Not ignoring the tone of the piece but just want to highlight one thing.
I taught in primary schools for 15 years, which involved numerous productions with all age groups. Without question, the child who was able to read not only the most fluently but with genuine expression was ALWAYS the narrator. If the actors messed up, the narrator was the one to bring it back together to get the performance back on track. Plus it needed a good narrator to ensure audience engagement. Just so you know :)
I stumbled upon your substack purely by chance when it came up on my feed. I through it and began to read your account of a Christmas from your childhood where you talk about your dad. Your writing must have touched a chord because I read all the way through. Perhaps it was the mention of Manchester (my home town), or Salford (some of my dad's family from there), or casinos and gambling (I have a family member with a gambling addiction), or the fact that we're of similar age, or maybe even just because my grandma also lived in a red-brick terraced house with neatly clipped privet hedge... Anyway, here I am, a new reader 😊
Oh hello and thank you so much for your encouraging comments. I write different stuff not all of it may be for you (prone to an opinionated rant!) but I’m happy this piece chimed. I’m working on another piece of writing at the moment set it that area but not about me. I hope you’ll enjoy that too when it’s finished. :)
Beautiful writing. You seem to have such an antennae for human frailty and the seeds of hope that spring eternal amongst it - and then the ability to craft this into words that are both comforting and challenging. At first, this reminded me of a pyjama-clad trip to a 1970’s off licence with my Dad (returning with Watney’s Red Barrel and Babycham) but then put me into a reflection of my own changing relationship with my teenage daughter. Regardless of the amount of doting dad stuff you might have on the balance sheet, those ice maiden moments still leave you feeling like a city centre Xmas tree.
Thanks for being the narrator, now as then. As Gill rightly points out, that shit matters.
Not ignoring the tone of the piece but just want to highlight one thing.
I taught in primary schools for 15 years, which involved numerous productions with all age groups. Without question, the child who was able to read not only the most fluently but with genuine expression was ALWAYS the narrator. If the actors messed up, the narrator was the one to bring it back together to get the performance back on track. Plus it needed a good narrator to ensure audience engagement. Just so you know :)
Aww bless you xx
I wobbled at the last line ,
Hello
I stumbled upon your substack purely by chance when it came up on my feed. I through it and began to read your account of a Christmas from your childhood where you talk about your dad. Your writing must have touched a chord because I read all the way through. Perhaps it was the mention of Manchester (my home town), or Salford (some of my dad's family from there), or casinos and gambling (I have a family member with a gambling addiction), or the fact that we're of similar age, or maybe even just because my grandma also lived in a red-brick terraced house with neatly clipped privet hedge... Anyway, here I am, a new reader 😊
Oh hello and thank you so much for your encouraging comments. I write different stuff not all of it may be for you (prone to an opinionated rant!) but I’m happy this piece chimed. I’m working on another piece of writing at the moment set it that area but not about me. I hope you’ll enjoy that too when it’s finished. :)
I love everything I read of yours. Like I've said before, you need to write a book! ♥️
Much appreciated, lovely. We may not end up writing books but both of us will get our therapy worth out of this writing lark, eh?😂
😂 That we will!!! ♥️
Beautifully written and evocative for me (an ex-Mancunian with a 'difficult' father).
Thank you, lovely :)
💖💖💖
Wishing you a merry Christmas 🎄🎄🎄
To you too, sweetheart xx❤️🎄😘
We loved this, I read it out loud in bed tonight. Xxx
Thank you Anita. Glad you enjoyed it :)
Beautiful writing. You seem to have such an antennae for human frailty and the seeds of hope that spring eternal amongst it - and then the ability to craft this into words that are both comforting and challenging. At first, this reminded me of a pyjama-clad trip to a 1970’s off licence with my Dad (returning with Watney’s Red Barrel and Babycham) but then put me into a reflection of my own changing relationship with my teenage daughter. Regardless of the amount of doting dad stuff you might have on the balance sheet, those ice maiden moments still leave you feeling like a city centre Xmas tree.
Thanks for being the narrator, now as then. As Gill rightly points out, that shit matters.
Thanks. We’re all adapting, evolving, making the best of stuff as imperfect, learning humans.
When I’ve stopped crying, I may attempt a more cogent comment.