more about his agent. In July 2010, news broke that Gascoigne had offered to provide help to his fugitive friend, Raoul Moat. When this news reached Gascoigne’s agent, Kenny Shepherd, he reacted with candid surprise.