Katie

6.15pm in a Friday night and I’m in bed, working on half a dozen spreadsheets. JFC, what is wrong with me?

What a band. What a gig ❤️

A Very Important Message from Sheffield’s finest, @petemckee.bsky.social

A very, very happy birthday to you! 🎁

Trackie McLeod. Artist. Born Glasgow, 1993.

Loved doing this interview - open.substack.com/pub/davehasl...

Alright, John McCririck

This is like ‘6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon’ but for cultural icons of the North. Fantastic piece of writing from @davehaslam.bsky.social.

Racist and homophobe dies. Adieu.

I am currently 80% potato, 15% trifle and 5% Twiglet. Blood type is gravy.

Cor!

Leftovers are the best! Discovered a new way of roasting potatoes this Christmas- clotted cream, rosemary and garlic. Crack, in potato form

Going to roast some more potatoes now so I can have them cold later. Bliss.

‘You can have any haircut, as long as it’s bowl-shaped’. Merry Christmas to you, too!

Final day of shit Christmas trees of the 60s and 70s. Didn’t matter what the tree looked like in 1976, as it was the year of the Brut gift sets- a smell so strong it made vision blurry. Brothers taking Henry Cooper at his word and splashing it all over. We all have the same home haircut

Day 5 of shit Christmas trees of the 60s and 70s, and we’re in 1973. Alarming number of needles on the cream carpet and a few bald twigs evident on the tree. Clearly I’m looking at it thinking “what the f*** is this?” Tree providing a temporary distraction from my frankly horrific get-up

On to day 4 of shit Christmas trees of the 60s and 70s, and possibly my favourite. The magnolia walls. The gas fire that blistered your skin on one side of your body whilst the other side stayed cold. The wispy tree. The hand knitted jumpers and home haircuts. 1971 in a nutshell.

No. 3 in the shit Christmas trees of the 60s and 70s is a both sparse and lopsided offering, bought from a bloke in a lay-by off the A127. My mother either 2 large Campari and sodas into Christmas evening, or berating my Dad for taking so long to take the photo. Exfoliating armchair still with us.

Shit Christmas trees of the 60s and 70s, no. 2. A tree so small it sat on top of the telly, along with the sizeable radio and a clockwork clown (which I still have). My brothers look happy, though. We had that armchair until about 1982- the fabric was so rough it exfoliated you. Grim.

Wowsers! Morning

Right, here we go then- the annual posting of shit Christmas trees of the ‘60s and ‘70s (or ‘late 20th century’, as my daughter puts it). No. 1 is a spindly affair, but my Mum and Auntie distract from it with their badass slippers and mini dresses. Good work, ladies

Oh yes! I suppose there is- he’d have loved that comparison x

I can remember we all used to sing the Hamlet cigar music to him as he tried to light his pipe

Just found this absolute classic photo of my Dad. West Country somewhere, lighting that pipe was a family effort (all gathered round with coats shielding it from the wind). We would have been off-camera absolutely killing ourselves laughing at him. Became a much-loved family joke, which he loved

Rainbow trail, Morfa Nefyn, Wales

The Chris Anderson photos for Vanity Fair really are exceptional

Me, my Dad and my brothers on the beach, around 1974. Either Putsborough Beach or Botany Bay (Kent). Chonky and happy, cos I was holding Dad’s hand

Good morning from Sheffield

I’ve had to phone them 3 times today. 3!! And will probably need to phone them again before the end of the week. Solidarity ✊

Sheffield people- Longbarrow Press go above and beyond when it comes to customer service. Well worth having a look to see what takes your fancy, and choose yourself (or someone else) a gift-wrapped, hand-delivered book

Belton House Christmas lights were magical last night