Show Notes
I always knew when my grandfather had come home too boozed, or sometimes it was even on a night when he’d just drift in his chair. The whiskey had done a number on him again. There’d be some noise and then my grandmother would shout out, “Boil the combs!” Grandad was a good sort otherwise. He made me a go-kart out of old boxes, but when the other kids could go much faster, he took the engine from his leaf-blower and hid it under the hood. He said, “put your foot on this button and just ease off if you’re going around a corner because there are no breaks”. He also said, “the other kids are stupid anyway”. And we laughed together for a long time after he said things like that. Grandma and Granddad liked to say that they ‘took me in’ and I never knew what that meant, at least not for ages. My dad wasn’t really into being a dad, they said. My mum could not cope alone. She moved up north to ‘better herself’, and that hurt the first few times I heard it, because I always wondered what was better than having a son. But it turned out she was going to go back to school to get some qualifications. She started writing letters, and as I got a bit older, I reckon the letters improved a bit too, so school was obviously working pretty good for her the second time around. Granny and Grandpa were good sorts, but I know she didn’t like it much when he went out drinking, or just had too much in his chair at home. But he seemed to have his reasons, reckoned sometimes she went out late alone without him when I was asleep, but also that I really didn’t need to know much more about that. We were quite a funny wee gang. I got teased a bit in school sometimes by people saying who is that old man or that old lady, or just who are those stupid old people that pick you up. But I just ignored that. Like a lot of what I am saying here, and a lot more I’m choosing not to say, it hurt a bit at the time. And then it didn’t. But I had good times with them both, and it felt like I was just living in a different world. Helping to pickle beetroot and lemons in the kitchen with Grandma. Helping to grow vegetables in the hydroponic greenhouse out back in the yard with Granddad. All of it completely normal to me, at least until we talked about what we did in the weekends first period Monday. I certainly never mentioned the combs. I knew that would take some explaining. One time, Granddad stumbled into my room and I thought he was lost, but he said to just shove over, and he pushed me close to the wall and he just fell asleep in the bed behind me. But pressed right up against me. It was fine, I guess. I felt safe. I just thought it was weird. And his breath smelled a bit like if someone had been sick in a cup of tea. So I hugged the wall instead of him. And another time, Grandma came in, but she was not going to let me sleep in the bed with her and told me to get on the floor. I tried to say that I was comfortable, but I was also pretty sleepy, so must have just crawled into place on the floor. I woke up and I was curled into a ball like a cat, under a huge rug, and also on top of a fluffy rug too. So it was actually really comfortable, and a little bit funny. I didn’t remember being there, like how I got there at all, until Granny said. And it was actually really weird because she was already up and making breakfast, so I thought at first I’d done some silly sleepwalking or something. But Granny believed in telling the truth. Most of the time anyway. And definitely whenever I asked. Which is why I had to find out why she would yell, “boil the combs”, and what did that even mean? She said it was a throwback to when she’d be woken up by her mum yelling the same thing whenever her dad came home drunk. Her mum would shout “boil the combs”, and the kids in the house would get up, put a pot of water on, and with the cast iron pot cooling off the fire, they’d then place two hair combs in, so as to be sure no lice were trapped, and the combs were nice and clean. They wou
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Welcome to episode three of my new podcast series — Object/ive Permanence — where in one take, no edits, I chat with someone, the conversation is captured, and you can watch and/or listen to it. The podcast is here on Substack but will go out on all the other usual Podcast channels as past of the “Sweetman Podcast” RSS. This is a new experiment. I’m talking to people about an object they bring, and from there we go wherever the conversation takes us. Of course I’ll let them talk about who they are, what they do, and current or past work, but it’s less the focus than the original Sweetman Podcast, which was audio only. For this pod, each guest is asked to bring an object, something to talk about. We get going from there. Emily Writes is an author, newsletter writer, public speaker and MC, a community fosterer and leader, an activist, and she also sometimes writes filthy, horny film reviews too. A broad range! She’s also a friend. As she says here, I’ve known her since back before she was “Emily Writes”. We met as two writers, sharing ideas and seeking advice, from there we grew our families around the same time. Emily had been on my previous podcast — the episodes are still around for you to listen to — and it’s always a good chat. So she was someone I immediately wanted on the new format. We had such a great chat, about writing, and community, and the difficulties in being public; we talked about Palestine, and fundraising, and activism and charity. We talked about family and the arc of our friendship. We talked about that pesky, necessary social media too. All up, a beautiful conversation to share. We had a lot of laughs and we might have even worked a few things out. You can subscribe to Emily’s newsletter and follow her writing here.
Welcome to episode two of my new podcast series — Object/ive Permanence — where in one take, no edits, I chat with someone, the conversation is captured, and you can watch and/or listen to it. The podcast is here on Substack but will go out on all the other usual Podcast channels as past of the “Sweetman Podcast” RSS. This is a new experiment. I’m talking to people about an object they bring, and from there we go wherever the conversation takes us. Of course I’ll let them talk about who they are, what they do, and current or past work, but it’s less the focus than the original Sweetman Podcast, which was audio only. For this pod, each guest is asked to bring an object, something to talk about. We get going from there. Dr Chris Bowden, an academic from Victoria University of Wellington, was high on my original list of potential guests, one of the first people I reached out to when rebooting my podcast. We met for the first time in the slightly awkward introduction to this conversation and interview. Chris’ PhD focused on understanding young men’s experience of losing a close male friend to suicide. Aware of his work with Mates in Construction, and as an educational psychologist, I was interested to talk with Chris and I’m so glad I did. You’ll hear us talk about Joy Division and Metallica, and we will talk about Chris’ life and work. It is a heavy conversation, but there is so much heart and humility from Dr Bowden that I would hope there’s enough light at the end of the tunnel. But absolutely take care if and when watching or listening to this pod episode. Sounds Good! is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Each month I host an open mic called ‘Say The Thing’. Poems, stories, anything people want to read or speak, provided the wrote it. I usually read a poem or two, or some short prose to kick off, so that no one else feels they have to be the ‘first reader’. This month I read two new/ish Harry Nilsson poems, since that’s my current writing obsession. I read two that I’d only just written and shared, Harry Lied: And Bojanglin’ — ostensibly about the song, ‘Mr. Bojangles’ So you can read along or read the poems instead, or check the text after. But I like sharing the odd audio recording and preserving them for the archive. So this was last week at Say The Thing. We have two more events (Oct/Nov) for 2026. Sounds Good! is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Welcome to episode one of my new podcast series — Object/ive Permanence — where in one take, no edits, I chat with someone, the conversation is captured, and you can watch and/or listen to it. The podcast is here on Substack but will go out on all the other usual Podcast channels as past of the “Sweetman Podcast” RSS. This is a new experiment. I’m talking to people about an object they bring, and from there we go wherever the conversation takes us. Of course I’ll let them talk about who they are, what they do, and current or past work, but it’s less the focus than the original Sweetman Podcast, which was audio only. For this pod, each guest is asked to bring an object, something to talk about. We get going from there. Duncan Sarkies very kindly agreed to be my first guest. And I don’t even introduce him on camera (how rude!) Duncan’s a writer of films and TV, also novels, plays, and a book of short stories. He is fresh off a spoken word show at the TAHI Festival which I reviewed: That show featured him reading stories from his most recent novel, Stargazers. We also talk a bit about the project, Uncle Bertie’s Botanarium. But beyond that this is a free-flowing conversation that isn’t about any one thing, isn’t pre-planned at all, and isn’t edited. Which is exactly what I want to do with this series of podcasts. It is very much about creativity and connecting and conversation. Which is also what I want. Less of an interview, with some questions arriving about as naturally as possible (hopefully). So, my apologies that the sound isn’t quite how I want it, but this is a work in progress. So audio-quality is on the ‘To Fix’ list. But this is listenable. And watchable. And I hope you like it.
Here’s a reading of a couple of pieces from The Richard Poems, and four new pieces, three of my Harry Nilsson poems, and a poem I wrote just two days before reading. I was the opening for A Party of Poets at The Cabana, in Napier. A terrific event, an incredible lineup to be part of — what I loved was we were all different. The seven poets reading all had different themes, content, and delivery. It’s not my right to record and share the others — but here’s my set. Thanks for reading Sounds Good! ! This post is public so feel free to share it.