Happy fall, everyone. My favourite time of year. My birthday month.
I have some reads and teevs for you, and then some writing.
Enjoy… xxx
Currently imbibing…
QUILTERS Documentary, 33m, on Netflix — lifers and long stayers at a Missourian maximum security prison quilt for children in foster care. “I zone out, and I just sew.,” says Chill. “For me, this my flavour. Butterflies.”
LOVED AND MISSED Novel, out 2021, by Susie Boyt. Had me rapt, and for such strange, comforting reasons. This is a book about an unlucky person who cannot change their luck. Ruth’s daughter is a heroin addict who loves her but is uninterested in her help. Ruth steals her granddaughter away to raise her. How do we live without luck? How do we continue to stay here when our hearts are broken? Questions close to home. The writing reminded me of Anita Brookner.
TO THE MOON AND BACK Novel, by Eliana Rampage, out 2026. Unbelievably beautiful, exciting, and complex, story about the first (fictional) Cherokee astronaut, Steph; also, her mom, sister, girlfriend, and the long, cold years of single-minded dedication it takes to get to the moon. So much packed into this page-turner, and elegantly so.
WHITE HELMETS Oscar-winning documentary, 40m, Netflix. Second watch. In the Syrian civil war, over 400,000 people were killed and millions fled their homes. The White Helmets are a civil defense group that watch for bombs and race to bomb sites to recover people from under the rubble. As informative and affecting as it sounds; also, a reminder of the many deaths Putin is responsible for, before and beyond Ukraine, as the White Helmets spy planes overhead and call out, “It’s the Russians.”
ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER, Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest, with Leo. Exhilarating at times, with some watchable characters from Leo and Benicio del Toro, but such a sausage fest, with the weakest writing for women; also, had an opportunity to shoot for the mark and completely missed in terms of contemporary US politics. Lastly, and
elaborates on this with more authenticity than me, but it felt pretty racist, so also…ONE FETISH AFTER ANOTHER, the following essay, by
.
News…
The Republic Campaign podcast is back for a SPECIAL LIVE EPISODE with effervescent hosts and self-described pod bros, Republic’s Graham Smith and me!
Also speaking: Mayor of Hackney candidate Zoe Garbett Green, author Kelechi Okafor, and we’ll be interviewing Spitting Image’s Geoff Atkinson.
Book your tickets here, starting from £13.50.
As a reminder of what we do, here’s my favourite episode from Season 1:
October’s message…
Okay guys, I finally know what this Substack has to be right now. I’ve been marinating on a focus – because I do enjoy writing, and this format. All told, sometimes it feels like a no brainer that would suit me down to the ground, but my mental health has been ‘not great’ lately, and I realised today that it would be nigh on barmy to create a project for Substack alongside everything I’m already doing in the final months of this year, namely a novel edit, a different novel edit, a pitch deck, a live podcast, plus the three projects I’ve committed to in 2026 – which is to say, two separate podcast series and a film.
… Truly balmy. I’m looking at what I’ve written. Why do I always feel like I’m not doing enough? I suppose the simple answer is money. I’m sure like many of you, I’m doing everything that used to cut it, and it no longer cuts it. I should be feeling good to have gotten back to work, but my rent is 40% more expensive than 5 years ago and Jo from Pages of Hackney informed me last week in the sauna that a recent survey found the U.K. cost of living is 35-40% more expensive than 5 years ago. So what happens to us all in another 5 years??
In Quilters, the documentary I recommend above, Fred says, “If I were to look at my younger self, I would say that we should be more focused on being here to help others.” As an anti-capitalist, I often think about what I would do if I didn’t have to work for money. My friends, I’m sure would be able to tell you—I’d book an awful lot of craft nights and quiz nights and dinners for everyone, and I’d be haranguing them all to play Scrabble. I’d help people. I’d certainly feed people. If I had a spare room, and my own place, I’d like to foster.
I’m forever telling younger writers and editing clients this – it’s not you. It’s the economy. It’s society’s priorities. Nobody is looking at the amount of work it’s literally possible for a person to do and building society around that. Except maybe for the Green Party. Did you know that in the last month, about 60,000 people have joined the Green Party? Membership is now at 115,000. I’ve been a member for 10 years. It’s ridiculously cheap. Join us (please) here.
I was raised in a Tory stronghold and the people I grew up with will vote Green over Reform, just like they did in Waveney Valley and North Herefordshire, where they had the opportunity in 2024. I don’t believe the Greens will suddenly get in power and fix everything, but I do believe that we have to have people in power who actually want to fix everything— and on a hopeful note, maybe this weak-willed Labour Party, so interested in responding to the jeers of Reform and ex-Tory voters, will enact proportional representation, and then we’ll all have an opportunity to vote Green, if we want to.
But back to the point. Our job is to live and, somehow, someone made it our job to work. We evolved to gather food three mornings a week, and then sit around chatting. When something bad really happens, as it has to me, you realise that it takes much more effort to stay alive than it used to. Because the hope is gone. The veil is lifted. The chance has slipped through your fingers. You are privy to the great and horrifying truth of life, which is that you have no control. Oh, you think you have a little control? You tell me how you would choose your way out of being born in a war zone. All is luck. It’s not worthless to try, but it doesn’t mean it pays off. You can show up for luck, but you can’t make it come meet you.
After you become unlucky, you can no longer simply push yourself and promise your body quietly that it will get the things it wants someday. It’s not just that circumstances have changed, it’s that your body rightly no longer believes your promises. You realise instead, that you have to convince it to exist—to get up, to get dressed, to speak to people, to work, to be engaged in life. You realise that it is, indeed, a job to live.
With regards to Substack, I don’t have the energy right now to create another ‘project’, as much as I’d like to. I have several ideas: one, an interview series to be released alongside a novel; another, a politics essay series that would complement my work on the Republic podcast. But I think I need some other things to both be done and go well, first; before I contemplate adding something else to the mix. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to join me in my other ongoing project—attempting to live.
Today, in attempting to live, I had a to-do list that I felt was very manageable but felt low like being crushed to within a foot of the floor. So because I like to write, actually love to write, and it makes me feel alive, I wrote this piece of short fiction.
FADING
She didn’t want to do Substack. The world was always asking us to be constant nowadays. And money. Why did it always have to be about asking people for money? She wished she could simply share her work freely. But she had no other way of living. Life was 40% more expensive than five years ago. And so, begged the question, what about in another five? Would she be priced out of living? There was so much sadness in her already, she knew she had to take special care of herself now. But how? She has only money for rent; nothing else. The numbers in her bank account only descend. She watches it happen. Doesn’t tell. Why? Why should she? No one will do anything and nothing can change.
She is such a mother. So a mother. She feels it in her whole body. Other people notice. She once suspected and is now sure. People comment on it. But do they imagine she is so alone? She lies back on the bed – can’t go down for food, as Annette and her partner and teenage stepdaughter are down there. Kids can sense inauthenticity much better than adults. They will see she’s fake. That the light in her eyes is preternaturally dim when she responds with exclamations, acknowledgements, ‘curious’ questions. It’s not that she doesn’t care about Annette, but that she likes, when feeling this way, not to have to pretend. When she doesn’t pretend, her cheeks don’t ache and her forehead doesn’t hurt and she feels rested.
On the bed, her breathing slows. Her fingertips turn white and then translucent. It’s so easy to fade away. Perhaps it will be like her motherhood, since she lost her daughter. She will suspect others notice the fading, and then they will.
After writing the above, I spoke to my mum for three hours on the phone, and she got me to go for a walk. I really like walking around my park and my neighbourhood, so I kept going, wandering about, chatting to mum in my ears. I purchased two coffees, and a mini muffin. I saw some scruffy dogs and some cute babies. I crocheted outside a cafe while reading this book:
And then finished this top:
Maybe I’ll create a pattern for it… and maybe I won’t. I have many, many ideas, and very, very little energy. But I’m still here, and still making art and messing about with words. To top this missive off, here’s a song about having lots of ideas ~
Thanks for reading. It really helps—although it feels stupid to ask—if you ‘like’ this post. Not because of the algo, but for me. I don’t know if you want me to keep doing this, or if this format is interesting, or if everything I’ve spilled above is too much or achingly sad or you’re like, girl, use a diary… Please let me know, by liking or commenting, if you want me to keep writing. I’m serious. I’m not doing this to masturbate to my own words. I guess for me it’s about connecting. Howling into the wind, hoping someone screams back something interesting or helpful or funny, like, CATHY! Cathy would, imo, be a funny thing to howl into the wind.
Buy my books, Flick, Golden Boy, and Dead Girls, from indie bookstores, here.
CATHY!!!
I'm sorry, I can't think anything more fun to reply, but please be assured that you are being heard. In (if?) whatever way you decide to carry on with this substack, I always enjoy seeing a notification for a new post because I know no matter what it's about, it's going to be real, honest, without things being sugar coated (apart from maybe some self deferential humour), and thats what I enjoy so much about your writing. And as I'm sure I've said before, it's so relatable as well.
Reading about your struggles reminds me that being 40 and still living with my parents isn't as bad as it could be, and having (re)joined the Greens myself as well it reminds me there are reasons to hope out there. Thank you for being one of those reasons.