mestizalandlady's Newest Cartoons

Other Peoples Children Miguel

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Ta da.

Standoff

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Going into an estate agents / real estate office can be freaky.

My Filipina Mother

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She cooked many strange things.

Guide To Babies Hairstyles

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The insects are lice.

Old Lady Baby

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Sometimes it's difficult to know what to say when presented with other people's offspring. This may help.

Redheads and the Highlands

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When I was a little girl in the newly forming Filipino community in London, we used to go on coach tours all around Britain. The Filipinos loved Scotland.

Mestizaland

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My dad was English, I was born in England, and I've lived most of my life in England (yeah, I know. WHY?) Unsurprisingly I have a completely unforeign English accent. But often I get rude old bags and pig thick chavs saying to me, 'Sorry, love, I can't understand your accent. What are you?' when I'm trying to talk to them. They just see the dark hair and semi oriental features and assume I must be talking 'ching-chong or summink'. They literally cannot understand me because their eyes are telling them they can't. Ah, the power of the mind . . . less.

KILTS!

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When I was a little girl in the small, early Filipino community in Britain, we toured around in a coach exploring this new land. The Filipinos found many tribal similarities with the strange and wonderful Scots.

Bagpipes and Haggis!

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When I was a little girl in Britain's early Philippine community, we all used to tour round Britain in a coach, pointing at things. The Filipinos found many tribal similarities with the strange and wonderful Scots!

Pandalady

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The Pandalady is here. Please do not annoy her.

My English Dad

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Is it just English dads? Or are there many German dads or any other dads like this?

Scotch Whiskey

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Allergic to alcohol so please do not slip a double vodka into my apple juice thanks. Yeah. It's happened. I was unconscious for 4 hours on a toilet floor - only without any of the fun beforehand!

My White Dad

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He could have been reduced to a pair of darting eyes. Or jittery hands smoothing down a wispy comb-over, shielding the raw, obscene bald patch. My dad's life was a Bayeux tapestry timeline of skirmishes with eczema and the anger and the paintings and the anger and the jazz and the anger and the skiing and the anger and the half finished house and the anger and then the sheer release of the thrice weekly squash matches at the local council gym where he was known as a cheat and a shouty nutcase.

My English dad probably wouldn't have found an English woman who'd have put up with him. Luckily he found my Filipina mother to whom his eccentricity did not translate.