The Commonplace Newsletter

Articles

Great Western

1 month ago | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedContended we carve through countryside-Bound for town, for reality, for bed. Beyond the window now a mellow unfolding:Patchwork hedgerows- artichoke barriers around kelly-green grass,Steady slow turn of white windmills,Horizon haze, heat shimmering,Steep valley drops beyond brick bridges. Delays in departure no issue,Each station a saint and we draw patience from them.
Something about Mitchum

1 month ago | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

As I draw closer to the end of this Commonplace Newsletter project, I am forced to ask myself what else is there left to say? What topics or ideas or themes have I not yet covered that I would regret leaving untouched? It’s a question I have been turning over in my mind for a couple of weeks now; while on the commuter train to work, while scanning groceries, while queuing at the post office ideas will come to me and I will rapidly realise that I have already written about them.
That Time of Year Again

Jan 24, 2025 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

The experiment continues…A year ago today (which also happens to be my birthday) I announced a new policy. I would only directly hit my readers with a call to action once a year. January 24th would be the one day each year where I would pass the hat. And only on this one day each year would I approach my readers directly with a reminder that I offer paid subscriptions- both monthly and annually- as well as an option for a one off donation (via ‘Buy Me a Coffee’) if preferred.
Power, Speed and Centralisation

Jan 23, 2025 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Speed is modernity and modernity is speed. Everything’s moving so fast and yet little seems to get better. Everyone’s working so hard- or at least exerting so much energy- but little seems to get improve. The hands race around the clock face, the pages fly off the calendar, the speedometer quivers dangerously in the red zone. But to what end?
Like the drifting pinks and reds of an autumn sunset

Jan 13, 2025 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLike the drifting pinks and reds of an autumn sunset,Like the rolling, vast unfathomable ocean,Like the oceanic intoxication of a moment of insight(as brief as the beat of wings, as eternal as hope itself)my love for you is beyond mere words. My love for you is beyond mere words,beyond mere intellect,beyond theorising,beyond categorisation,beyond comparison,beyond all such thinking things.
The Heart of Christmas

Dec 25, 2024 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Images suggest themselves when the calendar draws close to this day of days- hardy trees wreathed in gold, twinkling lights playing against bauble glass, prizes wrapped in pretty paper, but they don’t get to the heart of Christmas.
On Self-Improvement

Dec 9, 2024 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

We draw ever closer to another new year, to another round of that post Christmas, post party masochism where the food coma clears and the hangover gloom eases up just enough for us to be seduced by the siren song of Self Improvement. New Year, new me. This won’t be like 2024 or 2023 or 2022 or 2021. No no, this time will be… different.
Seashells

Nov 4, 2024 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedUnderfoot(whether sand-speckled and bareor shod with city shoes)lie the seashells,sifted by the foam of lapping tidesall beachwornand abandoned along the strandlines. As children,closer to the ground,closer to the truth of thingswe would pluck and pocket and clasp these treasuresand greedily read through borrowed books aboutgastropods and cephalopodsand mollusks and mussels and hermit crabs,closer to the truth of things.
Walking as Inactivity

Aug 5, 2024 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Sunday. The day of rest. I’m down by the Quayside, walking. It’s near lunchtime and the walkways on either side of the water’s edge are teeming with couples and clusters of families, both on foot and on pushbikes. There are pedaloes cutting through the still water and waitresses running out trays of tall lattes to eager pensioners nestled under the parasols jutting out from the centre of round metal tables.
When I Think of Rain I Think of You

May 27, 2024 | thomasjbevan.substack.com | Thomas J Bevan

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published When I think of rain I think of you Of you and I with chins in palms and reddening elbows resting on a white painted sill As park joggers trudge clockwise revolutions And steam-windowed buses climb the hill to the boroughs When I think of rain I think of you With every slow crawling carriage window-bead And the churning tepid tea coloured sea Smiling slyly there at the sideways sky And the prospect of being beside you...