115. A letter to Terry ✒️ #27

Lyrics, listening and some loopy lines.

Dec 13, 2023

This is the latest letter in my regular, informal correspondence with Substacker and fellow Brit

, in which we take turns every other Wednesday to delve into the things that British people talk about the most. So that you can explore these unashamed clichés for yourself we’re inviting you to read our letters over our shoulders.

My next ‘Dear Reader, I’m lost’ post will of course be published on Saturday.

Dear Terry,

Thank you for your latest letter. Time really does fly, doesn’t it? It was only this time last year that I had at last given into your demands for a writing partner. The bribes that had been landing on my doormat via our beleaguered postman had got beyond a joke, and in the run-up to the festive season the non-stop deliveries of incentives had reminded me of the Frank Skinner version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’:

I’m allergic to astrology but inspired by your reference to your own horoscope I felt minded to Google my own. Ready?

‘You are more fluent than usual in expressing your ideas.’

‘You might guide or inspire others….’

‘This is also an excellent time for writing…’

Well now, these astrologists, Terry, talk a lot of sense. It seems that my ~~allergy~~ scepticism is misplaced. 😉

You’d asked me about whether I enjoy audiobooks. To be honest until very recently I’d never really bought into the audiobook idea; most of my listening had always taken the form of whatever BBC Radio 4 would be broadcasting whenever I put the radio on to keep me entertained while I was driving, cooking, ironing or indulging in my artistic pursuits.

I’ve always preferred spoken-word radio to music, and a couple of years ago – late to the party as usual – I discovered podcasts. One of the first I’d bookmarked on my phone app had been ‘Nostalgic Mystery Radio’, whose playlist is packed not only with old BBC adaptations from the archive, but also a wide selection of nostalgic US detective drama, too, including classics such as Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe.

I soon found myself listening to more real-life mystery output, though, via the podcast platform – yes, true crime – but although I love a good fictional detective drama the real-life stuff is rather too, well, real for me to consider as entertainment.

Once I’d taken the aversion therapy step of moving the podcast icon from my phone’s home screen I found myself heading more often to BBC Sounds, and after a long-overdue software update found a category labelled ‘Audiobooks’ which I hadn’t come across before.

Near to the top of the list of books was Yellowface, a ten-part adaptation of Rebecca F Kuang’s novel read by Ashleigh Haddad. I was so pleased to find it, because the book book of Yellowface had landed on my wishlist on its publication in May 2023, and I’d been waiting for it to come out in reading-in-bed-friendly paperback format ever since.

Terry, I was hooked – and not just on Yellowface in particular, which is a jolly good story, but on audiobooks in general. I’ve listened to several more since.

I don’t necessarily feel it’s a format suitable for all novels, though. The paperback book I’ve been so enjoying since the autumn, Road Ends by Mary Lawson, is written in three discrete voices and has a narrative style relying on flashbacks and unpredictable jumps in location.

It’s an absolutely terrific read, but due to its narrative complexity I find myself often turning back to the start of the chapter to remind myself where I am in the timeline. Put it this way: it’s not a book which I would like to have first come across in audio format.

To be certain of enjoying an audiobook, familiarity with the story helps, of course. Early last week I finished listening to Austen’s ‘Pride & Prejudice’ read by Clare Corbett, her epic ‘performance read’ of 61 chapters amounting to over eleven hours of listening. I feel I may have struggled with it had I not already known the characters and storylines in advance.

I’m afraid I hadn’t heard of any of the books from your reading list for the memoir course, but since reading your letter I have taken the time to read a little bit about them. The Edward Gosse book Father & Son is one I feel I ought to have heard of, but I’m afraid reading about it hasn’t made me want to pick it up to read. On Chapel Sands by Laura Cumming, however, is one I might just seek out as a result of having read this about it on Waterstones’ website:

Uncovering the mystery of her mother's disappearance as a child: Laura Cumming, prize-winning author and art critic, takes a closer look at her family story.
On Chapel Sands is a book of mystery and memoir. Two narratives run through it: the mother's childhood tale; and Cumming's own pursuit of the truth. Humble objects light up the story: a pie dish, a carved box, an old Vick's jar. Letters, tickets, recipe books, even the particular slant of a copperplate hand give vital clues. And pictures of all kinds, from paintings to photographs, open up like doors to the truth.
Taken from the Waterstones website.

Styles of memoir I really enjoy are ones which are linked to a journey the writer has made. Ones which spring immediately to mind are ‘Wild’ by Cheryl Strayed, ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ by Elizabeth Gilbert, ‘Coasting’ by Elise Downing and ‘Walking Home’ by Clare Balding. They’re much more up my street than a dry life story written by someone whose life I don’t find very interesting.

Something which I feel really is up my street, though, is the idea of using writing constraints to send me off-piste with my writing to produce ‘potential literature’. A little bird tells me that a teacher of my acquaintance will be teaching a course in Oulipo – Creative Writing Using Constraints – in London next summer, and I hope to be able to make it along. I’ll report back. I might even write a review of the course and its teacher – what do you say to that idea? 😉

I wonder if you might have read a news headline about this local appearance of white lines gone wrong? Something like these, perhaps:

Man found drunk in charge of white-line painting machine
Council eschews straight lines in favour of softer traffic management
Local lines go loopy

You see, I thought of you and Elaine last week when we found ourselves in your neck of the woods for a night shoot. I wish we’d stopped the van to take a picture of the crime against decent road presentation we’d spotted, but frost, the dark and, yes, exhaustion, overtook us.

Google Streetview later showed us how the scene looks in daylight:

Knowing our history of commentating on the state of British roads in our letters, Jim was disappointed not to be able to show you. ‘Don’t worry, let’s send Terry on a field trip to check it out for himself!’ I told him.

You’ll find this offence to line painters just after you turn left at the Shaw Farm roundabout off the A132 towards RHS Hyde Hall.

Your warning about the risk of pedestrians, not just vehicles, being clamped by ~~Draconian~~ ~~over-zealous~~ enthusiastic local authorities in London made me laugh. I shall take care to carry bolt cutters and 3-in-1 oil as potential release agents as and when I get clamped on my next ramble through the streets of our capital.

I remember spending the day in Greenwich with a friend who’d driven over from mainland Europe one wintry weekend. He’d picked me up in his car and parked very close to the entrance to Greenwich Park in an area restricted to those with residents’ permits.

I had drawn his attention to the signs, and warned him that we were risking an expensive day out.

‘So what if I get a parking penalty notice?’ he retorted. ‘They can’t chase me for payment; the car’s registered in Belgium and they’ve got no way of tracking me down!’

Although I wasn’t sure that this was quite in the spirit of acceptable behaviour, we agreed to differ for the sake of our friendship and headed into the frosty park.

On our return hours later in the cold and dark we noticed in dismay that the car had been clamped. We were in for a long wait for its release, and as the nearby pub looked bright and welcoming, smoke billowing from its chimney, I suggested to my friend that if he valued our friendship he would meet me at the table closest to the fire after buying me a Stone’s ginger wine – no ice, thanks – for medicinal purposes.

As I said, an expensive day out – although for him, not me. To use your phrase for circumstances such as these, Terry: ‘Ain’t my problem, mate!’

I’ve been thoroughly enjoying writing these letters to you over the last year. To mark our mutual milestone I’m working on a ‘letterospective’ of our correspondence to publish instead of my next letter.

Brace youself, eh?

😉

All the very best,

Rebecca

If you’ve enjoyed reading this letter to Terry, please let me know by clicking the heart. Thank you! My next ‘Dear Reader, I’m lost’ post will be published on Saturday.

Dear Reader, I'm lost

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