Dot Dot Dot

Its 3:30pm on a Tuesday afternoon. I am currently sitting in my Primarni dressing gown watching reruns of gossip girl on Netflix. There are three empty mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of me, evidence of my not-so-productive day. Prospects of me not leaving the house are strong. Put this on repeat and you have the vision of my week, aside from the occasional outings to Sainsbury’s to top up my milk and chocolate supplies. I have nothing to do, and nowhere to go.

The dissertation is done. It’s funny how the devilish reputation of writing a dissertation is so underwhelming, yet so accurate. I found the process of writing my dissertation a lot less stressful than my misconceptions of the task led me to believe. I was imagining sleepless nights fuelled by sugar and caffeine, or even worse, alcohol, to finish the ma-husive challenge of writing 10,000 academic words. In reality, it was more like a nagging ache that kind of just hung around, forcing you to think about it all the time. I spent hours in the library researching, note taking and writing, yet when I came home in the evenings to unwind, the ache would guilt me into thinking I was wasting time. As the weirdly organised person I am, I managed to space my work out enough that I was only editing and referencing in my last three weeks. There was no huge rush, or breakdown, or crisis, just a dull ache that kept me on my toes for the past 3 months. Yet, in reality, the stress and pressure of not fucking-it-up makes it the huge and scary task that it is. A weird combination, really.

Then, hand-in day came, and my flatmates and I were two bottles of prosecco down when we gleefully took our proud pictures and handed it in (at 11am might I add). A haze of fizz, Weatherspoon’s and sunshine followed, the feeling of no responsibility elating us to a dizzy drunkenness. The next day arrived, and suddenly it dawned on us all… What’s next? What do we do with our lives now that we don’t have to be stock piling library books in our bedrooms? What do we do now that we can ramble on about a ridiculously specific theatre issues for days on end, yet don’t have to anymore? What do we do now that we have nothing to do?

Well… flash foward a week later, and here I am. There are biscuit crumbs on my jumper, and the kettle is on for tea number 4. The momentary lack of responsibility has been a joy but now I must move on. And so, the job seeking begins, applying for anything and everything that doesn’t sound too laborious (the glamorous jobs of a graduate, hey?). I have to admit though, I am so excited to begin this new part of my life. I cannot wait to truly find out where I want to be, find out what jobs I like and don’t like, and found out how I can fit in to a little corner of the jigsaw of London. I am ready to leave behind jobs for money, and start doing jobs for me, and for my career.

Basically, I am just fucking excited to get out there and do stuff, however keen and naive that may seem right now. I mean, come back to me in two months time when I still haven’t found a job, and I may have changed my tune, but for now, I am riding my high of unknowing possibilities!…Just maybe once the next episode of Gossip Girl finishes.

Cafe Squatting

So I’m sitting in the corner of a hipster little café in Hampstead. I have a flat white, complete with swan art, to my left, and a finished plate of smashed avocado to my right. I am wearing a big swishing scarf, and bright red lipstick, in the hope that I may scream some sort of sophistication in this place, that is definitely far too cool for me. On the overhead speakers, some husky man is murmuring meaningful lyrics, accompanied by a guitar and the chatter of the people dining in this small space. Of course, everything is wooden, mismatched in the way that looks put together, if you know what I mean. Even the staff are all co-ordinating in their dark shirts, pierced noses and waxed moustaches.

I love going to places like this, it’s a prime spot for people watching, and so let my totally inaccurate observations begin…

Sitting opposite me, are the ladies that lunch. Two middle-aged women who definitely do Pilates on the weekends. They are munching down on their gluten-free salad option, because they are trying to watch what they eat. They sip on their extra hot cappuccinos, but of course, no sprinkles, thankyou very much. Their double denim attire, completed with a beret and boots oozes luxury. As their second round of coffee arrive, they completely ignore the young server, as they are too busy gossiping to acknowledge anyone around them. A dismissive wave of the hand as the guy offer’s two cappuccinos, but oh no, they have sprinkles! A slightly curt suggestion that he should’ve known what they ordered before he served them is said, and they continue their loud catch-up as two new ones are made.

Next, are the cool guys. Two youngish boys dressed in an effortless sweater and denim combo. Pulled up socks cover the area of their shins that their too-short jeans don’t, and the white trainers tie the look together. One guy has his hair tied up in low buns behind his head, accentuating the three gold hoops in his ear that he and his mates pierced themselves. The other has a beige cap on to cover his mop of curly hair, and a strong beard to match. They are only drinking water, because they don’t actually like the taste of coffee, but that’s okay because coffee is probably to mainstream these days anyway. They are looking at a laptop, and discussing ideas together, maybe for the next start-up business venture in east London.

On the opposite side of the table, is the first-time mum. Hair tied-up in a fuss-free ponytail and a knit thrown on, that definitely has a stain from this morning’s breakfast. She clutches her latte for moral support while her baby cries in its pram, for no particular reason. As she pulls her little one out, and balances him on her knee, you can see her tired eyes wishing for some sort of magical cure for crying toddlers. She shares her portion of plain toast, out of love but also in the hope of a moment of silence. As she folds him in a hug, you can see the bond of love between them, despite the sleepless nights.

Finally, the coffee guy. He has short brown hair, and is dressed in vintage chic that only waiters in cool coffee shops do. He is shy, not wanting to interrupt his customers as he carries over coffee after coffee. He has been working all day, but still wears a smile on his face as he welcomes new people into the café, a smile that his masking how bored and tired he really is.

As I sit in the corner of the coffee shop, I notice each group of people, sipping their coffee and enjoying their afternoon chat. They flow in and out, but I am that one weirdo who has been here all afternoon. After all of the judgements I make on other people, which are definitely in jest, the staff are probably making the same on me:

There is a girl sitting in the back corner of the shop, who has only had one coffee all afternoon, but keeps asking for water, probably because she is too stingy to buy anything else, but wants to sap our free wifi. She has been furiously typing away on her laptop, probably writing some essay about the arts, judging by the colour of her hair, and her bright clothing, not to mention the nose ring.

If only they knew, that if café squatting was a sport, I would be the champion….

Why do We Do It?

Before you read any further, I would like to put a disclaimer out there that this is not a post to bash anyone, or a statement of feminism, or any other sort of extreme view on worldly issues. It’s not. It’s just something I have been thinking over the past few days, and thought I would just put my thoughts on a page, nothing more, nothing less.

Over the past few weeks, it has been a common occurrence to hear about girls, women, my friends and their relationship problems. We all have them, and it’s totally fine! But, when women are staying with people who treat them like absolute shit, or make them unhappy, or even when they are single, and make it their mission to find boys (or girls for that matter), it makes me feel all shrivelled up inside. I don’t really know how else to put it, but it’s that feeling where your stomach just tenses up in frustration, and anger, and sadness all at the same time.

This is not to say that I am being biased to my friends, because I feel this to be the case for anyone, boy or girl, single or not. It is horrible to watch people become a lesser version of themselves because of how their partner and/or friend is treating them. You deserve so much better than to surround yourself with people who fill your head with negative thoughts. Don’t be with a person who doesn’t support you, doesn’t make you feel like who you want to be, and more importantly, doesn’t give you those warm and fuzzy’s inside!

I know this is nothing ground breaking. My thoughts aren’t original, and probably, maybe, naive even. It is probably so much easier said than done, but I just wish that people could see how fucking great they are, and didn’t settle for situations they don’t deserve.

Take Ella, for example. She is a top girl (totally made up, but just follow along)… She is funny, smart, beautiful in her own quirky way and most importantly, a strong woman. She finds a boy. Let’s call him Jake. At first it’s cute, and flirty, and they tag each other in memes on facebook all the time. Things are looking peachy… Then a month or so passes by, and they become comfortable. Jake starts to let slip comments about her physical appearance, he says she looks fat in that dress, that she shouldn’t wear those jeans, that she should go to the gym. So, Ella goes to the gym, and starts to change herself for someone else. Jake never comments on her efforts, but instead, says he can’t notice anything. He starts to tell her that she couldn’t find any better than him… He starts to fuck with her head to the point that Ella isn’t that funny, smart, beautiful girl anymore, but a tired, shy version of herself. I’m sure you get the picture, and you all want to metaphorically punch Jake in the mouth. You all want to grab Ella by the shoulders and tell her to get the hell out of there!

I want every person out there who reads this… or doesn’t… to know how brilliant you are! Don’t let the Jakes of the world pull you down and treat you like shit. You are the shit! You are so much better than what the Jakes deserve, and don’t let anyone tell you any different. That goes for friends as well, only let the Ella’s of the world into your life. No one has time for douchey Jake’s bullshit…

Live your days with your friends, and embracing each moment, not doing things for other people! If you’re out at a club with your squad, you dance with your squad and be with your squad. Don’t go hunting down the nearest pack of boys in the hope of finding the one. No one wants to tell their kids that ‘mummy and daddy met in a club, and got so drunk that they couldn’t remember each other’s names in the morning.’

Enjoy you, enjoy your mates, and let life do it’s thing, because you are fucking great!

To quote the biblical Beyoncé, ‘If you’re independent, I congratulate you’.

The Grandma In Me

Do you enjoy a great smelling candle?

Do you revel in the thought of a Friday night spent on the couch, watching The Crown and drinking tea?

Does a comfy, new pair of pyjama’s give you that tingly feeling all over?

Are you under the age where it is socially appropriate to be slightly rude, grumpy, and often hard of hearing?

Well then, you my friend, are an underage grandma! But never fear, because I am too. And Proud.

The horror my teenage self would be feeling right now. She would be out partying, dancing away to music until 4am and drinking everything like it was water! I used to love dressing up and being in an underground darkened room that would progressively get hotter and sweatier with every song. And that was just on thirsty Thursday! Sounds delightful doesn’t it!?

In saying that, I would like to point out that I do still love a drink and a boogie every now and then… but boy, I definitely need a week to mentally prepare for anything more than 3 glasses of something! And the hangover stamina is not what it used to be, at all.

Having hit the withered and decrepit old age of 21, less often do I find myself wanting to go out clubbing and getting ridiculously sore feet, but rather, sitting somewhere much more mellow, enjoying a nice glass of wine. Erghhh… who am I? (I should definitely not know the difference between a pinot grigio and a sav blanc at my age!) When I put it like this, it really does age me by about 25 years! Even my parent’s tell me I’m getting old. They are out at concert’s, parties and dinner things, whilst I am at home, in my sleeping gown, treating myself to a bubble bath while dinner is cooking!

But you know what?

Sometimes, I really fucking love going to ikea and looking at homewares!

I really fucking love getting into bed before 11pm and having a great night sleep!

And, I really fucking love scatter cushions!

I am honestly laughing at myself as I write this, but I don’t think I’m the only one suffering a case of underage grandmaism…. My flatmates revel in those nights where we are all home, drinking tea and watching movies together. And yes, we have all taken part in that buzzfeed quiz, and we definitely all got diagnosed as a Grandma in our 20’s.

It’s the way of the future, and I am all about this revolution. Bring on the young people who are already embracing their elderly selves (I mean, I have dyed my hair silver for god’s sake)! Never be embarrassed to claim it, and be proud of your array of scented candles and bedding.

I sure am!

New Year New Me?

So it’s 2018… What. The. Fuck.

I’m bringing in a classic cliché here, but that has come around so fast! In a blink of an eye, a year full of memories, work and uni has come and gone, and I’m still not feeling any more ready for the big wide world. With 2018 brings dissertations, graduations, careers and houses, all things that seemed like distant thoughts last year, but are now scary realities. With each day comes new adult decisions that I am definitely not qualified to make, yet forced to out of fear for not getting my ‘shit’ together.

Now I’m not the kind of person to believe in the whole New Year New Me bullshit. If you need the date of 1st of January to change your life, then Susan, you need to check yourself. However, in saying that, I like the idea of having a bit of a refresh and look at what cards you have to play. With all the huge moments that 2018 brings for me, I have taken the opportunity to have a look at my situation and make some promises. Of course, there are the superficial ones that aren’t uncommon: become fitter, go to the gym more blah blah blah… but also some that are more meaningful to me and go a little bit deeper than just what you see in the mirror!

  1. Do more: there are too many times where I miss out on things that I love to do, because I feel like I need to be doing something else more important instead, but no more! I want to be happy in my choices and do things I love, not working constantly or staying in to save money.
  2. Write more: I love writing and I want to take the time to do it more. Whether its blog writing, playwriting or just scribbling in a note book, I want to be that person who just has a vat of writing stored in places in their bag, on their laptop and in their head! Instead of spending 20 minutes scrolling through facebook, I could be using that time to write something.
  3. Love more: I am such a terrible person when it comes to expressing my love for my friends and family. I am that person who won’t ever message people once I stop seeing them, purely because I forget and don’t know what to say. I want to make more of an effort to appreciate and talk to my friends, and show my love to those around me.
  4. Work hard: This year is probably the pinnacle moment for me in many ways and so I want to make sure I put my head down and work my butt off to get what I want. This goes for university and for careers afterwards.
  5. Get out more: There are so many days that I spend at home watching Youtube or Netflix because I have no reason to leave the house. I want to take advantage of where I am living and explore around me more. If that means taking my laptop to a random café for an afternoon to do uni work, then so be it, but just make sure I get out of the house.

So there you go, it’s written down and put on the big wide web so it definitely has to be official, right? 2018 as a new year is not bringing a new me, but more of an active version of myself, someone who I want to be, and am happy with.

So cliché over, let’s just hope these resolutions last more than a month like most!

Balance

Being in my final year of university, there is a figure, a shadow even, standing two feet behind me at all times. It follows me around to remind me about dissertation, money, and life after graduation. Sometimes, my vision is so focused, and I am momentarily distracted by day-to-day life that I forget the figure is still standing there. But, it never fails to sneak into my peripheral vision at the first chance it gets. It is a constant worry that the figure is going to catch up with me, bringing with it deadlines and overdrafts. I try my best to keep that two feet separation, but something I am trying to teach myself, at the moment, is balance. Sometimes, it is okay to buy that dress and treat myself, but sometimes I do need to save every penny I can. Some days, I eat bowls of kale and chicken, and other days I demolish a packet of custard creams because they were on offer at Sainsburys! I so often beat myself up for not doing what I should be doing, but I think that there comes a point where you need to focus on things you need to do instead.

This weekend was such a perfect example of me letting that two-feet distance shorten just a little bit, but in exchange, I gave myself the time I needed with friends, enjoying myself and having fun.

My slightly obsessive nature for organisation and lists saw a drafted out version of my weekend in my head, planned days in advance. My list told me I was going to relax, be productive and study for most of my time, and get a good night’s rest to catch up on the long week. I was excited to have a productive and refreshingly quiet weekend. And then… Life kicked in! I saw my friend’s show on Saturday night, and one drink afterwards turned into drinking luxurious pints in Chelsea that we definitely could not afford, to downing coconut tequila shots in our friends bedroom in Kilburn. Fast-forward to six am Sunday morning, and I was finally stumbling home, feeling warm and fuzzy from booze and drunken chats despite the freezing morning I had walked out to. This was not part of the plan! The rest of Sunday was spent in a hungover, sleepy haze, with my bed comforting me until the late afternoon. All the things I had planned to do got thrown out the window, and instead, I watched Blue Planet and cooked my mums amazing minestrone soup.

I wanted to beat myself up for going out so late, and not getting essay work and research done. But, as I look back on my weekend now, I realise that actually, that was what I needed. Working long hours and studying this term has meant that I haven’t been able to spend much time with my friends, and this weekend was the chance to try and make up for all the pints we should have been having at the SU bar every week.

We all lead such busy lives these days, so for me, it is important to learn to not be so strict on myself. If I want to eat half a chocolate bar in one sitting, then I bloody will, and I will try not to beat myself up about it, because I know that I had a healthy and nutritious dinner!  Balancing out those should’s and needs will stop that shadow catching up, so let’s all learn to read the scales.

Welcome!

Welcome, to my humble little corner of the internet.

I often find myself staring at people on the Tube, or over my Pret sandwiches during break, making up stories in my head about who they are, what they do, and why they went for the egg and mayo sandwich when anything would be better than that beige coloured lunch of sadness.

I am a pathological liar… But in a good way… And mostly in my head. I make up stories and outlandish excuses for everything, before politely telling the truth when confronted with the real-life situation.

And so, instead of letting those stories and thoughts gather dust in my peroxide soaked head, I thought I would share them here, in my little corner. So, thanks for joining me in this digital den filled with pillows, fairy lights and endless cups of tea to read my musings and ramblings.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

I am currently in my final year of a drama and theatre degree in London, but am originally from Australia, where I lived for the first 18 years of my life.