I’ve read many of your books several times Tom and I’ve decided that they are a bit like music. You have an album but still really get into hearing the song again if it appears on the radio. In the case of writing - if it appears on your Substack, it doesn’t matter if I’ve read it or it is in a book on my shelf, I’m still into reading it again. Enjoyed visiting this one again. I’m in awe of your Dad’s wood stack.
That's hilarious Tom. I feel I'm reaching a stage like your dad with my kids. Whenever we go somewhere, I usually start with "When I was here in xxxx, we ..." and they roll their eyes.
YOUR DAD IS LIKE MY GRAND DAUGHTERS. TWO VOLUMES. LOUD AND 'MAKES MOTORHEAD SOUND LIKE BELLE AND SEBASTIAN '.
Anyway, like the others I love it when your dad enters the frame, although this is not to demean the rest of your writing. I've just finished Notebook which you kindly sent, and it's the kind of book you rarely see now. It reminds me of all the essayists I like only a bit more diffused (in a good way) and is splendidly eccentric in the true off centre sense ( not the way most use it which is 'eccentric' means ' fucking mad' as Keith Moon once noted). Writers for which there would be little space now as there once was. Which is why it's important to keep making that space I guess.
Brilliant as always. I think your dad does with paint what you do with words. You both have a somewhat wacky sense of humour that finds its way into your descriptions of perfectly ordinary things. The rhinoceros road kill is hilarious but his control of the medium is superb. Love your aunt telling him he's lucky he can't hear himself.
Tom, your prose is like a comfortable sweater. Warm and cozy and it just makes you feel good. Thank you for what you create. It makes my world a happier place. 😊
You have no idea the intense yearning to be there that this piece caused to bubble up through my soul. I'm from Hucknall, though life took me to far Kent, and to walk the Misk Hills, Beauvale, Kimberley, Moorgreen and those not-quite Peak hills was a craving I hadn't felt in a long time. Your Dad's brilliant, by the way.
My mom has a flip phone and she only uses it for calling. When I go to visit I will get her phone and clear out the messages. I have asked if she wanted to read any of them. She always says no, if you want to talk to her give her a call.
Your dad is Mad Max meeting stream of consciousness. I laughed out loud at his hubcaps being nicked in the church graveyard. Thanks, Tom. Your writing is like going on a hike and you’re just walking along, minding your own business, and you go around a corner and there’s a triceratops!
I’ve read many of your books several times Tom and I’ve decided that they are a bit like music. You have an album but still really get into hearing the song again if it appears on the radio. In the case of writing - if it appears on your Substack, it doesn’t matter if I’ve read it or it is in a book on my shelf, I’m still into reading it again. Enjoyed visiting this one again. I’m in awe of your Dad’s wood stack.
Indeed! It’s a work of art.
Same
I HOPE YOU KEPT AN EYE OUT FOR FUCKWITS AND LOONYS
Always.
TELL YOUR DAD I LOVE HIM!
Will do!
SAME STOLE MY LINE!!
That's hilarious Tom. I feel I'm reaching a stage like your dad with my kids. Whenever we go somewhere, I usually start with "When I was here in xxxx, we ..." and they roll their eyes.
I was delighted to see the picture of the road accident involving the Triceratops at the end of this piece. Your dad’s art is FUCKING BRILLIANT.
YOUR DAD IS LIKE MY GRAND DAUGHTERS. TWO VOLUMES. LOUD AND 'MAKES MOTORHEAD SOUND LIKE BELLE AND SEBASTIAN '.
Anyway, like the others I love it when your dad enters the frame, although this is not to demean the rest of your writing. I've just finished Notebook which you kindly sent, and it's the kind of book you rarely see now. It reminds me of all the essayists I like only a bit more diffused (in a good way) and is splendidly eccentric in the true off centre sense ( not the way most use it which is 'eccentric' means ' fucking mad' as Keith Moon once noted). Writers for which there would be little space now as there once was. Which is why it's important to keep making that space I guess.
Your dad is a treasure and always a shocking (in the best way) delight!
Thank you, Liz. He is!
Your dad makes me miss mine even more. And I LOVE THAT HE SHOUTS.
Brilliant as always. I think your dad does with paint what you do with words. You both have a somewhat wacky sense of humour that finds its way into your descriptions of perfectly ordinary things. The rhinoceros road kill is hilarious but his control of the medium is superb. Love your aunt telling him he's lucky he can't hear himself.
Thanks Virginia. The quote from Mal is my favourite bit of the whole thing.
Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
I feel like reading these explains a bit about you as well.
I particularly like the triceratops picture.
Tom, your prose is like a comfortable sweater. Warm and cozy and it just makes you feel good. Thank you for what you create. It makes my world a happier place. 😊
I love your dad. I wish I could hang that Pooh and Piglet painting in my house.
You have no idea the intense yearning to be there that this piece caused to bubble up through my soul. I'm from Hucknall, though life took me to far Kent, and to walk the Misk Hills, Beauvale, Kimberley, Moorgreen and those not-quite Peak hills was a craving I hadn't felt in a long time. Your Dad's brilliant, by the way.
My mom has a flip phone and she only uses it for calling. When I go to visit I will get her phone and clear out the messages. I have asked if she wanted to read any of them. She always says no, if you want to talk to her give her a call.
Any questions (and there were many) that I had about a triceratops being struck by a vehicle were clearly answered by the street sign in the painting.
Your dad is Mad Max meeting stream of consciousness. I laughed out loud at his hubcaps being nicked in the church graveyard. Thanks, Tom. Your writing is like going on a hike and you’re just walking along, minding your own business, and you go around a corner and there’s a triceratops!
Thanks Carolyn!