I had no courage for the spice cabinet at all.
This is not an admission of laziness. This is strategy. Anyone who has ever organised a kitchen knows there are levels to this game. You start with the easy wins, the cutlery drawer, the Tupperware you think you’ll finally match with its lids, the optimistic shelf of “miscellaneous.” The spice cabinet, however, is the final boss.
Read MoreI’ve got it all planned. I know when the photographer turns up, where the button-holes need to be sent to, and the colour of the napkins. There’s just one thing left undecided, and suddenly burning a hole in my brain, and that’s this: do I take his last name?
Read MoreIf the eyes are the window to the soul, the public toilet is a finger up society's colon.
Read MoreIn St George, the worn remains of a medieval relic sit in the car park of the library. It’s now an accidental bollard, guarding the metal railings of the library access ramp.
Read MoreI have to admit my reaction to Chalamet’s statement, like everyone else, was “what an insufferable idiot”, but since he has opened a can of worms, why not delve into it?
Read MoreOften, when we’re chasing perfection, it can feel like everything goes wrong at once. One thing breaks, then another. A friend seems a bit distant and then an unexpected phone bill arrives. Before long, we start telling ourselves that everything has gone to shit and it’s all our fault.
Here’s a lesson that came to me while behind the wheel of a car rather than in a self-help book.
Democracy is usually described as something that happens in public. It shows up in parliaments, courtrooms, and polling stations. We measure it in elections, constitutions, and peaceful transfers of power. At its heart, it makes a simple promise: that people can govern themselves. But democracy also has a quieter life. It lives inside us, in the decisions we make, the way we interpret the world, and how we understand our own freedom. It shapes not just governments, but the shape of ourselves.
Read MoreIn recent times, the ‘Skinny Trend’ — a cultural shift towards extreme thinness to give a ‘heroin chic’ look— has taken over the media. In a time where 1 in 4 girls as young as eight are on a diet or actively trying to lose weight and with NHS England stating rates of eating disorders being four times higher in young women than men (20.8% compared to 5.1%) it is time to stop and ask how ‘harmless’ this trend truly is and what the cost is of weight as an aesthetic.
Read MoreWhen I first started planning, I did what most people do now: I opened up my socials and started to get inspired. Within the space of a few weeks, I had a vast folder of ‘must-see’ spots, hidden gems, and maps full of pinned food spots.
Read More“We could also put some Botox above the brow… just to plump that area up.”
“I see you’ve got quite heavy eyelids.”
“And the dimple in your chin, it’s alright now, but as you get older…”
“Salmon sperm ssalmonnnnn spermmmmm ssssalmonnn spermmmmm.’’
I had traded in one insecurity for about five others. Not exactly a fair exchange.
Read MoreNestled in what used to be the wildlife park in Westbury, they have created the most zen, most beautiful atmosphere you could wish to find. No matter the time of day you go, you find yourself in a haven. To reach the site, you walk past a babbling stream with trees overhead. The facilities themselves are top notch - and unique. (One of the cold water options is what used to be the seal pool, now much cleaner and san-seals obviously.) The staff are genuine and lovely. The health benefits are unreal. What’s not to like?
Read MoreI’m not a body-advice writer. I’m not an advice writer at all. I’m simply someone trying to tell the truth about what it’s like to exist with body dysmorphia in a world that profits from your discomfort — especially now, when we’re being told that body positivity is dead and shrinking is back in fashion. Something sharp moved in me when I read that headline; not because I care about celebrity weight cycles, but because I’m living inside a body shaped by trauma, grief, stress, neurodivergence, and survival — and I’m still being asked to make myself smaller.
Read MoreTo be clear, this is not a defence of plastic surgery. Convincing women to undergo unnecessary, invasive, and often dangerous procedures in order to conform to a rigid and exclusionary beauty standard does not exist outside of patriarchy- it is produced by it. Plastic surgery is not feminist, and framing it as such would be disingenuous. What I am interested in interrogating instead is this: what does it mean to uphold a rigid hierarchy of beauty while simultaneously stigmatising women who attempt to access it? And what does that contradiction reveal about who beauty is for?
Read MoreThe heartbreak - and strain - of becoming our parents carers. It’s something that isn’t talked about a lot, but what is the right way to look after age family members? Can there even be a right way?
Read MoreI regret getting our dog. *Immediately checks for angry mob with torches and pitchforks*
It’s a truth that feels almost illegal to say out loud, but it is true nonetheless. One that’s probably shared by lots of people, but who also haven’t voiced it because of the accompanying guilt and shame (or fear of the righteous-dog-loving-angry-mob with torches and pitchforks).
Read MoreI asked a group of individuals, all varying in age, gender and location, what is your relationship like with reading? Have you got a good relationship with books, or do you find yourself reaching for your phone more often than not?
Read MoreIf you told me four years ago that me and the chap I was dating would one day go our separate ways, I would have called you all sorts of parental- guidance-required-profanities and wouldn’t have liked you very much.
Yet here I am sitting on the floor of an (albeit rather beautiful) unlived-in rental property, at 35, childless, ringless, partnerless, my whole world upside down and inside out and my very nervous nervous system buzzing a different kind of buzz to when we shared our first kiss underneath a bus shelter 365 days X 4 ago.
Read MoreIt was only when I moved to a big new city at the age of thirty that I began to think consciously about friendship. I remember my first Friday night in my rental flat, sitting on my bed doing endless sudokus for want of evening plans, the city beyond my window alive with the rev of motorbikes and distant sirens. ‘Okay’ I remember thinking. ‘I suppose I ought to go out and… find some… friends?’ The notion was weird. It was as though I’d just learned my hair would no longer grow unless I grimaced and strained.
Read MoreFor my sins, and my father’s, I’m a Swindon Town fan. Once a proud railway town, Swindon is now better known as the place where hope dies when you’re forced to change trains on the way from Temple Meads to London. A few years ago, I went to watch my team. I walked into the Town End with a group of Premier League‑inclined university friends. Twenty minutes into kick-off, a chant began: “Oh Tommy Tommy Robinson”. I was mortified. It wasn’t just ugly; it was a glimpse into something bigger. I left the ground with one question lodged in my head: why is football such a hotbed for fascists?
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