Hey guys, sorry for the lack of updates, but exciting stuff has been going on! I’ll attempt to give you a rundown of the news before I head off to bash out some articles – hopefully there’ll be a plethora of new stuff up here over the next week or so, so do check back.
The big news is that I was headhunted, and am now the new freelance proofreader/editor of a local magazine! You may not have heard of it, but you’ve probably seen it around. CityLife is distributed on the new Greyhound buses, as well as at ferry terminals, hotels and so on, as well as places like Cascades and Gunwharf. From the next issue onwards, my name will be on it, so do pick up a copy if you spot one. (more…)
Well, I just finished University! I have handed in my final pieces of coursework, and it’s just a matter now of waiting on the final three marks to come back and (assuming I pass, which I should) collecting my diploma. If all goes to plan, as of the 22nd of July, I will no longer be a student, and will have to start thinking and acting like a fully fledged and proper adult! Scary stuff…
Other things are ending as well. I completed my last ever issue as Editor of Pugwash News, and have handed over to the new guy – it is well and truly ‘not my problem anymore’. Sadly, things did not end exactly as I had hoped they would; it’s a long story. But I am trying to see all the positives instead of dwell on this. I made some wonderful friends and memories, and I have three years of wonderful and educational experiences behind me. I know the new team will look after it well, so I’m happy to walk away with pride. (more…)
As part of my third year studies here at Portsmouth, I took a unit entitled Fan Fiction, where we had to produce an original 2,500 word piece of fan fiction based on certain criteria. I wrote a piece entitled “The Younger Miss Bennets”, which explored what happened to Mary and Kitty Bennet after their elder sisters got married at the end of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”. You can read it here. (more…)
Well, faithful readers, thanks for sticking with me through the ‘blackout’ – you will be pleased to know that the dreaded diss is now officially complete and I can devote my energies to other things, including this website, once more. I have sort of missed it, if I’m honest, and I was out of stock articles to upload anyways!
The dissertation was done in fairly good time, all things considered. It was printed, punched (thanks Adam!) and bound by half one the night before it was due in, and although I preferably would have liked a few more days to tweak and play with it, I was happy enough to hand it in as is – I was certainly much more happy with the final version than I was with any of my working drafts this year, so I’m feeling vaguely confident. It will never be my ‘magnum opus’, but it’s not bad and it should do the trick. (more…)
My dad, with all due respect, is crazy paranoid. He guards his PIN number with his life at ATMs, covering the keypad with his wallet and free hand, while dialling the numbers covertly with the other. He shreds bank statements and receipts, then distributes the shredded paper between all the different bins in the house, to make it harder to re-piece the documents. He cuts up all his old credit cards into tiny tiny pieces, then puts them in a margarine tub in a drawer which contains all their dead predecessors, and I swear he will ask to be buried with it, literally taking the secrets locked within their chips to his grave. He has nothing to hide, he tells me, but everything to fear, for the world is out to get you. So it’s no great surprise that he is constantly warning me to take the same precautions. (more…)
A day at The Cottage begins with the sounds of my family making breakfast. Mum scraping homemade jam on warm dry toast; Pops patting the cereal in his bowl between each mouthful; Claire getting fresh watermelon from the squeaky fridge. I snuggle under my mint green comforter and daydream and listen to the hustle and bustle. I lie and observe the way the leaves on trees flirt with the wind, or simply stare at and ponder the ceiling. (The room is exactly four square ceiling tiles by six square ceiling tiles, meaning the one square light fixture can’t be centred. This fact has, irrationally, annoyed me for years.)
Then, the smell of thin crispy bacon being cooked just the way I like it tickles me out of my cosy bed. I swing my feet out onto the carpet, which is made up of thick inch-long wool threads of brown and yellow. The room is so small I can reach the top of the chest of drawers from the edge of the single bed. I brush my hair into a messy ponytail, put on a hoodie, and head to the bathroom. (more…)
If streets could talk, this one would have some stories to tell, I’m sure. And not the kind you find in city guide books, telling you on what date such-and-such a famous person marched down it; not history, but something more tangible and currently real.
It would tell of the early morning, when it begins to hum to life as the shops along its length unlock their doors and prepare to welcome customers. It would tell of pretty university-aged shop assistants with ponytails that swish like pendulums when they walk, and their fashionable shoes that click satisfactorily across its cobbles. It could describe the rays of the sunrise glinting off the glassy surface of the windows, creating small rainbows of refraction that flicker and dart. (more…)
Every Sunday, after lunch, Donald Wickens called at 211 Albert Road for Miss Hattie. It had become such a tradition that today she was sitting by the window with her hat already on, awaiting him when the clock struck three. She played distractedly with a wisp of tawny hair that refused to stay in its place, as she watched out the window for him. She pretended to read her youngest sister’s new book – a Beatrix Potter – but couldn’t really absorb the tale of the kitten that was almost turned into a roly poly pudding. When she finally spotted Don walking jauntily along towards the jeweller’s only propriety stopped her from flying to the door to greet him. After paying his respects to her parents and siblings, he offered her his elbow and they set off along the road. (more…)
“God Freshers are annoying!” expounded Beth as she wriggled past a group of them dressed as naughty school girls.
Dave just followed silently, choosing not to point out, again, that she had been one a mere year ago, or that the only reason they were here was her crush on the Union photographer. (more…)
(Written July 2009)
I’ve been thinking about the future a lot lately – specifically that day in twelve months time when I get to don the silly hat and gown and (hopefully) conclude my time at university with a graduation ceremony. (more…)
