There was a tradition when I was a kid. Upon leaving primary school, all the kids would sign each other’s school shirts, in biro or felt tip.
Naturally, the shirt would never make it into the wash, otherwise the memory would run and smear, and finally, disappear down the drain. As such, the shirt would hang in the wardrobe for years and years, until the scent of stale fabric and old ink would cause the family to move house.
Several years after the signing of the shirts, I went to a sewing shop with a friend of mine who was handy. Frankly, she could do anything. I was in my browsing element and became completely transfixed by a tube of special goop that would transfer a photocopied page onto fabric.
The result was pretty stiff and somehow rubbery, but I was pleased with it. Largely because I was sixteen.
But iron-on paper is amazing.
I’m telling you now – when the series is complete, I’m sure I’ll be found, hunched over an ironing board, plastering my covers onto T-shirts. One for every day of the week. I will be my own walking billboard. And there’ll be no goop involved.
It’s gonna be sweet.