Hello world.

Welcome to your latest instalment of "Life Like Lydia"

In this episode, I come to you on my hands and knees begging for help.

Yes,

financially.

A few days ago, after a beautiful solstice on a lovely piece of land just outside Chew Magna, my van, my travelling stage, my trusty steed and home, caught on fucking fire.

Thankfully, I wasn't in Umbrella at the time and I'm completely uninjured.

Umbrella wasn't so lucky.

If you know me, you'll know she isn't just a van. She's my home, my stage, my writing room, my dressing room, my office, my interview studio and the thing that allows me to travel the country making art, asking important questions, showing off, shouting for a revolution and generally fucking about.

I worked unbelievably hard to build this strange little life, and Umbrella has made almost all of it possible.

Right now it's still unclear whether she can be repaired or whether her injuries are fatal.

It is clear that insurance companies remain horrid fuckfaces.

So here I am.

A real-life queer artist activist woman asking the internet for money.

Honestly, the irony of spending the last six months shouting, "Welcome to the Year of the Fire Horse!" is not lost on me. This was an exceptionally Fire Horse thing for Umbrella to do.

Me disappearing into a 9-to-5 office job for the next year to rebuild my life?

That doesn't feel very Fire Horse at all.

If repair is possible, it'll cost thousands I simply don't have. More realistically, I may need to buy another van that hasn't recently burst into bastard flames.

Without your help, I'll probably have to step away from performing, organising, creating and all my stupid internet nonsense while I save enough money to get back to where I was last week.

As outrageous and audacious as this request is, I can't take that route without first asking whether you can help me avoid it.

If any of this, or any of me, has ever made you laugh, cry, think, feel a little less alone, or rejoice that someone is doing Lydia like business, then maybe chuck in what you'd have spent buying me dinner after a catastrophically shit week.

If you can give more, I'd be unbelievably grateful.

Every single penny will go towards getting me back on the road, whether that's resurrecting Umbrella or finding her next incarnation.

I'm not very good at asking for help.

I'm much better at being silly.

But the truth is...

This one really hurts.

Losing Umbrella feels like losing part of my life. She's the reason this ridiculous way of living has actually been possible.

If you'd like to make a bigger contribution, I'd love to send you a piece of original Lydia Daisy art as a thank you. Perhaps an original charcoal-y umbrella memorabilia or your own poem perhaps?

And if donating isn't possible, sharing this page could be just as valuable. - It probably won't be, but it might.

Thank you for helping me write whatever the next chapter turns out to be.

Love & Art,

Lydia Daisy

Oh, and if you donate an outrageous amount of money, I'll simply have to assume you're extraordinarily attractive, wildly intelligent and of impeccable moral character. I don't make the rules.

OH OH, AND AND, this definitely isn't the beginning of you being indoctrinated into my not cult.

OH OH OH AND AND AND! Apologies to everyone who's been trying to get hold of me recently. I've been really busy trying to work out how to reconstruct my life.

Okay that's it now. I've finished asking you for your money.

And remember,

The world's on fire, tell someone you love them.

xo