Rob Wickings's Blog

How We Used To Live

Northumberland is border country, and normal rules barely apply. It’s wild land, rugged but beautiful, a place where authority has always struggled to assert itself. One of the most famous hard borders in the world is here — George RR Martin was hardly the first person to come up with the notion of a defensive wall between the ‘civilised’ south and the ‘untamed’ north. Rievers, bandits and scallywags roamed free across a landscape called, with no lack of irony, The Debatable Lands.

Here the borders between past and present seem thinner, too. Walking a path across fields hemmed by dry stone walls, or simply gazing out over a landscape where human intervention is barely visible, it’s easy to think you’re looking at the same view people from hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago, would recognise.

But be careful, student of history. What you’re looking at and what you’re looking for are not the same thing.

Featured image: The Great Hall At Wallington, Northumberland. All picures by yours truly.

Corbridge is one of those absurdly pretty Northumbrian villages which seem tailor made for tourists. Slot into the free car park, cross the bridge, which has spanned the Tyne in one form or another since the 11th century, and there are any number of cosy pubs, quirky gift shoppes and fancy delis to lighten that load on your bank account. How quaint! How historical! Splash some cash, have a pie at the Black Bull (no, really, the pies are great) and move on to the next retail opportunity.

But Corbridge is much older than the warm stone and wonky buildings of the central square would indicate. Wander 800 yards west and you find a much earlier example of human habitation. These are, after all, The Debatable Lands and the influence of Hadrian is everywhere. The Romans were at Corbridge, for centuries.

The Bones Of Corbridge

English Heritage have done a bang-up job of contextualising, documenting and humanising the occupier’s presence at Corbridge — they probably called it Corstopitum, or possibly Coria. The excavated remains on view, comprising most of the main drag, and foundations of the granary, central water store and shops, show perhaps a tenth of the true expanse of the place. Let’s be clear, though — Coria was first and foremost a military base. It was an important garrison town, housing hundreds of troops. From here, it was a short trip to the northern boundary of the entire Roman Empire.

Beginning as a fort, by the end of Roman occupancy some time in the third century AD Coria had expanded to include two walled military compounds, sitting comfortably and peacefully alongside a sizable civilian population who provided the infrastructure needed to keep things humming. The détente between the invaders and natives became increasingly cordiale. As seemed common in Roman Britain, many Brits talked, dressed and spoke like their rulers. In some cases, I guess, it makes common sense. What did the Romans ever do for us? Well, underfloor heating would have been welcome in chilly Northumbria for a start.

There would have been generations living and dying in this thriving metropolis who would have known nothing but Roman occupation. To them, perhaps, this was the way it would always be. But Coria was waaay out on the northern edge of an empire which even at the town’s most populous and bustling was already feeling the effects of overextension. It was inevitable things would start to unravel, which they did with terrifying rapidity once the troops withdrew back to warmer climes.

Rome This Way

The town would remain. I mean, there’s all those retail opportunities to explore once you head back along St. Helen’s Lane, so it’s not like the Danes reduced everything to smoking rubble once they roared in from the North Sea. Another bunch of pesky immigrants landing in small boats — the Anglo Saxons — would have also found the town and its position on major road and river routes a pretty useful place to park up before a light spot of pillaging. Call it Corebricg or Colebruge, the rulers and name of the village have always been somewhat Debatable. But it’s still standing, solid as the Wall it was originally built to support.

A very different version of history education can be found at Beamish, maybe an hour’s drive (or a day’s march if we’re being sticklers about it) south-east of Corbridge. It’s home to the Musuem of Living History, which takes an extremely hands-on approach. Based loosely on Scandinavian ‘open air’ museums, founder Frank Atkinson decided history was best experienced in an immersive fashion.

Over a 300 acre site, Beamish offers visitors the chance to wander at will around a bunch of different settings, all walkable or, in the manner this writer and his wife with the dicky knee recommends, via a charming collection of vintage buses and trams. From an 1820s manor to an early 20th century colliery and pit village to a council estate and high street from the 50s, the time-dilation effect can be a little overwhelming.

Not a 1910 High Street

There is an exacting sense of detail, helped by Atkinson’s initial call for donations. It was absurdly successful — items from matchbooks to the shops which sold them were offered to the great project. There is a printers at Beamish, a working sweet shop, a beautifully restored cinema and, because we are in the North East after all, two chippies. These are a resounding hit and something of a food destination in themselves. They cook in beef dripping, and you will feel deliciously lubricated after snorting down a portion.

Immersive as Beamish is, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of theme-parkery about the whole exercise. No-one’s asking you to pull out a farthing for your mid-tour cuppa—it’s all, thankfully, contactless. In fact the young chap at the ice-cream stall seemed a little flummoxed when the nice lady in front of us pulled out a twenty to pay for her cones. But everything is clean, well-organised and careful to avoid offence.

Ok, fine, it’s probably best that the endless reek of tobacco smoke and horse dung that would add an acrid tang of realism is absent. And after all, Beamish is supposed to be a nice day out, not a deep dive into child labour, crushing poverty and all the other horrors of working class life over the past two hundred years. A little more context would have been nice, but volunteers are everywhere and they’re all knowledgeable and happy to chat. Again, that’s the immersive nature of the enterprise. If I don’t wanna talk to people, that’s my fault, not theirs.

And I’ll admit to a Proustian moment, one I was far from alone in experiencing. The 1950s council estate houses a strip of cottages and two-up-two-downs, furnished in the style of the era. You can tell the donation model Frank Atkinson advocated was a real hit for this post-war period. Every object in those houses has a life and history to it. The detail I mentioned earlier is extraordinarily granular—open a kitchen drawer and it’ll be full of utensils your nan would have used.

There’s a reverence from people as they drift from room to room, people who for the most part were my age or a little older. They knew rooms like this. They may have grown-up somewhere similar. The recognition, the soft hit of memory came to a lot of folks, whether through a particular model of washing machine, the patterned glass front to a cabinet, or perhaps just the way light seems to hover differently in a room warmed by the smoky heat of a coal fire. I’ll be frank. I saw my grandparents in every room, and a small version of myself in some of the bedrooms. I’d have been under the covers, nose in a Beano annual. I walked out of the 1950s zone with a lump in my throat and a hankering for a taste of one of my Nan Bet’s rock cakes.

Or, if unavailable, just have another portion of fish and chips.

On the way back to the cottage from Beamish, that nagging feeling returned. The trouble with history is it isn’t fixed. The ‘truth’, or the version of it we are presented with, can change at any time based on the reappraisal of old evidence, or the discovery of new documents which can easily upend the ‘facts.’. It’s a slippery thing, squirming and mutating under our fingers just when we think we have a firm grip on it. The old saying states that history is written by the victors, who want us to believe the story they want to tell. While that used to be a given, when it comes to subjects like slavery, there’s more tan one tale to be told. Marginalised voices are rising, becoming too loud to be ignored. Which doesn’t mean the old order won’t try to reassert their version — look at the ongoing furore from —let’s call them vested interests — at the National Trust’s gentle efforts to remind their visitors that the grand houses they wander through were not funded through entirely philanthropic means.

And of course it’s impossible to properly contextualise the lived experience of the past with our own. How can we begin to understand what the life of a shopkeeper at Coria was really like, or a farm worker at the 1820’s Pockerley Hall at Beamish? What did they hope for, dream of? What did they sound like, or gods help us smell like? The issue for me with places that claim to have an immersive element is they cannot engage all the senses. You can see, hear and, if you grab a portion of fish and chips, taste an approximation of the lives lived in the past. But that’s it. It’s a blunted, incomplete picture.

It’s quite eerie to walk through a carefully-curated farm cottage with the fire lit, pictures on the wall, perhaps even bread on the table, but no people in sight. It’s as if they’ve been lifted up and away, like they don’t matter. It’s coincidence, naturally, that we visited Beamish on a day when certain over-excitable Christian types declared The Rapture was coming, but I couldn’t help but be reminded of it. The people who should have been at the forefront of our attention were not there to tell their stories. All that was left — was us.

All that remains of The Blackett Level workings at Allendale, an incomplete water course.

What I’m trying to say — I think — is, when you visit places like Beamish or Corbridge, or any of the museums on Hadrian’s Wall, or any site of historic interest, the onus is on entertainment, not education. You may pick up a few scraps from an information board, or a bloke in a miner’s costume might tell you how the two-check system to ensure workers were fairly paid for the coal they brought up was concieved. But you’re going to have to work a heck of a lot harder if you want a more accurate picture. And the awful truth of it is, even at the highest level, you will run up against the phrase ‘we simply don’t know’ more often than is comfortable.

Memory, too, is a fragile source of documentary evidence. Oral histories of days gone by are often told by those with failing recollections of the times we’re relying so heavily on them to relate accurately. You know, old people. I mean, blimey, I often can’t remember what I had for dinner this time last week. When, at some point in the not-too-distant future, a fresh-faced researcher places a microphone in front of me and asks me to tell them what the 70s and 80s were like — well, they say if you can remember a time, you weren’t really living it. I suspect any observations I have of my youth with will be blurry at best. 1985, a key moment in my formation, was 40 years ago, and I had discovered alcohol.

At the 1950s houses at Beamish, there were school parties wandering about for whom the experience of a smoky parlour or the revelation of a mangle would be as unknowable as the foundations at Corbridge. The tiny TVs and lack of microwaves would be simply bewildering, apparitions from a ghost town. There’s no connection for them. The people who would be able to tell them what it was like are disappearing with every year that passes, and would probably make things up anyway.

I sound very bleak about the whole experience, and I shouldn’t. C and I had a great time in Northumberland. Corbridge and Beamish were highlights, especially as they proved to be more thought provoking than expected. You should definitely go, and have a think about how we see the past from our present.

I wonder how, in another thirty or forty years, I will remember this last week up in the border territories. What details will stay fresh, and which will fade or change or simply vanish, like smoke up a chimney, like the taste of beef fat on my lips? That, like so much up here, remains Debatable.

A time traveller, yesterday.

The Beamish Museum Of Living History is open all year and despite all my snarking is a grand day out.

Corbridge Roman Town is a ten-minute walk from the centre of town and has an extremely good museum attached. The audio tour which comes with admission is extremely useful.

While in the area, we don’t think you’ll go wrong with beer from Allendale Brew Co (the Lion House on the main square does a cracking Sunday roast which goes perfectly with a pint of Pennine Pale, and while you’re there please support the Museum of Classic Sci-Fi — just look for the Tardis and the famous Allendalek). We also strongly recommend Twice Brewed, who are multiple award winners for their beers, have a well-deserved rep for their food and do a fetching line in metal-inspired t-shirts.

See you next Saturday, chrononauts.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 27

We are in the north, at the top of a hill accessible only by a track decorated with stern warning signs to turn back. Our base for the week is a clean, neat cottage, sturdy of wall and firmly planted. The borderlands have called again and we have answered. What that means for next week’s communications is anyone’s guess. For now, listening to the hiss and click of rain while pecking away at the keyboard, I’m happy to just be in the moment and watch the clouds cradle the hills.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

A History Of The World In 47 Borders by Jon Elledge. When we talk about maps, we’re often thinking of the invisible lines we draw to carve out territory rather than the territory itself. Jonn redraws that relationship, providing a new perspective on the divisions between the political and the physical. This is really good stuff — thoughtful and impeccably researched but funny and approachable.

Rob is watching…

Polish Animation after WW2. I urge you to join me. This is the sort of thing which would turn up in that ten-minute slot between the end of kid’s TV and the news on the BBC in the 70s. Wild, experimental stuff which I am absolutely certain was not meant for children. A contributing factor to my tastes and proclivities, I’m sure.

Rob is listening…

To WROB. My musical indulgence is back after a [checks watch] five year absence. I’ve had to tweak the working practices — most of my old methods have either stopped working or moved to a subscription/paid model. That has had positives, though. There’s a new voice in the mix, pal Jillian, who has helped massively in bringing this new era to life. Two fresh episodes are up. Please try out To Be Loved, the most recent drop. We’re both very proud of it. Link available in the sidebar as always, and I’ll update whenever a new drop lands.

To Have Loved

Rob is eating…

Costco chicken enchiladas. Don’t you judge. They are packed with filling, full of flavour. Also, they come in a pack of two, and one will do C & I with guacamole and rice. That’s £12 for two delicious dinners. I’m a big Costco stan, and these yummy parcels of spicy goodness are a big part of that allegiance.

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

Ok, it’s only our immediate neighbourhood, but what an amazing, intricate clockwork filigree the solar system is. I spent a happy half-hour just swiping about.

The Atlas Of Space

Jonn Elledge again, in his capacity as newletter honcho. He compares a matched set of creation myths, all of which seem both equally implausible and wildly romantic.

Creation Myths

I love the idea of a beautifully made physical object used as a map and guide to something ephemeral. I suppose that’s a way to describe every novel — they are, after all, a doorway into a different reality. In the case of the Internet Phone Book, the conceit becomes even more literal. The whole point is that it isn’t searchable online. Otherwise you’d just have a version of Google. Although to be honest a reliable alternative to that broken service would be nice.

The Internet Phone Book

I do love a really vicious restaurant review. Here is perhaps the greatest of all time — AA Gill’s assassination of L’Ami Louis in Vanity Fair from 2011. Surgically precise, utterly merciless.

The Rule With Snails

On a more positive note, here’s the brilliant Gail Simone with a rally call for our uncertain times. Gail is one of my favourite writers, and her heart and warmth of soul shine through in this plea for inclusion and community. She is doing astonishing work on The X-Men right now. Go check it out.

I’d Rather Be An X-Man

When The New York Times get infographics right, they are unbeatable. I am very pleased, as a long-term astrology skeptic, to find out I am one of the proud members of that thirteenth starsign.

What’s Your Star Sign?

It’s a clear sign of my personality flaws that I spend far too much time worrying about this sort of foolishness.

What Is Power Pop?

A treat from Mindless Ones, whose newsletter I am honour-bound and duty led to mention, salute and endorse.

One last thing from Joseph Campbell via Austin Kleon.

Bliss Station

New Suede! Is is possible for a band to have more than one imperial phase? I don’t know what the boys have been taking lately, but it’s fired them up no end. The latest album, Antidepressents, is the gothiest thing they’ve ever done, which warms the embers of my coal-black heart into a guttering glow. The perfect soundtrack to a rainy Saturday morning, here on a hill in the north, happily cloaked in rain.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 26

I had an unexpected day away from work this week—a hospital appointment mid-morning was immediately followed by a call from my manager standing me down for the rest of the shift. I felt guilty about it for all of five seconds, then leant in and made the most of the free time.

That is to say, I did very little, instead allowing my brain to spin down from its usual frantic whirl. Once that happened, my focus changed completely. New ideas, thoughts and concepts immediately started to appear. I could put some time into a project I had slightly neglected. I felt calm, collected, in control. It was, frankly, wonderful.

There should be an allowance above and beyond sick days. Whether you call it a mental health break, or simply a me day. A break from the norm, with the understanding that you step away from all your responsibilities, ignore the chores, put down the phone and just let it be. I can advocate the benefits very strongly.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

A brave stance on the reporting of an important issue of our times. Thank the gods that The Onion is prepared to stand firmly and issue truth to power.

A Sacred Duty

Rob is watching…

The back end of Wednesday S2.

New Only Murders.

Taskmaster S20.

You know what I love about autumn? All the good telly starts up again.

Rob is listening…

Another Wolf Alice track, really leaning into that smooth 70s vibe. This is a project I had a hand in (if you check the full credit listings on YouTube Tube, you’ll find me). I really need to shout more about the work I do in promos, commercials and feature projects. You’d be surprised how much I’ve worked on.

Rob is eating…

Not this.

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

Worth having the sound up for this one.

This is a masterclass in narrative tension

— Alex Selby-Boothroyd (@alexselbyb.bsky.social) 2025-09-09T22:01:34.482Z

Fact-checking, especially in the age of AI hallucinations, is slowly dying out. We must protect the process ferociously. I don’t feel the New Yorker’s famously all-in approach to be overpowering. These dang writers will try and get away with anything if you give them the chance.

WE MUST BE DAMN NEAR PURE OURSELF

I remember Ken Hom’s first TV series for the BBC, and still own the book which went along with it. The notion of using a wok and cleaver, of the stir-fry was profoundly alien to the British home cook, and Ken’s approach was gentle and welcoming. Even now I think his influence is the key to how we cook when we think we cook Chinese. I completely get that my noodle night is very different to the ones a family in Beijing would enjoy, and that’s ok. I don’t want to be authentic. I just want something nice for dinner.

How To Cook And Eat In Chinese

The sheer scale of Dan Abnett’s work in the Warhammer universe is a thing to behold. It’s a massive universe-build, a dark history spanning millennia, a view of the human condition which is bleak and jaundiced while still retaining a serrated (and probably gore-stained) satirical edge. The Black Library is a range of novels which, like most tie-ins to other IPs, has flown completely under the mainstream media’s radar. That’s probably for the best. Leave the raw meat for those who enjoy the taste.

The End And The Death

Thomas Pynchon’s novels passed me by when I took a dive into the big American novels as a teen. Saul Bellow, John Irving, Joseph Heller all had their time with me. Tommy-boy simply drifted past. Maybe I just didn’t see them in my local library. As Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another, his version of Vineland, hits screens here’s a listicle of some post-modernist movies in which the author put down their pen and picked up a camera.

The Unfilmable

Sasha Krautman’s incredible, intricate work deserves a few minutes of your time. I won’t fluff it any more than that. Just go have a look.

Check This Out

This is simply delightful and must have cost a fortune.

I saw the headline for this piece and simply thought ‘well, yes, of course.’ These are the voyages…

Masters And Commanders

Your head-spinner of the day. Time travel is real, and you’re sitting on top of a perfect proof of concept.

Living On A Time Machine

I’d love to say I’m at all surprised by the revelation that Google needs human fact-checkers and tone monitors on the outputs of its Gemini agent. But I’m past all that. AI is a grift, a con and a disaster bumbling ever closer to a cliff edge. Don’t be carried along with it.

Hey, Google.

One last thing.

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Let’s Outro in a loud and hopeful manner with the Biffys, whose new album is out next week. Keepers of the flame, carriers of the banners proclaiming the return of The Big Music. Chins up, eyes bright. Fill your lungs, let it out. I believe in you.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 25

The Autumn Switch has finally been flipped. Sweet, blessed rain has anointed the garden, and a late flush of colour and dewy freshness is our reward. A lot of the Crown Prince squashes have fallen off the vine—it seems C was a little too enthusiastic at removing leaves. Oh well, lesson learned for next time and we’ll still have a few for cool-weather soups and stews. The apple tree is slowly being pruned back as it gives up the last of its fruits. One final harvest before we take it up completely. The bed C’s created around it needs a different kind of focus. Tempting to put an espalier tree along the fence, though. Colour, structure and delicious apples? Seems like a winning combo to me.

We can’t rest on our laurels yet. C has a schedule of work drawn up to put us in good stead for the winter—trugs to clear for winter veg, plants to move or take out completely as we get a handle on where the light falls through the day. But we’re both looking forward to the tasks ahead, and the prospect of sitting out at the end of a busy session with a fire-pit crackling, drinks in hand is very appealing.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

18 by Alice Loxton. A fascinating glimpse at famous and influential historical figures, caught at a pivotal moment in their lives—their 18th birthday. Structured around the notion of a time-travelling birthday party, this is a great book to dip in and out of, and Alice focuses on some really interesting characters. C gulped this down in a few days, and I’m doing the same.

Rob is watching…

Here’s a guide to some of the greatest educational shows of all time, archived not as you’d expect on the BBC, but through the world’s new most popular broadcaster—YouTube. From Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation to John Berger’s Way Of Seeing, this is an easy way to thoroughly expand your horizons.

The Primer

Rob is listening…

to this glorious history of groovy folky funk. Come get far out with me,

Rob is eating…

Trout with lentils, based loosely on Marco Pierre White’s recipe. Why don’t we see more of this local, sustainable fish in the shops? I’d much rather eat trout than salmon.

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

Why some people think that hanging a cheap Chinese-made flag at half-mast is any kind of expression of national pride. Of course, we all know that’s not what it’s about, so I’m deriving a kind of grim satisfaction at seeing them fade, fray and blow away.

A long, beautiful tribute to Fred Walecki of Westwood Guitars. This is the man who sorted out the perfect instruments for the Laurel Canyon crowd back in the 70s, and must therefore had a little influence on the music which flowed out of that fertile spring. He’s still going, I’m happy to say.

My Father’s Work

As my San Marzanos finally ripen to a rich, glowing crimson, I have a glow of satisfaction that I raised the tomatoes from seed. It could be the start of a new obsession. This experiment feels a little beyond my current skill-set, though.

The story of how ZZ Top turned a rap on a crack dealer’s hustle into their greatest hit in years. I urge you to listen to both versions and check out the clear pathways between the two.

25 Lighters On My Dresser

I’m very happy to see a resurgence in 2D hand-drawn animation in markets that don’t really get reported in the western press. Hollywood studios are, I hope, paying attention. The current tranche of animated movies leave a lot to be desired, and I’ve not seen a Pixar movie since Soul. Let’s get back to the source!

The Pen Is Mightier

The brain, as I honked about last week, is a remarkable thing. Karen Norberg’s brain, doubly so, for reasons I won’t spoil here.

A knotty solution

Some incredible images within, a testament to the value spent in years of waiting to capture that perfect fraction of a second. Cynics could argue that photo-manipulation has been involved. I choose to believe not. The build-up is as important a part of the story as the picture.

Patience Is A Virtue

People can be hard to deal with sometimes. As a confirmed introvert, my default position when faced with difficulties in relationships is to turn away and hide. That’s not healthy. It’s important to recognise how working through problems can strengthen the bonds between people—or at least show how better to deal with friction next time.

Here’s To Muddling Through

One last thing.

To Outro, A Hüsker Dü classic given extra bite and chew with the addition of a Foo Fighter. One of my favourites, turned up to eleven.

Play loud, obviously.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 24

Apologies to anyone who received a very early draft of today’s Chapter in the emails earlier this week. I had one of those fat-fingered moments, pressing Publish on the WordPress dashboard instead of Save. So, you’ve had some spoilers, obviously, but I hope not enough to ruin the enjoyment of this week’s soaraway Saturday Swipe.

Please, don’t all rush in and tell me you prefer it without my contextual bloviations. That would be heartbreaking.

This week—fancy bread, insights from the Bake Off Tent and a call to action on behalf of Fantagraphics. Who are nothing to do with the fizzy drink.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

True Grit by Charles Portis. Well, I just finished rereading it, actually, as I presented it yesterday for the annual Reading Writers Book Club. This was an honour bestowed as the 2024 Don Louth Award winner, for the member who has made the most progress creatively through the year. I wanted to talk about True Grit as a brilliant example of first-person narrative, and how that voice, done well, can completely change the way you perceive the plot. Mattie Ross is one of a kind, that’s for sure. I can’t recommend it more highly.

Rob is watching…

This incredible lecture from one of my writing heroes, Ray Bradbury, delivered in 2001. It’s chock full of wisdom, advice and sheer heart. Take an hour out of your weekend and bask in a lesson from the master.

Rob is listening…

To The Blue Nile. If you’d like to join me, try these five tracks.

I Find A Place I Started From

Rob is eating…

Fancy bread.

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Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

John Cena on coffee. Smart, articulate, knowledgeable. Could pull your head clean off your shoulders without breaking a sweat.

It’s all about the details.

I was deeply saddened when Tim Smith of prog-punk mystics The Cardiacs moved to a higher plane a couple of years back. I am deeply joyful to hear they are returning with an album which celebrates his legacy and art. Can’t wait to hear this one.

LSD

John Constantine is 40. Here’s a look back at the life and times of (in my opinion) comic’s greatest magic practitioner and tragic hero.

40

The golden age of cinema was really great at glamourising the habits which time and science have proved are really bad for us. Smoking, murder, drinking strong liquor—man, that stuff looks like a lot of fun!

How They Used To Do It

A gentle reminder that the most important muscle in the human body is the brain, which needs regular exercise as much as any other.

Resistance Training

Carrying on from that, some fascinating facts from Mike Sowden at Everything Is Amazing on the extraordinary capabilities of that spongy mass of goop throbbing away on the inside of your skull. You’re incredible, you know that?

You Contain Multitudes

I loved this interview with Guy Singh-Watson of Riverford (we used to be subscribers to his excellent box scheme, and can recommend it highly), whose bracing honesty about the state of the farming industry should come as a wake-up call to all of us. We’ve somehow thrown obstacles in our own path and the challenge ahead is principally to remove or at least get round them.

Something To Put Your Arms Around

A call to action. Fantagraphics, a comics company with an amazing roster of talent and an incredible library of beautiful reads, are in trouble. They are essentially being held to ransom by their old distributor. There’s a big risk that Fantagraphics could be pulled under and lost for good. We can’t let that happen. Please help out a little if you can.

We’ve been robbed!

Perspective matters, especially when it comes to maps. We have a skewed view of the world because of the way the globe represents the size and relationships between our great land masses. All it could take to change our minds is a simple flip of the script.

This Way Up

Ruby Tandoh, one of our best contemporary food writers, opens up about her time in the Bake Off Tent. GBBO is a show which has helped to redefine Britishness for foreign viewers and launched the careers of some beloved celebrity names. Even in its sunset years, it remains wildly influential.

In The Tent

Advertising copywriter Kathy Hepinstall Parks nails the argument against AI. I need say nothing more.

Let’s Outro. The Geordie Springsteen makes magic with the girl who opened the shows on his recent tour. A gorgeous song becomes even more poignant and powerful when Olivia’s voice is added to the mix. I’ll be honest—this got me misty on first listen.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 24

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

Rob is watching…

This introduction to the Chinese space program.

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Rob is listening…

Rob is eating…

Fancy bread.

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Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

John Cena on coffee. Smart, articulate, knowledgeable. Could pull your head clean off your shoulders without breaking a sweat.

It’s all about the details.

LSD

40

How They Used To Do It

Resistance Training

You Contain Multitudes

Something To Put Your Arms Around

We’ve been robbed!

Link

Link

Advertising copywriter Kathy Hepinstall Parks

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

Third Quarter Report (Bloom Baby Bloom)

The August Bank Holiday feels like a pivot point for the year. It’s the last public holiday before the end-of year bacchanalia of consumerism and over-consumption that Christmas has become. Only a long weekend, but it feels more weighty. The teetering on the edge of a slope, the last moment before we take off in a hectic career towards closure and renewal.

In Reading, the weekend feels particularly notable as our town doubles in population for the Festival. In 1971 it was a simple rock gig (although the lineup, stuffed with acts like Genesis, van Der Graff Generator and Renaissance, feels a bit darn proggy to me). When I started visiting around 2008, it still had a clear demarcation of themed days—one rock, one indie, one dance. Now the lines have blurred further, and the festival holds a place as the last big blowout for the youngs before heading off to college. The lineup is barely recognisable to me now. You know what? That’s fine. I shouldn’t pretend to be down with the kids. I’m rolling into my third quarter. I haven’t been a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boy for a very long time.

Speaking of third quarters. This weekend feels like the perfect time to report in to the shareholders, investors and other interested parties of Excuses And Half Truths Plc, LLC, Inc, Corp etc on our progress over the last few months, and our plans, hopes and aspirations moving forward into 2026. No graphs, I promise.

The main focus—a final assault on the troublesome top end of our land-strip garden, the area known as Copse End—has finally come to a pleasing break point. No longer a corridor of brambles, ivy and brown, patchy lawn, TLC and I have worked incredibly hard to make the sunny part of the grounds a place worth spending time in. Beds and borders have been dug out and planted, showing a riot of colour from geums and cosmos. An arch has gone in, with a deliciously fragrant Gertrude Jeckll climbing rose and a jasmine set to clamber all over it next year. This deliberately sets the entrance to Copse End as a break point in the flow of the garden, accentuated with the two trees we’ve owned since moving in (a big acer palmatum bloodgood and a flowering cherry) standing guard on either side. But there’s still a clear view all the way down to the big pergola—Gwen’s Den, in tribute to my beloved nan. Another jasmine and a clematis are softening the edges of that structure, and we put in a Buddha statue as a focal point. A garden guardian, a sentinel you can see from the house. I like to give thanks in front of him in the mornings. Every day down there feels like a blessing now.

Work, of course is not complete. You never finish a garden. C wants a cute potting shed in bright colours awash in bunting, and there’s still a full bed to properly shape and sow out. It’s year one for this new iteration of the End, and tweaks and replacements will need to be made to the planting. Some ideas didn’t work, others didn’t work in the places where they’re currently sited. It’s fine. The shapes are in place.

My veg-growing has been a game of two halves. Like C, I tried growing a lot of food from seed this year. Gherkins have been a wild success, the herb bed has flourished in the sunny spot we finally found for it. A single pot of basil I bought for £3 and split into three plants has kept us in fragrant green flavour all summer. Meanwhile, the San Marzano tomatoes which have slowly, slowly matured all year are now heavy on the vines and ripening up. I’ll do them again next year, keeping them in the greenhouse with the hope for a bigger crop. I’ll get enough fruit for a couple of sun-soaked tomato sauces to see us into the cooler months, and I’m happy with that.

The two raised beds (one which came with the house, one new) in Copse End have also motored along happily, providing plenty of spinach, chard and fennel. The old bed has been the greatest success, as two Crown Prince squash plants, raised from an almost forgotten pack of seeds, romp off and away, up the fence and down the path if we’d let them. Even the last remaining apple tree, knowing I guess that it’s for the chop at the end of the season, has issued one last hurrah—the biggest crop we’ve ever had.

Of the chillies, garlic and cucumelons we will not speak.

Personally and professionally, the year thus far has been roller-coastery. I had my first real pay rise in an embarrassing number of years followed almost immediately after by worries over redundancy. That storm has been weathered, I’m happy to report. Actual film credits for me this year on a big summer tent-pole—the Fantastic Four movie. My work is also on screen in Wes Anderson’s The Phoenician Scheme (no end credit roller there, sadly). There are a few other movies with my name on coming out soon, which I’ll talk about when I can.

Writing has been slow and sporadic. I’ve lacked focus and, frankly, intent. Hopefully as the nights draw in I’ll have more reason to do something with my afternoons instead of sitting out with a beer and a book.

Reading Writers is building up to the new term. Our last summer social, a book club meet hosted by yrs truly, takes place next week, then we’re back into events and workshops. I’ve become involved in a break-out writers room, piecing together the complex jigsaw of a sitcom. This has been an unalloyed delight, working and writing with a very talented bunch of people. I’ve also made a start on resurrecting an old audio project—an interesting challenge as a lot of the resources I used in the past to build it either no longer exist or now charge for their services. This new learning curve has a steep slope to it.

Actually, when I write it all down, I’ve been quite busy.

And then, of course, there’s the thing that gets me up on a Saturday morning—this here newsletter/blog/whatever. As a sustained exercise in weekly writing, Excuses And Half Truths remains the healthiest of creative exercises. It’s lovely to hear positive reports from members of The Readership. A big hug to pals Kim and Kelly who are regular cheerleaders.

Let’s give you a quick example of how good this whole endeavour is for me. Without the links for a Swipe this week, I sat down to a blank screen at half eight this morning. An hour later, I’m over a thousand words in. That’s a good sign, right? Conjuring a piece out of nothing from a view down the garden and a need to unburden, while Millie the House Beast dozes next to me.

Excuses And Half Truths remains, for me—and I hope for you—a good way to start the weekend. It looks like it’s going to be a nice one. Let’s do something special with it, before the merry-go-round whips us into autumn.

See you next Saturday.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 23

I was getting into one of those slightly boozy text arguments with a pal, which are about nothing but generate bruises and ill will if you let them. Stupid stuff, growls and pokes which often come from misunderstandings or lack of clarity. I spat out a comment I really didn’t mean. Thinking on it ten minutes later, I realised it was nasty and unearned.

When I picked up my phone to try and minimise the damage, I saw the message hadn’t sent—a passing network error. I erased it, crafted a more reasoned reply, and the evening was back on track.

It’s easy to snap at folks, especially those you love, out of pride or a momentary burst of unexplainable spite. It’s never worth it. The great thing about chatting over text is that you can walk away, think, then say what you mean in the way that you mean it. The universe did me a favour yesterday. I’ll take that lesson with me.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

Comics, maybe, or perhaps something entirely new. That’s the joy of The Ninth Art. You can make it in any way you like.

The New Style

Rob is watching…

Wednesday. I’m not sure the weather is appropriate for the drop of the first half of season 2, but I’m enjoying all the gothy shenanigans nevertheless. Here’s a BTS of the standout sequence of Episode 1—a dose of good ole-fashioned stop-motion animation.

Rob is listening…

To CMAT. Are you listening to CMAT? You should be listening to CMAT. I love the drama, the commitment, the sheer wild glee of her performances, all in the service of some proper pop.

Rob is eating…

The lovely Samin Nusrat revisits her incredible buttermilk-brined chicken recipe. Her tips transformed the way I roast a bird. Try it this weekend if you get the chance and prepare to have the meal of legend.

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

This carpet. The skill in making this carpet. The sheer attention to detail involved in making this carpet.

https://www.tumblr.com/preserving-tiktok/790429772418351104

Speaking as someone who has spent time in food service and retail, I agree heartily with every line of this. You get a really hard fast lesson in human nature when you’re behind a till or serving food.

On The Line

Speaking of which, Laurie Penny ran her own version of Squid Game. It provided a few uncomfortable lessons on her own nature, and what that kind of heightened, unreal atmosphere does to people. The Stamford Experiment was no one-off…

The Audience Is Not Innocent

The Tiny Awards have locked their shortlist, and it’s now up to us to choose our favourite bit of hand-crafted webby goodness. Good luck choosing—I couldn’t.

Vote Now, Vote Often

This is a tale which highlights the casual callousness which comes when we allow systems to run without appropriate oversight. Granted, the circumstances which underly the story are unusual but even so, it seems bonkers that this could not be an easy fix.

Call Her Caroline

Marie Le Conte takes us lefty types to task for generating the current crisis in policital and social dialogue. I refer you to the situation I found myself in at the top of the page. It’s really easy to poke and bray, without concern for the forward effects. Lord knows, I can be guilty enough of boorish behaviour online, and I’ve paid dearly for it.

It’s All Our Fault

This one is very long and very geeky, and certainly not the easy entry guide into jazz which I thought it might be. I’m not sure I’m any the wiser about a way through the undergrowth, but I’ll give Mark Sinker’s picks (when he finally gets to them) a try.

All The Blue Yesterdays

A history of arguably the most contentious word in the English language in the 2020s. Four letters, a thousand different interpretations.

Words Are Weapons

FONT NERDERY AHOY. A dive into the typographical choices made for the first four Black Sabbath albums, released in a wild flurry of metal madness between 1970 and 1972. I love this sort of stuff. The processes used seem so far away now, and yet I was growing up as this work was being done.

Black (letter) Sabbath

Finally, as a corollary to the opening link, Ferhat Dirik of Mangal II, who I’m delighted to see writing again, talks about how guests to modern restaurants seem to have completely forgotten how to behave. It’s a sad and tiring situation, and completely unnecessary. Did Covid do that much of a number on our ability to interact with each other like normal human beings?

Mind Your Manners

One last thought.

https://www.tumblr.com/cryptotheism/791175048956346368/if-i-say-magic-is-real-i-get-a-million-people-in

Let’s have a bit of rockabilly thump and bounce to shake off the gloom which comes with consideration of the human condition. This booms and bams in all the right ways. Great to see a wildly incongruous bodhran tumbling the tune along too.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 22

A tweak to my working hours for the foreseeable future means a 5am alarm call, 6am report for duty. Which sounds horrific. But I finish at 2pm, giving a nice fat chunk of the day in daylight, free as a bird to do whatever I choose–or more realistically, chores. Honestly, this is a trade-off I’m very happy with. The commute is easier, I’m able to get in and out of shops more quickly and efficiently. Most importantly, it’s valuable time I can spend with C, in the garden, with a drink.

Postman’s hours ain’t so bad when you look into it.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

This extremely long piece on AI, what it is (and more importantly wot it is not) and how it is likely to change—or change us. I still worry that we’re anthropomorphising a process which cannot think, reason or empathise. Nevertheless, there’s some eerie paradoilia going on. I was strangely spooked by the end.  

The Void And The Spiral

Rob is watching…

Mandy, Diane Morgan’s greatest comic creation (Philomena Cunk, although magnificent, is not really hers to claim or ours to bestow). Short, sharp, snot-inducingly funny. Take fifteen minutes, watch the first episode of Season 1, and tell me I’m wrong.  

Rob is listening…

Come on, sing along, the subtitles are right there.

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Rob is eating…

Vittle’s overview of 75 kid-friendly restaurants in London doesn’t quite say the quiet part out loud, but it’s fairly obvious. The picks in this big list are not your Hungry Horses or TGIs. They’re genuinely nice places to eat which have the service game locked up tight and understand how to look after family groups. Honestly, it’s not that hard.

Not Just For Kids

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

I’m never going to be a muscle-car kind of guy. My driving style is much more of a cruise than a race. But I would cheerfully floor the throttle if I ever got the chance to drive a Batmobile, this bad boy in particular.

Michael Chabon makes an unpleasant but very important point about the creative process. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and some things you’re just going to have to swallow.

The Parable Of The Sandwich

A fun look at the medieval tradition of getting cashback after an unfortunate family incident. It might take you a few goes to get past the slavery option, and you’ll probably find you’re worth less than you think.

Weregild

Jeff Maurer at I Might Be Wrong writes meaningfully on the societal signifiers that come with the sort of character who chooses to sit on a chair backwards. The one who springs to mind for me is Cmdr. William Riker of the Federation Starship Enterprise. His technique for getting out of his seat, involving an insouciant leg-lift, really has to be seen to be believed.

You’ve Got It Backwards

An epic quest from Adam Aaronson to try every cocktail on the International Bartender’s Association list. I admire the commitment. His article is also a handy guide to some very good places to partake of said libations. I really must try Satan’s Whiskers…

I Drank Every Cocktail

First published in 2015, and more relevant by the day. Yest, I know we’re anthropomorphising again but, I mean, come on.

The Louder The Monkey…

Some gentle sounds to ease you into the weekend. Streaming playlists are all well and fine, but sometimes it’s nice to let someone with a bit of experience take the reins and and let you doze in the back seat.

Ambient Sleeping Pill

A tale of companionship, community and growing old gracefully. These girls have got it right.

The Golden Girls Reboot Looks Great

A despatch from a possible American future, which seems a bit close to the bone. Science fiction is always best when it’s talking about the here and now. Laughs aside, The Land Of The Free’s slide into authoritarianism is something we should all be worried about.

Healthcare

One last hint.

I haven’t really mentioned Ozzy Osbourne’s move to a higher plane, breath-takingly graceful and brilliantly timed as it was. My admiration for the man, his legend and his legacy are mine alone. But this mash-up felt too good to go unshared, and I’ll let it serve as my tiny tribute. Rest In Power, sweet Prince Of Darkness.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 21

Rain. Finally. Thank all the heavens. The introduction of a hosepipe ban, one focussed cruelly on a single Caversham postcode—ours—usually heralds wetter weather. But the grumbles of thunder and dramatic skyscapes didn’t seem to give out like they promised. Until Thursday, when over the course of a half hour during drinks-o’clock the lights dimmed and the atmosphere thickened to the texture of a damp sponge. The deluge, when it came, was powerful enough to bounce off the stones.

Now, everything feels fresh and green again. There’s a mackerel sky up there this morning, and the light is limpid and gold. Coming off a week when I deliberately did very little to reset my poor brain, the rain felt like a signal and a kind of blessing. Things can and will be crappy, but nothing lasts forever. Patience and fortitude will finally bring the rain to your garden.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Rob is reading…

The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick. Her novels on one of my heroes, William Marshall, are a sheer joy. Tracing the adventures of England’s Greatest Knight through his youth, gaining reputation as a fearsome opponent in the tourney circuit of medieval France, through to his huge influence on British royalty and his pivotal role in the signing of the Magna Carta, Marshall is an unsung figure who changed the course of our country’s history. Chadwick’s novels are brilliantly researched but romp along like a destrier at the canter. Hist-fic at its finest. Recommended with a glass of red while sitting in the grounds of Caversham Court Gardens, the home William built and died in.

Rob is watching…

Here We Go. A simple family sitcom written by Tom Basden with a cracking cast of UK comedy heavyweights. The concept—everything the hapless Jessop family do is filmed by their son Sam—is a neat way of doing that Office-style floating camera bit without needing to pretend it’s a documentary. It’s screamingly funny. Series three is showing now with everything on iPlayer. DOORBELL.

Rob is listening…

This was shot in one go with two cameras, live sound and a performance which therefore sounds nothing like the recorded version. Seriously boombastic. Mixmaster, cut faster.

Rob is eating…

Why Reading seems to get all the American burger restaurants but no Wahaca is a source of mystery and frustration to me. Everything the chain does is totally delicious, perfectly spiced, utterly moreish. I’m trying the legendary pork pibil this weekend, marinading then slow-roasting a lump of pork shoulder. Over tacos with a few sides it should be delightful.

Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…

Nature can really do your head in sometimes.

The Arctic Tern

A neat takedown of a common Hollywood trope. Guns with silencers don’t make that sweet little ‘pew’ sound when the assassin hits his target. In fact, they’re not even called silencers. Depending on your viewpoint, this is either fascinating or massively disappointing.

Silence Is Golden

An oral history of a landmark LGBTQ movie, which cheerfully skewered the myth that homosexuality is somehow curable. The horror which comes when you realise parents would subject their own children to this sort of treatment is all the more powerful for the gentle presentation.

But I’m A Cheerleader

In yet another example of ‘comics does it best’, let’s take a look at an Argentine cartoon character who represented the hopes and fears of her readers over several turbulent decades. She would be difficult to bring back, but honestly I believe we need more comics with the nous and insight of Mafalda.

Mafalda

A thoroughly disturbing overview of one of the more specialised careers out there. If you think you’re having a tough day at work, imaging trying to process the recovery of kids held to ransom. Applicants with the thickest of skin only need apply, thanks.

We Don’t Pay For Damaged Goods

Content warning for the lead picture on this article from Outside magazine on the business model that sprung up in the early 20th century around the trade in shrunken heads. It’s funny, the things some people will collect. Why not just stick to Funko Pops?

Shrinking

Clare Pollard effortlessly mixes two of my favourite things into one delicious concoction. I could go for a couple of rounds, no problem.

Poetry & Cocktails

The Prestige is the movie in which Christopher Nolan really set out his artistic approach. Juggling viewpoints, playing with time, keeping back the big reveal until the most effective moment. As Vishal Wagh makes clear in NoFilmSchool, the script of the movie follows the rules of stage magic beat for beat.

The Three-Act Trick

Fifty years of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Jeez, the Time Warp was a regular feature of college discos for C and I—at least, up until the acid house crews started to take over. I’m still very fond of this film and am tempted to troll along to a screening.

I Remember Doing The Time Warp

Sign of the times, right?

Not now, radioactive wasps.

One last thing.

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I love this song by Clem Snide. The slightly trite lyrics, neatly undercut by the ‘lalala’ chorus—a brutal earworm, I’m afraid—which shows how clearly the singer is in on the joke. The parpy horn section, the push-pull dynamics—oh, this is just great. enjoy this performance on Conan O’Brien’s show in 2002, which really pulls the stops out.

See you in seven, fellow travellers.