Good morning! I just watched a squirrel sit in the trough I grow salad leaves in and methodically work his way through a whole row of rocket/arugula.
A party
On Tuesday Substack had a really good party in Montague Square Gardens. You access it by going through these little quite secret gates, and then wham, a great big garden square (and a harpist, in this instance).
There were lots of interesting and clever and amusing people, from all the different categories of newsletter. Finance newsletters are a huge thing, who knew? Not I.
I really like the camaraderie of Substack. It’s new enough for everyone to feel excited about being part of it, and old enough for people to feel very happily at home there/here. Writer-heavy parties tend to be enjoyable anyway because writing is so solitary that we’re all delighted to consort with other humans.
Well, usually. Years ago at a party in the same gardens, a male novelist, having love-bombed another male novelist for ten minutes, turned to me and smirked, ‘And how’s your little book?’.
Nowadays I would pity him for being a person who needed to be mean because then he could tell himself that people didn’t like him because he was so magnificently scathing and bitchy, instead of people not liking him because he was massively unlikeable (which I’m pretty sure would have been his formative school experience, it almost always is with people like that).
But I had my own issues, so I said, ‘Outselling yours by about 300-1,’ and went to get a drink. I mean, I’m glad I evolved and stopped being so defensive and insecure, but I can’t say I don’t derive any pleasure from the recollection.
Anyway - lovely party, thank you
.
Here are some things I liked this week.
Reading newsletters
I loved this, it’s so sweet and so true.
Gabby Whiten’s mini mags
The whole of Oh Eight is great - these little zines are only a part, but I just find them intensely pleasing visually. They’re clickable and shoppable! So good.
English lit
English literature – so it seemed to me when I was a bookish zealot of 18 – was the prince of the humanities. When I was interviewed at Oxford and asked why I wanted to study English, I informed my interrogators (I still remember the phrase that I had practised beforehand and considered richly impressive) that “literature shows us what it is or might be to be human”. I believed it.
James Marriott in the New Statesman on the post-literate society.
Edmund White
James practising his phrase for his Oxford interview reminded me of something Edmund White, who died last week, wrote in Granta a billion years ago (about Europe through American eyes - here).
At the time the bit below made me cry with laughter - I remember trying to read it aloud to someone and not managing to get the ‘widow’ bit out. Poor Edmund White, obviously, but still. It’s 1949, he is a precocious 9 year old and in a restaurant in New York with his unloving father. They get talking to a soldier, who is British:
I'd read Oscar Wilde and I assumed that because the soldier was English (my first!) he too must speak in constant quips and deliver polished epigrams. With my dull father and stepmother he sounded as tepid as they did, but I felt that if I could recall one of Wilde's remarks he'd light up with recognition and deliver his own cascade of witticisms.
At last I got up my courage, interrupted my father, and said to the soldier, "I know a widow who just buried her husband and her hair has gone quite gold with grief."
My father looked embarrassed at his sissy son's outburst. My stepmother knew perfectly well I'd never met a widow in my life.
The soldier looked genuinely repulsed. He winced with disgust and turned his attention to his chop.
Barbara Kingsolver
I really enjoyed this interview by Kaitlyn Teer in Big Salad, and especially BK saying: ‘The greatest thing about getting older is that you have all these versions of yourself still inside you. Every decade that I’ve had is the best decade yet. Whatever I would tell my younger self is nothing that she’d listen to! She would just keep making her own mistakes, which is good, because making your mistakes is what leads to wisdom, like scar tissue — you have to live to get it.’
Amen. Ageing isn’t about tired old tropes to do with invisibility - it’s about unfurling, expanding, a bit more every day. The piece also has tomatoes, canning, escapee sheep, gardening, favourite books - the whole thing is a delight.
This garden chair
Lovely, but yellow is irresistible to insects - they keep an eye (or six) out for it, because pollen - and so I don’t know whether this would make them all come and hover next to you. If that’s a concern, the chair also comes in a nicely-judged blue. £65 from Habitat. The yellow is here and the blue is here.
Art nuns
Grateful to
for posting this Note, which alerted me to Sister Corita Kent, 1918-1986, a nun who taught and then made art. From the mid-1960s onwards the art became more Pop and was mostly about social justice. Bio of her here.
Fathers
I remember my father was in and out of jail growing up, and he had stolen money from the family business. He was extremely handsome but had dentures at a young age because he had lost all of his teeth. This was all attributed to the heroin addiction. My father was very sensitive and very sweet and I loved him.
It’s Father’s Day tomorrow, meaning there will be lots of reminiscing about storybook dads. I really liked this by Lori Christian.
And if you missed it at the time, this by Jennifer Barnett is an exceptionally good piece of writing/feeling about hers.
Also I’ve just read this by Lisa Dawson and could not love it more.
Bangles
An armful of resin bangles from Dinosaur Designs, so nice with summer black. Various thicknesses - these are in the style Drift and the colour Dark Horn (no two are quite the same). Note: they weigh a ton, one or three would be plenty unless you’re Popeye.
About the people who design High Street clothes
A butter dish
Highly appealing enamel butter dish. I love butter, unsalted, fridge-cold, in a baguette, enough to just feel my teeth going through the crust and into a creamy slab of it.
A skirt
This cream satin skirt from Uniqlo is great and is £39.90. Comes in two lengths.
This jug
I like everything these people make, this jug (reduced - it’s a second) included.
Indian fashion brands
on her favourite independent, sustainable clothes brands from India, all of whom offer international shipping.Indian-made brands are often comparable to, or even better priced than, Zara. And you certainly won't be paying Dôen or Dries prices for comparable designs here, making these beautiful, high-quality pieces incredibly accessible.
Selfies
How to take a mirror selfie like a pro.
(Someone explained this week that the reason I’m chronically unphotogenic is that my face is very mobile and never looks like itself in repose. I think this is true).
Auctions/David Lynch
David Lynch’s possessions are being auctioned on Wednesday and the beautifully-shot catalogue is fascinating.
I love a good auction catalogue. It’s too late to put this in my book now, but it’s just occurred to me that when decorating a room or indeed a house, a good question to ask yourself would be: what would my hypothetical auction catalogue look like? Would it be full of interesting, personal, weird human things that tell the story of my life, or would it be crateloads of one-size-fits-all blandness that the algorithm told me constituted ‘taste’?
Something to listen to
Diana Henry’s new book, a memoir in food, is called Around the Table - 52 Essays on Food & Life and isn’t out until October. But the audiobook already is. I thought this was odd, but actually it is clever: it’s such a great, highly evocative listen that you desperately want to own the physical book as well. Also that jacket is so beautiful - the artist is Vivienne Williams (here on Instagram).
Something to read
I’ve just bought this and have the highest hopes. Pandora Sykes says ‘it is brilliant, with shades of Percival Everett, Jonathan Franzen, Meg Wolitzer and Katherine Heiny’, which is all I need. I’ll report back. I’m hoping it might be as good as Wellness, my favourite novel of the past few years. I miss Wellness and still think about it all the time.
A rechargeable floor lamp
Cordless rechargeable lamp, but tall. Next to the bath! Joy. Various colours, here from Pooky.
A thin t-shirt
I’ve spent ages trying to find thin t-shirts that have a good neck bit (not too high, not too textured, not too thick), that drape well and that aren’t too cropped or too long. This doesn’t look terribly exciting but in the flesh it is a really good airy, well-cut, flattering, relaxed-looking t-shirt made of linen (I have it in white but it wouldn’t show up against this page’s background).
For an oversized fit, e.g. with the satin skirt above, I like the very thin men’s ones from American Vintage, but they’re more expensive and I never remember the name of the style I like - I’m 93% sure it’s one called Decatur.
A request
I would like a realistic guide to dressing in summer in the UK. All the ones I’ve seen - and they are excellently put together and full of great things, it’s not that - assume either that everyone spends August broiling by the pool in Puglia, or have really misplaced faith in the reliability of the British weather.
It’s a throwback to the heyday of women’s magazines, whose job was to make everything seem madly glamorous. I appreciate that it’s nice to imagine one is the sort of person who summers abroad and has many cocktail parties to attend straight from the beach club, but come on.
So I feel that along with the white sundresses, giant straw hats and tiny sandals that would make your feet black with grime if you ever took the Tube, we could all do with being pointed to bits to throw on when the clouds come out or it starts drizzling - bits that don’t immediately ruin the outfit or make it look like you’re going camping after dinner. Please could someone write this?
(There will now be an epic heatwave and I will have moaned for nothing).
Basic pleasure
I find it extraordinary that people run their lives through metrics. So you wear an Oura ring because you can’t sleep, but that leads you to obsessively monitor your sleep, so then you sleep even less because now you’re fretting about sleep metrics, and then when you’re awake you’re disappointed in yourself because your ring says your sleep quality is poor. It is literally a recipe for anxiety. This is about all of that, and on ‘basic pleasure’ being the corrective.
Tanning things
This (smaller version here) is a temporary instant tan that washes off. It’s expensive but you don’t need much, and it is just so good - a cinch to apply and a great colour. You can layer it but I think it’s best for a light, fully convincing, weekend-in-the garden level tan.
You need either a tanning mitt or, ideally, a tanning brush - I tried to apply it with my fingers the other day and, no. Face and body. Dries in moments and doesn't transfer, even onto white bedding. No objectionable scent because it’s tea-based.
While we’re at it, these are my favourite tanning drops (the link is to medium-dark).
Stay-on tan
If you’re after something more permanent, I have not migrated from Gatineau since I wrote about it in my beauty column a couple of years ago.
Tan-like enhancer
This is basically wash-off body makeup that tans you (it’s not matte - there are tiny golden sparkly bits in it, but not enough to frighten the horses). It is very good at making skin look moisturised and pleasingly even. Various shades. Again, I find it easiest to apply with a brush. Also exists in a face version.
Snack ideas
Back in Mounjaro corner for a second: this is a handy cookbook, though really more a low-effort assembly-book. If you prefer snacking on small and delicious morsels to the idea of facing down a big plate of something, it’s perfect. It’s also useful if you’re having people round. Or if you’re eating outside. Or if you’re just busy. Or if you don’t like cooking. Or if it’s too hot. Or if you’re making a sort of apéro dînatoire situation, so more than drinks and crisps but less than a sit-down dinner (best way of eating in summer, in my view).
In brief
Liked Your Friends & Neighbours, didn't like The Four Seasons enough, partly because I didn’t believe in the relationship between Tina Fey and her husband (I hate it when the woman in a relationship behaves like the man’s mum. It absolutely creeps me out). Loved Department Q, liking The Pitt.
Related: I’ve been wondering if this is true. I think probably yes.
I loved this prescription by Christina Patterson. It’s from yesterday, but applies to any beautiful summer evening in this broken world.
Very interesting re. the ability to connect. The rat experiment!
Every time I sit down to write one of these, I think ‘let’s keep it short and maybe even themed’. Never happens. I hope you don’t mind. Have a lovely Saturday, and as ever do please kindly leave this post a ❤️ if you enjoyed it. Thank you! Here’s to a really hot weekend. We had a crazy storm here last night, for hours - deafening thunder right over the house, like explosions. I loved it (unlike the dogs).
PS Loose horses and foals on a local common earlier this week. They arrive after Easter and stay until early October.
I have a newborn baby, my second and after a very difficult postpartum experience with my first, I'm so thrilled that I've had an enjoyable, albeit chaotic and sleep deprived, experience this time around. Every Saturday morning since the arrival of baby Sadie, my partner has taken my eldest daughter downstairs for breakfast and brought me a coffee that I've had while feeding Sadie in bed and I've read Home. She nods off for her first nap of the day and I continue to read, always following through on the articles linked and to peruse the window shopping links. It is such a restorative time in my week after a hectic Monday to Friday and I cannot thank you enough for the joy it brings me! I look forward to it every week and adore your work. Thank you so much India x
Love the 300-1 retort. Am afraid (but similarly without regrets) that was equally sharp at a group dinner many years ago, where one chap (in middle management or similar) wouldn’t stop belittling the idea of writing for a living. Finally, getting increasingly fed up, when he asked if it wasn’t terribly hard to get one’s (little) books stocked in Waterstones, let alone on a table, I finally retorted ‘My books have THEIR OWN TABLE in Waterstones.’ (Memory gap as to whether I said ‘their own fucking table’.) He left shortly afterwards.