5 Ways to Cure Your Mum’s Cancer

  1. Explain the unlikeliness of it to people. Explain it away: the lack of anyone in our big Irish family who has had cancer, the way Mum only needs two beers to get drunk and tends to stop there, the fact she has never smoked and is a healthy weight and once got told by a psychic that she would live a charmed life. Build on the charmed life part. Don’t say it out loud, but let it be understood: things like this don’t happen to people like us. Continue reading “5 Ways to Cure Your Mum’s Cancer”
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Things I’m actually referring to when I write ‘I’m afraid’ on a work email

  • I’m afraid that the ghost I think lives in the 23rd floor bathroom will tell my boss I believe in it
  • I’m afraid that this will result in a bad performance review, for some reason
  • I’m afraid that adding little flourishes like ‘I’m afraid’ onto my emails is the only way I can use any of the writing skills I have
  • I’m afraid nobody is impressed by this
  • I’m afraid I can no longer blame any potential incompetency on being a child, because I am 23 and no longer get ID’d when I buy a pint and people freak out when I cry rather than looking at me with sympathy Continue reading “Things I’m actually referring to when I write ‘I’m afraid’ on a work email”

Do I want to be or kiss Clarice Starling from ‘Silence of the Lambs’? An examination

Summer is the time for macabre obsessions to blossom – to get really, really weird, until you’re spending your break at work reading lists of the Fred and Rose West victims as if it’s a natural thing to do with your downtime. The long light scoots nightmares out. The winter means walking home alone in the dark, often, which is bad enough without worrying you are going to spy Ted Bundy across the road, bobbing around on fake crutches and asking for help with his suitcase. In summer, this feels less likely.  Continue reading “Do I want to be or kiss Clarice Starling from ‘Silence of the Lambs’? An examination”

Five Unsettling Things I Found Whilst Cleaning My Room, Ranked From Least to Most Sinister

You know that bit in ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’ where they have to tidy up Grimmauld Place and they almost die multiple times because of all the stuff? Yeah.

 

5) £70 in loose change

A very good, positive thing to find! Even though, if you dropped that seventy pounds into the big, echoey hole of debt I live in, you probably wouldn’t hear them hit the bottom.

 

4) Tiny, flower-shaped perfume bottles from Boots circa 2004

These moved house with me in 2007. Why? The perfume is dried up. The bottles are very small, and not particularly pretty, and Past Me engineered it so that in the year 2017 I’d have to look at them and have them, briefly, be a part of my life. They look like something from The Virgin Suicides. Continue reading “Five Unsettling Things I Found Whilst Cleaning My Room, Ranked From Least to Most Sinister”

‘Can’t Pay? We’ll Take It Away’: A Literary Analysis

Some programmes exist in a peculiar hinterland, accessible only in certain stages of your life. They’re such unattractive prospects to everyone else that they may as well be broadcast on a different frequency. ‘Can’t Pay? We’ll Take It Away’ exists in a liminal space (Channel 5) that you can only reach if you are a student, or depressed. It makes you feel the same way you do when you see someone fall over in public. Continue reading “‘Can’t Pay? We’ll Take It Away’: A Literary Analysis”

Too busy to write?

All I tweet about nowadays is the bus. I am on the bus for at least three hours a day. Sometimes, in the morning, I wish it was longer, because when you’re on the bus, you’re not in work.

So I’m on the bus, or I’m in work, and then I get home at various times of the evening and have tea and talk to my housemates and play with the hamster and read the internet and catch up on TV and have a shower and go to bed. I am dramatic about this, but this is everyone’s schedule, minus the hamster and maybe plus a dog or cat or child. I missed a Trump protest in my town, I’ve only seen one of the Oscar-nominated films this year, and at the weekends I sleep all day and then watch, like, half a horror film over a takeaway before going to sleep again, this time while it’s dark outside. Also I’m worrying about work the whole time and sometimes I’ll remember while my hamster is climbing up my arm or The Undateables is on and it’s like suddenly remembering a crime you’re on the run from. Like the end of The Sopranos. Continue reading “Too busy to write?”

A Collection of Top Whatever Lists I Could Write About 2016 But Won’t

Mental Illness, Ira Glass, and Me: A Love Letter to Podcasts

There’s nothing more narcissistic than anxiety. I was sixteen, and I had been to a birthday party. I had felt anxious and silly all night, a spare part, like me and everyone there were sharing this silent joke that I probably shouldn’t be there but, like, okay. Lying in bed afterwards, I was listening to Radio 4 as I tried to sleep. (Radio 4: home to The Archers, the shipping forecast, plays that feature the sound of footsteps more heavily than you’d expect.) It had been my lullaby for years – the Book at Bedtime into the news into whatever feature they had at 11pm, not boring, just reliable, polite.

So – Radio 4, me in bed, facing the wall but antsy and panicking, the kind of panic that can grow big and then fall in on itself. There was a poetry programme on. The presenter read out an email or something from a listener. He wanted, the presenter said, a certain poem to be read. It would make his day if they would read out this poem. Continue reading “Mental Illness, Ira Glass, and Me: A Love Letter to Podcasts”

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