Wahey!
The previous post, The Worst Night of my Life, features a small green imp. He represents my libido, which remained obnoxiously intact and alert while the rest of my mind and my body weathered a shitload of vicissitudes. It was a bit of a departure for me, bringing an obviously metaphorical character into the real-world narrative, but I liked him. And I recently found a picture of him; I hadn’t seen him since the ‘70s, and having been re-united, I thought I’d introduce him.
I knew he was the star of a story I read repeatedly as a child, but I couldn’t remember its name or author; I did, however, remember that he was a product of Quentin Blake, who’s been Britain’s best-known children’s book illustrator for decades. Blake is closely associated with Roald Dahl, so I thought the story might be one of his. Over the years I’ve Googled various imp/dahl/quentin blake combinations, plus “lincoln”, because I thought he might have been the Lincoln Imp, who lives in the cathedral. Nothing.
Until recently! Turns out he’s from a 1971 Harwood Thompson story called The Witch’s Cat. He’s not quite how I remembered; I’ve always pictured him with a huge Roman nose, not that pointy beak. But look at him, cheeky little bugger! A great representation of a libido, wanking away on my shoulder. And I’ll still call him Lincoln.
