Personal audio essays on love, work, aging, and becoming yourself later than planned. <br/><br/><a href="https://toriecampbell.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">toriecampbell.substack.com</a>
Visiting from Venus the Podcast
Claim This Podcastby Torie Campbell
18 episodes
Updated Daily
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Podcast Overview
Personal audio essays on love, work, aging, and becoming yourself later than planned. <br/><br/><a href="https://toriecampbell.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast">toriecampbell.substack.com</a>
Language
🇺🇲
Publishing Since
1/13/2026
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Recent Episodes
May 10, 2026
Argos
<p>Argos</p><p>Before Amazon, there was a different sort of shopping phenomenon that took the UK by storm: Argos. In many ways, it was early Amazon — warehouse shopping at its absolute peak. It was the most exciting way to buy anything from toys to cheap jewellery. Rows of laminated catalogues were fixed to desks with small plastic boxes of tiny pencils that were also used when playing golf, and sheets of paper with printed spreadsheets of empty squares waiting to be filled with product numbers. There were little calculators where you could type in your product number to see if the item was in stock, and then off to the cashier to pay for something you had never even seen before. You’d eagerly wait for your number to be called so you could collect the item from a mysterious hatch backed by towering warehouse shelves.</p><p>There were no items on display except for a small jewellery counter in the corner housing the exquisite Elizabeth Duke collection beneath a lit glass cabinet. Large gold hoop earrings, doll pendants and sovereign rings glistened from their maroon velvet boxes. One of the first things I would do when the new Argos catalogue came out was turn straight to the jewellery pages to choose which Elizabeth Duke piece I might one day be lucky enough to receive as an engagement ring.</p><p>This is what vision boarding looked like in the 90s.</p><p>One of the most popular girls in my year at school had a much older boyfriend called Scrout. At the time we all thought it was incredibly cool and impressive that he was in his twenties and dating a schoolgirl. The cherry on the cake was when he bought her an Elizabeth Duke necklace for Christmas. This is what popularity gets you.</p><p>Around August, the Christmas catalogue appeared, obviously. This, alongside the Radio Times, practically counted as festive décor. Both would end up covered in graffitied biro circles.</p><p>My sister and I would fight over who got to circle the items they most wanted for Christmas first. My sister would usually head for the pages of electronics like, Sega Mega Drives. I would go straight to the girls’ toys pages and be met with an array of pink hope for the future. I clearly remember circling a toy iron, ironing board and washing machine with a matching laundry basket. It seems that vision boarding worked a little too well, albeit delayed by several decades.</p><p>If only I’d known back then about my absolute hatred of household chores. On more than one occasion, I’ve worn a swimming costume as substitute underwear because I refused to do a wash and had run out of pants. But as a young girl, I dreamed of an array of household appliances I could practise with before the joy of adulthood and getting to use them for real. It’s odd the boys’ toys pages didn’t have any of this — their loss.</p><p>Every year I would circle a Girl’s World. That glorious head and shoulders of a woman with blonde curly hair and vacant eyes where you could practise putting in rollers and applying make-up. I’m curious – if you got one of these did you cut its hairStill to this day I have a genuine fascination with them, but never once was one under the tree for me.</p><p>Other circled items that failed to make the cut included a Mr Frosty, a SodaStream and Polly Pocket. Luckily, as an adult, I now get to own a Mr Frosty and a SodaStream to sit in the cupboard doing absolutely nothing.</p><p>I also quite liked the look of Sylvanian Families, but they were expensive and my friend Charlotte had the whole set, including the Treehouse. So if I fancied playing with them, my mum would just suggest a playdate at hers. I always came away with the same conclusion: a small velvet-covered shrew was nowhere near as entertaining as what a Barbie and a good imagination could get up to.</p><p>Another new way of shopping appeared around this time and it was a top secret that everybody knew about. A magical warehouse that you could only enter if you had a special trade card that, in reality, required absolutely no credentials whatsoever. My dad always looked slightly nervous as he flashed his membership card while we stood nearby anticipating whether we’d be granted entry.</p><p>Makro.</p><p>Shelves stretched higher than seemed practical and everyday items could be bought in bulk in quantities that appeared capable of lasting an entire lifetime. Everything also seemed unbelievably cheap because the tax wasn’t added until you reached the checkout.</p><p>A trip to Makro was treated like a family day out to a theme park. My best friend Fiona was allowed to buy huge plastic tubs of super sour Astro Belts and we would eat as many as we could until we felt sick and the coarse sugar coating had numbed our tongues. We weren’t allowed the jumbo sweet packs, but I do remember one particular visit when we passed a giant mound of fluffy life-size toy dogs. Out of the hundreds stacked up, one caught my eye. It was love at first sight.</p><p>I hid him amongst a pile of kitchen roll and plucked up the courage to ask if I could possibly get something so elaborate. That day I went home with Wilfrid and he became one of my most treasured teddies. He was the perfect shape to nestle your head into at night and sat beside Snowy, my beloved cat teddy.</p><p>Costco feels like the modern equivalent of Makro, but I still get exactly the same excited buzz whenever we visit and proudly leave with 340 toilet rolls and 54 fresh cookies that expire the next day.</p><p>I’m glad small pleasures still make me happy, and I even got my original wedding ring from Argos!</p><p></p><p>Now that’s how you do a vision board.</p> <br/><br/>This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://toriecampbell.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1">toriecampbell.substack.com</a>
May 3, 2026
Sick note
<p></p><p>Sick day’s followed a very familiar routine. It would begin with a tummy ache, I do stand by the fact that I did, for most cases, have a genuine tummy ache – probably known nowadays as school anxiety, which also meant the minute I was given the all clear to stay at home it would subside. Luckily for me my dad would have left for work early leaving my Mum to deal with the pre-school chaos, a gentle and kind heart that meant a soft touch when it came to staying off school. I must point out here that kindness should never be mistaken for weakness – this was a piece of acting I had perfected.</p><p>Once the curtain came down on act one, I would pull myself into the downstairs toilet in case by miracle I was actually sick and once the door was closed and locked I would very, very quietly jump up and down with my hands like two victory fists. By the time I had come back out the toilet, I knew the deal was sealed when the Tom and Jerry sleeping bag had been carefully laid on the sofa and TV poised for a day of daytime viewing.</p><p>The utter joy of hearing the opening beats of This morning – carefully watching that slow zoom across the Albert dock before the camera finally closing in on the Ultimate ‘it’ couple Richard and Judy, because it indicated weekday TV and that indicated I had landed myself a sick day. The Madeley & Finnigan Albert Dock era was also the pinnacle of daytime TV.</p><p>Once happily settled with a cold flannel the ‘gold bell’ would appear. That’s right. If, while I was watching Fred Talbot jumping between Ireland and England on the floating map and I felt I needed emergency help, I could ring the bell and my mum would emerge. One time we had misplaced the sick bell, but my mum always the creative problem solver decided to get a mop and tie it to an extra broom handle so the mop head was in the hallway and the handle just in arms reach of me, so I could raise the mop to indicate I needed medical assistance.</p><p>Luckily in the early 90s we had two full proof cures for any sort of illness, it really was quite a remarkable feat of science. The first, a large glass bottle of Lucozade wrapped in dark orange cellophane - maybe to protect the medicinal excellence or to stop the e numbers and sugar content from losing their potency in daylight. The second was two spoonful’s of bright pink strawberry Calpol carefully administered on the helpful flat white spoon that came in the box. Nowadays its sugar free and comes with a plastic syringe which when I administer it to my kids almost makes me feel like a qualified doctor, or junkie. Often giving one filled syringe to them and one to me – like a sort of numbing aid for overworked mothers.</p><p>If my initial attempt of a sick day failed, the back-up would be a visit to the medical room in the hope a call would be made home and I would be collected. The medical room, I imagine was like most school medical rooms - located in a cupboard. A photocopier was wedged next to a wartime style camp bed, topped with a homemade crochet blanket. It smelt of potent disinfectant, which really helped with the gag reflex when you were trying to dry heave over the schools universal bucket. Sometimes I tried so hard to bring up anything tears would stream from my eyes, but then every little helps. I was usually alone in the medical room unless it was the day the nit nurse visited, then I would be joined by the same brother and sister having their seemingly permanent residence evacuated. Until the following visit.</p><p>Along with staying at home for sick days I really enjoyed trips to the local A&E. Although, to get me into an A&E waiting room nowadays I’d have to have at least one limb hanging off.</p><p>The local A&E to us was not as you would imagine, it was more of a small village walk in, in a tiny hospital. A woman would sit behind a hatch in the wall and around 5 bays with beds were behind a large wooden door. I went for an array of reasons including several asthma attacks despite the fact I did not have asthma, but I really wanted one of those turquoise inhalers. Several suspect bone breaks – always turning out to be ‘just a nasty sprain’ and one time I was simply the bystander of an unfortunate incident where my mum had asked my sister to close her eyes while she tried on a ring that was a prospective Christmas present which immediately got stuck and had to be cut free from her finger that was slowly turning an odd shade of purple, using an odd can opener style piece of equipment. God, I loved that place.</p><p>The village also had a doctor’s surgery which was situated in an old coaching house. The building was beautiful with low wooden beams and an array of mix and matched vintage chairs in the large waiting room. Once I clearly remember a man checking in and then falling right through one of the ancient chairs. At least he had an appointment ready and waiting for his injuries.</p><p>The village doctor was called Dr Hill-cousins, he was rather charming and as you explained your ailments, he would run a hand through his floppy longish greying hair. The tricky thing with this is nobody would visit him if they weren’t looking there best – an inherent problem when visiting a doctor and on occasion it was rumoured that once finding out you had been assigned to him you would change the very reason you went in altogether. It was exciting, like our very own real-life Dr Preston from Peak Practice.</p><p>Eventually my love of being sick became an annoyance and unbeknown to me a meeting was arranged with my junior schoolteacher. I was given a special job in the morning and at lunchtime to distribute the registers to each class room in a weak attempt to make the prospect of school more appealing than Richard and Judy. My teacher was told not to send me to the medical room if I complained of a tummy ache, which resulted in an unfortunate vomiting incident in the corridor one day.</p><p>I believe this is what you call the boy who cried wolf – or in my case the girl who cried tummy ache!</p><p>*Footnote – I have zero regrets in the enjoyment I got from sick days as a child. As soon as I became a freelancing working adult and then a mum on top of that a sick day has become obsolete.</p> <br/><br/>This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://toriecampbell.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1">toriecampbell.substack.com</a>
April 26, 2026
The First Time I Walked Into a TV Studio
<p>I once spent an entire evening at a sheikh’s house folded into a box, because someone thought I was the entertainment.</p><p>Fitting into places I don’t quite belong has always been one of my more reliable traits. </p><p>When I was around 15, I had an English teacher, Miss Stanway—a very tall, slight woman who would hang off the doorframe, twisting her long beads around her fingers like Miss Hannigan. She would smoke a packet of cigarettes in the staff car park at lunchtime, and I always imagined she had some sort of hip flask in her desk drawer. A former actress turned teacher. Or maybe just actress in her toughest role yet - secondary school teacher. She had a shout and a laugh of equal decibels, and I will never forget her leavers’ book message to me: “I hope I get the first signed copy of your book.” I often wonder if she still will.</p><p>One day she called me back after class and said an opportunity had come up, and she thought of me.</p><p>There was a TV studio in Southampton—Meridian—where the local news was broadcast alongside smaller productions. They were trialling a new Sunday morning teenage magazine-style show for the newly launched Channel 5 and had reached out to a few local schools for audience volunteers.</p><p>I was thrilled.</p><p>I picked out a button-through denim top from my sister’s wardrobe and put on a dark red lip. This could be my chance of being discovered. The night before, I called my nan to tell her I had a big surprise for her, and that she and my grandad had to be watching Channel 5 at 9am the next morning. They were the only people I knew who actually watched the newly launched Channel 5.</p><p>I remember the studio feeling enormous—high ceilings in a brand new building. We were ushered into a waiting area. I can’t remember if anyone else came from my school, but I’ve always been quite happy doing things on my own.</p><p>A red-faced, harassed producer with a headset appeared and told us we’d be taken through shortly, his eyes darting around the room as if tracking ten things at once. About twenty of us were led into a white studio, with three levels of block seating built into one corner. That’s where we sat.</p><p>The presenter was Josie D’Arby, a well-known children’s TV presenter at the time. She was sitting in the middle row, holding a large black microphone. Suddenly, I was asked to move and sit next to her.</p><p>I couldn’t believe my luck. Right next to the host. In full view. My nan and grandad would be thrilled.</p><p>The studio fell quiet as the countdown began. Lights blazed. A camera swung in for a tight opening shot, framing the presenter—with me right beside her. My heart was pounding. I fixed a full red-lipped smile and edged slightly closer, just enough to be safely in frame.</p><p>Screens in front of us showed the live output. The autocue flickered into life.</p><p>I read the next line in my head before she said it out loud.</p><p>“I’m here in a studio audience of teenage mums, including one of the youngest expectant mums to announce her news live on TV.”</p><p>The realisation landed slowly, we hadn’t actually been briefed. </p><p>I felt the heat rise instantly to my face—that familiar, uncontrollable flush—while I tried, as subtly as possible, to edge myself back out of shot.</p><p>It wasn’t the topic. It was the image that flashed into my mind—my grandparents, sitting at home, watching in silence, trying to work out exactly what kind of “surprise” this was supposed to be.</p><p>I don’t remember what the show was about after that.</p><p>I just remember how quickly you can end up in the wrong place when you’re too willing to be chosen.</p><p>When have you found yourself in the totally wrong place and did you have the courage to leave?</p> <br/><br/>This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://toriecampbell.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1">toriecampbell.substack.com</a>
18 total episodes available
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