Notes from Tell Me

Thoughts on family stories, memory, and the questions worth asking — from the people building Tell Me.

An empty bench on a clifftop path at golden hour, with two cups of tea side by side and a dog lead, overlooking a calm sea.

How to ask your parents about their life (without it feeling weird)

Here's a confession. I built an app whose whole job is asking parents about their lives. My mum and dad knew about it. They said they loved the idea. Then I sat on it for weeks. In the end, they chased me.

Read
A small present wrapped in cream paper and a terracotta ribbon on a mantelpiece, with fairy lights and holly glowing softly behind.

Christmas gifts for parents who have everything (that aren't another candle)

Every year it's the same conversation. "What do you want for Christmas, mum?" "Oh, nothing. Don't be spending money on me." And every year you end up in a shop on the 23rd of December, staring at a scented candle, a posh box of biscuits and a pair of slippers she definitely already owns, trying to decide which one says "I thought about this" the loudest.

Read
The view from the driver's seat of an empty 1970s car at golden hour, with keys in the ignition and a coastal road stretching ahead.

100 questions to ask your parents (and the ones that actually get stories)

I asked my mum and dad to tell me about their first car. I thought I'd get two answers. I got one, because it was the same car. They bought it together. Mum dug out a photo, and dad still knew the registration off by heart, 45 years later.

Read
A hallway table at Christmas with old car keys, a flat cap, leather driving gloves and a small present in cream paper and a terracotta ribbon, with fairy lights behind.

What to get your dad for Christmas when he says he wants nothing

What do you want for Christmas, Dad?" "Nothing. I've got everything I need." He's not being difficult. He genuinely means it. He has a drawer of socks he hasn't opened, a toolbox that could build a house, and at least three bottles of aftershave from Christmases past, still in their boxes.

Read

It's not a project. It's a habit.

My dad is standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. His phone buzzes. It's a WhatsApp message: "Tell me about your first day at your first job." By the time the kettle clicks off, he's replied. Fifty-one years later he gives me the exact date and the first and last names of everyone who worked there. It's completely useless information, and it's the most him thing I've ever read.

Read

Why wouldn't I just ask mum myself?

It's probably the first thought you had when you came across Tell Me. Nice idea. But I can phone my mum. I can text her a question whenever I want. And you're right. You can. You should.

Read

Can I trust you with my parents' stories?

It's a question everyone should be asking. Not just of me, but of any service you sign up to — whether it's your own personal data or, in the case of Tell Me, your parents' data too.

Read

What do you actually get with Tell Me?

Someone with a business brain asked me a question about Tell Me last week. "What's the end product? What does the buyer actually get out of this?" I thought the answer was obvious. It's Tell Me. You ask your parents questions, they answer. What more is there to say? But the question stuck with me, so I sat down and properly thought about it. And what I realised is that Tell Me has two points where you feel the value. One is right now. The other is later.

Read

This is Tell Me

I built an app that captures my parents' stories. Twice a week they get a question about their lives. They answer by text or voice, whichever comes naturally. Some questions are deep and thoughtful, some lighthearted and fun.

Read

We value your privacy

We use cookies to keep the site working and, with your permission, to understand how you use Tell Me and measure our advertising. Learn more