And Karl had shandy.
Found this at my dad’s house in a bureau drawer among cracker toys, old spectacles and spoons.
#suadegloves
And Karl had shandy.
Found this at my dad’s house in a bureau drawer among cracker toys, old spectacles and spoons.
#suadegloves
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Christmas 2023.
You used to shout like Noddy Holder up the stairs. It’s Chriiiiiiiistmas! And at the end of the day you’d boil up a vat of turkey broth because it was my favourite.
Last Christmas was sharp and strange and brittle and this, the second without you, was more slowly sad. An ache. Ah mum, I miss you.
My dear friend @rooboyd made me A Creature Carol, which I have opened just now before I go to bed. It is made of love and so is she.
Goodnight, I hope you felt loved today.
Me and McShane at the Letters Live in New York five hundred years ago. There’ll be another show in NYC in May – who’s going? PS My brain is in a soft orange oil fuzz after a brutal massage in the south of France. Gilbert wenr zooming down dirt tracks between rows and rows of vines and the odd elderly olive grove. Pomegranates, cypress, plane trees, oaks stunted by the wind.
This is our Japanese barn. I did the seaweed panel, with a bit of help from @tomphilipson1. Normal barn-free service resumes next week. And now, a bath. (Picture: @takeshi_hayatsu & @nsrdnnj)
This is our Japanese barn. I did the seaweed panel, with a bit of help from @tomphilipson1. Normal barn-free service resumes next week. And now, a bath. (Picture: @takeshi_hayatsu & @nsrdnnj)
Visitors welcome. This is Bailey, the lovely pub cat at @thefarmersarms_ . I’ve been up since dawn working on my Friday night talk with Sarah Hall. What an office! I gave a very good coffee to and had a conversation with Fukuda-san (who was off for a walk) via Google translate, in which he told me we will try our best again today. I love this place. @grizedale.arts
Day Two at @thefarmersarms_ and @grizedale.arts. Off to forage on the seashore. I forgot to mention I’m doing a talk on Fri eve with Sarah Hall, incredible novelist and short-story writer. If you’re in the Lakes, come! PS there is only one lake, the rest are waters or meres. You’re welcome.
Day Two at @thefarmersarms_ and @grizedale.arts. Off to forage on the seashore. I forgot to mention I’m doing a talk on Fri eve with Sarah Hall, incredible novelist and short-story writer. If you’re in the Lakes, come! PS there is only one lake, the rest are waters or meres. You’re welcome.
Day Two at @thefarmersarms_ and @grizedale.arts. Off to forage on the seashore. I forgot to mention I’m doing a talk on Fri eve with Sarah Hall, incredible novelist and short-story writer. If you’re in the Lakes, come! PS there is only one lake, the rest are waters or meres. You’re welcome.
Day Two at @thefarmersarms_ and @grizedale.arts. Off to forage on the seashore. I forgot to mention I’m doing a talk on Fri eve with Sarah Hall, incredible novelist and short-story writer. If you’re in the Lakes, come! PS there is only one lake, the rest are waters or meres. You’re welcome.
Day Two at @thefarmersarms_ and @grizedale.arts. Off to forage on the seashore. I forgot to mention I’m doing a talk on Fri eve with Sarah Hall, incredible novelist and short-story writer. If you’re in the Lakes, come! PS there is only one lake, the rest are waters or meres. You’re welcome.
Mum and dad with dad looking very Anton Chekhov. Dad had sorted out some photos and I hadn’t seen this one of them. One of 28 of them together he said.
On my way to the Lakes I skimmed the Dales. Dolly the van was peerless all the way including a stop for a sleep in a lay-by on the A1, where we were buffeted by lorries in the afternoon sun. It took a flock of mechanics to get her on the road. And now she is MOT’d to the hilt and flying along silver lanes again. Only this time there are daffodils and the gorse has come.
Being in the van feels a bit like coming home. I think because the trip meant such a lot to me and because she was made with love and kindness by strangers who became my friends.
I’ve got all my supplies: marmite and rye bread, tins of tomato soup and bags of pretty pistachios, a small bottle of whisky, Spanish hot chocolate, thick so you have to tip your head back to get the last of it, Japanese candles that smell of the woods, tins of mackerel which I forked out in a Lidl carpark like it was the end of days. Two hot water bottles, eggs from a farm shop, Ready Brek. I am going to stop this list now. It has got out of hand. I will always be Anne from Famous Five. I wish I was cool and wanted to be George but I just wanted to make bracken beds and arrange tins. Kendal, Lakedistrict
Mum and dad with dad looking very Anton Chekhov. Dad had sorted out some photos and I hadn’t seen this one of them. One of 28 of them together he said.
On my way to the Lakes I skimmed the Dales. Dolly the van was peerless all the way including a stop for a sleep in a lay-by on the A1, where we were buffeted by lorries in the afternoon sun. It took a flock of mechanics to get her on the road. And now she is MOT’d to the hilt and flying along silver lanes again. Only this time there are daffodils and the gorse has come.
Being in the van feels a bit like coming home. I think because the trip meant such a lot to me and because she was made with love and kindness by strangers who became my friends.
I’ve got all my supplies: marmite and rye bread, tins of tomato soup and bags of pretty pistachios, a small bottle of whisky, Spanish hot chocolate, thick so you have to tip your head back to get the last of it, Japanese candles that smell of the woods, tins of mackerel which I forked out in a Lidl carpark like it was the end of days. Two hot water bottles, eggs from a farm shop, Ready Brek. I am going to stop this list now. It has got out of hand. I will always be Anne from Famous Five. I wish I was cool and wanted to be George but I just wanted to make bracken beds and arrange tins. Kendal, Lakedistrict
Hello! A wonderful opportunity has come up to work with one of my best pals, who is both a brilliant novelist/short story writer and an extraordinary teacher (these things do not always come together, in my experience).
There’s a sea of people out there trying to make money out of would-be writers. It can be hard to find a great teacher and sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs on that sea (hmm.). Friends, I am here to tell you that I have kissed those frogs so you don’t have to.
My pal’s name is Peter Hobbs. His class is aimed at anyone who wants to start writing, refresh or hone their writing practice, write more, write better, and read like a writer, with a focus on short story. It will be six sessions of 2 hours, very reasonably priced, and run on zoom either on a Monday evening 6-8pm BST or a weekday afternoon 1-3pm, depending on demand. Due to start end of April. Please leave a message here or DM me to express interest and if you have any questions, ask them. The classes won’t exceed eight people.
PS do you like my old lady glasses beads? I am seen here playing the part of a writer
Hello! A wonderful opportunity has come up to work with one of my best pals, who is both a brilliant novelist/short story writer and an extraordinary teacher (these things do not always come together, in my experience).
There’s a sea of people out there trying to make money out of would-be writers. It can be hard to find a great teacher and sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs on that sea (hmm.). Friends, I am here to tell you that I have kissed those frogs so you don’t have to.
My pal’s name is Peter Hobbs. His class is aimed at anyone who wants to start writing, refresh or hone their writing practice, write more, write better, and read like a writer, with a focus on short story. It will be six sessions of 2 hours, very reasonably priced, and run on zoom either on a Monday evening 6-8pm BST or a weekday afternoon 1-3pm, depending on demand. Due to start end of April. Please leave a message here or DM me to express interest and if you have any questions, ask them. The classes won’t exceed eight people.
PS do you like my old lady glasses beads? I am seen here playing the part of a writer
Hello! A wonderful opportunity has come up to work with one of my best pals, who is both a brilliant novelist/short story writer and an extraordinary teacher (these things do not always come together, in my experience).
There’s a sea of people out there trying to make money out of would-be writers. It can be hard to find a great teacher and sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs on that sea (hmm.). Friends, I am here to tell you that I have kissed those frogs so you don’t have to.
My pal’s name is Peter Hobbs. His class is aimed at anyone who wants to start writing, refresh or hone their writing practice, write more, write better, and read like a writer, with a focus on short story. It will be six sessions of 2 hours, very reasonably priced, and run on zoom either on a Monday evening 6-8pm BST or a weekday afternoon 1-3pm, depending on demand. Due to start end of April. Please leave a message here or DM me to express interest and if you have any questions, ask them. The classes won’t exceed eight people.
PS do you like my old lady glasses beads? I am seen here playing the part of a writer
In Lockdown we made a den under the house for reading and writing. I painted the walls apple green like Milly Molly Mandy’s attic, found a table in a skip, bought grass wallpaper made of actual grass for the ceiling. I filled it with ferns, cacti, fleshy succulents with leaves like ear lobes & the spoils from thirty years of car-boot sales.
These include an old postcard of the Pantheon (Shepherds Bush), an embroidery of an owl in a birch tree (Toronto), a 1956 painting of a basket of fruit (NYC), an Automatic Steriliser (Bristol) and the belly of a crocodile (Wellingborough).
The ceiling is only 5’7” high in here (I’m little, so I’m alright, Jack) but there’s a day-bed with cushions and blankets and it faces west so the Spring sun has found me. Last winter the old doors fell off and the foxes came to camp. Today, a whiff of Sadolin from the new doors, and the sound of London’s birds singing in the Spring and the sun down, over the hill and far away. Gilb, seldom one to miss a shot at a sunbathe, is in seventh heaven. We have reached peak Sunday.
