Substack’s stats inform me that only 40% of subscribers read my previous collection of notebook extracts last weekend but that everyone who did went on directly to form an experimental lo-fi folk jazz band, so here are some more. Also, if you feel inclined to upgrade to paid, and help me write more of this stuff, I’m currently giving away two signed books to everyone who takes out a full annual subscription. The offer is open worldwide and I’ll email you for your address once I get notification of your subscription.
One of the things I like best about this part of Devon is how the countryside always seems on the edge of reclaiming itself from the farmland. It's untidy and difficult and doesn't do what people want it to (like be flat and stop having so many trees in it.) It's even better with one of those farms full of broken machinery and bales of rusty wire and probably a bus in a corner. The sort of thing that makes people who don't like mud pull a face.
Thank you so much, Tom, for these notes. ALWAYS GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOUR DAD, TOO. My favorite bit, hard to choose because I love your notes, is the part about you making an album in Wales with random buskers. I hope your cats are going to do overdubs.
“I met an extremely old lady who told me my tomato plants would grow more successfully if I tickled their leaves with a rabbit’s foot. I did give it a go but the rabbit, who I’d barely met at the time, asked me to stop.”
I never try to be too consistent with my sneezes, and have managed to collect a considerable repertoire. Some favourites are the Hold-It-In-N'-Pop-An-Eyeball and the Long Choo. The second sneeze is typically followed by an emphatic "bless. ME." ...the third an even more emphatic "F**K. ME"
I do love the Dawlish train line, thinking about it brings back memories of making ‘land art’ on the beach while skiving off from art college in Exeter in the 80s. Fantastic pasties from a bakery in the town, not been there for over 30 years, bet it’s a coffee shop or air bnb now! Also the site of my first taste of hallucinogens, but that’s another story.
Tom, what wonderfully rueful and droll writing you have. I am of British ancestry and I will say, no-one does droll and dark humor like the British! Enjoyed!
And it's the same with drinking. I saw a picture of myself before I stopped drinking, and I couldn't believe it—I looked like I was 52, not 32. But now, as long as I get good sleep, I actually look my age. That's the goal.
You could write a whole BOOK ABOUT YOUR DAD. Like a kind of DAD's diary. I'd buy it. I love him.
“It was more like what the hills and fields and sheep and lanes where I live would be if they decided to quit swearing and injecting heroin.”
Brilliant and hilarious
I am wheezing due to you shouting your Dad's text.
One of the things I like best about this part of Devon is how the countryside always seems on the edge of reclaiming itself from the farmland. It's untidy and difficult and doesn't do what people want it to (like be flat and stop having so many trees in it.) It's even better with one of those farms full of broken machinery and bales of rusty wire and probably a bus in a corner. The sort of thing that makes people who don't like mud pull a face.
Cats and albums maybe. But dogs are better judges of live bands. After all, labradors invented the mosh pit.
My week has definitely been potholed with fuckwits .
Thank you so much, Tom, for these notes. ALWAYS GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOUR DAD, TOO. My favorite bit, hard to choose because I love your notes, is the part about you making an album in Wales with random buskers. I hope your cats are going to do overdubs.
Love this! Brightened my day! Thank you.
“I met an extremely old lady who told me my tomato plants would grow more successfully if I tickled their leaves with a rabbit’s foot. I did give it a go but the rabbit, who I’d barely met at the time, asked me to stop.”
I never try to be too consistent with my sneezes, and have managed to collect a considerable repertoire. Some favourites are the Hold-It-In-N'-Pop-An-Eyeball and the Long Choo. The second sneeze is typically followed by an emphatic "bless. ME." ...the third an even more emphatic "F**K. ME"
I do love the Dawlish train line, thinking about it brings back memories of making ‘land art’ on the beach while skiving off from art college in Exeter in the 80s. Fantastic pasties from a bakery in the town, not been there for over 30 years, bet it’s a coffee shop or air bnb now! Also the site of my first taste of hallucinogens, but that’s another story.
As always, incredibly descriptive funny and fantastic. Thanks Tom
Drowned in the sublime fluidity of the last paragraph. Salute.
Hi, first time reader here, and I’m not sure exactly what this is but I adore it. Thank you.
Tom, what wonderfully rueful and droll writing you have. I am of British ancestry and I will say, no-one does droll and dark humor like the British! Enjoyed!
And it's the same with drinking. I saw a picture of myself before I stopped drinking, and I couldn't believe it—I looked like I was 52, not 32. But now, as long as I get good sleep, I actually look my age. That's the goal.
ELLO TOM, I loved hearing you reading this and it brightened my day