Thursday, 24 December 2015

so here it is, merry christmas...

So, since it's Christmas Eve and all, and I've recently been reading Abigail Breslin's book This May Sound Crazy and completely loved her little rundown of her Christmas traditions and schedules and eh, I'm bored so I thought it might be fun to do a little rundown of what we often do.

Christmas Eve-usually my mother's up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey so usually I lie around in bed until about ten or eleven. Then, my mother's generally wrapped up in preparing for the Christmas dinner the next day, while I get ready for Christmas Day-washing my hair, picking out an outfit, etc. Then, generally, my mother wants the kitchen to herself, so my dad and I spend the day watching either a bunch of Christmas TV episodes or a Christmas film. My mum might pop in to watch but often we get relatives appearing to drop off presents and generally, we all end up sitting in the living room, watching whatever's on. (Today, it was Love Actually.)

In the evening, we go to church for the Christmas Eve service and we're so paranoid about the presents that we leave a relative there to watch the house. (Yeah, really.) We generally stick around for a  few carols after the service and then we get a takeout for dinner on the way home. When I was a kid, we used to just eat gammon my grandmother had baked for us, but the last few years, we've gone for the takeout. Then, we just spend the evening watching another Christmas film or some of the Christmas TV specials (right now, incidentally, we're watching the Not Going Out Christmas special.)

Christmas morning, we get up about nine then gather round in the living room to open the stockings and presents with cups of tea and the carols CD playing. Breakfast is generally quite a lot of chocolate and then my dad and I visit his dad and their family while my mum and her family help with the Christmas dinner at ours. We get back home at about twelve and then the afternoon's spent in front of the TV with gammon/prawns/lobster for snacks while we wait for Christmas dinner, which turns up at about six in the evening.
By the time we finish eating with the desserts, it's about eight in the evening and we then just end up opening more presents, singing karaoke, playing board games, and that generally goes on until about two or three in the morning.
Boxing Day-we just slump. Literally, it's the day of eating the Christmas dinner leftovers, and watching TV, while looking at the new presents.
If you're reading this, have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year!


Sunday, 20 December 2015

a bizarre kind of rosary and chinks of laughter (on a day that we made happy)

I interviewed the amazing Carrie Ann, who is behind the hilarious Twitter parody account for Brooding Young Adult Hero, for Hellogiggles. You can check it out here, if you want.

In the meantime, today it was my mother's birthday. We spent the day curled up on the couch with my cousins, watching Have I Got News For You? L was tired. She's often tired these days. We counted out the illnesses we all have between us, like a bizarre kind of rosary:

OCD, depression, anxiety (generalized anxiety disorder), Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, depressive tendencies, dyspraxia, dyslexia, arthritis. These are a few of our favourite things.

Those illnesses are shared out between just three of us kids and we're lucky enough to be in a family that can afford the treatment for each one. We're savvy enough, after all this time, to laugh about it, so we don't have to cry.

L being tired just meant she leant against me while we reading through Brooding Young Adult Hero's Twitter. C and K nestled on the couch while we all watched Have I Got News For You and K burst out laughing and rolled herself off the couch when we saw the scene of Ed Balls losing his seat after arguing with Dimbleby. We have an odd sense of humour, I suppose. A little bit of schaedenfreude.

It was a great day. It was surrounded by Christmas lights and family and the TV screen glowing. It was a day when the chinks of laughter could break through, despite our bizarre little rosary. It was still a happy day.


Friday, 18 December 2015

living in a song, with a blue streaked Christmas: tales of nostalgia masochism

I dye blue streaks into my hair for Christmas. When I watch the colour soak through in the hairdresser's, I feel like I'm in a Halsey song. I watch the blue streaks peeking through and I feel a little like me again. I find a replacement trilby and I feel like I'm coming back to myself. Sometimes, when I don't look the way I want, I feel as though I've been wiped away, as if the things that make me have gone, like a frame without a painting.

I've been writing. A lot. It's becoming easier, more of a world to disappear into. I've always loved writing but now it's the place to put everything down. When I'm angry, I relish the writing. I relish the chance to slap the traits and lies and evasions that I hate into a character. But then I end up exploring them. I have to understand them and even though I hate it, it's weirdly addictive.

I am now obsessed with this song. I cannot stop listening to it. It's something that I listen to while I work on my novel. It's that feeling when you find a new song and you know it's something you can hold onto a few days, a new anthem for your playlist.
It's a song that makes you sad and happy at once. It makes you, as Abigail Breslin says, "a masochist for nostalgia" and I want to scream at the whole world to listen to it.



            

Wednesday, 9 December 2015

strap a watch around your ankle and dye your hair blue (it's a wonderful, vile, messed-up place)

When I was younger, one of my friends used to tell me I reminded her of Cassie from Skins. I'd never seen it and didn't ask if it was a compliment or not. She said the same about Effy. Now that I've watched a few clips of them, I've decided to take it as one, even though that's probably not the way it was meant.

It's strange, having depression. I went to the Bootleg Beatles on Sunday night and could blog about that. The guy playing John Lennon had us sing "All You Need Is Love" for Paris and I could blog about that. I'm getting blue streaks in my hair in a week's time and I could blog about that. But instead, when depression climbs up out of the ether, that hangs over everything like a shadow but heavier. One bad thing can somehow outweigh ten good things, or pretend to, at least.

The worst part about depression is how hard it is to move. One task, like moving your hand to pick up a laptop, can feel impossible. You can see it in front of you, like a huge mountain you have to climb over. You tell yourself over and over to move but you can't, it feels like, because that's what depression does. It leaves you drained but when you try to sleep, it's almost like a physical pain, how bad you feel. Almost but not quite. It's worse because the pain is in your head and it's nothing you can touch and all it does is tell you over and over again how worthless you are.

Of course, some people don't understand or want to understand. Sometimes, you get strangers online who tell you you're using it as an excuse. "I've got depression" they say, snug in their knowledge of never knowing me. "Fuck you. You're weaponizing it." This'll be used in whatever disagreement I'm having with somebody. It's a wonderful place, the Internet. A wonderful, vile, messed-up place.

I could write a little more about social media and the person who actually went to the lengths of tracking down my blog just to leave comments but right now, I'm tired and drained and I can't be bothered. I'll post some screenshots of it in the next few days but suffice it to say this person (who was clearly so proud of themselves that they didn't dare post under an actual name) must have been pretty disappointed when they realised I have to pre-approve the comments that appear on my blog. That was a good decision that I made years ago, and one I don't plan on undoing any time soon.

In the meantime, I make a habit of finding a scene I like from a TV show and watching it over and over. Sometimes, just parts of a scene. A few lines, a few glimpses passed between two people that I catch and hang onto. This is the scene I'm watching over and over again, right now.


I'm watching that scene over and over again. Maybe I understand what it's like, not eating. Maybe I'll start wearing a watch around my ankle.


Tuesday, 24 November 2015

My Story For The Milifandom: Our Friend (Sort Of) Knew The Miliband Brothers

So, I randomly posted on my Tumblr the other day about some stories a family friend told us who knew the Miliband brothers as kids, and thought I might as well share it here, since there's currently a load of DRAMA in UK politics, and it's bringing back memories of the infamous Miliband brothers' feud in the leadership contest of 2010. So, here's the text from my Tumblr post, copied and pasted:

OK, by popular demand, lolitics fans, some true stories about the childhood of  Ed and David Miliband from our family friend that knew them as kids:

Family friend’s husband was one of two boys about the same age as David & Ed respectively. He was the younger so his elder brother would play with David and him with Ed. (How they knew them-their parents were acquaintances with the Miliband parents and they had holiday/summer cottages near each other or something.)
Both of them were really geeky but David was less so and was definitely the more confident one, and the more sociable. Ed was shyer, quieter and SUPER geeky.
Family friend thought Ed was nice enough but at the time “a bit weird” because of his interests, etc. He didn’t talk about politics all the time-they knew each other from when they were little kids to sort-of teenage years, I think-but he was into it and numbers, too. Ed was really into numbers and was always carrying around a book.
Family friend didn’t mind Ed but thought he was a bit of a telltale. :D He said Ed would run to the adults a lot and he thought, being a kid, that Ed was a bit of a wimp.
However, he WAS really impressed with the fact Ed Mili was super smart and always had a book, etc.
David Miliband and family friend’s elder brother used to hang out and Ed & family friend would try to tag along but David M & friend’s elder brother would try to ditch them. :D
David Miliband was less geeky and into playing football. He and friend’s elder brother would play football. Ed always wanted to join in but wasn’t allowed because he was no good. :( Poor lil thing.
Family friend would also want to join in but would be made to “keep Ed company” or as he called it “getting stuck with Ed.” :D :D
Ed really looked up to David and wanted to be like his big brother. :( He’d get a bit upset/sulky when David wouldn’t let him join in with the games. :(:(
Remember, I’m getting all this through a family friend's husband so I’m taking his word for it. :)


*


So, there's a story. Now, I feel like I can start playing six degrees of separation. Think I'll draw a line at calling Ed Miliband "Buddy" though. The Milifandom would murder me.

Sunday, 22 November 2015

In The Aftermath, OTPs And The Great Sunbed Argument

Part of having a dad who's a part-time musician/used-to-be musician is that listening to music in the car is sometimes an exercise in "Which one of these did Dad know?" The other day, while my dad and I were driving down the road (which I posted on my Instagram as "She Way Out" by The 1975 was playing at one point, which was too fantastic to let go), he put on a song and then reminded me that I'd run around a kid's play area with one of the lead singer's/guitarist's daughters when we were kids, who was a bit younger than me. I remembered it, a family holiday when I was about ten. (The song was "African and White" by China Crisis.) The other side of my dad's career, incidentally, is being a private detective, which my cousins used to think meant he got to conceal James Bond-style weapons in a guitar.

In the last week, the news has been filled with war and fear and constant wondering if we're all going to be safe or not.  It feels like attack after attack litters the news. It's also a time that leaves me watching Labour-the Opposition party here in the UK-and thinking "Get your act together, for God's sake." I'm non-partisan, but lately it's been harder and harder to think I'll ever vote for them. One of the downright simple criteria for me with politics is that I'd feel safe if these guys were in charge. With the way Labour is now? No way. Anyone who's on my Twitter will have seen me ranting about that though so enough about it for now. At the moment, I've got "In The Woods Somewhere" by Hozier playing which gives a sufficiently dramatic vibe.
(On another note to do with Labour, I shared a story on Tumblr about our family friend who was childhood friends with the Miliband brothers, but I'll save that for tomorrow.)

In the meantime, winter leaves me down with what we've always suspected is SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) but has never actually been diagnosed. Dad gets the same way so today Mum endured both of us sitting there, looking like the world had ended.

"You get SAD too?" she said to my dad, and my dad blinked. "I get SAD too? SAD TOO? Lydia gets SAD from me! I am the original SAD!"

Our family know all too well that you can find humour in a lot of weird stuff when you're dealing with feeling down for absolutely no reason.

Mum suggested a lamp. A lamp that had colours that reportedly help to lighten someone's mood.


"A lamp?"

"Two lamps."

Dad burst out laughing. "Yeah, I can see us comparing them. "What colour's your lamp?""Mine's blue." "Mine's green." "Fascinating."

"Oh, shut up." This was my mum (jokingly) who then said "The two of you need to get more fresh air. Start walking."
To my dad, this is like a suggestion of chopping his leg off so he spluttered "But-but-I thought we were getting a sunbed!"
"A sunbed?"
"To get light in for winter!"
"When did I say we were getting a sunbed?"
"You haven't. But I just thought it would be a good idea."
"We do not need a sunbed."

For a family of high IQs, the sunbed argument was deemed rather important. However, they both found the time to join in with my general ecstasy at discovering a song that fitted all my OTPs, as both of them are-thanks to me-aware of various fandoms, OTPs, shippings, even though they remain rather puzzled by it all.
The song was "Like Real People Do" by Hozier if you're interested and it's below with the Destiel video I originally found it on (and yes, Destiel is one of my OTPs that I absolutely refuse to accept is not an endgame OTP.)











Tonight, walking in from the cold, my father still hadn't let go of the petition from earlier.

"You know, we could still get a sunbed."

One thing you learn in my family is persistence.








Friday, 13 November 2015

Paris

I was going to write about the walk home in the dark, standing in the bus stop in the darkness and watching the streetlamps flicker in the autumn night. I was going to write about watching the John Lewis advert over and over again. I was going to write about having another short story published. I was going to write about not blogging enough.

But then Paris happened.

We were watching Gogglebox. We were laughing at Leon and June and their comments on Billy Elliott. We turned over to Newsnight. We heard the words "shootings" and saw ambulances. We heard "Paris." And then it was all different.

My friend was in France. She'd been in Paris, as far as I knew. I logged onto Twitter, shivering. There were tears prickling at my eyes. I felt as though I was about to be sick. I typed a message to her. No response.

My timeline was screaming with messages of horror. I'm sitting in front of the news right now, staring at the BBC, Twitter refreshing constantly. I hadn't spoken to my friend in ages. Nothing bad had happened between us, we just hadn't spoken much.

On the BBC website, it had breaking news about hostages. I ran upstairs to grab my phone and it was dead. I was shaking it and it wouldn't work. I felt like I was going to vomit. There were bodies on the news. My friend said she and her friends went out at night sometimes. My mother was on the edge of the couch, staring at the news. My dad was hugging a cushion. Any thought of going to bed that I'd had a few minutes ago was gone. I sat there, waiting. Wild thoughts raced around my mind about it being a sick, wild joke. It felt like an hour had changed everything.

Still no word from my friend. I started praying. She's a devout Christian, and I knew it couldn't hurt. I couldn't remember when I last spoke to her. Please, let her be safe.

I frantically typed a message to our other friend. She knows our friend in France far better. She would know where she was. I typed her a message. Please. Please. Is she in Paris? Where is she?

I felt like I was going to be sick. I felt hot and cold at once. I was shivering. I didn't know whether I was going to cry or scream. I was shaking.

My ipod pinged. It was a Twitter message. I dived for it.

My friend was there. "She's not in Paris, girlie. She's in the south of France, near Marseille."
I felt like I was going to collapse. I didn't cry but I held onto the phone and all I could type was "Thank God."

I'm still sitting in front of the news. I'm sitting here, shivering and it's only now that I can feel the shock, sending sickness into my stomach. My mother is next to me so I don't have to watch it alone. My father is tracking the news upstairs on the BBC newsfeed. It feels like the end of the world. Like this is what the end of the world will be like.

I watch Obama speak and as weird as it is, I kind of want our Prime Minister to come out there and speak too. It sounds incredibly weird, but I suppose right now's when everyone feels a sense of patriotism, of wanting someone to come out and provide some reassurance when there can almost certainly be none. For some reason, it would feel better to see our leaders too, to know that there's something we can do.

Right now, we're waiting. We're waiting and praying and watching. There are hostages now. It feels like everything ending. I'm watching with my family and on the Internet, it feels like the world is watching too.

My friend is safe. I hang onto that. We watch and we pray. We watch and hope and pray and we are all watching together. Right now, all of us, no matter how different, are watching. All of us are watching together.

Tuesday, 3 November 2015

No Doesn't Mean Yes

One of the Best Friends is over, and we spend the afternoon slumped on the couch, watching the BBC show Is This Rape: Sex On Trial? It's a weird thing to see, kids our age who don't know what has always been imparted to us since we were old enough to know what sex is, don't know that just because she doesn't say no doesn't mean she says yes.

One of them says a smile could be a signal and I look at JW (they're not her initials. I used to call her John Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. I'm not sure how much she liked it) and say "If that was the truth, then that would mean that every guy I've smiled at I want to have sex with."
She bursts out laughing because she couldn't imagine anything further than the truth.

In the show, the defence barrister asks the girl about photos she's sent, the way she was behaving, and it makes me angry enough to throw something at the screen because none of that matters. None of that was that moment, that second in time when she was assaulted, when she wasn't asked if she consented and was too terrified to move.

She was blamed in court, the way so many real girls are blamed in court. As though they have asked to be assaulted. It was awful to watch. As if whatever a girl wears, whatever photos she takes of herself, justifies a sexual assault. The emphasis is on the ruination of the boy's life; not the ruination of the girl's.

I won't write the outcome of the trial in the show but it's something that I felt like I needed to watch. I needed to watch it because it was scary. I needed to watch it because it was frightening to learn that some boys would object to a person who raped being called a rapist because of the effect it would have on the boy's life-as if his was so much more important than the girl he had attacked, than the damage she'd carry with her forever. It was frightening to watch because it was an awful picture of the truth.

Monday, 2 November 2015

Three Calliopes, Little Comets and This Charming Man


My dad and I are listening to music one night when he asks me "Do you think there's a connection between people who are really creative, people who could be called a genius, and people who have a mental illness?" We talk about the book Touched By Fire by Kay Redfield Jamison, and he plays me clips of Pete Doherty talking about the Libertines, which I listen to until three in the morning. "When you make a guitar" he tells me. "You have to get the wood exactly the right thickness. Too thick and it sounds terrible. Too thin and the whole thing just shatters. It has to be exactly the right thickness." He watches Pete Doherty talking quietly, like his voice might dissolve and then says "Whenever I hear him talk, he reminds me of that."
At night, sometimes I'll get hold of memories when I was little, of my mother sitting with me cuddled up on her knee while she watched Prime Minister's Questions every Wednesday lunchtime. When I was three, I grabbed my dad's Private Eye and giggled at the picture of Tony Blair on the front, before deciding I found Calvin and Hobbes more interesting. My parents carried me up and down the stairs when I couldn't sleep, singing "This Charming Man" until I nodded off. When my cousins and I were running about, scribbling stories on piece of paper while we ran through the woods and around the lakes near one of the summer homes we stay in, my mother affectionately called us the Three Calliopes.
I sleep strangely, sometimes closing my eyes at six in the morning and sleeping until four in the afternoon. Other times, I wake up at ten and sleep for an hour in the afternoon. It's a weird thing, but there's something that makes me feel safer at night, when I'm awake writing or listening to music.
Bethany and I did an interview about Doll Hospital, which you can find here, and I've had two more articles published by the Huffington Post, which is great. It's a strange thing, to feel up and down at once. It sometimes seems like it's all I write about.


Last night, I escape from the thoughts for a while when I see two of the Best Friends and we curl up together on the couch, watching a Bill Murrary film (St.Vincent, if you're interested) and start singing Christmas music now that Halloween is over. I remember Halloween when we were kids, especially the year our parents took me and my cousins out for trick or treating and then brought us back for a surprise Halloween party, our big eyes round and bright in the dancing flames of the candles.
Over the last few days, I listen to "Salt" by Little Comets over and over. It's a song that sounds like someone screaming under a laugh and once I learn what the song's about, it's sadder than ever.

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

Creeping Lights and Thinking About Nothing

Last week, I am on holiday. I lie by the pool, with the sun tickling my head, and I love it, but I feel distant. My mind always wants to be working; whenever I'm ill or away, a part of me wants to be wrapped up in writing because then it feels like I'm doing something.

I read ten books and fall asleep the second my head hits a pillow each night.

The lights creep onto the pool each night and it feels like something I'll remember forever. It's too hot but the sheets make it cooler.  I look forward to going home and at the same time, I want to stay.

It's strange but I feel distant sometimes. Sometimes, it feels as if I'm watching myself be happy, rather than being happy.

I read Solitaire by Alice Oseman over and over again and I listen to "Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" by the Smiths and I think about nothing.

Wednesday, 30 September 2015

When Harry Met Sally, Not-Parody Accounts and New Music (Also-Donald Trump Doesn't Act)







Dress is from New Look, I believe.



It's been a few months since I did an OOTD post, so I thought I might as well do one. Because right now, I'm sitting here watching When Harry Met Sally with my parents and wondering why my father thinks Sally's blond boyfriend is Donald Trump. I have to tell him that as far as I know, Donald Trump does not appear in romantic comedies, because he's far too busy trying to turn the USA life into a dystopia.

Anyway, in the meantime, I managed to get some message on Twitter telling me that I'd be enlightened if I wasn't a feminist. Usually, I'd pay no attention to this but on this occasion, the guy in question had such a sage-like bio that I thought I'd better include it here, just so that everyone else can laugh as hard as I did. I have never wished so sincerely that something was a parody account.


I've just realised you can't make out the type but the title should be enough.

But in the meantime, I've been working on some cool stuff, some of which you guys should hopefully get to see soon! I've also been listening to a ton of music, which means that I've discovered some new music including Halsey, whose song "Colors" I've been listening to non-stop over the last few days. I've also discovered the singer Emily and the Woods, and I can honestly not understand why more people have not heard of her. The music video for "Steal His Heart" is weirdly, amazingly down-to-earth and whimsical at the same time.
In the meantime, I'm currently watching Sally scream "I am the dog?!" at Harry so here's two of the songs I've been listening to over and over the last few days.







Tuesday, 15 September 2015

Privilege, Fast Car and Angel-Headed Hipsters

So, I got another article published on Hellogiggles! It's about privilege and learning how to recognize it and the importance of knowing your voice shouldn't silence other people's:



Recently, I've been happier. I'm no longer in school, no longer having to drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn as the nights draw in and the days get shorter. I'm earning money doing the thing I love-I'm writing and talking to people and learning about everything at once. It makes me happy, lying in the middle of my canopy bed, reading Maya Angelou and David Levithan and listening to my dad play "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman down the hall.

But when I'm happy, at the minute, there's sometimes a shadow that niggles at my mind, a feeling that this could change any moment-a shadow that remembers the way my mind can descend into a whirlpool of anxiety and depression, low moods that can drag me down even when the future seems bright and unburdened. It's then that I worry, that even with all the privilege I have in life, even when I achieve my dreams, will this illness still be waiting for me? Will it still be there? Sylvia Plath's lines spill in and out of my ears: How did I know that someday-at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere-the bell jar, with its' stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?

There's change happening, in the country and all of our lives, and we're moving on and forwards. It can feel like I'm a part of many different worlds at once. I've been reading excerpts of Howl by Allan Ginsberg and the lines that are my favourite are like a tangled song for me:

Angel-headed hipsters, burning for that ancient heavenly connection
To the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.

Friday, 11 September 2015

Huffington Post: The Sequel Or Who Sashays The Best

OK, you guys, most times the sequel is inferior to the first movie....but this time, IT'S NOT!

This time...it's even BETTER. There's more COMEDY...there's more DIALOGUE...and.....there's more TINA FEY FANGIRLING.

Which is basically my roundabout crazy-excited way of telling you that I GOT ANOTHER POST PUBLISHED ON HUFFINGTON POST! *squeals* *flails excitedly*

Oh, and that's not all...I GOT TO TALK ABOUT MEAN GIRLS. Mean Girls. And how POLITICS IS LIKE MEAN GIRLS. And whether Cameron, Clegg or Miliband would be best at sashaying. And whether John Bercow would have a baton.

Basically, I'M REAL HAPPY RIGHT NOW, GO AHEAD AND READ IT! :)


Monday, 7 September 2015

Huffington Post and Some Opinions

So...I got an article published on Huffington Post!


It's about politics and education and general election furore and how teenagers shouldn't be discriminated against because they're teenagers. Hope you guys love it.


Longer blog post soon, but in the meantime, enjoy my little opinion right here:


http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/lydia-suffield/political-education_b_8082234.html



Wednesday, 2 September 2015

"we could be like angels"

The baby lies on the couch next to me. He's beautiful, just two, peaceful for a few minutes as he sleeps. He's usually full of life, all over the place, but whenever I stroke his cheek, he goes quiet. He sleeps and I watch, listening to my dad singing the Beatles in the garden, my older cousins dancing around him. I'm scribbling a story and stroking the baby boy's cheek. Baby J wakes at one point, starburst hands, eyes staring around.

When I was younger, I always asked what it was like to love your child. My mum always told me that it was something you had to experience to understand. She said it was bigger than anything.

Baby J isn't mine but looking at him asleep next to me, I feel like I understand a little bit.

I kiss his little head and he dozes against me, peaceful and sweet. Baby blue eyes under blondish brown hair, he's adorable. His eyes flicker when my dad plays the guitar and I remember when I was little and my mum and dad used to lift me up and spin me around the kitchen, singing "Dance the Night Away" by the Mavericks.

My dad's playing "Don't Fear The Reaper" and Baby J likes it. He stares up at me and I sing the lyrics to him, messing them up, but just singing away to him. He stares up at me and nestles under my arm, and gives me a tiny smile.

Mum always says loving a baby means wanting to give them a better world. Sometimes, I feel like I'm terrified when I think about the world my baby cousins are going into. They're so little.

Other times, I feel like there can be a better world for them. It's when I feel bad that I think about them.

So I hold the baby's hand and sing to him. "We could be like angels, come on, baby, don't fear the reaper."

Thursday, 27 August 2015

another article, in the early hours after laughter and lyrics

So, this is a quick, hastily-typed, late night entry, just to let you guys know I had another Hellogiggles article published. *claps happily* It's about Modern Family and Alex Dunphy and all the craziness of pressure. And here's the link (I promise I will write a proper post in the next few days but it's nearly three am right now :))


In the meantime, I've just got in from a night with friends, where we sat and talked about the different people we love and danced like there was no one watching. I've still got "Girls" by The 1975 playing in my mind, the way I always do when I come home from these nights, with laughter and lyrics singing together in the early hours of the morning.


Wednesday, 19 August 2015

under the fairy lights, in front of the screen: for with that grand collision, came a grave consequence

My cousins and I lie against one another on the couch, while our parents sing outside under the fairy lights. It's nearly two in the morning and my dad is strumming his guitar while they all sing the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel in the summer evening. My cousins and I flick through channels on the TV. C and I laugh at  The Thick Of It, while K tells me about the Sherlock Proms and we choose our favourites on the Gogglebox repeats. The night is falling around us all but there's a sense of safety there, that's been there since earlier in the evening, fighting over Brie and crackers, to an impromptu family barbecue where we shared stories of battles fought with teachers and Youtube videos of prank phone calls. For the moment, I feel like I can relax. For the moment, I feel like perhaps the future could be something good, after all.
Here's an insanely long playlist of what I've been listening to the last few weeks. Check out the last song. Seriously, if nothing else, check out the last song.

Fine Without You-Best Coast
Take A Picture-Filter
Mr.Brightside-The Killers
Haunted-Taylor Swift
Brand New Day-Kodaline
We Found Love-Rihanna
Girls Like Girls-Hayley Kiyoko
In The Woods Somewhere-Hozier
News Of The World-The Jam
Gold Coins-Charli XCX
Tragedy-Steps
From Eden-Hozier
Life Of The Party-Shawn Mendes
I Want The One I Can't Have-The Smiths
Long Division-Death Cab for Cutie
Just Like Heaven-The Cure
Girls-The 1975
That's Entertainment-The Jam
Ghosts Of Beverly Drive-Death Cab for Cutie















                   

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

we don't have to be ordinary, make your best mistakes

At about six in the morning, I was sitting in bed, listening to "Life Of The Party" by Shawn Mendes, and watching the "About Ray" trailer.


            

I can't even put into words how excited I am for this film.

In the meantime, I've been losing myself in writing for the last few days. The other day, I was idly calculating how many stories or books I've written since I was a kid and managed to remember some vague details of my first novel, which I wrote at the age of ten. It dealt with the French Revolution and a family on the run and the conflicts between the rich and the poor, and had some ridiculously tragic ending, which somehow ended up in a cave. I've no idea what I was thinking, either, but I randomly loved writing it.
At the moment, I'm trying to get that feeling back with the novel I'm currently working on. Maybe that's the way it is with everything-once it becomes something you tell yourself you have to do, there's something less fun about the whole process. So I've been trying to take the stress off myself a little, by reminding myself that this is fun. It's meant to be fun. That's why I started writing it. It's one of the first things I've worked on that I think has  any hope of being really, really good, and I'm trying to take deep breaths with it. Deep breaths between battering the page with words.
In the meantime, let me get on my pedestal. Because there are things I love writing and reading that are not technically books. They are...take a deep breath, everyone.....FANFICS.
Oh yes. Because seriously, almost everyone I know reads fanfiction and a lot of them write it, so I don't know why it gets such a bad rap. It's a world you love! That you get to play in! And mess about with the little details! And see what other people think! What's not to love?!
This might be a randomly off-tangent rant, but I guess I'm fed up of people asking me "What's the point of fanfiction?" Honestly, does there have to be a point to every single act ever? And in the meantime, why shouldn't people write what they want? It lets them practice their writing. It lets them spend more time with the characters they love. It lets them have fun. I'm still looking, and I can't find a problem.



               


               Lastly, I've been watching this music video on repeat over and over, the last few days. It reminds me of a short story, a summer dream caught in a memory of an important moment in someone's life, a moment when everything you thought you knew changed.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

'cos he had sworn not to be what he'd been before

It hurts when you're heartbroken and you're not as heartbroken as you thought you would be. It feels strange, like I'm constantly waiting for it to hit me. When you like someone and don't even really know them properly, it's difficult. You sway back and forth between do you like them or the idea of them? If you hear something even the slightest bit negative, you tell yourself it's just a rumour. But the slightest positive thing is twisted into fact, something you can cling to as proof that this is worth your time. Our minds protect us, I think, from when we might be about to be broken. They keep protecting us, until it leads to you sitting at a computer, listening to Death Cab for Cutie on repeat and referring to yourself in the second person as you try to make sense of everything.
*
I don't go to church, usually. I have my own way of thinking and believing in things. But today, I went to light two candles. Thirteen years ago today, two little girls passed away. I didn't know them or their families. I was only five myself at the time. But something about their story in the news stuck with me for years on end. Something about it was immediate to me, and it became something that stuck in my head. It hurt and I chastised myself for it hurting. It couldn't hurt because I didn't know them. Even though it made sense for it to hurt, even for everyone who didn't know them, I couldn't shake the feeling that feeling so sad about it was inadvertently stealing from their family's pain, from what it must be like for all those who knew them.
I sometimes wonder if this is what it is like for anyone else, if anyone else mulls over stories they hear on the news and can't shake the sheer sadness of them, the loss it leaves. For me, having relatives who work in law enforcement and the media, to hear about these cases has an extra sense of immediacy. But sometimes, I wonder if anyone else hangs onto these stories, the faces of children who should be more than stories on the news.
I lit two candles and thought about them for a while. Something about it made me feel better, more at peace with the world around me. Maybe we can hold onto the stories, if we try to remember they're more than those stories. And maybe we're doing the right thing by remembering them.
I listened to "Long Division" by Death Cab for Cutie over and over on repeat as I walked around the convenience store and as I lay on the couch, reading and thinking about being heartbroken in the late summer sunset. I thought about the person I liked-still like-and was surprised at how dull the pain felt. I wondered idly if it should feel sharper, stronger. Maybe I didn't like him as much as I thought I did. Maybe I've got more to focus on than the last time I was heartbroken over someone. Or maybe I'm simply growing away from the pain.
*

 
          

Saturday, 25 July 2015

YALC, Teenage Kicks, And Forgotten Stories

YALC was a weird experience of almost passing out, every time I looked at one of the authors I love. At one point, Samantha Shannon walked past me and I nearly broke my mother's arm, I grabbed on so hard. I was more nervous than I have been in a million years going up to Alice Oseman to get my book signed, and babbled at her about the blog post I wrote about her book a few months back. I could have been witty and articulate. Instead, I half-shrieked at her about how I'd written a blog post about her book and then randomly told her that I gave it "the most pretentious title possible" because I am incapable of behaving like a rational person in front of one of my biggest girl crushes ever.
I will put up pictures tomorrow-because I saw Cassandra Clare and Malorie Blackman and a bunch of other brilliantly interesting authors (and heard so much about the Mortal Instruments TV show *gaspsforbreath*)
Also, I listened to the awesome agent Molly Kerr Hawn talk with Kat Ellis, which was awesomely intriguing for anyone who wants to get stuff published, etc. Also, I have pictures of Judy Blume's talk. JUDY BLUME, PEOPLE. Which I will talk more about tomorrow.
In the meantime, I spent the afternoon curled up on the balcony overlooking the kitchen, finishing The Kite Runner, before my cousins and I held an important debate over whether to watch Harry Potter on the TV or play Harry Potter Cluedo. I'd just spent a week with my cousin on holiday, where she called her boyfriend over and over, while I got winked at by some lifeguards, and the two of us sang "Teenage Kicks" at each other, and danced to "Chelsea Dagger" together in the middle of a shop. My people-filter was faltering a little, and I was starting to need some time to let my brain breathe, even when we were in her bedroom, dancing around to "I Write Sins Not Tragedies" blaring on Kerrang! radio while we fixed our make-up.
My father, knowing the feeling, sat down with me later while I scribbled away in a notepad and told me stories I'd forgotten to distract me. He told me about the time we all went out to celebrate my grandfather being given an MBE, and Edwina Currie was sitting in the corner and asked to shake his hand, while a bunch of excitable children from our family flanked round her and ended up taking turns to jabber at her. (She was lovely). Then, he told me how my grandma would have loved to see how much I was reading. He told me how knowledgeable she was and how proud she was of how much I read. It didn't feel like a year since she'd died. I wished that she'd been able to see some of the things I've written since.

Thursday, 16 July 2015

Busy Bees and YALC!

So, I haven't posted in a while. That is because I have been doing a number of exciting things, such as:

Working on a novel

Being on holiday

Doing an interview on Doll's Hospital with Bethany!

Getting addicted to RuPaul's Drag Race with my cousin. We have spent the last three days slumped on my bed, glued to her laptop.

And in the meantime: preparing for YALC on Saturday!

So...it's a short post, but at least y'all know I haven't disappeared. And I will totally have some YALC anecdotes for you in a couple of days, so it's all good!

Monday, 6 July 2015

"i won't say anything that's worth a thing to me one day"

It feels like words are pouring out of me, and draining me raw all the time. My eyes are stinging with tiredness. I feel empty and aching for sleep, but my mind is rattling with worries and things I have to do, and it hurts. It hurts and at the same time, I almost feel nothing.
I enjoy what I write, but right now, it feels like there's nothing left in my head and I can feel my old worries circling again, snapping and waiting to drag me down.
When anyone asks if I'm OK, I tell them I'm fine. When they ask if I'm sure, I turn the question back to them. Everyone would say this is denial, unhealthy, repressing my feelings, but it's how I've always been. Even now, I'm dismissing all this as just some temporary angst, so that I can file it away and never have to worry about it again. It's easier to pretend than anyone realises.
 I cover my notes in smiley faces. Fake, aching smiley faces. I'm too tired to smile. Here are some songs I've been listening to:
 
Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)-Nico Vega
Come Home-Amatorksi
Closer-Joshua Radin
Can't Have You-Parade Of Lights
Older Chests-Damien Rice
Misguided Ghosts-Paramore
Half Asleep-School Of Seven Bells
 
 
I can never believe School Of Seven Bells aren't more popular. This song is beautiful and strange and sad and please, please listen to it.
 
 
 

                             

Wednesday, 1 July 2015

Addicted To Summer, Spinning Parties And Lead Balloon (And An Article)

I got a second Hellogiggles article published! Which you can check out on my Hellogiggles page!
 
*
It's summer and there's something decadent about the long days stretched out in front of us. The sunshine is warm on my skin. As a little girl, I was addicted to summer. It was when I felt safe, when I could stay up late with the blue-purple dusk stretched out into the sky, the sunset brushing the stars. It was when my cousins and I chased each other through the countryside, shrieking and happy and with no worries in the world. Summer has always been a saving time for me.
*
Sometimes, when the world is hurting around you and you feel scared and alone, it can help to remember that there are people out there.
 
I was at a party and the world was spinning. I was scared and I talked to a guy we'd just met and he said "It's going to be fine." We'd never met before-he and my friend had known each other a lifetime ago-but he put his hands on my shoulders and said "It's going to be fine."
He took the time, and even when the spinning was over and he'd quoted Shrek to calm all of us down, he let me cry and hold onto his arm, just to be nice. I hugged him and like an idiot and because I'd never see him again, I gave him a kiss and blabbered on that he was a good person and that he should be proud of that and that we could all remember that when things were bad. He touched my hair and said "I hope it's a good memory."
 
I'll probably never see him again, but it's easier to know that there are people out there who'll help when it feels like the world can make your heart stop.
*
At the moment, I'm curled up on the couch, looking out into the too-warm evening dusk, watching Lead Balloon, which is achingly funny, and criminally underrated, and  I'm thinking. Right now, I'm not worrying. Right now, it seems as if things might work out right.

Friday, 26 June 2015

So, I Had An Article Published...

So, I had an article published on Hellogiggles!
 
 
 
And yes, that is the picture I used because I am a Mean Girls fanatic. It's about my non-traditional education and graduation and wrongly-timed Christmas music. You should check it out!
 
 



Tuesday, 23 June 2015

Haircuts, Coming Out Of Hiding And A Playlist

I cut my hair. Not drastically, but a few inches off, which is quite a big deal for me. When I was a kid, I used to have a little bob which everyone told me was cute and pretty and sweet. Then I hit twelve and started to hate how I looked in the mirror and I grew my hair long to hide away from everyone. Maybe it took a while before I felt ready to come out of hiding again.
 
In the meantime, I will have some coolio, amazing, great news in the next couple of days! Which should be fantastic to share, but right now, I don't want to tell anyone because I have a terrible fear of jinxing amazingly cool things that happen. But stay tuned for exciting news and cool dreams and good things!
 
Also, I made a playlist for the last week.
 
Clairvoyant-The Story So Far
Girl With The Red Balloon-The Civil Wars
Read All About It Part 3-Emeli Sande
Ink-Coldplay
Amputations-Death Cab for Cutie
Amelia-Tonight Alive
Magic-Coldplay
Bathwater-Tonight Alive
Master Pretender-First Aid Kit
Head.Cars.Bending.-The 1975

Thursday, 18 June 2015

Blackcurrants and Stepping Stones in the Early Evening

It's a weird thing to know that you've finished with school forever. It felt like something I've looked forward to since I was four years old and it's also a place I never have to go back to. I'll never have to wear school uniform again, never have to sit through a class and watch the clock. All that is over.
 
Yesterday, after we finished our last ever exam, my friends and I sat in a coffee shop with fairy lights draped all around and talked while "My Number" by Foals played in the background and we all skittered around the fact that we'll never have to go back to school, ever. Even afterwards, as I tried to balance on stepping stones across a stream and ate blackcurrant and clotted cream ice cream in the early evening, my friends' laughter all around me, it didn't feel quite real. I had "Head.Cars.Bending." by The 1975 playing in my head and nothing felt as if it had quite sunk in, as if it was quite real that our lives may have started without us realising. 

Monday, 15 June 2015

Everlong, Other Lives, And The Lyrics You Can't Stop Hearing

The other day, my parents and I were driving around the city aimlessly, in a late Sunday evening with the sunlight filtering in through the window. A party the night before had lingered into the early hours, with my cousin telling stories about the various customers he'd dealt with and the actors he played football with, as we hung out in the kitchen and he pretended to be a bartender. I was in that pleasantly tired phase,  memories still buzzing in the back of my mind. I was sitting in the backseat, with my ipod playing music through the car. The 1975 had been filling the evening air for most of the journey and now we were driving around, looking at all the houses we once considered moving into.
 
"That could have been your garden" my dad said, pointing at the front of one. "That could have been your room" he said, pointing to the window of another. It was a strange feeling to think about what could have happened if we had lived in another house, how many lives would have changed, if there are any other lives I would have led. It was a strange thought in the evening sunset, and I mulled it over while  "Hate To See Your Heart Break" played in the background, until my dad asked what song that was because he wanted to listen to it again.
 
Last night, Orange Juice was playing on the vintage music channel and my mum paused it to tell me how my dad had hung out with one of them when he was younger for a whole afternoon, through one of his friends from his band, and didn't realise until afterwards who he'd been talking for the day. They had a quick debate but neither of them could remember who it was. Whenever my cousin Lucy comes to stay with us, she always remarks on how great my parents' relationship is-that they suit each other perfectly. I watch them and have to agree. Now, writing this, I can hear the sounds of "Everlong" playing from down the landing, where my dad is playing it perfectly on his guitar in the music room.
 
Hate To See Your Heart Break-Paramore
Cracking-Suzanne Vega
English Tongue-Palma Violets
Sucker-Charli XCX
Rip It Up-Orange Juice
Everlong (acoustic)-The Foo Fighters
Over My Head (Cable Car)-The Fray
Divide-Tigers' Jaw
 
When lines from a song get stuck in your head, it can be a blessing and a curse at once, especially when they could apply to you right now. Especially when it's something they'd all want to help me with but I can't explain, even if they ask.
 
But it's too late to walk home
And I know I shouldn't call you
It's too cold to walk home
And I know that I will call you-Tigers' Jaw.


Thursday, 11 June 2015

Exams, Not-Nostalgia and Modern Family Sick-Day Watching

 
 
Never Love Anyone Who Treats You Like You're Ordinary Shirt-Rad Clothing
Skull Skirt-This Is Pulp
Skull Necklace-Dysfunctional Doll
 
 
I'm Not Your Toy Wristband-This Is Pulp
I love this wristband. I don't know if it was intended as a feminist message but it's what I choose to interpret it as.
 
The first photo was taken right after I'd finished my first exam and right before  I went down with a cold and sore throat that right now is making me feel as though I'll never be well again. Trust me, the feeling of your throat aching each time you swallow is not a comfortable sensation, even when you're curled up on the couch scribbling fanfiction while watching Modern Family, and adoring Cam and Mitchell's cuteness.
 
To be fair, my Philosophy exam went a lot better than expected, which might have been helped along by the knowledge that it's the penultimate exam I will ever take. So I get one day off before I go back to studying for my Ethics paper next week. Even though I've been dreaming about my exams finishing since the day I sat my first end-of-year tests, there's something weird about knowing this might be the last time I'll ever have to revise for a test. It's not something I'll exactly be nostalgic for, but it's weird to know I'll never have to hate it again.


Monday, 8 June 2015

Proud And Sad And Cold And A Playlist

It's so strange to be pulled between being proud and being sad at the same time. Like for a few moments, you can like something about yourself, be proud of yourself, think of yourself as someone who matters. And then something happens; someone points out something you've done wrong, they snap it at you and make you jump, and you start to see everything else you've ever done wrong, and it makes the darker thoughts creep in again, curling around the brighter, stronger ones, vines winding around a ray of sunlight, trapping it, choking it into blackness. Or it can be something little, like someone not calling you back and even though you know they're just busy, your mind attacks itself with questions have I annoyed them, are they mad at me, are they ever going to talk to me again, what if something's wrong, what if I've messed everything up and anxiety's like a cold fist in your stomach that's always hurting.
 
It's late and I'm tired and my head's buzzing with exams I've got to study for-there's been studying, so much studying, the last few days, and sometimes, I wake up reciting facts I will probably never need to use again after the next few weeks are over. Here's a playlist for the last week:
 
I Miss You-Jamestown Story
Don't Wish-Tonight Alive
Favourite Thing-Tonight Alive
Making Plans for Nigel-XTC
In Loving Memory-Jamestown Story
Lego House-Ed Sheeran
Heart Out-The 1975
Better Open The Door-Motion City Soundtrack
Infra Red-Placebo
Unlocking The Mind-Samuel Karl Bohn (The Theory Of Everything Soundtrack)
Settle Down-The 1975
Nuit Avec Une Amie-Standard Fare

Sunday, 7 June 2015

Leaving, Returning, Beginning and The Place Of Many Places

It is the season of everyone leaving and returning and beginning; it's the start of summer and my friends and I are wandering the city, some waiting for exam questions, for jobs. Sometimes, I think we're waiting for our lives to start and then I remember that they already have-it's sometimes easier to forget, though.

We're walking down by the promenade, with the wind blowing in our hair and the sun hot on our skin, when I say "Have you noticed we live in a city that kind of has everything?"

I wonder if this is another Lydia-thing, a thing that just I have noticed, but my friend lifts her head and nods. "Yeah" she says. "We do."

"But we never notice it" I say and what I mean is I chose not to notice it.

My house is away from the main road, and kids play in the street outside, can pedal around on their bikes and sell cakes at doors for charity sales, and can have water fights, screaming with laughter in the sunshine, without every breath being a breath of am I in danger, am I safe, am I, am I, am I. The houses are big and people say hi when they see each other and you can recognize faces in the sweetshop or the park across the main road outside our close, separate and near. Nearby, the houses in our city are clumped in little villages; some even have the name afterwards, Village, as if trying to recapture a sense of the countryside, of older times when everyone knew everyone. In those little villages, however, everyone can at least recognize mostly everyone, and there is that sense there, for a moment, of it being one of those places-those places some people shake their heads and complain don't exist anymore.

But the quietness fades quickly in the shopping malls-not one, not two, not three-there are too many to count, split-level shopping malls in town, with steps where we can sit and stare out at the city centre, which is alive with noise and people playing guitar with hats in front of them and someone always in the middle of a street performance. Boys on skateboards trying to look older and cooler than they are whizzing through shoppers, huge multi-level shops on either side, a glass bubble lift whooshing up into the air. Up and across a few streets, and you find the shops filled with dreamcatchers and records, a Forbidden Planet, American diners, a massive building filled with basements and landings and stores full of trilby hats and Harry Potter memorabilia, heavy-chained necklaces and purple skull candle-holders. There are theatres and retro cinemas and a skate park slapped right between two buildings, where boards are always slapping the ground. Bright graffiti covers walls and sometimes, it looks better than the wall did.

Some people say their towns have nothing to do. Our city has the opposite. There's music playing from the second you step out of a car, there's people singing and miming in the street, there's always kids running around on a pool of water inside giant transparent beach balls or a mini-rollercoaster that seems to have appeared overnight, or a Krispy Kreme shop just sitting smack in the middle of the street for everybody to walk around, and then get pulled inside by multi-coloured doughnut sprinkles anyway. There's always a gig playing somewhere, a chance to hang out in a place where someone famous once sat and drank or played or just laughed and gave everyone there a story to tell years later. The streets are always alive with the thrumming of music and memories.

The woods are everywhere too-trees in parks that quickly devolve into something like a forest you can get lost in. As kids, we often did, daring each other to run further, to climb higher. I remember the bark sore against my hands, and my cousin's hand around my wrist dragging me higher, so I could say I'd touched my favourite branch, so I could say I'd climbed it. As kids, we'd dare each other to run through the haunted dell, the branches seeming to whisper at our skin, and then one Halloween our whole family walked through it at eleven at night, with our uncle waiting at the end to jump out at us, our hearts pounding through the layers they'd wrapped us up in, and our screams echoing off the tree trunks.

I could hear the seagulls cawing as my friend stood up on her bike pedals ahead of me, and there was a taste of salt on the air. There's a seaside, too. Of course there is. The promenade that leans over the beach, with artist's sculptures behind us, along the main road-the beach with the stone steps that we used to pick our way carefully down, the stones that give way to sand under our bare feet. The water would be out most of the time, that giant expanse of sand ours to sculpt into castles or sink between our toes but sometimes, we'd paddle, shrieking at the shock of the cold on our bare feet. At night, when the water was in, we'd lean against the metal bars with too-late ice cream cold in our mouths and stare down at the water, and the lights of the city on the other side, and if we squinted from the very top of one of the longest roads, we could even see the mountains of another country in the distance, which to us was one of the biggest things in the world.

People are leaving and returning and staying and all of them at once. I want to see more places, more things than I've seen. Until now, I tried not to notice the things about the place where I grew up, because it gave me an excuse to leave, to not care. Only now, when the time's coming when I will leave, do I look around and realise that while I might not want to stay, I couldn't stay away forever either. I will be able to leave and only now does it occur to me that I'll sometimes want to come back.

Thursday, 4 June 2015

Good Girls, A Playlist, and A Mini-Rant

So, I'm surprised I don't hear more about the novel Good Girls by Laura Ruby. It's about high-school and slut-shaming and what happens when photos get leaked. It's about how truly, horribly unfair it is when a girl is victimized as a "slut" and a guy is seen as a golden boy. It's about how your friends can get you through the hardest stuff and how you don't have to be ashamed of wanting to make out with that guy because you know what? It's totally up to you and anyone who says otherwise, you can tell to take a hike.
So I made a playlist and like most of my music listening, it included a lot of Taylor Swift.
 
 
Bad Reputation-Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
I Knew You Were Trouble-Taylor Swift
Animal-Neon Trees
Never Said-Liz Phair
She Has A Rep-Switchblade Kittens
Complicated-Avril Lavigne
Can't Finish What You Started-Motion City Soundtrack
You Call Me A Bitch Like It's A Bad Thing-Halestorm
Matchbox Cars-Candy Hearts
So Over You-Charli XCX
Barracuda-Heart
Caught In The Middle-Charli XCX
Out Of The Woods-Taylor Swift
All Of This-The Naked and Famous
Fine Lines-Samantha Savage Smith
How They Want Me To Be-Best Coast
22-Taylor Swift
Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)
Tell Her You Love Her-Echosmith
New Romantics-Taylor Swift
 


Monday, 1 June 2015

weddings and novels, writing and keeping news secret, and a playlist

Hey, guys! I know it's been an insanely long time, but trust me when I say, I've been busy the last week. Busy. Bu-u-sy.
 
I was bridesmaid in a wedding between two of our dearest friends and it was a wonderful, amazing day. I will have a few pictures of my bridesmaid's dress up in the next few days, and of the awesome wedding decorations. (They had personalized cufflinks and sweets. Artist-designed sweets!) It was a day of long photograph sessions, my dad printing off his best man speech at the last minute, trying not to get my bridesmaid's dress caught in the car, starting and finishing a novel (Falling Into Place by Amy Zhang) and chatting with our professional screenwriter friend who is awesome and funny and also knows some coolio writing tips.
 
In the meantime, I've also been revising. Which is decidedly less thrilling. And I mean, big-time, less thrilling. But it has to be done, I guess, and it's the last time I'll have the dreaded EXAMS anyway. (Plus, it's only two papers.)
 
And. I also have exciting news! Happy, wonderful exciting news! BUT-why's there have to be a but?-I can't tell you guys bout it yet. (I know, I know.) But trust me, hopefully, there'll be news soon.
 
In the meantime, here's a playlist for the last week:
 
Holiday-The Birthday Massacre
Everywhere Everything-This Century
Boy Games-A + Dropouts
Bloodstream-Ed Sheeran, ft. Rudimental
Let Her Go-Passenger
Hold My Hand-Jess Glynne
Kids In The Basement-Samantha Savage Smith
Everything With You-The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart
Soft Spoken-Tigers Jaw
No Other Way-Jack Johnson