How Much Culture Do You Want FFS?

My Aussie cousin's month-long visit is over. Thank you for coming! Safe travels back! Stay open, Qatari airspace! 

Over the past decade or so, my geographically-distant relatives have popped over at regular intervals. It's always top fun. Catching up with people that share my actual genes, but who grew up thousands of miles away, is a thrill. What do we have in common? What memories do you have of our Gran? Oh, you have the same face as my sister - cool! It's wild.

The other brilliant thing, of course, is I get to do touristy things in my own back yard. Not literally, you understand. The patio saga may be over but we're now waiting for the outdoor lights to be done. Forget my personal garden dramas, that's not what I'm on about. I mean touristy things in my home town of Liverpool. It's my cousin's home town too, if we go back several decades. But over the past few weeks, it's been the scene of some cracking days out. Here are a few highlights...

Museum of Liverpool - I like this museum. It changes things up every few years so it's worth a revisit every now and then. The top floor, with all the Liverpudlian cultural stuff, is my favourite part.

The Beatles Story - Loads better than I thought it'd be. I've walked past it multiple times and never once thought of going in. Until now! Properly interesting, with loads of memorabilia, and info I didn't know.

Nicky's Crappy Beatles Tour - No link for this, I'm afraid. I winged it. Just the two of us, in my Mini, driving down Forthlin Road, Menlove Avenue, and past the Strawberry Field gates. Our drive-by views were hampered somewhat by the official tour coaches, but still. We did it with class.

The Albert Dock, taken
through a bus window.

The Albert Dock and Pier Head - It's just a nice vibe round there, innit. The scene of many of my youthful nights out, it's either jam-packed with tourists or chilled and mellow, depending what time you choose.

Sheet music of 
Yesterday with
Paul's scribblings

Mathew Street - Another vibe. Always busy, mad at night, but filled with enough to see, to warrant a walk for a visitor.

Hop on Hop Off Bus Tour - More info, snippets of history of the iconic buildings around town, and a bit of music as we moved through the streets.

The British Music Experience

A proper treat. In the iconic Cunard building on the waterfront, it displays huge amounts of music memorabilia from the 1940s right through to the present day. Right now, there's a special Live Aid exhibition to mark the 40th anniversary of the thing. It was a very happy hour and a half.

To be clear, I'm not being paid here. The Liverpool tourist board isn't making me big up the sights and sounds of the city. I've just had a great few weeks - getting in touch with my family, my genes, and my home town. How completely grounding. I recommend it to everybody. 

Writing News

I talked about this on TikTok last week, but it bears repeating. If you follow Ian Dunt on Substack, you'll know he's recently started to read out his pieces. He's a political journalist that I like, who writes a weekly Substack post, alongside his other journalism. 

The audio versions of his writing are funny. Brilliant, but funny. Not only do you get his take on the news of the day, you also hear him edit in real time. He'll regularly stop, check back over a sentence, and mutter under his breath about how it won't do. He spots these things for the first time, no matter how much he prepped for the recording. 

I don't think this is an affectation for the listeners. I get it. I can read and read and read an extract before my writing group, but the second I speak out loud, I stumble over bits. I'll spot that I've used the same word too often in the previous sentences. I'll hear a word and then immediately think of a different one, that better does the job required by the sentence. Reading out loud is essential.* As I head back into the editing part of the writing process, it's good to be reminded of that. And if this has piqued your interest, here's Ian Dunt's audio piece from last week.

Culture News

I've sprayed Culture all over the opening section of this post. What do you mean, you want more? Well if you insist, I guess I can come up with something. How about The Salt Path? It's still popping up in the cinema listings but it's been out for a while. Based on a true story, Gillian Anderson and Jason Issacs play a couple who, after hitting rock bottom financially, decide to walk along the coastal path around Cornwall. It's a triumph over adversity tale, with great performances, and stunning scenery. It didn't make me want to walk six hundred miles, but I did fancy getting out and about a bit, after I'd seen it.

Food and Drink

While my cousin was here, we developed a marvellous habit. Monday lunch out! The past four Mondays have seen me in Zara's Hub twice, Botanico, and Peaberry Coffee House at the docks. My order doesn't change much, It tends to be some version of chunky sandwich - halloumi, or fish fingers, or tuna mayo - with chips on the side. That's the best bit - the chips on the side. Now my routine is back on track, not having a side of chips this lunch time is going to be a real wrench. Thoughts and prayers would be appreciated at this difficult time. 

Just me, my wine,
 and this subheading

Out and About

Once again, I feel like I've given you more than enough Out and About at the top of this page. I guess amidst the tourist fun, there's been a few lower key trips out too. Asda, of course. That's a given. Then there was a pickup at Lime Street station. I drove to Manchester Airport for the big departure. Then there was another Asda shop for the weekend. Seriously, if you've come to this blog for the Out and About section, please scroll back up to the top. It's a much better use of your time.

Right then. It's time to get back on track. Editing's the order of the day. For the rest of the summer, it's heads down, critical eyes engaged, and work ethic switched on. That's the plan, anyway. Let's see how it goes. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

*It's fair to say that in the rush to get these blogs out each week, I NEVER read them out loud. To ANYBODY. I'm sure that's blatantly apparent.

I'm Not One to Moan...

Right then, Pop Pickers. Let's take a look at the charts to see what's hot and what's not in Bond World this week.

Going up... 

• Alevia antihistamine tablets 
• Nasal spray
• Tissues 
• Eye drops
• Antihistamine face wipes
• Paved over gardens
• Seaside areas with no plants or flowers
• Indoor activities
• Closed windows
• Any other time of year 

Going down...

• Flowers
• Grass
• Trees
• Washing hung outside
• Country walks through fields
• Sports' days
• The flower section in supermarkets
• An itchy nose forever on the edge of a sneeze
• A stingy throat 
• Sore eyes
• Bastard pollen

So there we have it. The highs and lows of the week. In other, totally unrelated news, my hay fever's been pretty bad recently. Not sure if I've mentioned it. I don't like to complain.

Bruno Kirby as Jess
in When Harry Met Sally.

Writing News

There's that scene in When Harry Met Sally. You know the one? Where Jess and Marie meet whilst on separate dates? At the convo over dinner, writer Jess says, 'I think restaurants have become too important.' Marie replies, 'Restaurants are to people in the eighties what theatre was to people in the sixties.' She adds, 'I read that in a magazine.' Jess looks at her, shocked, then says, 'I wrote it.' He carries on saying how no one has ever quoted him back before, and by the expression on his face, he's proper chuffed.*

Well folks, it finally happened. Someone quoted ME back to ME. Last week, my dad told me that he'd read that Highgate Cemetery charges a tenner to get in, and I pointed out it was from my very own blog from the previous week. It's almost EXACTLY the same.

I 🖤 Tim Key

Culture

How I loved The Ballad of Wallis Island. It's had patchy cinema releases round my way but it's worth tracking down. I'd watch anything Tim Key does. His comedy has me lolling all over the show. In this film, as well as being funny AF, he throws in flashes of heartbreaking poignancy whilst never once lurching into sentimentality. I loved it. Then, in totally different cultural shenanigans, on Saturday night I saw Holly Johnson gig in Liverpool. My ACTUAL heart when he played The Power of Love. Amazing.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMM

Food and Drink

Stop press: I've found them. The fittest chips in all the land! Served as the automatic side to my halloumi burger, these hand cut chunky chips were stunning. Fluffy on the inside and crispy and caramelised on the outside. I'll be back at Botanico as soon as.

Out and About

I had an afternoon in Knaresborough, a drive to York, multiple trips to Lime Street station, as well as my Wednesday night writing group. It's certainly a busy old time these days. Bastard pollen aside, things are really rather marvellous right now. Here's hoping your own things are just as jolly.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*Credit where credit's due. Nora Ephron, of course, wrote those words. If you want more of them, here's the screenplay.

Hemispheres, Beatles, and the Joy of Dips...

It's nearly here, folks. Had you realised? The longest day of the year is almost upon us. At this point I should clarify, I'm talking about the Northern Hemisphere. Having a real-life Australian person staying here, reminds me not to be so Northern-Hemisphere-centric. I can only apologise to the south of the globe, and send my warmest wishes for your own longest days in six months time. But I digress.

Me, on 21st June.

You know me by now. You know I hate the summer. I hate the warmth, the light, and the heat of the thing. You'll also know, as I do, that I tend to be in the minority. Most people love it! They like getting out and about. They want to be in gardens and parks. They want to tend their plants and sit in beer gardens. They want to feel holiday-vibes in their downtime and replenish their vitamin D levels without popping a pill. Well, good for them. They should lap it up and relish the light evenings as we have them. For me, I'll be patiently waiting for the shorter days to arrive. I'll be longingly stroking the arms of my jumpers whenever my wardrobe door is ajar. I'll be waiting for the first frosty morning like a child who's written their Christmas list in October. I'll be here, biding my time, keeping the faith until I can watch telly under a blanket, with fluffy socks once again. Until then, happy Midsummer, everybody!

Remember this
little lady?

Writing News

It's a funny thing. You spend two years creating a book. You plan it, you rough draft it, and you edit it. You smooth it, polish it, reread it, and reread it again - dozens of times actually, in the weeks leading up to publication. And then it's done. It's out into the world, and out of your control. Gone into the hands of the reader and gone from the inside of your head. 

After one of my books has been released, I tend not to look, or even think about it again.* What's the point? I'd only spot things I'd want to change. I'd look at a sentence and now - years later - think of a better way to write it. You never finish editing, you just decide to stop, right? Once a book's done, it's done. It's out of my head and I forget what I wrote. 

So, it's the funniest thing. My Aussie cousin is currently reading Assembling the Wingpeople. She arrived having finished her book on the plane and asked to read the next book I'd written. (She'd read the first already.) Can you imagine my ego! I was thrilled! In between our sight-seeing and family history outings, she's been sitting on my sofa, reading away. But you know what? It's terrifying! Brilliant, but terrifying. I can't remember what I wrote. She's about halfway through as I type, and I've no idea what's going on in the plot. Part of me wants to go back into my hard copy and remind myself, but the other part says no. I can't be an anxious presence around her, hoping she likes it and wondering what she thinks about each tiny thing. What would I be like if I was a proper famous author with copies of books all over the show? I'd be a nervous wreck, that's what. It's another reminder, once again, that the scariest part of writing is having people read what you create. 

This episode was excellent.

Culture

I finally watched Adolescence. I'd decided not to bother when it came out. There was too much hype and too many think pieces. It felt cluttered and encumbered by public opinion. But fast forward to now, and I have. 

It really was excellent in places. You'll already know that the young lad that plays Jamie is phenomenal. I LOVED with capital letters, the episode where the vast majority is a conversation between Jamie and the psychologist. There's something real and raw about seeing counselling and psychotherapy well-depicted in drama. There's something real and raw about it in reality too, but that's another story. (It reminds me why I love watching Couples Therapy so much -  also another story.)

Did I think they threw too many issues into the narrative to fully do them justice? Yes. Did I wish they'd not bothered with the one camera shot thing because it took me out of the story occasionally? Yes. But was it excellent telly with a gripping story told well? Also yes.   

Asda - always inspiring.

Food and Drink

You know I said I hate the summer? There's one thing I like. An entire evening meal consisting of breadsticks, dips, and icy white wine. That's what. It just doesn't work in winter, does it? You don't feel cosy in the beautiful gloom of a rainy November, by stabbing breadsticks into a jar of pesto. Nope, this is purely a summer experience. I took this photo a few weeks ago. It's pretty basic, right. An Asda pack of dry bruschetta bites and a couple of dips. I didn't even buy it. The photo was to remind me to make some dips and breadsticks at home. Straight-from-the-oven grissini, with home made romesco sauce is one of the nicer eating experiences I can think of. Just putting it out there, you know, to balance out my negative summer opinions above.

The recreated Cavern in
 the Beatles Story. Not dissimilar
to the recreated Cavern 
on Mathew Street.

Out and About

I've walked past The Beatles Story (a Beatles museum in Liverpool) loads of times. I used to live nearby, and it's right by the cash machine I used to use. Not once did I consider going inside. Why would I? I don't need to visit the must-see sights of my own hood. That'd be weird. But last week, with my visiting cousin, I finally went inside.

It's actually boss, you know. There was a recreation of the Cavern Club, a recreation of 1960s Mathew Street, the red Strawberry Fields gates, and a load of facts, photos, and music along the way. It was hard to be cynical in the face of it all. Plus, despite it being a Tuesday afternoon in term time, it was rammed with tourists from all over the world. Most of them looked slightly overwhelmed to be in the presence of the memorabilia. It reminded me that, along with all the other marvellous people Liverpool has sent out into the world, these four local lads really did create a mad legacy.

What will the week ahead hold? More sightseeing? More grave-visiting? More chats about great aunts and uncles? For me - yeah! Bring it on! For you? Who knows? Whatever you're doing, whoever you're doing it with, have fun whilst you're doing it. 

Have a lovely week, folks.

*The exception is when you're writing a series and you have to check back now and then for a detail you need. The first two Leeza McAuliffe books are currently getting an occasional look in, while I write the third.

You Shall Find Me a Grave Woman...

There's a writer whose Substack I like. Ella Risbridger. She writes about food, but alongside that, all of life. Her writing is phenomenal and I treat her weekly newsletters like a cosy catchup with a friend. She's younger than me and currently living with the unpredictability of the rental market. A couple of months ago, she had to relocate again. This was not the first time since I've been reading her stuff. Someone my age and with my privilege simply cannot imagine this. Back in the day, it was unfathomable that a landlord could boot me out of my home for no reason. But I digress. This post is not about the volatility of the rental market. 

The pure vibes of reading Ella
Risbridger's Substack.

Looking for the silver lining, Ella noted that relocating back to an area she'd previously lived, meant being close to one of her favourite graveyards again. This made me think. Do people have favourite graveyards? Is this a thing? And then the next obvious thought occurred. Do I have a favourite graveyard? How many do I even know?

I should explain my basic views on graves. You were wondering, right? The thing is, I never feel compelled to visit them. I have two grandmothers with gravestones. I've got two grandfathers with gravestones too, but they died before I was born. My grandmothers, on the other hand, were part of my life. I attended their funerals at age fourteen and thirty-four respectively. Since then, I've visited their graves... rarely. For some people, this is an important part of their grief and healing. They visit graves regularly, to tend them and feel a connection with their loved one. This is not my experience. People I've lost are in my head and my heart; the grave feels almost administrative. I enjoy driving past their old homes, looking at photos, and reminiscing over funny memories. But their graves? Nah. Look, we're all different and wouldn't it be dull if we were the same, yeah? Yeah.

However - yes, there's a however - I've also had top fun in graveyards. Yeah! For example, me, my sister, and brother once spent a sunny afternoon searching for our paternal grandfather('s grave.) We had the basic location from my dad, and we spread out, scanning the names until we found it. When my sister gave the shout that she'd found Alf Bond, it was quite the moment!

I think the difference with Alf, for example, is that I consider him more of a historical figure. A historical figure with a personal link who provided me with genes, but still from long ago. I find those sorts of graves fascinating. The dates, the society they would have experienced, the old-fashioned names, the font, the design... it's such a source of information. The historian inside me gets a real thrill.

The historian inside me has had a real thrill recently. My cousin is currently visiting from Australia. It's her first time back in the UK since 1978 and so along with catching up with the alive relatives, we're tracking down some of our deceased ones too. And when I say tracking down, I mean it. 'I think she's in a cemetery somewhere in Litherland,' was one of the nuggets we've had to work with to find a long-dead great aunt. It might not have been part of my original June plans, but the grave visits we've done recently have been really interesting.

It does raise a question, though. When does a lost loved one become a historical figure? Is there a specific period of time that must elapse before the historian takes over from the griever? The long-dead great aunt in Litherland, died when I was three. I have vague snapshot memories of her and I've heard stories told by others. But looking for her grave was like a fun mystery to solve. I was a detective!

Nothing is ever clear cut, of course. There are no right answers. I started to think about this a few months ago. I had an afternoon to kill in London. It was a sunny day, and I fancied a walk. Next thing you know, I'm googling Highgate Cemetery, and working out the Tube route to get there. All I knew about the place was, it's where Karl Marx is buried and it's full of famous people. One tube journey, bus ride, and walk through the park later, and I arrived.

Touristy? Well yeah. You pay £10 to get in, and you're provided with a map of the pathways, along with the famous graves that are dotted throughout. There was even a cafe by the ticket kiosk. But this was not your usual tourist vibe. (It's run by a charity, rather than being a money-making attraction.) Everyone was suitably reverent. The chirping birds in the trees were the loudest thing about the place. The effect of the tree lined paths, dappled sun, and birdsong, provided a serene sense of peace.

I could have stayed there hours. As it was, I strolled for two. Scanning the leaflet, I'd not heard of many of the people. A short bio was provided for each name mentioned and reflected the eclectic nature of the residents. Scientists, writers, politicians, local bigwigs and entrepreneurs... it was a Who's Who of Highgate locals that have made their mark. There were plenty of graves not listed in the leaflet too. Not being listed didn't mean they'd had a failed life. Far from it. They just weren't famous famous. This is still a working cemetery and the final resting place of locals today. I mused on the nature of death as a great leveller as I walked the path that would lead me to Christina Rossetti. 

And that's when I saw it. A flat, clean, gravestone. Not moss-covered and faded like ones around it. It was a family plot, with three grey stones. The one on the right belonged to Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou. I felt the breath go from out of me. It was the birthname of George Michael. 

He was listed in the brochure of course, but my eyes had skipped over Michael to find surnames that jumped out more readily. (Rossetti for instance.) Standing at the grave of my childhood hero was... surreal. It no longer felt historical. It felt moving. I'm not daft enough to consider myself a real mourner. I didn't know him in real life and he wasn't my family. But this was much more personal than hunting down clues or scanning rows of graves to find a long departed relative I barely remembered. It was something in between. 

The grave of the
Rossetti family.

I took a photo. It was permitted as long as it was for personal use. I posted it in a photo dump on Insta but it feels icky here. Not sure why. But Christina Rossetti? Yeah, I've no problem with that. She's in the 'historical figures' section of my brain. I managed to carry on walking to find her, along with George Eliot - another writer whose work I've enjoyed. I stood at their final resting places and thought, 'Wow, I've studied your work. Isn't it mad you wrote it so long ago.' Then I moved on. It was harder to move away from George Michael. I looped back on myself so I could have another few minutes at his headstone. It felt weird and numb and beautiful. Not historical in the slightest, and much more meaningful than admin. Strange.

It seems some graves do hold meaning for me. There's a new category. As well as 'Purely Admin' because I knew the person for real, and 'Historical Marker' of someone I've known in name only, there's a third section. 'Non-Historical People Whose Work and Life Has Made My Own Better and Who Should Not Have Died So Young.' It might be niche but it's still a category.

Have a lovely week, folks.

Marmite Films and Name-Dropped Poems...

June is busting out all over! (That IS a song, right? Otherwise I've never sounded more inappropriate.) But here we are! 

We've reached an official summery month, folks. Those of you who keep a close eye on my socials know there's now newly-sewn grass seed on my barren-mudpit of a garden. This is supposedly exciting. I don't find it exciting in the slightest, and the phrase 'watching grass grow' has never been more pertinent. Still, this is where we find ourselves. One day, I'll be back amidst the green, green grass of home (another song, right?) but for now it remains The Wasteland by T.S Eliot. (That's a poem, by the way.)

Writing News

The editing is on pause for a bit. My cousin is staying with me, all the way from Australia. Catching up and chatting with her are currently taking precedence. This is a good thing. For me and my cousin - natch - but for the writing process too. Prior to her arrival, I'd read through the whole manuscript twice, and then dipped in to key chapters. I need to keep a clear perspective on the story for as long as possible, before it becomes an overwhelming blob of words that I can't assess any more. A little break right now is good timing.

Sam and Suzy
from Moonrise Kingdom.

Culture

I've just watched the Phoenician Scheme at the cinema. Anyone else? What did you think? I know Wes Anderson is a marmite filmmaker. Some people will stand none of his stylised nonsense. Others lap it up the second they see a heavily posed, deliberate shot with his signature colour palate. I'm a fan. But here's the thing. His last few films have left me wishing I'd simply watched Moonrise Kingdom again. That had heart. I rooted for Sam and Suzy, amidst the Wes Anderson-ness of it all. His more recent releases have lacked some of that warmth. But you know what? It doesn't matter. I love the look of the thing. Taking myself off last week, I curled up (metaphorically - it was an Odeon dentist chair sitch) and lapped it up.

Mmmmmmm

Food and Drink

It's easy to take things for granted, isn't it. We're wowed by the razzmatazz but glance over the minutiae of every day life. Well it stops now. Let me tell you about the menu item I eat almost every Wednesday. It's Eggs Florentine. Except, it's not. It's actually Eggs Florentine, without the hollandaise sauce, and with a hash brown on the side. Check me out, making a menu item my own. It's not that I don't like hollandaise sauce. I just think it's unnecessary. Why drown out the dippy egg with a different yellowy wet? Regardless, I eat this meal so regularly that I forget how much I enjoy it. When I'm scrabbling around for some newfangled recipe I can share on here, I should never forget the basics. Spinach and eggs on toast always hits the spot - plus the hash brown on the side is an extra little treat. 

Out and About

I can't lie, it's been a busy one. Brunch, Costa, a hair cut, a dash to B&Q, a food shop for a Bond family buffet, and an airport pick up. It's not quite a social life but it's still all go. Hope your weeks are as equally hectic - if that's the vibe you're aiming for, of course. If not, I hope peace and solitude fill your days.

Have a lovely week, folks.