Jo's Blog / Latest News

Welcome to the official blog of Joanna Neary, where you can catch up on Jo’s bewildered world past, present and looming. Mainly, this blog consists of scanned pages from her sketchbook with a running commentary, dashed off between duties, work and other hobbies. As well as banging on about art, there’s also past gigs, and music, such as the one about being interviewed for Prog Magazine in 2019, which led to some delightful exchanges with fellow nerds. It was all very civil, even when Jo had to admit she’d got a Frank Zappa fact wrong.



(I was reading one of her books and now it’s my nickname. What a boring one. Made me laugh for that very reason) And check out his imaginative way of getting away with a rude gesture. Dix pointes.

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SHOCK SURPRISE, PRIMARY SCHOOL ORGANISES ANOTHER FUNDRAISER.  A disco with hot dogs and squash at the hatch. It’s a tradition. (Hopefully this post has enough commas for everyone, what with the current Missing Oxford Comma debacle on the Brexit Fifty Pee. If anything, there’s too many commas, it’s like I’m trying to overcompensate due to […]

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Attention. The first episode was supposed to include a recipe for sago pudding, but it got mislaid in the library. If found please pop through the letterbox at 169 Acacia Avenue, Lower Upping, Toxborough, CT16 4NL.

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Family Call Back on the word ‘Cacophony’. Does it mean ‘The Sound Of Poo’ in French?

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I am fascinated by faces. I love it when someone looks furious with their face in repose.

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In which I attempt to promote a night coming up, plan to read some more PG Wodehouse in connection with said night, realise I got rid of the Wooster ones in the clear out of 2019, share some thoughts, which might mean very little to anyone but me, display my Christmas gifts like a proud lion at a car boot sale and fail to end with a joke. 

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I do like to help spiders usually. The other day I karate chopped a spider web because a butterfly had just flown into it. The spider looked livid. Like the bite on my leg. 

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I was going to write down what those things were, but I immediately forgot them and just added the rosy cheeks instead. Maybe my Brighton train had arrived in Victoria, or more likely, been diverted by Satan and his goats on the line at Haywards Heath.

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It was originally meant to be a celebration of the seaside, and a damning indictment against the fashion for having hermit crabs as pets. But now it’s just a series of stupid voices and a joke about Rick Stein.

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When? Here are some pictures from Prog Magazine, I was in the August 2019 issue, the feature called “My Record Collection.” Photo c Kevin Nixon Where? This is my reading chair. The blue box under the book shelves is the Sculpture Box, in case anyone suddenly has the urge to make something in 3D. The […]

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