Third Quarter Report (Bloom Baby Bloom)

The August Bank Holiday feels like a pivot point for the year. It’s the last public holiday before the end-of year bacchanalia of consumerism and over-consumption that Christmas has become. Only a long weekend, but it feels more weighty. The teetering on the edge of a slope, the last moment before we take off in a hectic career towards closure and renewal.

In Reading, the weekend feels particularly notable as our town doubles in population for the Festival. In 1971 it was a simple rock gig (although the lineup, stuffed with acts like Genesis, van Der Graff Generator and Renaissance, feels a bit darn proggy to me). When I started visiting around 2008, it still had a clear demarcation of themed days—one rock, one indie, one dance. Now the lines have blurred further, and the festival holds a place as the last big blowout for the youngs before heading off to college. The lineup is barely recognisable to me now. You know what? That’s fine. I shouldn’t pretend to be down with the kids. I’m rolling into my third quarter. I haven’t been a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boy for a very long time.

Speaking of third quarters. This weekend feels like the perfect time to report in to the shareholders, investors and other interested parties of Excuses And Half Truths Plc, LLC, Inc, Corp etc on our progress over the last few months, and our plans, hopes and aspirations moving forward into 2026. No graphs, I promise.

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The main focus—a final assault on the troublesome top end of our land-strip garden, the area known as Copse End—has finally come to a pleasing break point. No longer a corridor of brambles, ivy and brown, patchy lawn, TLC and I have worked incredibly hard to make the sunny part of the grounds a place worth spending time in. Beds and borders have been dug out and planted, showing a riot of colour from geums and cosmos. An arch has gone in, with a deliciously fragrant Gertrude Jeckll climbing rose and a jasmine set to clamber all over it next year. This deliberately sets the entrance to Copse End as a break point in the flow of the garden, accentuated with the two trees we’ve owned since moving in (a big acer palmatum bloodgood and a flowering cherry) standing guard on either side. But there’s still a clear view all the way down to the big pergola—Gwen’s Den, in tribute to my beloved nan. Another jasmine and a clematis are softening the edges of that structure, and we put in a Buddha statue as a focal point. A garden guardian, a sentinel you can see from the house. I like to give thanks in front of him in the mornings. Every day down there feels like a blessing now.

Work, of course is not complete. You never finish a garden. C wants a cute potting shed in bright colours awash in bunting, and there’s still a full bed to properly shape and sow out. It’s year one for this new iteration of the End, and tweaks and replacements will need to be made to the planting. Some ideas didn’t work, others didn’t work in the places where they’re currently sited. It’s fine. The shapes are in place.

My veg-growing has been a game of two halves. Like C, I tried growing a lot of food from seed this year. Gherkins have been a wild success, the herb bed has flourished in the sunny spot we finally found for it. A single pot of basil I bought for £3 and split into three plants has kept us in fragrant green flavour all summer. Meanwhile, the San Marzano tomatoes which have slowly, slowly matured all year are now heavy on the vines and ripening up. I’ll do them again next year, keeping them in the greenhouse with the hope for a bigger crop. I’ll get enough fruit for a couple of sun-soaked tomato sauces to see us into the cooler months, and I’m happy with that.

The two raised beds (one which came with the house, one new) in Copse End have also motored along happily, providing plenty of spinach, chard and fennel. The old bed has been the greatest success, as two Crown Prince squash plants, raised from an almost forgotten pack of seeds, romp off and away, up the fence and down the path if we’d let them. Even the last remaining apple tree, knowing I guess that it’s for the chop at the end of the season, has issued one last hurrah—the biggest crop we’ve ever had.

Of the chillies, garlic and cucumelons we will not speak.

Personally and professionally, the year thus far has been roller-coastery. I had my first real pay rise in an embarrassing number of years followed almost immediately after by worries over redundancy. That storm has been weathered, I’m happy to report. Actual film credits for me this year on a big summer tent-pole—the Fantastic Four movie. My work is also on screen in Wes Anderson’s The Phoenician Scheme (no end credit roller there, sadly). There are a few other movies with my name on coming out soon, which I’ll talk about when I can.

Writing has been slow and sporadic. I’ve lacked focus and, frankly, intent. Hopefully as the nights draw in I’ll have more reason to do something with my afternoons instead of sitting out with a beer and a book.

Reading Writers is building up to the new term. Our last summer social, a book club meet hosted by yrs truly, takes place next week, then we’re back into events and workshops. I’ve become involved in a break-out writers room, piecing together the complex jigsaw of a sitcom. This has been an unalloyed delight, working and writing with a very talented bunch of people. I’ve also made a start on resurrecting an old audio project—an interesting challenge as a lot of the resources I used in the past to build it either no longer exist or now charge for their services. This new learning curve has a steep slope to it.

Actually, when I write it all down, I’ve been quite busy.

And then, of course, there’s the thing that gets me up on a Saturday morning—this here newsletter/blog/whatever. As a sustained exercise in weekly writing, Excuses And Half Truths remains the healthiest of creative exercises. It’s lovely to hear positive reports from members of The Readership. A big hug to pals Kim and Kelly who are regular cheerleaders.

Let’s give you a quick example of how good this whole endeavour is for me. Without the links for a Swipe this week, I sat down to a blank screen at half eight this morning. An hour later, I’m over a thousand words in. That’s a good sign, right? Conjuring a piece out of nothing from a view down the garden and a need to unburden, while Millie the House Beast dozes next to me.

Excuses And Half Truths remains, for me—and I hope for you—a good way to start the weekend. It looks like it’s going to be a nice one. Let’s do something special with it, before the merry-go-round whips us into autumn.

See you next Saturday.