tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83770364490343632372012-01-29T07:59:37.415-08:00The Physical And Mental Wanderings Of A Retrograde, Provincially-Situated Author...Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.comBlogger2001100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-61946557594326176342012-01-28T04:40:00.000-08:002012-01-28T04:40:00.943-08:00

A piece for The Financial Times Weekend Magazine.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-66591303248146282532012-01-20T07:26:00.000-08:002012-01-20T07:26:55.719-08:00

The latest in my Lost Classics Of American Literature series for Guardian Books.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-16939704367589691072012-01-20T07:24:00.000-08:002012-01-20T07:24:49.277-08:00

My column for January's Guardian Life And Style section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-28013121683763728082011-12-16T05:41:00.000-08:002011-12-16T05:43:51.259-08:00

The fifth in my series on overlooked American novels for The Guardian's Books section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-64647868904935687172011-12-16T05:29:00.000-08:002011-12-16T05:39:45.691-08:00

A piece by me on more spooky East Anglian humanoids.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-17059851897756321072011-12-13T04:05:00.003-08:002011-12-13T04:10:45.305-08:00

My December country column for The Guardian's Life And Style section.Read more about my adventures with Henry the spaniel in my latest book, Talk To The Tail...

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-52155787408930318042011-11-16T07:21:00.000-08:002011-11-17T14:06:54.416-08:00

The folk horror genre of filmmaking could not be called prolific, but the few movies within it – mostly made during the early-to-mid 1970s – contain some of art’s most timelessly terrifying evocations of rural Britain. It’s perhaps surprising, then, that two of folk horror’s most revered creations, 1969’s The Owl Service, and 1976’s Children Of The Stones, were actually programmes made for

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-4408247366505081122011-11-12T03:44:00.001-08:002011-11-12T03:48:06.872-08:00

My latest country column for The Guardian's Life And Style section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-57809841229351867772011-11-12T03:37:00.003-08:002011-11-12T03:40:02.614-08:00

The fourth in my series on overlooked American novels for The Guardian's Books section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-60965855474235064922011-11-09T11:54:00.000-08:002011-11-09T11:57:41.211-08:00

A piece by me for Financial Times Weekend Magazine.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-20409060670860907672011-11-09T11:52:00.000-08:002011-11-09T11:54:49.279-08:00

The third in my series on overlooked American novels for The Guardian.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-65623558341978265062011-10-25T03:09:00.001-07:002011-10-25T04:25:32.368-07:00

The Day John Peel Phoned My House (mp3)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-24510450876314717692011-10-22T08:11:00.001-07:002011-10-22T08:13:26.623-07:00

A piece I wrote for this weekend's Financial Times Magazine.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-12632270934698400172011-10-06T07:36:00.001-07:002011-10-06T07:40:16.227-07:00

My latest Guardian dispatch from Norfolk: on foraging, courgettes, Richard Mabey, and preparing for the apocalypse.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-13856987768652186102011-09-16T06:18:00.000-07:002011-09-16T06:28:56.370-07:00

More on scarecrows from me in The Guardian.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-90949096886755422872011-09-08T01:57:00.000-07:002011-09-08T02:02:04.060-07:00

My latest country column for the Guardian.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-25675319302740529392011-09-08T01:52:00.000-07:002011-09-08T01:56:40.494-07:00

The second of my columns for The Guardian Books section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-53880328097340120712011-08-11T01:04:00.000-07:002011-08-11T01:12:26.062-07:00

My latest country column for The Guardian's Life And Style Section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-28158380330818138772011-08-11T01:02:00.000-07:002011-08-11T01:04:26.844-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-45284619966137385312011-08-04T02:55:00.000-07:002011-08-04T02:59:09.579-07:00

The Feud, by Thomas Berger

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-91418559350176134452011-07-24T00:58:00.000-07:002011-07-24T02:03:45.636-07:00

So goodbyeMy wicker manNot THE Wicker ManBecause that would have been too impossibly coolAnd might have resultedIn unwanted pilgrimagesTo my gardenAnd probably would have underlined certain prejudicesAbout NorfolkIn the heads of outsidersPassing through my townOn the way to cooler townsSuch as HoltAnd SouthwoldYou were smaller than thatAbout the size Of the corpse Of the average9th Century

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-26949945479326352272011-07-21T07:21:00.001-07:002011-07-21T07:32:27.346-07:00

It's always difficult to tell whether a stranger is a very laid-back person on first impressions. One sign that they might not be is if very early on they say "I'M A VERY LAID BACK PERSON" over heavy traffic noise.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-57855777985277884622011-07-20T01:19:00.000-07:002011-07-20T12:16:42.372-07:00

ARIESOnce a tricky financial situation is resolved, you can turn your attention to other matters, such as the lady with the big brown eyes and the spectacular hip-to-waist ratio who works in Waitrose who once smiled at you when you asked her where you could find rice noodles, and trying to work out if she's actually shacking up with that security guard who kissed her on the cheek that time as she

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-34866119149901888492011-07-15T01:29:00.000-07:002011-07-15T01:32:49.912-07:00

My latest country column for The Guardian.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-855133225898624142011-07-06T12:53:00.001-07:002011-07-25T08:02:46.994-07:00

* Writing a novel is incredibly tough, so you should be well-prepared for the fact that life is not going to be normal while you're doing it, and your social life will fall by the wayside. The process takes untold dedication and sacrifice. Though it's worth keeping in mind that you can skip a fair bit of that if you just make sure you write the words "roiling" and "brackish" a lot.* It's good to

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-75179560347358987672011-07-05T06:48:00.000-07:002011-07-05T06:51:44.637-07:00

A piece I wrote for last weekend's Financial Times.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-82616093084352117952011-07-03T03:18:00.000-07:002011-07-03T03:42:17.050-07:00

As those who read my recent Guardian column on the subject will know, I like scarecrows, and have been wanting to make my own and finding excuses to put it off for some time now. Yesterday, however, I finally got down to business, with the help of my friend Jo, a vacuum-packed bag of straw, Shipley (who, as you can see, put his own special final touch to the project), an oddly shaped piece of

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-55287433532522250972011-06-14T04:54:00.000-07:002011-06-14T05:08:29.327-07:00

In response to this..."My parents (now deceased) were always keen gardeners composting long before gardening became so fashionable and supplying the bins with detritus from house and garden. When my ailing father had a very heavy nosebleed my exasperated mother suggested crisply that he went down to the bottom of the garden and bled on the compost heap to give it a boost. "Go and bleed on the

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-19263484845793204282011-06-09T02:08:00.000-07:002011-06-09T02:09:34.502-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-56859259159775049762011-06-08T07:56:00.000-07:002011-06-08T08:04:21.260-07:00

My latest country column - on gardening with my dad - for The Guardian's Life And Style Section.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-11518306991347963482011-06-03T03:31:00.000-07:002011-06-03T03:33:40.541-07:00

Indigenous to East Anglia, the cockchafer beetle may also be referred to as "a may bug", "a billy witch", "a spang beetle" or "Ian".

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-33284876942244730862011-05-25T04:46:00.000-07:002011-05-26T02:32:26.560-07:00

Above is the cover of my last-but-one book. Do you like it? I don't. Not much, anyway. I wouldn't go so far as to say I loathe it, but I think it looks like a birthday card you'd get for a distant aunt who likes cats but lives in a house you don't really like visiting owing to its unusually large amount of air fresheners. Besides the fact that it's a little bit cheeky, and, y'know, features a cat

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-19473840481765411822011-05-16T13:25:00.000-07:002011-05-16T13:31:21.683-07:00

The first of my new monthly countryside columns for the The Guardian's Life And Style section...

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-64546578675088925772011-05-11T10:02:00.001-07:002011-06-05T03:43:42.249-07:00

All writers have an early turning point or moment of encouragement that kicks off their career in earnest, gives them that little extra push to makes them believe they are capable of doing what they love well enough to be paid for it. I think I have a few, but a couple particularly stand out. The first was the day in March 1996 when I drove my battered 1970s Toyota home from my girlfriend's house

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-51252944578739381662011-05-09T09:51:00.001-07:002011-05-09T09:51:55.372-07:00

This morning as I swam, bright sunlight streamed in through the windows. I took a break between lengths, leaned back, and admired the pretty patterns it made on the water, and how it lit up a blood-caked plaster that floated along in front of my face.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-41165888523384956342011-05-04T04:29:00.001-07:002011-05-04T04:33:11.064-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-33044281591281359542011-04-30T05:30:00.000-07:002011-05-01T03:09:45.665-07:00

There were a couple of glaring subbing errors in my piece about Norwich in the Weekend supplement of today's issue of The Times. Naturally, this is going to trouble me in some small way until at least 2040, and I'm going to spend the rest of the weekend worrying that everyone who reads it will be thinking it was me who wrote the same sentence twice in the sixth paragraph from the end, and

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-78511512664275696362011-04-28T02:56:00.001-07:002011-04-28T03:08:20.789-07:00

My taxidermy piece from last Thursday's Guardian.NB: Rubbish taxidermy lion pictured not actually one that used to live in my house. It was made for King Frederick of Sweden in 1731.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-8075864825614542062011-04-27T12:54:00.000-07:002011-04-27T14:12:55.395-07:00

Twitter can be a magical thing sometimes. After seeing a tip-off tweet from Maggie in North Norfolk this morning describing some very strange surroundings as she posted a letter, I made the eighty minute trip to the town of Holt. Here, as well as getting lost on a country walk and in a long and detailed conversation with an unusually inquisitive donkey, I visited what could be Britain's, and is

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-65137370616196213042011-04-26T06:51:00.000-07:002011-04-26T14:20:15.604-07:00

Yesterday my friend Lizzie and I went to the annual Bottle-Kicking in the village of Hallaton, Leicestershire (see above for video of the 2008 event). The festival doesn't actually involve bottles, but small beer-filled kegs, the object being for either Hallaton, or the rival neighbouring village Medbourne, to get them - either by rolling, kicking or carrying, though "without eye-gouging or

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-86861153955233468002011-04-20T11:13:00.001-07:002011-04-20T11:25:52.706-07:00

I have a piece in The Times Travel Section on April 30th all about why a certain type of massive London twazzock is a massive twazzock for thinking Norwich isn't fucking awesome. I'm not yet sure what the headline is going to be. It's perhaps a little optimistic, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed for "Why A Certain Type Of Massive London Twazzock Is A Massive Twazzock For thinking Norwich Isn't

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-65456835165357698142011-04-15T08:18:00.000-07:002011-04-17T15:32:51.256-07:00

13.7.10I am a member of a gym, but I don't actually use the gym, just the pool. I find the idea of a gym boring. I also worry that if I walk in there I'll not know what to do, be pegged quite quickly as a foppish impostor, or break something expensive. I find the idea of swimming boring too, but it's a kind of boring I feel more comfortable with. I like wearing tight-fitting 30 waist flares, and,

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-41917520297100300982011-04-06T08:41:00.001-07:002011-04-07T04:33:10.363-07:00

1. Went out to Tesco to get some batteries and two clip frames to house my Vanishing Point and The Parallax View posters.2. Read some of Brideshead Revisited. 3. Decided my book really "doesn't have a Brideshead Revisited feel". hence it is the wrong novel to read right now, and picked up Gerard Woodward's August instead.4. Changed my mind, and decided I shouldn't be such a wang, and should

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-2172411034695279682011-04-05T06:43:00.000-07:002011-04-05T06:49:08.385-07:00

Like so many people, I remember exactly where I was, 17 years ago today, when I heard that Kurt Cobain had died: I was listening to the radio, hearing someone on the radio tell me that Kurt Cobain had died.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-32583444837600407442011-04-05T02:47:00.000-07:002011-04-05T03:04:36.153-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-31870937800173409312011-04-03T01:25:00.000-07:002011-04-03T01:41:56.983-07:00

When Rick Wakeman accepted the job of turning on the Christmas lights in Diss two years ago, he knew it was a weightier responsibility than, to a distanced observer, it might have appeared. The Norfolk market town raised a grand total of £5 for its festive display in 2003 and subsequently found itself called “the stingiest town in Britain” on national TV. The night in question would not just be

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-11342831299404906082011-04-01T02:20:00.001-07:002011-04-01T03:36:27.830-07:00

1. Christopher Lee was 51 when he starred in The Wicker Man. 51! If I look like that when I'm 51, I think I'll do nothing but stay at home all day and feel myself up.2. I think I've got to the point in my life where by continuing not to own a mask with a hare's face on it I'm lying to both myself and those closest to me.3. Much as I love Willow's Song, and am anything but ethically opposed to a

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-12879955792943533652011-03-31T07:59:00.000-07:002011-03-31T08:03:57.909-07:00

John Steinbeck - East Of Eden (Penguin, 1952)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-20753828967859756072011-03-31T07:56:00.000-07:002011-03-31T08:02:15.028-07:00

Clive Aslet - Villages Of Britain: The 500 Villages That Made The Countryside (Bloomsbury, 2010)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-38995791363537997692011-03-30T04:47:00.001-07:002011-07-17T14:36:32.303-07:00

Once upon a time, back at the beginning of the last decade, I lived in London, and was a significantly worse writer than I am now. I had quite a few friends who worked in the media - though, looking back, I'm not sure I considered a lot of them "friends" in the same way I define the concept now. I had a job at a trendy, credible newspaper, secured in my early 20s, when only a couple of years

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-48747405958960525912011-03-26T06:06:00.000-07:002011-03-26T06:07:49.407-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-62217282241892642882011-03-21T10:56:00.000-07:002011-03-21T11:06:46.140-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-8599552594137259462011-03-21T03:17:00.000-07:002011-03-21T03:18:24.746-07:00

Every moment of every day, in every small town in Britain, there is a mouthy teenager riding a comically undersized bike.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-67398559210199974102011-03-04T05:06:00.000-08:002011-03-04T05:22:53.788-08:00

Received a royalty statement for The Lost Tribes Of Pop, my last music book, today. It comprises a piece of paper with some tumbleweed stuck to it and "HA! Sucker!" written beneath. On the back there's some smallprint stating that in 50 years, if the book continues to sell at its current rate, I'll be dead, and still won't have earned anything, but that we're all fucked anyway and everyone should

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-84619025122700391612011-03-04T01:32:00.001-08:002011-03-04T01:35:32.473-08:00

EL Doctorow - Homer and Langley (Little, Brown, 2010)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-10637125599472024792011-03-04T01:23:00.001-08:002011-03-04T01:27:23.720-08:00

Hilary Mantel - Wolf Hall (Fourth Estate, 2009)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-30309597326233377142011-03-03T11:56:00.000-08:002011-03-03T12:03:12.419-08:00

Night encroaches on a historic Norfolk town. A spire rises up from the murk, much as it did in the 15th Century days when the poet Skelton was moved to write his early verse here. Ghostly trees hang over the prehistoric lake, gangly fen creatures, distorted in the water to look back menacingly back at themselves. And beyond that, eerie lights can be seen through a soupy dark, glowing, and

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-72125688145255867872011-02-07T07:24:00.001-08:002011-02-07T07:27:23.891-08:00

Catherine O'Flynn - The News Where You Are (Penguin, 2010)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-65810125837615640932011-01-31T12:43:00.000-08:002011-01-31T12:46:45.914-08:00

Mick Jackson - The Widow's Tale (2010, Faber and Faber)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-74605621763754145282011-01-19T00:56:00.001-08:002011-01-19T00:59:06.961-08:00

Pete Dexter - Spooner (Atlantic, 2010)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-89975947730667293482011-01-18T08:19:00.000-08:002011-01-18T08:21:44.068-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-1212397632020294462011-01-14T06:27:00.000-08:002011-10-27T08:27:11.893-07:00

1. John: A Pretty Fucking Ordinary OwlJohn, a tawny owl, moves in with Martha, a bereaved schoolteacher. Together, they set off on a road trip around America together, visiting historical spots, and meeting other birdlife. John, however, turns out to have very little personality, and mostly just stares off into space, or refuses to get out of Martha's Honda Civic. Things reach crisis point when,

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-38724953060319529732011-01-12T04:56:00.001-08:002011-01-12T04:57:44.106-08:00

If asked which member of Aerosmith I'd be today if out of all the members of Aerosmith, I'd probably have to say "Fred": the "lost" 6th member of Aerosmith who never got into Aerosmith because he couldn't play a musical instrument, and lived 3000 miles away from the rest of Aerosmith, in Norfolk, and in fact never even auditioned for Aerosmith, or actually met Aerosmith.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-85372822891405631512011-01-06T11:10:00.001-08:002011-01-06T11:12:19.013-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-88894967155313147452010-12-29T09:52:00.000-08:002010-12-29T09:58:21.884-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-19368405843992294642010-12-28T01:50:00.000-08:002010-12-28T01:55:18.922-08:00

John Gordon - The Giant Under The Snow (1968, Orion)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-64297298482163643522010-12-23T03:36:00.001-08:002010-12-23T03:37:05.316-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-85007271298923915412010-11-25T03:25:00.000-08:002010-11-25T03:29:29.273-08:00

Bill Bryson - Down Under (2000, Doubleday)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-60504144089794850832010-11-25T03:19:00.001-08:002010-11-25T03:24:26.583-08:00

True Tales Of American Life, edited by Paul Auster (2001, Faber and Faber)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-70974731931794250992010-11-09T03:38:00.000-08:002010-11-09T03:49:02.265-08:00

In the summer of 1992, I’d just turned seventeen, but frequently felt older. This probably had something do with sporting burnout, and too much time spent with old men in bad knitwear. Having made the decision, a couple of years previously, to train for a career as a golf pro, I’d confidently messed up my GCSEs (“Tom is not bothered about this subject because he ‘wants to be a golfer’,” wrote one

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-13428098743234797222010-10-27T01:40:00.000-07:002010-10-27T01:43:20.969-07:00

David Sedaris - Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk (2010, Little, Brown)

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-12782516189589549532010-10-20T11:22:00.000-07:002010-10-26T09:14:43.553-07:00

So here’s to you, Jabba The HuttYou may not have been the most aesthetically appealing Beanbag I’ve ever hadBut you were almost certainly the oneTo bear the closest resemblance To Jabba The HutNobody can take that away from youNor should you let them tryWhen this time tomorrow You’re sitting in a dark skipFull of household refuse In a nondescript part of North SuffolkHaving lost everything

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-66020038500768171772010-09-01T03:12:00.001-07:002010-09-01T03:21:34.179-07:00

One of my New Year's Resolutions this year was "Make scarecrow!". Much like my other New Year's Resolutions, I'm still waiting to get round to that. In the meantime, my dad has beaten me to it. My mum has instructed him to dismantle this now. I believe she is making a critical error.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-27201784250414633392010-08-18T03:52:00.000-07:002010-08-18T05:20:02.644-07:00

Okay, no: this did not happen in 1971, but in my kitchen, last weekend. As bashful as I am to show strangers from The Land Of The Internet my rum-happy* dance moves - which can be seem behind the more impressive ones of my cowboy-hatted friend Pat - I couldn't resist posting this, because it's the closest I'll ever get to my ambition of living in an overoptimistically edited version of 1971.

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-15312926905916184922010-07-31T03:34:00.000-07:002010-07-31T04:18:43.069-07:00

I had my first car crash for several years on Thursday this week. Well, I say "crash" but there was certainly no crashing sound, and the whole episode seemed to happen in slow motion. I was queuing on Unthank Road in Norwich, took my eye off the road for a second and, as I did, the car in front of me decided to reverse, rather suddenly, into a parking space to the left, colliding with the front

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-75926363699219051812010-07-26T11:50:00.000-07:002011-03-08T02:15:05.863-08:00

When it comes to Twitter, I'm like a lot of people who work from home: I try, and often fail, not to feed the fire, simultaneously awed and frightened by the knowledge that the more you do, the bigger it gets, and the more it engulfs your day. That's not to say I don't view Twitter as largely a Good Thing, especially for those who write humour for a living: earlier this year I wrote a piece for

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-37220199478448431952010-07-21T05:33:00.000-07:002010-07-21T05:36:33.026-07:00

A lot of odd things have happened at the pool where I swim in the last week but I think my favourite was yesterday when the man who looked like Mark Spitz got into the pool next to me, flexed his arms, tied his wristband around his special pro water bottle, rubbed his fingers through his hair, spent two minutes adjusting his goggles, then proceeded to flap up the lane in front of me like a

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-17511454635243003132010-03-28T12:54:00.000-07:002010-03-28T12:55:12.547-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-50973967908273601072010-01-08T07:36:00.000-08:002010-01-11T00:23:56.848-08:00

DAY 6I have decided, once again, to grow a Winter Beard. Already I feel it is an improvement on last winter's Winter Beard, which quite frankly lacked "spunk" (NB: I do not have spunk in my beard.)DAY 8Itchy phase has kicked in. Strangely accelerated growth in area around chin mole. Looks of affinity on today's country walk from both borrowed spaniel and tramp beside town lake.DAY 10Itchiness

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-8720077748312284712009-12-12T04:56:00.001-08:002009-12-12T05:05:23.971-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-26683582900974632212009-12-02T10:26:00.001-08:002009-12-02T10:27:09.096-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-34008625295844832862009-12-01T10:29:00.000-08:002009-12-01T10:47:51.359-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-13291978047747013802009-11-29T02:11:00.001-08:002009-11-29T05:02:02.848-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-14975657458238037582009-11-23T04:05:00.000-08:002009-11-23T04:06:22.403-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-92112667237630822822009-11-16T00:45:00.000-08:002009-11-16T01:10:56.386-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-30535884270269403152009-11-13T07:54:00.001-08:002009-11-13T08:13:08.753-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-71297170855643526072009-11-12T02:19:00.003-08:002009-11-12T02:34:46.882-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-26407506079548593772009-11-04T02:00:00.001-08:002009-11-04T02:07:45.925-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-74881180585982034732009-11-04T01:31:00.000-08:002009-11-04T01:56:24.020-08:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-74204352449551042432009-10-27T01:49:00.000-07:002009-10-27T02:00:01.548-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-6011374883651818342009-10-21T03:09:00.000-07:002009-10-21T04:05:32.244-07:00

Read part one.Read part two.April 13th, 2008: The Big DayDespite my dad’s boundless enthusiasm for being observed in his athletic endeavours, I decided not to join him and my mum for the start of the marathon today, feeling that at that point he would be better served by as few distractions as possible. Instead, my plan was to meet my mum near Tower Bridge, not long before the marathon’s halfway

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-16091514875471366032009-10-20T04:04:00.000-07:002009-10-20T06:54:55.427-07:00

Read part one here.February 27th, 2008My dad had another sports dream the night before last. This time the subject was rugby. “IT WAS BRILLIANT. I SCORED A TRY AND EVERYTHING. I NEVER USED TO SCORE A TRY AND NOW I HAVE,” he told me. My mum has been woken up before by her husband singing in his sleep and colliding with woodwork, but this, she admitted, was the first time she’d been woken up by him

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-1245775900718545342009-10-19T08:57:00.000-07:002009-10-20T06:52:50.318-07:00

November 15th, 2007As I left my parents’ house today, my dad announced that, next spring, he plans to run in the London Marathon. He’s never been a sporty man, so it came as a bit of a shock to hear that that, two decades after his last casual game of table tennis, he has decided to launch himself back into the athletic arena by testing his 58 year-old joints over 26 miles of hard ground. “I’VE

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-20500873042960446122009-10-08T01:29:00.000-07:002009-10-08T01:57:48.424-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-86189052637611599502009-09-22T10:54:00.001-07:002009-09-22T10:54:51.199-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-12699504429102459012009-09-16T06:34:00.001-07:002009-09-16T06:45:46.535-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-53973087723071288762009-09-14T04:16:00.001-07:002009-09-14T04:23:13.100-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-63331543143535013592009-09-06T07:12:00.001-07:002009-09-06T08:18:46.998-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-6500239146650563702009-09-04T02:26:00.001-07:002009-09-04T02:26:27.262-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8377036449034363237.post-56102664159595587762009-08-30T08:54:00.001-07:002009-08-30T09:18:20.574-07:00

Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14969078803595376434noreply@blogger.com2