Published 28th June 2026 The new music-infused novel by the author of Homeward Bound and I’m Still Standing and 77-year-old TikTok and Instagram sensation (with posts reaching up to ¾ million views!)
In turn hilarious and moving, Made for Walking is a captivating novel about generational warfare, the meaning of friendship and finding your place in the modern world.
Author Richard Smith started writing at age 71 and now, at 77, has become a TikTok and Instagram sensation, talking about his extensive vinyl record collection. He also does regular DJ sets on The BoAt Pod – an independent radio station broadcasting from a narrow boat in Little Venice, London. Find out more about what he is up to here.
When veteran actor Syd Price is dumped from a long-running TV soap, he needs to find anew way forward in a media landscape that he no longer recognises. But when a rising star, model and Instagram sensation, Chloe Anderson, suggests filming a riverside ramble together, what starts as a mutually beneficial partnership turns into a vicious battle of the generations. Filled with music, MADE FOR WALKING is a heartfelt cross-generational story of ageing, modern life, friendship and retribution.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR RICHARD SMITH wrote his first book, Homeward Bound, at age 71. He enjoyed it so much (and it was so well received) that he kept going. Before embarking on his writing career, Richard was a producer of TV commercials, sponsored documentaries and educational and promotional films. It took him around the world and into places not normally accessible to visitors – up to the top of the Elizabeth Tower to see Big Ben strike twelve, on a speed boat around the Needles and North Sea oil platforms, and to the Niger Delta in Africa to name but a few. Richard Smith lives in London.
MADE FOR WALKING will be available in paperback (£10.99) and ebook (£4.99) at all good bookshops and online booksellers.
Step into Syd Price's journey.
"Made for Walking" is captivating, moving, and hilarious — sometimes all at once. Grab your copy and find out why.
These are the words from a song by popular modern beat combo, The 1975.
I despair!
Did nobody point out to at least one of the three writers of this song, George Daniel, Matty Healy and Jack Antonoff, that ‘times’ does not rhyme with ‘Caroline’? I know it’s a small point and grammar has never been a strong point in popular music (I always correct Paul Simon – great song-writer that he is – to ‘I wish I were homeward bound’, not ‘was homeward bound’ when I sing along) but to state so positively that ‘Caroline’ is the only rhyme to ‘times’ is positively shameful. Why could they not have spent a moment considering adjusting the lyrics to find a word that did rhyme?
Yet that has led me to consider the lyrics of many of the songs that populate the best-sellers of today. In my 1960’s youth, I was virtually weaned on the top twenty, buying all the hits and singing along to ‘Da Doo Ron Ron’ and ‘Wah wah wah wah why, she ran away’. Simple and catchy. And while not at the pinnacle of English language construction, easy and harmless. True, quite a few songs might have had my parents shaking their heads in despair about declining standards. ‘If you gotta go, go now, or else you gotta stay all night’ might have had the tensing for me as a small boy asking what it meant. Or ‘I’m afraid we’ll go too far’ (in ‘Young Girl’). Or ‘She was too young to fall in love and I was too young to know’ (‘Only Sixteen). But there was nothing so overt that it made me snigger in my bedroom.
Of course, it would be naïve to assume that all sixties’ music was pure and above board – there were too many drugs around to guarantee that. And anyone who has listened to the Beatles’ ‘Girl’ will know that those cheeky chaps, Paul and George, were singing what was considered at the time to be rude words in the background. But who noticed? Anything naughty and not wholesome for tender ears was disguised, almost an in-joke for the performers. For me, as a pre-teen, I suspected nothing, just singing along with the words and enjoying the sound. And my parents could feel safe that I was not being exposed to the adult world too early.
By the time I was a parent, such niceties were history. Songs now went full f-word, although radio remixes saved innocent ears and record covers carried stickers with the message, ‘Parent Advisory’.
Did that help? I always feared it might make young people more curious. But it gave adults a chance to protect their children. Chumbawamba’s ‘Tubthumping’ – that I’d bought and my daughter liked to dance to – starts with, ‘I thought that music mattered. Does it? Bollocks’, so I knew I had to cough at the appropriate moment and hope she wouldn’t notice. Then I felt safe to let the rest play. (I should say that, only now while writing this, do I realise the chorus is ‘Pissin’ the night away, pissin’ the night away.’ I don’t know what I thought it was, but it wasn’t ‘pissin’’! Did she know or care? Still, I expect she was familiar with the word already. So I exonerate myself!)
Fortunately, the most explicit sexual content tended to remain as innuendo, and it could be interpreted in a wholesome way. ‘Milkshake’ (Kelis), ‘When Two Become One’ (Spice Girls), ‘Genie In A Bottle’ (Christine Aguella) can all be explained away if you’re not looking for sexual content or don’t understand it. And while in ‘Oh Carolina’, the singer (Shaggy) was ‘banging on the bathroom floor’, it could always have been thumping the tiles while jumping around. And research suggests most young people did take it all at face value.
That’s not to say all artists were ambiguous about sex in their songs. I’m thinking of the likes of Liz Phair. ‘Liz Phair who?’ I hear you cry – luckily such performers tended to be ‘alternative’ or difficult, so not popular with the young. She performed explicit lyrics to catchy tunes, but the arrangements and minimalist accompaniment weren’t commercial and therefore off the main music radar, and out of aural reach of the young. But don’t go playing her albums to your little ones before checking out her titles or lyrics first.
Which brings us to today. Things have taken a lurch for the worse. It’s all quite different. Some of the most catchy, singable popular songs are the most profane, intimate and explicit. Who would expect that the most potty-mouthed would be radio-friendly Sabrina Carpenter? Or Lana Del Ray? Even Taylor Swift. Yet their lyrics invariably leave nothing to alternative interpretations. I would quote some here, but it would involve too many asterisks! And as they’re streamed, there can be no control or parental warning.
There are moves to protect young people from explicit visual material (the jury’s out on how effective they’ll be), but music escapes all control. It was a joy of my childhood, and sung in all innocence because, by and large, it was innocent. Things only got bawdy when you were old enough to know better. Now it’s in your face. The occasional Anglo-Saxon word in a song can shock and have a relevance (I’m thinking of the anger in Alanis Morrisette’s ‘You Oughta Know’ as an example) and you can steer innocent ears away if necessary.
But in recent pop tunes and number one hits like, ‘Manchild’ by Sabrina Carpenter, it’s simply gratuitous. Without losing anything, she could have recorded, ‘Why you always come a-running to me? Mess my life’, substituting ‘mess’ for the four-letter f-word she actually uses. And there are many, many other examples in hit songs today.
Are today’s performers adult and responsible enough to think of who’s listening when they write and record? Or don’t they care, or simply looking to get credit for being streetwise?
I have loved popular music in all its forms since I was eight or nine. Now, I fear for parents who’d like their children to share and enjoy that same love without having to shield or censor.
Richard Smith’s novels, Homeward Bound and I’m Still Standing are available from Amazon and bookshops.
I was interviewed by the blogger Ann Cater (‘Random Things Through My Letterbox) on publication of ‘I’m Still Standing’. It was meant to be my life in books, but I side-stepped that and made it into records! Here’s what I said.
Anne: Tell me about your life through records.
Me: You’d expect my blog for My Life in Books, to be about, well, books. Except, while I have read innumerable memorable and remarkable books that meant a lot to me, I struggle to recall that much about them! They leave an impression rather than specific details. Similarly, I can’t follow a season of shows on Netflix and remember what happened in the last episode unless I binge-watch – and even then….
But records? I can name every B side of every 45 I bought as a child and sing through Beatles albums, track by track, occasionally pitch perfect. And each one with a memory. That is why my books are named after songs – Homeward Bound and now I’m Still Standing.
Here is my life in ten records:
My Old Man’s A Dustman – Lonnie Donegan. OK, not a classic that I still play, but this isn’t Desert Island Discs. It was my first ever record. I’d wager that yours was something cheesy too. I still know it off by heart, one the only songs that I can actually sing without tripping over the lyrics. It’s little wonder that I never made it as a rockstar.
Runaway – Del Shannon. The perfect pop song. I think it’s the record that turned me from being a music lover into an addict. It was also the first record I put money into a jukebox to play. I eventually bought everything Del Shannon recorded. Spotify describes him as favouring ‘brooding themes of abandonment, loss, and rejection’. You’ll see a theme developing as we go on.
Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who. This is a great one to play when you’re feeling angry. It’s exciting, loud and the lyrics visceral. And the tension in the extended instrumental break is almost unbearable, ending in a primal scream!
Jealous – Labrinth. A heartbreak song, but so simple and you can feel his pain. And it’s important as a reminder to me that good tunes didn’t stop in the seventies. This came out in 2014. (And don’t forget, in the sixties, it wasn’t all Beatles. We also had to endure Ken Dodd and Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep!)
Turn On A Friend – Peanut Butter Conspiracy. The lyric has always stuck with me as I believe it to be an impossible suggestion! You can’t turn anybody on to a record, a TV programme or a book. It’s just too embarrassing to try, as tastes differ and invariably what one person likes will leave another cold. Not a comfortable feeling when I’ve a book out that I want people to like! Of course, the song’s probably about drugs (it is from 1967) so perhaps I shouldn’t worry.
Alone Again Or – Love. I hope people don’t see me as miserable, but I do find misery in songs weirdly uplifting. But this one inspires me with lines about people being the greatest fun and how the singer could be in love with almost everyone, and that’s a great way to start any day! But even this one is in a minor key and has a melancholy edge.
Green River – the Everly Brothers. I think my love of music comes through harmony, and the Everly’s were the best. I could pick any from their thirty-year catalogue of recordings but nominate this later one as it’s about longing and nostalgia, more themes I love. I can almost feel the heat and smell wide-open plains as they sing. I spin this regularly, even though it’s from 1972.
Homeward Bound – Simon and Garfunkel. Harmonies and lyrics again. Paul Simon was influenced by the Everlys (they sing on Graceland) and his wistful, reflective, thoughtful lyrics bear frequent replays. Homeward Bound is especially important to me as it features in my first novel – they share the same title.
I’m Still Standing – Elton John. If I were a musician, I’d be jealous of Elton John. He’s not only a great songwriter, but also has an incredible voice and can make a piano rock! Of his up-tempo songs, I’ve picked this not just for its survival against-the-odds lyrics (and I really didn’t realise until compiling this list that so many of my choices are about betrayal, disappointment and inner strength), but because it’s the title of my new novel and why I’m writing this blog!
I’m Still Standing is available at bookshops and on Amazon
Here’s what people are writing about I’m Still Standing, taken from their Instagram accounts. My thanks to them for the positive things they’re saying.
A heart-warming story of a reluctant and unlikely friendship between a pair of misfits,
Richard Smith takes us back to the 80s as we follow Harry and Jill, a pair of misfits brought together as they work to save a local green space. Interwoven with the narrative is their shared love of music.
The author’s background in cinema comes through in his writing, as I could visualise each scene in my mind (Simon Pegg would make a great Harry!) and the music references provided the soundtrack. I really felt as though I was back in the late 80s, alongside the characters.
A moving story about finding passion in life and love with a music theme recommended for fans of Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, Juliet Naked) and Daisy Jones and the Six.
The first reviews are in for I’m Still Standing – and it’s getting four and five stars!
Blogger _clairereviews_ describes it as, ‘the heartwarming tale of a friendship formed when two socially inept misfits come together to try to preserve a city’s wildlife area.’
‘It was impossible to put down’
She goes on to write, ‘The vast array of supporting characters are a joy to read, each having their own foibles, which adds to the book as a whole. The smallest detail has been considered, and I was so caught up that I read the entire book in a single sitting. It was impossible to put down!’
Meanwhile, josliteraryadventures has said of it, ‘I’m Still Standing by @richardwrites2 is the kind of book you feel held by on a warm summer evening. It’s full of wonderful characters, friendship and community, with a teeny bit of romance added in. I read it pretty much in one day sitting on the swing seat in the garden on a beautiful sunny day.’
NetGalley, the online site that shares reviews and champions literacy writes, ‘The author’s background in cinema comes through in his writing, as I could visualise each scene in my mind (Simon Pegg would make a great Harry!) and the music references provided the soundtrack. I really felt as though I was back in the late 80s, alongside the characters,’ adding that it’s, ‘a moving story about finding passion in life and love with a music theme recommended for fans of Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, Juliet Naked) and Daisy Jones and the Six’, giving it four stars.
You can buy I’m Still Standing at bookshops (pictured below with me signing copies at a launch in Highbury’s Ink@84 bookshop) as well as boookshops online and https://shorturl.at/vsoBV
I’m Still Standing was launched with a series of videos. They were uploaded to TikTok, where the range of music is vast and free of copyright, so were set to big songs. It’s different here, so courtesy of Pixabay Music, here they are again, for non-TikTokers and with different (copyright free) music.
Sometimes it’s tough getting started!
Sometimes a good thing is too good to have to wait for…
And at last, it’s out! #ImStillStanding #NetGalley
I started this blog as ‘Praise be the KitKat’. How quickly things can change.
I was inspired when I ate a KitKat at half time at an Arsenal match. The team was on a bad run – the three games before the KitKat had been three consecutive defeats. But with KitKats, the season was turned around, and a long unbeaten run began. There could be no doubting the power of those four chocolate fingers. After all, it’s happened before as I do have form.
My first encounter with the magic of the KitKat at halftime was at the start of the 2003-4 season, and as I repeated it, game after game, the team matched me with wins and draws, never losing, going on to become ‘the Invincibles’, undefeated during an entire Premier League campaign.
The one match they did lose was an FA Cup semi-final, played at Villa Park. Walking from my car to the ground I couldn’t find a confectioner- or at least one that was open for the early kick-off. It meant, as I entered the ground, I knew the result was predestined, defeat was inevitable. And so it came to pass.
But for the rest of the season, KitKats blessed the team and they lost not a single game. (For purists, who will argue Arsenal lost matches in the European Champions’ League, that doesn’t count. It’s obvious the power of the KitKat won’t stretch beyond English competitions. Or the League Cup, for that matter.) The following season, the KitKat’s energy drained away, finally extinguished by Wayne Rooney. But I was going to have to give it up anyway. Too many KitKats meant I was at risk of becoming obese.
Miraculously, thirty-two years earlier, there had been a similar sweet arbiter of success. In the 1970/71 season, it was a fresh cream cake that wove its magic spell over the team. I bought one before a match (a cream meringue, if I recall correctly) to consume after, and Arsenal went on to win the domestic double of League and FA Cup. (Dave and Ansil Collins were top of the UK singles charts, in case you don’t remember!)
The one match where the shop had sold out before I reached it resulted in a 5-0 drubbing at Stoke. Otherwise, it was unprecedented success for the club, and I had no doubt what was causing it. Who knows what heights might have reached if I’d continued. But the shop stopped selling cream cakes and an Eccles cake didn’t have the same efficacy.
And so to this season. I was religious in keeping the KitKat buying routine once the team started winning, the result being an undefeated run. And even when it came to a crushing end at Liverpool, I didn’t doubt the KitKat. I put it down to my wife, who’d bought one for me as a helpful gesture, rather than leaving me to buy my own. I returned to the proper routine for the next match and the result was a victory, so my faith was restored. I knew that it was the change of routine that had broken the spell.
Except, now I know differently. In the two matches since, the results have gone against the KitKat. My faith seems to have been misplaced. It didn’t ensure success after all. I should have realised.
I hate to admit is, but I loathe the happy, grinning face on the body of our vacuum cleaner.
It’s worst when the cleaner (I refuse to call it ‘Henry’ or ‘he’) has wedged itself on a chair leg and I have to trail back to untangle it.
Or the flex has become entwined in the banisters and I have to struggle back downstairs to release it, carting said vacuum with me. And all the while, I’m being stared at by that unrelentingly cheery look.
The origins of the face are, according to Wikipedia (that source of all accurate information) to ‘prevent late night and early morning workers from feeling lonely.’ Created and built in the UK, it first started sucking up dust in 1981. If there were such a crime as violence towards inanimate objects, what might the incidence rate have been before that date and after? A sharp rise, most likely.
Described variously as ‘iconic’, ‘loveable’ and a ‘legend’ by the manufacturers, Numatic, Henry has been joined by other family members. There is a Hetty, whose contribution to equality of the sexes is a pink body and large fluttery eyelashes. Whether this subtle femininity would help me contain my bursts of anger I can only conjecture. There are also Henry’s cousin’s Charles, James and George and probably, before long, a Boris, a Kier and a Sir David.
Perhaps part of the problem is that the vacuum cleaner is only in use when I’d rather be doing something else. It might be the result of a three-line whip to clean the house, often in preparation for a cleaner coming. The house apparently mustn’t be too dusty or untidy for such visits.
Or it’s a displacement activity. Like when I’m agonising over writing a particularly troublesome paragraph. Getting out the vacuum cleaner to suck up a cobweb that’s been irritating me for months is one way of escaping the frustration of writer’s block, at least temporarily. But it means I’m already predisposed to rage. It inevitably erupts when, perched on a chair and stretching, the nozzle doesn’t quite reach, the face topples and I lose my balance, leaving me on the floor alongside that face baiting me., still grinning.
Perhaps the answer is a cordless vacuum cleaner. My experiences have not been good, though. Scarred in my youth by a Pifco cordless, a Ewbank, and a battery driven cleaner that neither cleaned nor lasted long enough to manage a rug, I am left deeply distrustful.
A recent arrival is an Amazon Robotic Vacuum Sweeper. Like a floor-mounted drone, it buzzes across the kitchen and aggregates an alarming amount of dust and detritus, no matter how many times the floor may have been swept already. But although spared the Henry face, it still drives me mad, demanding attention. Its apparently random movements and wild trajectories make escape from it like some futuristic game of dodge ball.
And if you leave it to its own devices, it’s quite likely to fall down a step or trap itself on some unlikely obstruction. Then, like an ostrich stuck in a corner, it will bounce endlessly from side to side until it’s rescued. I want to punish it for its stupidity, pick it up, shake it, except that’ll result in all the dust its collected returning to the floor.
But the truth is, I guess, I just hate housework.
And at this point, I was planning on concluding that I should acknowledge the efficiency with which these devices have the desired effect of cleaning dusty surfaces and it’s really all my fault. That the problem is mine, not Henry’s.
Then I changed the end and decided to suggest that maybe the manufacturers of Henry, Hetty and the rest could help me out by creating a different face; one that is responsive to my mood, offering me an expression that is non-patronising, sympathetic and understanding.
Then I changed my mind and went for an excoriating paragraph on anthropomorphism, that a face on a vacuum is entirely inappropriate. I’m quite justified in my ire, I was going to write. But then again, isn’t that a sign of personal weakness . . . ?
At which point, I concluded it was all just too problematic to find a decent end and . . . if I’m not mistaken, is that not a sliver of dust under the sofa? Excuse me while I go and fetch the Henry . . .
If you enjoyed this blog, maybe you’ll enjoy my first novel ‘Homeward Bound’, a feelgood tale of family, ageing and ambition. Available from bookshops, Amazon (paperback and e-book) and other online retailers.
“Two dishwashers? Why do you need two dishwashers?” That was the question the lady designing our new kitchen asked me. It struck me that if she was any good at kitchen design, she’d know the answer.
“Two dishwashers? Why do you need two dishwashers?”
That was the question the lady designing our new kitchen asked me. It struck me that if she was any good at kitchen design, she’d know the answer. But I could tell from the way she was staring at me, she was waiting for an answer.
“You take plates from cupboards, cutlery from drawers and glasses from shelves and use them for a meal,” I patiently explained.
“Yes.”
“When you’ve finished, you put them in the dishwasher.”
“Yes.”
My wife was rolling her eyes as she knew where I was going with this. Our designer manifestly did not.
“You wait until it’s full, then turn it on and when it’s finished, you take out the plates and put them back in the cupboards, the cutlery back in the drawers and the glasses on the shelves.”
“So?”
I think I hoped for a sign of recognition. Instead there was a blank expression with a soupçon of impatience. My wife just stared daggers at me.
“So next time you have a meal, you go back to the cupboard for the plates . .”
My wife interrupted. “I think we’ve got that.”
I needed to complete the cycle. “But with two dishwashers, next to each other, of course, you cut out all that unloading, putting away, fetching out again. You leave the clean stuff in one dishwasher until it’s needed, then take it out, use it and . .”
“. . . put the dirties back into the second dishwasher. I get it now.”
“Exactly. And when dishwasher two is full, you turn it on and dishwasher one becomes the place where the dirties go.” I was pleased she didn’t pick up on the one flaw in my plan; what happens when you’re mixing dirties with unused cleans.
“What a good idea.”
And so the dual dishwashers were integrated into the new kitchen plan. It would make shelf, cupboards and drawers in the original scheme redundant. For the moment, I kept secret my hopes for using them as overflow storage for my records and CDs.
And so the dual dishwashers were integrated into the new kitchen plan. It would make shelf, cupboards and drawers in the original scheme redundant. For the moment, I kept secret my hopes for using them as overflow storage for my records and CDs.
Photo: Kimi Gill for Islington Faces
What has fascinated me is that no-one else seems to have cottoned on to this idea. I did a quick Google check and could find no manufactures that have created a double dishwasher, though surely there’s need for a new products with a unique design in a crowded market. Nor have retailers seized the moment to sell two instead of one to every customer. I offer them the concept. It could be my small contribution to helping the UK out of recession.
Inevitably this has led to me to re-evaluate other ‘givens’ of domestic life.
A full plate and plentiful supply of a good red is one not to change. And somewhere warm and safe to sleep is essential. The sofa with the TV on or music playing is as good a place as any.
But if we must have beds, why do we need to ‘make’ them?
If it’s straightened sheets and pillows you’re after, why not do it before you go to bed rather than waste time and energy in the morning, especially when there’s already the tedious routine of shaving for men and make-up for women. Though I’d go one further and say why bother make the bed at all. The sheets will be crumpled up within minutes of getting in anyway. When the reaper comes calling, how much of your life will have been wasted making beds – smoothing sheets, hospital corners, plumping pillows and all? And if you really feel the need for crisp, cold sheets, tightly tucked down, then make it a treat to look forward to every couple of months when you change the bed or go on holiday and have hotel staff do it for you.
And don’t get me on duvets and duvet covers. I had an eiderdown as a child. It needed no constant wrestling with a cover, just pulled up over me at night. No-one admits to inventing the duvet but its popularity in the UK seems to have arisen as some sort of fashion statement, when we were in the thrall of Habitat and Laura Ashley on every High Street. And where are they now, though we persist with the duvet?
And then there are cushions. What are they for? Show me a house with cushions and I’ll show you the influence of a woman. No male that I know would even consider buying a cushion, let alone festoon sofas and – worse still – beds with them.
But back to my genius dishwasher idea. I’d put it out of my mind to concentrate on writing Homeward Bound, though I did get the occasional twinge about whether it would work and was I being a mite extravagant, decadent even.
I needn’t have worried. There was a late change. When the old kitchen was just a shell, I was informed that there was insufficient space in the new one for two dishwashers. And anyway, the plumbing couldn’t be adjusted to accommodate them both. I might have protested, but my wife and the designer presented the news as a fait accompli.
So we have a new kitchen but just one dishwasher, and I spend probably twice as long a week in the cycle of dishwasher-storage-dishwasher-storage as I do making the bed and plumping up cushions (though luckily I’ve never mastered the duvet, so that’s a task avoided).
But if you like the dual dishwasher idea, feel free to use it.
As for me, my disappointment was mitigated somewhat by an unexpected addition to the kitchen, one that required minimal space and no extra pipework; a wine chiller. And I couldn’t argue against that.
Richard Smith’s novel ‘Homeward Bound’ is out now and available from bookshops and Amazon (paperback and e-book).
A version of this blogfirst appeared during Rachel’s Random Books Tour
Richard Smith – Homeward Boundfollows a 79-year-old musician who is expected to be in retirement but isn’t ready to close the lid on his dreams, and his 18-year-old granddaughter, who shares his house and the dreams he once had. (Amazon/Waterstones/ebook)
Salley Vickers – Grandmothersis the story of three very different women and their relationships with the younger generation. (Amazon/Waterstones/ebook)
Francis Liardet – We Must Be Brave explores the fierce love that we feel for our children and the power of that love to endure. (Amazon/Waterstones/ebook)
Anne Youngson – Meet Me At The Museum is a celebration of long letters, kindred spirits and the possibility of writing a new story for yourself, at any stage of life. (Amazon/Waterstones/ebook)
Click on the links for more information and where to buy them online (if your local bookshop is closed and can’t deliver to you). Amazon offers ebooks as well as hard copies. The e-book link is to a Google site. There are other links to the ebooks (like kobo) that need a sign in to a free account.
All the books were part of the Age UK Camden Literary Festival in March 2020.
