I know I'm not a special snowflake. (Though some would disagree and say I have yet to learn this.) I'm not the only twenty-something year old girl that spent her formative years studying Rory and Lorelai Gilmore, willing herself to be them. But when has being exactly like thousands of other people ever stopped me from talking about myself.

It was on ABC Family when I got home from school. I got the first and second seasons on boxset for Christmas. I would watch them when school had let out for summer until the discs wore out and I could hear birds announcing I had made it to 6am. I started a notebook detailing the plot of season one and where songs appeared in certain episodes (there's websites for this now that I would have killed for then). I was firmly in favour of the cookies and love and the Dean and the Rory and the cookies and the love

I wanted to work hard and set my eye on applying to Ivy League schools like Rory. I applied to one in the end. Got as far as a phone interview and blew it by talking nervously to the recruiter about Twilight. Oh, to be eighteen.

I idolised stubborn, sharp-tongued and reference-wielding Lorelai. I hated the way she sucked in her cheeks when she was looking at something or upset. And I pined for my mother to be more like her than an Emily. Which was not fair on my mom, as she was a far cry from either. 

Update: Craftsman Café closed permanently in 2018 :(
📸craftsman_cafe

📸craftsman_cafe

One of my favourite places I've discovered since moving south of the river (the shock, the horror) is Craftsman Café. It moved into the neighbourhood at about the same time I did. To the extent that we saw them hand-painting the trim and stencilling the logo on the front window (below right photo via the geo-tagged Instagram page). And I think for those reasons, though I've gone less in the colder months, this has become of my favourite places in London.
*pears around corner* Ahem, erm, h-h-hello? Am I still allowed here? Yes? *whips white sheets off furniture*
 THE TROUBLE WITH GOATS AND SHEEP  by Joanna Cannon
This little guy is all over the shops this week. I was reading a proof copy last year and now have the luscious debossed hardback by my bedside. The writing of Goats and Sheep is so comforting without being at all dumbed down. It has a dreamy quality to it that at times reminds me of if The Virgin Suicides was set in middle England and concentrated on two ten-year-olds rather than pouting teenage daughters. I'm looking forward to starting it again–it's the kind of read with descriptions so good you want to roll them around in your mouth.

 THE SPORT OF KINGS  by C.E. Morgan
I stole my friend's advanced copy of this because it is so pretty. Look at it, goddammit. That typography. I had to take it home. I have no idea what's it about (that's how I like to go into my books) but I'm going to wager there are some horsies. I have to be honest, I did try to start reading it tonight and am finding it difficult to get past the first couple pages. But to be fair it's 9pm on a Friday after a full on week of work. Progress to be updated on Goodreads.

"What's today?"
An innocent, anodyne, purely date-seeking question was posed to me this morning. But when I flicked over to the sidebar to check,

"Oh. It's September 11th."

Like most Americans, especially those around my age, I have a September 11th story. And they usually all start with a variation on 'I remember...'

I remember not long after, people (my parents?) saying this would be our Robert Kennedy moment. Our moon landing. We would all remember this day. And have a picture burned in our minds of exactly what we were doing when we found out. There have certainly been more traumas in the world since. If I was a Londoner, maybe it would have been the 7/7 bombings, or if I lived in Indonesia, the 2004 tsunami. And there will never be enough words on the amount of hurt caused by and still happening due to the 'War or Terror.' Basically, what I'm trying to get at here is the fact that looking at the date and feeling a rush of sadness and dread in the pit of your stomach when you realise it's 9/11, is a largely American reaction. No matter how much I try to shrug off where I come from, my relationship with that date will always be a reminder to myself that part of me is unshakeably American.




This feels kind of like walking into a meeting you've been skipping for the last couple months. Everyone lifts up their head to look as you come through the door. And then they go back to shuffling their papers, ignoring your casual sheepish wave.

Hey guys.

For months I've been ruminating about how to write here now that I am not freelance. How do non-freelance people blog?! Comment some examples. I don't want this to be a place where I talk about my job because I spend most of my waking hours doing and thinking about my job. I really want my blog to be a separate entity but I'm beginning to wonder if it can be. My job is a huge part of my life now. And I feel like if I ban myself from talking about it... well, what else will I have to say here?

You read it all the time on blogs (oh bloggers and their crises) but I'm gonna say it too. My life is not that eventful. Frankly I'm happy to keep it that way at the moment. Is this what it is like to get older? A month from tomorrow I will be turning 24 (very, very not best pleased about this). Making me that much further away from being able to unabashedly sing Taylor's 22.

Whenever the weekend rolls around and I have a reprise from the office, I find myself missing posting photos and scraps of thoughts here. But I can't think of things to say that isn't 'I'm tired' or 'Look, I'm adulting' or 'I should be reading right now' or 'Why can't I keep my flat tidy'. Also, I have to say, I quite enjoy doing absolutely nothing. Sue me.

So, of the little that has been going on, here is a life update:


I'm taking a break from frantically packing everything I own into tote bags (I'm moving Tuesday) to share with you some completely unrelated photos. You. Are. Welcome.

You may recall a similarly titled post that cropped up here back in April. Yes? Yes! These are part two, the 'Light' series, of my Cornwall photos (aka, the prints from the Boots disposable that didn't turn out as dark and grainy). Ross and I stayed in the guesthouse of one the cottages pictured above. See the one on the right with the trio of windows jutting out from the roof? Dat us. Literally on the edge of England. See those rocks? Yeah, they drop directly down to ocean.

L: SVILU Tailored Green Pants, £140  //  R: Groceries Apparel Black Jersey Dress, £40    

I'm gonna come out and say that shopping for sustainably made fair trade clothes is a bit of a minefield. 

I started this journey only a couple months agothe journey being to locate where I can actually buy ethical, sustainable clothes, or is it thrift shops and eBay for the rest of eternity. Spoiler alert: I found some places.

In a previous post I mentioned that I want to live more consciously and sustainably. I made a pledge to myself to stop buying from stores that have their products predominantly made by exploited children and impoverished workers. Cool.  Good. Step in the right direction. Now where do I cloth myself?