To Be Frank

Sep 21, 2025

So this week, in the era of Global Shitfuckery, while the rest of the planet explodes, here in Tweddle Manor - our one wee tiny dot on the earth - it has been kind of adorable.

You see, finally we found Lachlan a new car. Though, when I say new, I use the term very loosely. The car is new to us, but not in any other sense of the word. A 2007 gold Toyota Corolla, it arrived on the planet the same year Lachlan did.

Mark and Lachlan went to view it last Sunday - neither of them feeling particularly perky. Spoiler alert - trying to find an appropriate car you don't have to donate a kidney to insure is not as much fun as it sounds. Anyhow, Mark had spotted one on Craigslist he thought might be worth a look, and lo and behold, it was.

The car seemed to be pretty much perfect for us, though when Mark drove it, it was loud. The seller said the noise was down to a broken hingey bracket thingmy (That may not have been exactly what he said - I’m not too up on motor mechanics.) Anyway, Mark knew what that meant, and said he’d be interested if the guy fixed the broken hingey brackety thingmy.

The Seller did. And when Mark and Lachlan went back to see the car on Monday, it drove like a dream. So by Monday night, it was ours.

We have two other cars - one we call Wallace and another we call Tony. Lachlan decided that the Corolla was named Frank, and thus the front yard is now occupied by Tony, Wallace, and Frank.

If I was worried as to how Lachlan might take to a profoundly beige 18-year-old Toyota Corolla, I needn’t have been. He claims one of the things that he loves about Frank is that he’s “vintage.”

Mark and I both stifled a laugh. If an 18-year-old car is vintage, then I guess we’re prehistoric.

Since Monday, Lachlan has been rarely home. He hangs out with his friends after school, drives them home after they stop off for fast food. Though I have noticed that when he is home, he’s much more cuddly than usual. I might be standing in the kitchen sorting out dinner, and Lachlan will appear with a hug. From time to time, I’ll turn round and see him man-hugging his dad, and then he’ll wander off, full of 18-year-old sass, like nothing ever happened at all.

Frank, it seems, is a hit.

I like the name Frank. Years ago, I did a show called Frank. It was a vehicle too - though in a different sense of the word. It was a solo stand-up show where I played the host and also played all the other stand-ups. There was an Irish guy who couldn’t get a girlfriend. An American lesbian who wanted to talk politics. A busty Scottish lady who wanted to talk about all things sexy, and a shy open spot. In some shows, when the mood took me, I’d also add a Liverpudlian lounge lizard who told the cheesiest of jokes and would end his act with a song.

I’d constructed it, wanting it to be funny obviously, but also that the audience should feel they want to learn more about the stand-ups’ lives and think about the people behind those jokes. I wanted to raise the point that we are all more than just the stereotypes, and we each have much more to offer than we often say.

Anyway, if you think that’s quite a tricky concept to throw together in an hour-long stand-up show, then you’re not alone. Some people vehemently objected that I’d called something a play when all the characters were really just doing stand-up. Other people objected because it had too much ‘meaning’ to be stand-up, and was therefore a play. And I was pissed off because I felt that what they were arguing about was completely irrelevant.

With audiences, it was fun and worked fine. Press-wise it had decent reviews, and I toured the UK and abroad. But in the end, I let it go because I was worn down by the discussion of how it could be defined, and by the obligatory one or two well-meaning people who would appear after shows to tell me how they thought my life/career should be going.

It is amazing the amount of advice you can be offered by people who are so full of their own opinions, they’ve never stopped to consider you might have some of your own. I remember one ‘helpful’ lady gushed that as each of my stand-up characters really seemed like a different person, maybe one day I might consider applying to drama school to see if I could learn how to act. All I could do was smile.

And then, true to the stereotype of myself - I sulked and let the show go.

It is the rule of things that just as one thing ends, another is in the process of just beginning. So, years later, when my life was very different, I was bombarded with messages from people who remembered Frank, about a show that had just won a big award in Edinburgh. The performer had been described as ‘brave and innovative’ in the way that they’d hosted a stand-up show where they played all different stand-ups.

I laughed, and congratulated myself for my ability to never be quite be of the time and to be resolutely unfashionable.

And it certainly didn’t put me off the name Frank.

In another fantastically unfashionable phase of my life, before TikTok was even a sparkle in the eyes of its creators, I decided that Mark and I should make some short-form scripted videos for YouTube. We made a year’s worth of daily scripted videos, managing to coerce incredible performers to take part. One of the repeating characters was a guy called Frank, played and co-created by Alfred Molina. He is, of course, ridiculously talented and could make a shopping list seem fascinating, but he’s also really, really funny as well.

Fred had come to me with a catchphrase that he’d picked up from some unwitting guy he’d met on his travels. The phrase was, “the thing about life is that everyone is a c#$t apart from me and you. And I’m not that sure about you.” And lo and behold, the character of Frank was born.

Mark and I had a brilliant time filming with incredible acts, but after a year of doing daily videos, we had to give it up. Our web channel had a fatal flaw that we’d failed to notice at the time: It’s not possible to do daily videos referencing the date on the World Wide Web, because literally, as my day in Los Angeles is just beginning, in Australia theirs is coming to an end. We are not ever in the same story, at exactly the same time.

Anyway, my lack of concern about being fashionable has turned out to be a giant blessing when it comes to cars. Looking out of the front window to see Tony, Wallace, and Frank basking in the front yard, I must acknowledge that though they are perfect for us, they certainly do not represent everybody's dream. And yet, for this small moment in this era of globalized shitfuckery we are happy. All of us.

I love that the car is called Frank. And since Mark said he thinks the Corolla looks happier parked up at Tweddley Manor than at his old residence, and Lachlan agreed, we not so secretly reckon Frank does too.

I think one of the gifts about being pathologically unfashionable is that, as there's nothing for you to follow, the only way forward is to be honest with yourself about who you are, and in what you trust within yourself to be right. Value in the end, doesn’t come from how other people see you, but in how much you can find peace within yourself.

I’ve really struggled over the past few weeks with feelings of powerlessness and the idea that so much of what is good is dying off or under threat. But then I look at Lachlan driving off in Frank, and I see that I am just at a different place on the timeline. Though I may be worn out by trying to work out how to adult in difficult times, Lachlan is just at the point of entering into adulting and has a great deal yet to do. I’m hopeful his generation will be better at it than mine, or the one before.

Anyway, inspired by Frank, I wonder if doing life is a bit like driving a car: Not everyone on the road will drive like you. Sometimes gas will be an issue. When making a move, check your rear-view mirror for safety, but do not stare. And though it can be tricky at times, it really is a luxury.

Mostly though, when it all gets too loud, take a moment to fix your hingey brackety thingmy. And then keep going.

There are still plenty of miles ahead.

Till next week

PS: Do me a favor and click on the wee heart emoji on this post to like it. Frankly, it lets my algorithm think its adorable.

P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle at Fish and Bear.

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