Letters to: Danny

I quite like this format of writing little letters to my surroundings. As someone who struggles to tap into her emotions on a face-to-face level, this feels like a stress-free method of showing my appreciation. It’s strange isn’t it, how even the shyest of us find ourselves turning to the side to face the audience and voicing our soliloquys as if our fellow actors and recipient of our words can’t hear. Like you’re cupping the side of your mouth with your hand; it’s easier to say these words to a screen, through a keyboard, rather than to a face, with your voice. Let’s call it the modern interpretation of old-fashioned love letters, pouring out your heart onto the length of a piece of paper to give these captured feelings a sense of permanence. Is the verbal format not convincing enough anymore, or long-lasting? Do I need validation from outsiders that my relationship is at the very least, adequately staged? I hope not! I genuinely just want to share how much I appreciate various aspects of my life, as I don’t feel like I do it enough. I want to pick out these moments of happiness and lay them out on a crisp white bedsheet. This is a format that I find comfortable to work with. So if you can bear this level of schmaltz, then here are a few letters to a man I’ve known for four years.

Dear Danny,

First things first, thank you for letting me stay over many years ago when I drank half a bottle of JD at your flat and passed out on the sofa. Shall we have another round of the Game of Thrones drinking game for old times’ sake?

The bounding. Every now and then when I’m getting on with studying and stressing a little, you will bound into the room and give me a kiss, joyfully announce “STUDY KISSES!” then bounce out of the room and back to your business. You are a happy kangaroo, and it’s genuinely the sweetest little thing. People introduced you to me as a grumpy sort of fellow…I’m definitely getting more of a Tigger vibe.

Your nest. For messy folk like ourselves, our sofa nests usually reveal a lot about our characters. Your nest tends to consist of: Several blankets, including a Deadpool one and a Broncos one, your tablet, your Xbox controller, two pillows, a comic book, many crumbs, a few coffee-stained mugs, often a miniature sword, and a salt and pepper shaker.

The Gaming Face. I tell you it’s adorable, you do not accept it. It starts off kind of soft and mildly concentrated, then you start to bite your lip intently, then once you assemble yourself cross-legged and leaned forward, then it is ON, and the mouth opens in mesmerised determination.

Surprises. I can’t count the number of times you’ve surprised me with something incredibly thoughtful. When I ask you why you’re so bloody lovely, you usually shrug and simply say “I’m not, I just want to do these things. Everyone should want to do these kind of things for people.”

The little brown fleck in your eye. I do suspect it’s the source of all your powers. In the Summer, it looks orange on a clear day. With your long hair and slender figure, there is definitely a touch of Elven in your bloodstream.

Puzzles. A natural problem-solver, it’s bloody brilliant to watch the cogs whirring behind your eyes as you get stuck into something tricky.  I believe you can do anything, and it’s so comforting to see you draw energy from these accomplishments.

I am overwhelmed by your constant support. I don’t expect it, or anticipate it, it just happens, and  you never make it seem like a chore to do. Thank you for organising all of our bills and outgoings, and for finding us our new home, and for picking up extra shifts for me at work when I’m struggling for cash. Thank you for making me smile even when I’m at my most anxious and strained (it’s a lot.) You listen to my nonsensical rants and offer solutions no matter how ridiculous I’m being, or breathless I become. I feel like you’re this wonderful solid mass that props me up when I’m slipping on a sheet of ice, and I appreciate it so damn much, I really hope you know that.

 

Your Rosie

x

(AND YOUR SKIN IS ALL SOFT AND FUZZY LIKE A PEACH ESPECIALLY YOUR BUTT THE END.)

 

 

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Personals I Want To Leave Behind in 2016 (Blogmas Day Fourteen and a Half)

Merry Blogmas Day Fourteen and a Half!

50% less merry today. This is something I don’t wish to taint the merriment of Blogmas, but I wanted to include as a side-note. To break form and deviate slightly from my standard “Buy These Things” Blogmas posts, today’s has a more reflective air. I have written a list of personal things that I wish to leave behind in 2016. It’s not so much a compilation of regrets, more a vow to try not to take these aspects of my life with me into 2017. The new year is a strange old thing, it doesn’t really mean anything but it acts as a metaphorical reset button for things you haven’t quite mustered the courage to do in recent months. It’s fake courage, but in all honesty I think that’s the closest I am going to get to its real form. It’s also quite therapeutic to look back on your year and establish the patterns of your behaviour. There are of course things that I want to take with me, or even experience to their maximum, but that is for another post. NB: Though they are all mixed up, some of these are traits of the mind, some of these are literally items that I want to throw away. In practice the items will be the easiest to take care of but hopefully will also act as a stepping stone to rendering the others possible. I hope you can bear with me while I prise these self-indulgencies off my chest.

Hello 2017, Goodbye to:

  1. The fear of leaving the flat. I need to remind myself that my ‘comfort zone’ has rapidly been encroached by various anxieties over the years, trickling in from all directions, and that the comfort zone essentially does not exist anymore. There is no comfort in sitting on the bed, staring at the floor and shaking as the reality of your day kicks in. I have to see people, walk past them on the street, look them in the eye, speak as if I have something worthy of saying, walk without getting in anybody’s way, maintain an expression that will not incite questions, don’t drop anything or let my clumsiness inconvenience someone else’s day, complete tasks in the most efficient way possible without failure, focus on my work or studies without letting my mind wander too far, be enthusiastic beyond a constant level of numbness, be supportive of others even though I am not worthy of giving advice, providing the correct reactions to what I am told. The more I let myself panic, the worse the fear becomes, that’s logical. The more I induce punishment by calling myself lazy and useless, the worse the fear also becomes. What if I am just lazy? I can do these things, I push myself to do them everyday, so they are more than possible, they are commonplace. What I want to shake off is the spiral of fear that sets in beforehand.
  2. The contents of The Room of Requirement. My boyfriend and I have a spare bedroom, a little box one, which we refer to as The Room of Requirement. The original idea was for it to contain anything we need on occasion, like spare bedding or weights or clothes we only wear on special occasions. This has now devolved into a dumping ground, and the bed is now covered in all manner of empty boxes, receipts we don’t need, scratched 3D glasses and hell knows what else. What if we require a spare bedroom for someone to sleep in? New year project.
  3. Forgetting to moisturise. In the summer I like to be constantly hydrated, and my skin seems to appreciate the application of coconut oil at regular intervals. In the winter I practically develop scales, and the coconut oil proves insufficient. I do have a skincare routine, but the rest of my body I tend to forget about. For someone so eczema-prone it’s tricky to find a deep moisturiser that also doesn’t make me want to tear at my skin, but so far Dream Cream from Lush seems to be the most friendly option. I just don’t always remember to give my skin what it needs, and something so simple is for me an act of self-care and loving your body that shouldn’t be neglected.
  4. My job. I am extremely grateful to have a job, and I’m incredibly lucky to have had the same one for 3 and a half years, despite my being entirely useless. However I think there’s a shelf life for a job of this kind, and though I think I would be equally as worthless if not more in another position elsewhere, it’s definitely time to move on. There’s a level of dread that comes on just before every shift that I never used to experience, until the last year. Well actually, it’s sort of been a sliding scale. My first year or so I experienced a hellish period of panic attacks, and though I haven’t had one for a very long time, it still rattles me to think of their onset. Then there was a sort of ‘summer’ of calm in between, when I felt more at ease with my work and my actual life than I had ever felt before. But in September 2015 I had an immensely low day, and there was subsequently a huge dip in my mood, and I’ve been battling to look beyond this ever since. All I can do is look forward, and try to adapt to my environment. This environment is one that I will always associate with anxiety, and though it’s a risk to move on, everything in me is telling me to persevere with job applications, despite the rejections continually rolling in.
  5. My black and white striped bra. Seriously, why on earth do I still have this? It was comfy and supportive when I first bought it from M&S several years ago, but now it’s sagging, there’s a hole in the outer fabric on the left side, it’s stained with God knows what, it’s fraying and it’s a little bit too small for me now. Move on, Rosie.
  6. Waking up late and hating myself. Now that my boyfriend has started a new 9-5 job, we are on different schedules. It happens, and when he first started I said to him, “I will be supportive and wake up with you each morning.” This lasted a week, and I am a little bit ashamed. It makes sense for us to wake up together, and I don’t actually work nights, only evenings, so it’s not a struggle for me to do so. I can’t complain that we don’t see each other much if I’m not making a true effort to do so.
  7. Disorganised reading. I used to adore reading, as it was constant salvation to be able to escape to a different world. I always had that option. The past year and a half I’ve been struggling to concentrate. I still read the odd book, but I don’t get anywhere near as much relief from it as I used to. I even tried to encourage myself to tend to this hobby more by committing to a monthly book subscription box, but on reflection I think this has applied more pressure. The books pile up, and I feel angry at myself for not establishing time to read. I think what I need to do is breathe, and remember that it’s not a test, there’s no quota to reach on books read in a year. I need to walk back into a library, and browse the shelves with a casual air, if something truly catches my eye then I will picture my next day off and if I can set aside a little time to properly appreciate it.
  8. Self harm. The reason for this is, I am 27. Not that it doesn’t happen to other 27 year olds, but the fact is that this has been ongoing for around 8 years. I don’t wish for it to extend to 9 years, but it’s tricky to establish a definitive way to end it, or even a motivation to end it. Why should I? If you’re a heavy smoker then withdrawing from nicotine can induce stress, moodswings, frustration, but the end product is clear: Continuing with this habit is bad for my body, and encourages my mind to rely on it. Withdrawing from self harm will have similar results, but I am concerned about how much worse I will feel for not having a coping mechanism. I need to remind myself that doing it is not productive, it’s just become a habit over the years. I think the logic is that if I make a mistake and I’ve already punished myself mentally for it, I have nothing else to turn to but still feel horrendous…so it feels natural to remind myself physically that it’s unacceptable to keep making the same mistakes. It’s quick and easy to do, I don’t have to be in a doctor’s office to go through with it, and I can then attempt to move on. But I do understand that it’s just not productive in the long term. So I hope to be able to leave this behind in 2016.
  9. My bow-tie heels. I last wore these to a wedding in 2014, despite having a chunky heel on them I struggled to walk, they have a slippy base so despite being a vaguely good fit at the time of purchase, my feet kept sliding in them, my feet were in agony by the end of the night, and they go with next-to-nothing that I own. But because I like the little bow-tie at the front, and they have a slightly 1920s look, I’ve held onto them. They do not fit Rosie, let them go.
  10. My terror of human contact. I’m sure we’ve all had some interactions that we would rather forget, they just didn’t go well, or you didn’t put your point across as you would have liked. For me, this is every single interaction I have. I will stammer, then something switches in my mind and I start to develop a ‘hummingbird’ chest, and everything feels a bit hazy and unclear. I will forget what I intended to say in the middle of my sentence, or I will be hyper-aware of how awkwardly I am standing or the ugliness of my expression, and I will start to feel out of breath, or a compulsion to take deep ones, one after the other. This breathlessness has sometimes continued for days, depending on how ashamed I feel. It worsens if I’m in an enclosed environment, for instance, a car. Lovely people will offer me lifts home, and something will immediately click in my mind, something’s going to go wrong, I will make a mistake and then I can’t leave, so I try to decline as often as I can, despite their kindness. It just sparks instant anxiety. Ridiculous, isn’t it? But it comes as part-and-parcel of the fear of leaving my flat. I will DEFINITELY make a mistake, hundreds, ones I’ve even made before, my stupidity will cause issues for others, my memory will fail me and I’ll need to calm down. This cycle would cause panic attacks in the past. I don’t have them anymore, so I feel the tiniest step forward has been made. If that step has been made, others can be reached too.

So thanks for staying with me for this little talk, and I hope that whatever you wish to leave behind in 2016 is achievable and you can look forward with positivity.

Until the next day of Blogmas!

Rosie

x

 

Religion: My Experience

In a consecutive move following the emotional depths of “What’s in my gym bag”, this post is of a similarly heavy and sweat-inducing nature: Religion. It’s gonna be a long one. So I might split this up into two parts, not the Old Testament and New before anybody suggests it, although that would be a fairly apt way of putting it. This half will be my recollections before the age of 17.

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Consider this post an act of laying my cards on the table without reluctance. I am for all intents and purposes, an atheist – definitively I cannot prove that there is no god actively governing our universe, therefore technically I have agnostic tendencies…but I live my life as if there is no SPECIFIC and detailed god that we can claim ultimate knowledge of, and have a relationship with. These are my views at this point in my life, in this very moment I consider it very unlikely that these views will change, but if I am presented with sufficient evidence to prove me otherwise, I will of course adapt my mindset to this new information and accept a new reality. That’s all we can do isn’t it? Adapt to what we learn. I don’t expect my experience to change anybody’s views, all I want to convey is that we all have an entirely unique perspective on the universe depending on our experiences, and it is totally fine and natural to have different beliefs to one another.

1: On the Side of the Angels

My earliest memories of religion are of Advent, specifically the Christingle procession that took place every Christmas. Traditionally it involved a cute little crafty afternoon in primary school, with an orange to represent the world, a candle representing Jesus as the light of the world, a red ribbon to represent blood (graphic), raisins skewered on cocktail sticks to represent the four seasons, and finally foil, to represent the metal nails brutally impaling Jesus’ hands and feet. Merry Christmas! Being part of it felt like such an important duty, mainly in ensuring that you did not set fire to the hair of the person in front of you, and maintained an orderly, Christian single-file. What I recall feeling when I assembled my orange of violence and death was that, Jesus had a bloody hard time and therefore we MUST be grateful, at least once a year, because it’s only fair. Incidentally, I still have the candle from my Year 6 Christingle in my little memory box. I kept it at the time because I loved Christmas and it was a little memento, but now I look back on it, I feel in some self-righteous way that it represents my innocence at the time. You tell a child that somebody died so that they can be happy, if you’re impressionable enough it’s going to strike a guilty chord somewhere. The more interactive side of religion at the time was in my school nativities, in which I was a tinsel-winged angel, who collected spare change in an empty ice cream tub with my fellow angels as parents were heading home. It felt glamorous (maybe except for the tub) and again, a sense of duty. I wanted to be a good person, and a good person meant someone who obeyed and worshipped God. In morning hymns, I would clasp my hands on my knees and sing at full pelt about climbing Jesus’ ladder, and all that jazz. I remember one particularly melancholy hit that talked about sacrifice: “I’m special because God has loved me, for he gave the best thing that he had, to save me.” That really resonated with me. God doesn’t even know me, I mean I’ve never met him, and he sacrificed his own son! For me. How could anybody not be grateful for that? Despite this terrifying story, I sought comfort and familiarity from Christianity. We plaited bread rolls and watered cress in our local church hall, and when I was little my mam always wore this gold crucifix necklace. It was just part of everyday life, and I thought that it always would be, and that the dark times were behind us.

2: Loss

I won’t dwell on this chapter too long, as it’s pretty sensitive. When I was between 5-7, three of my grandparents died within a few years of each other. It was my first experience of death, and my first real experience of seeing my parents go through a terrible time. It was heartbreaking, and confusing, and I told myself if I could help it at all, I would never let my parents be that upset again. My memories are hazy, but the overarching feeling was that I just did not understand why this was happening, and why we wouldn’t be seeing them again. I always wondered if religion helped them through that time, if prayer was really effective.

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3: Invitation to Prayer

Then came secondary school. Or rather, three, due to us moving house quite frequently. The third one was a Christian school, and I have some great memories there. But the obvious bias towards Christian-only thinking, was probably what sparked my doubts. We had bibles in every classroom, in these zip-up protective covers. Assembly would culminate in an invitation to prayer, no matter what the topic. You didn’t have to participate, you could just leave your head unbowed, and exposed. I mixed it up, sometimes I committed to prayer if I felt there was a genuine message from the gathering, but most of my prayers were uncertain bedtime ones – I stated what I was grateful for, and what I didn’t want to lose – but I never felt any connection. I thought the more I did it, and the more I believed, the more tangible it would feel. The assembly topic was often football, depending on who delivered it. There was miraculously always a tie-in to Christianity, which in hindsight reminds me of a sketch from Eddie Izzard’s “Dress to Kill”. It went something like this:

“Today’s sermon is taken from a magazine that I found in a hedge. This season’s lipstick colours will be in the frosted pink area, and nails to match. And this…reminds me rather of our Lord Jesus. Because surely, when Jesus rode into town on a donkey…he must’ve gotten tarted up a bit.”

Now, don’t think I’m including this for pure mockery. That’s not my angle, but the message struck me. We are supposed to apply these archaic lessons to our life, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to relate modern life to these kinds of stories. Desperately trying to drag this violent story forwards. We can appreciate and learn vaguely moral lessons from Greek fables, but there comes a point when these lessons have been taken on board and we have to look forward. Does that make sense? It is so engrained in me to find a relatable character in literature or film, that the Bible began to feel so distant from my actual life. We can study it, I mean I enjoyed studying Beowulf, but that is not going to govern everything. Or is it? *potential medieval revolution*. There was also an undeniably heavy bias towards Christianity in our Religious Studies class. Sermons on mounts and such, that’s all you need to know folks. We had talks from “reformed” characters, drug addicts and such who found solace in God. That was the side of things I appreciated, so okay this has clearly worked for someone, and look how much their life has changed. Good for them, this is how religion should be. But this was still tinged with questioning. I recall in our PTE class (Philosophy, Theology and Ethics), our teacher was discussing agnosticism, and basically saying that it was a cop-out decision. You can’t be on the fence, you either believe in this specific God or you don’t. Which is fine, but tell that to 16 year olds who are so uncertain about many things in their lives, and it adds a whole new dimension of responsibility. I have to decide. God will be mad if I don’t choose him, but if he doesn’t exist, how can he be mad? Infinite conflict. I remember I was asked if I believed in Heaven at one point, and my response was “I like the idea of it, but I don’t think so.”

So I’ll leave it there for now. I hope this didn’t come across too convoluted, it’s just something that is very important to me and writing about it only offers me more clarity. Stay tuned for the next few chapters…but there’ll probably be a review of Strictly costumes or something in between, just to lighten the mood a tad.

Rosie

x

 

Apple Farmers Market Haul

*insert jaunty Parks & Recreation themetune*

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I present to you today, a haul! This morning one of our local parks held a farmers’ market, apple-themed to herald the season. My boyfriend’s parents were visiting for the weekend, and we suggested having them meet my own parents there. It would be dog-friendly which was super, as we had a slightly rain-mottled and therefore slightly grumpy pug in tow, and it was definitely us-friendly, as we do love our food. Throw a casual supporting of local traders and homemade produce in the mix and it turned out to be perfect. It was an adorable set-up of hot food stalls, fresh produce, an apple-press inviting marketgoers to make their own apple juice, live music, and a little craft section. My Dad was very excited as I’m pretty sure he procured his entire weekly shop from said stalls, and we didn’t fare too badly either – this is what we bought.

NB: The apples are admittedly decorative and purchased from Aldi the day before – apples were surprisingly scarce at the market! But everything else, most of which we sampled from the adorable vendors, is entirely authentic.

So what do we have? A couple of pork pies, two bottles of apple cider (one raspberry/one toffee), goat’s cheese and a block of Derby sage cheddar (I’m thinking of making tartlets with these cheese, possibly with some red onion chutney), some ginger & apple cake (divine!), a mixture of vanilla/orange and cappuccino fudge, and finally a selection of shortbread: white chocolate & vanilla, apple & cinnamon and salted caramel.

That’s an autumnal picnic right there. Which I have pretty much assembled, as for photographing purposes I hastily threw a picnic blanket onto our living room rug. Instant inside-picnic, with a kettle on standby and a pile of chunky knits. I am a summer person, despite my sunkiss-resistant skin it is definitely my favoured season, however you can’t help but warm to the cosiness of autumn. Especially when the cosiness is so delightfully edible. We’ve had the cutest day, chill-filled and rain-filled and not-so-much-apple-filled.

Rosie

x

 

My Bullet Journal

I have a new love in my life, and it is my bullet journal. Or more specifically, my take on a bullet journal, I have absolutely no idea if I’m doing it correctly. That’s the point though, it is in essence a planner that is entirely adaptable and a project in improvement. Whatever you want to improve, be it your general organisation or goal-setting, spending habits or the art of calligraphy, it’s yours to mould. Sound good?

Well, what I am describing could in essence be a blank notebook, and that is what you begin with. I have never been a consistent diary-keeper or have ever possessed the ability to keep all my note-taking in one place, so on top of a memory the width of an acorn, I decided to take the plunge. Mine is a Leuchtturm1917, white and dotted, which is pretty much the quintessential bullet journal basis, but any notebook can be used really. To satisfy my need for STATIONERY PORN, I’m using a set of Stabilo pens and a gorgeous set of pencils from Smiths. You just have to take a little time to sketch out your pages at the start of each month, which I find akin to the calming effect of the adult colouring books that have come into huge popularity recently. It’s calming to say, this is what I have planned for this period of time, and if it doesn’t come to pass for whatever reason then that is OKAY.

This links in to my general attitude to projects – often if I can’t see myself completing them to a standard I have set for myself, or a standard that I imprint onto others to think of me, then I just won’t do it. Which is a terrible attitude to have, but it’s a habit of a lifetime. So with this form of journaling, I am actively telling myself that it’s okay to change tack mid-way through a project, it’s okay to be inspired by others and integrate that into my plans, and most importantly it’s okay if I can’t achieve every single goal I have set for myself in a set period of time. It’s the effort that I want.

For creative spreads and unfairly pretty calligraphy, I would highly recommend Boho Berry on YouTube. In fact, there’s a wealth of inspiration dedicated to it on Tumblr too, so research away or simply get cracking with your own imagination. If you would like a guide to the bare bones of Bullet Journaling I would refer you to:

The Lazy Genius Collective: Guide to Bullet Journals

My Journal So Far

I only have two months’ worth of content but this is just to give you an idea of what works for me thus far. The index isn’t really necessary but I have started it anyway. I love plotting out the monthly spreads – the doodles of which I totally copied from other bloggers’ journals, sorry! But it gives me an idea of how my days plan out at-a-glance, things which may clash and such. In the crossover to October from September, I changed my anxiety tracker to a general wishlist, as it just wasn’t working for me. I could say, on this day I felt upset, but I couldn’t go into the reasons why, it was just an emotionless abacus. The weekly spreads are probably what I refer to and adapt the most, as they are full of goals I set myself, things I’ve had to cancel or migrate, ideas of what I can change to make me happy, and things I would like to keep as they are. I don’t punish myself over any gapping in the monthly trackers; I try to establish why I’m getting behind on things, and how I can go about doing them more/less frequently. The little Marauders’ Map steppy-tracker was inspired by a BuzzFeed list, and honestly, I just think it’s cute. Cute should be celebrated sometimes. I’ve omitted quite a few personal details such as my finance tracker which goes at the bottom of each weekly spread, as well as the ‘Brain Dump’ (just any nonsensical thoughts I need to have written down in physical form, and don’t really belong in any other section).

Then we have the “other” pages – those I don’t consider essential to each month, but I intend to include them as and when I feel fit. Recipes, paydates, a review for how the month went – but there are endless amounts of what you can include. I’ve seen a lot of people keeping track of their water intake with canny little beaker doodles, or how their sleep patterns pan out, reading lists, savings trackers, meal plans, a doodle a day, etc. Mine is VERY basic, but I’m happy with this at the moment. It doesn’t take up too much of my time, and it’s so satisfying to take a few moments to fill in the necessaries every night before bed, even if I have had a duvet day, it’s something I’m recording, and I am calm with. Some people opt for a more Japanese-inspired approach and use washi tape and watercolours, or photographs and ribbons, ticket stubs, pressed flowers, receipts. In essence, I love the idea that I have a little crafty project on the go at all times, and I am free to make it my own. Spontaneity is not a strong skill of mine, therefore I am more than willing to give planning a jolly good go.

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Finally, can we all appreciate my little shitty pumpkin, as the official mascot and spirit squash of the planning movement? I may be a shitty little pumpkin, poorly drawn and tastelessly executed, but I am still part of a positive, forward-thinking movement.

Rosie

x

 

February Wrap-up (Yes, I’ve been bad…)

Well hi!

I can see a ghostly image of me slumped across my bed, January-fied in my blanketed attire and general neck-withdrawn-into-shoulders hibernation mode – promising to be a better blogger. I did not, however, specify a TIME-FRAME…

Okay, okay. Enough with the excuses. Excuses are generally not a productive use of time. Every so often, it is far more productive to just take a step back and say “Yes, I’ve been bad.” A very absent blogger indeed, but I did read a couple of books, and watched a few films. So here is my February Wrap-Up:

Books (2)

These Broken Stars by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner (7.5/10)

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami (6.0/10)

Films (5)

Kingsman: The Secret Service (7.5)

Jupiter Ascending (6.0)

Inherent Vice (7.5)

The Interview (1.5)

Project Almanac (7.0)

Best Book Award, feel free to mock me for the 50/50 situation, is going to go to These Broken Stars. It was a refreshing new take on sci-fi, that focused more on survival than the imminent romance depicted in the general marketing. I believe it is part of a duology or some sort of series, forgive me for my Google laziness, so I will definitely look into the next part. Best Film, is a tie between Inherent Vice and Kingsman. The former, was a surreal and downright hilarious take on a standard private investigator story, with very clear Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas heritage. The latter was probably the closest I’ve seen to lifting a story directly from a graphic novel to the big screen without losing any of the artistry or character, and without leaning to the wrong side of parody.

That isn’t a typo on my rating for The Interview, it was genuinely the worst film I’ve ever seen at the cinema, with one tidy redeeming feature involving puppies. It has been a kind of bleak month of my struggling to concentrate in general, having long periods of anxiety and generally feeling blue. Not enough puppies in my life, evidently. Time to stop dwelling on tiny woes though. Have some perspective.

Cheers to March! I’ll be back very soon.

Rosie x

January Wrap-Up

I have neglected this blog recently, but in my haste of rather a busy day today, I feel compelled to at least wrap up my January consumptions. So here they are! I’d say well on target for my challenges of the year. I have emboldened (sp?) my favourites of the month, permitting three from each of cinema and literature. Let it be said that I am a very fair person.

Films Watched: 10

The Theory of Everything

Unbroken

Birdman

Whiplash

N.T. Live: Treasure Island

Into the Woods

Foxcatcher

American Sniper

A Most Violent Year

Big Hero 6

Books Read: 9

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Goth Girl & the Ghost of a Mouse by Chris Riddell

Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell

The Death Cure by James Dashner

The Kill Order by James Dashner

Call the Midwife by Jennifer Worth

The Shock of the Fall by Nathan Filer

All My Friends are Superheroes by Andrew Kaufman

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

Shows I watched:

Marco Polo (abandoned 3 episodes in), Pretty Little Liars, The Office (U.S), Suits and a little  of Orphan Black.

I will hopefully get round to scribbling reviews for Whiplash, Big Hero 6, the James Dashners (shakes fist), All My Friends are Superheroes and Station Eleven.

My first film of February was Kingsman: The Secret Service. Hmm. A review may be inevitable for this too. Presently, I have just discovered that Community is on Netflix so I can kiss a fond goodbye to any productivity I may have indulged fantasies of attaining. Though in saying this, I promise to be a better blogger. Mainly because it lazily stokes the embers my procrastination.

Rosie x