HeyJaredPigeon Post
A mix of published articles and musings on life, told by a Londoner with Irish roots who moved to Australia. Content is varied, sometimes even amusing.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
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- Sep 16, 2026
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- Jul 7, 2026
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The Unexpected Pleasure of the Television Play (opens the original)
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with television. While other kids had imaginary friends, my best pal was the goggle-box in the corner of the room. It made me laugh, it taught me stuff and occasionally had me hiding behind the sofa (damn you, beardy fella from Fingerbobs).But it was on those occasions - half term, or being off sick from school - that I felt closest to my portal to the outside world. And tempted as I am to bask in the nostalgic glow of See-Saw telly, the shows I
In Praise of the Everyday Photograph (opens the original)
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Picture the scene: New Cross, South-East London, a teenage girl’s bedroom in the late 1980s. Among the piles of music tapes, dog-eared copies of Q magazine and an empty bottle of Smirnoff Moscow Mule, there is a framed poster on the wall of a beautiful woman and a hot, sexy man - possibly French - leaning out of their cars and kissing.You probably had something similar. Maybe the shirtless fella holding a baby, or a tennis player airing her arse cheeks to the wind. And, like me, you no doubt tho
My Ongoing Battle with Things I Cannot Change (opens the original)
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In an office where I once worked, we had a boss who was, quite frequently, an absolute pain in the arse. Nothing unusual there, but I was young, and back then people didn’t get on my nerves half as much as they do now, what with all their breathing and blinking.
Why We're Still Touching Wood (opens the original)
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The year was 1983, Crackerjack was no doubt on the telly, and mum was trying and failing to call Dad down for dinner. I was told to fetch him, but when I got upstairs I found Dad stood rigid, staring out of the window, transfixed by something in the garden. I followed his gaze and saw that he was watching a magpie on the grass, possibly frolicking alongside a cheeky grey squirrel - I can’t recall exactly - what with being a permanently hungry child with food on my mind. What I do remember is, wh
The Quiet Revolution of Old Age (opens the original)
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"You can bring meat back now," my mother announced, the day before she flew home from Ireland.For the uninitiated, every family journey back to England has, for as long as I can remember, involved an extra suitcase stuffed with enough bacon and sausages to keep a greasy cafe in cooked breakfasts for a year. That was, however, before biosecurity rules put an end to the free movement of Irish produce.I reminded my mother that this wasn’t strictly true, citing an instance recently when her very own
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