Good morning.
I won't strain you with an exclamation mark -- it's too early for that, and anyway, I don't want to tempt fate. Will this be a good day? Who's to say. If I'm honest, so far, everything has seemed to be suspended in a clear, unappetising jelly. My frontal lobes, I said to Dianne (who always reads this newsletter -- hello), feel like they are made of parmesan. Hard, gritty, unyeilding, probably more useful as foodstuff than as a superhighway for neurotransmitted electrical thought.
But: it's sunny today. I saw buds on some of my favourite horse chestnut trees on Monday, shiny with melted hail. I'm well-over half-finished the first draft (hah, draft) of the book I've been saying I'd write for years. I will be planting potatoes soon. And a friend who was very ill, is miraculously getting better.
I don't like wishing life away. I don't like getting to the end of a month and realising I've spent its entirety hoping it would end soon. But this winter has been a bad one -- no, you weren't imagining it. I thought I'd use this week's newsletter to tell you that yesterday I drew The Knight Of Pentacles, and of all the cards promising fortune and success, he is the best one. He keeps grinding, and bit by bit, he gets there. He reaches his destination so gradually it feels like he was always there. So today, instead of thinking about what I haven't done, I'm looking at what I have. It's surprising what you can achieve when you're just doing what you can, brain on low-power, plugging away.
This is as much self-helpery as I can bring myself to write. I promise there will be no more of this for at least a few months.
Other Stuff:
First of all, read this. It's a journey around Santiago eating amazing sandwiches with a self-made sarnie-celeb. I mean... what's not to fucking like about it? It's brilliant!
Lovely news from the publishing world: Elinor Lipman is (finally) getting published in the UK. Her novels Turpentine Lane and Good Riddance will be available next month. Last time I checked, this link had more info.
Behind-the-scenes footage of the recording of Disney's Hercules aka. the best thing you will watch all week.
A sensitive look at Fleetwood from a local who moved away. Thinking about hometown guilt is something I do quite a lot. Why do we feel connected to the places we're born/grew up in? Why do we feel responsibilities towards those places?
Take a look at the gorgeously buzzy manipulated photography by multimedia artist Liam Wong. It's so good, I think, because looking at them feels like being in a city. Like there's too much to see in each picture, everything's fascinating and overwhelming, and vying for attention. (Review of his new book TO:KY:OO book can be found here.)
I loved this observation that the plane trees on Victoria Embankment might be among the most famously-painted trees in the world. It also made me think of The Buttermere Pines, and that's always a nice thing to think about.
Nostalgia for things not yet completely gone is one of my favourite melancholy topics and this from the BBC on the split-flap arrivals boards in airports was particularly wistful.
My Stuff
I spent an evening at a student beer society club to find out whether our assumptions about young people's drinking habits are true. TL;DR: No. We got them a bit wrong.
Follow my bookstagram if you like books and/or poetry.
Last week I was invited by Cloudwater to do two talks at Friends & Family & Beer -- one with Duration Brewery, and one with the delightful Claire Bullen. While it was terrifying and WAY out of my comfort zone, I'm glad I did it and grateful for the opportunity. Thank you to those of you who came to see the talks.
While I love writing this newsletter and especially love hearing your thoughts about things I've talked about in it, it does take me some time and effort to put together. If you're feeling generous, I have a ko-fi account where you can, in effect, buy me a pint or a magazine. I'm extremely grateful to those of you who have tipped me before! Thank you.
Sega, by Liam Wong