'And your favourite is...?'

In case you don't know already, I'm a Literature student. About to embark (ha!) on my third and final year of my degree. I may have learnt a lot so far, and have more still to come, but there's always one question that will stump me when it's directed my way. 

"What is your favourite book/novel?" 

I sit, my expression blank, my hands going clammy. My eyes darting around the room, and really, exploring the darkest crevices in my imagination. I've read hundreds of books, that's a given. I don't ever tend to read a novel more than once, unless it's for revision purposes, i.e. By force rather than choice. So when someone asks me which is my preferred book of all time, I don't know what to say. 

It's problematic. I could be literary and cliché and slump for Fitzgerald's Gatsby, or Pride and Prejudice because okay, it's kind of brilliant. I could drift back to Joanna Nadin's brilliant series I've been following for about six years: Rachel Riley, although then I can't pick one. I could voice my appreciation for Bram Stoker's Dracula and watch people's eyes devour my hint: the dark stuff excites me. So, maybe I can't pick one. Or two, or even three. But here are aome books, off the top of my head, that I will continue to recommend to others; 

Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë

the End of Alice- A.M Homes, 

We Need to Talk About Kevin- Lionel Shriver, 

100 Reasons Why- Jay Asher, 

Looking For Alaska- John Green, Revolutionary Road- Richard Yates, Lolita- Vladamir Nabokov, 

JUNK- Melvin Burgess, 

Candy- Kevin Brooks, 

Just Listen- Sarah Dessen,

Jekyll and Hyde- R. L Stephenson,

The Dinner- Herman Koch,

One Day- David Nicholls,

Summer House with Swimming Pool- Herman Koch,

The Fault in Our Stars- John Green, 

The Post-Birthday World- Lionel Shriver,

The Shock of The Fall- Nathan Filer,

Black Rabbit Summer- Kevin Brooks,

Paper Towns- John Green,

Nine Uses For An Ex-Boyfriend- Sarra Manning,

Room- Emma Donoghue,

and one I'm currently reading; 

Follow Me Down by Tanya Byrne.

Any book recommendations I welcome with open arms and wide eyes, the stranger, darker, weirder, the better. Also, total black comedic elements are my favourite. Moody novels, good conversations and tension. 

Collateral.

Gripping with my hands, for something more or less helpful. The pain keeps moving. A dull, achey, intolerable kind of pain. It's friday. It's raining. And at risk of sounding melodramatic, EVERYTHING HURTS. From my tongue, to my toes, my  kneecaps to my eye lashes, I'm an aching, stumbling, wreck of a person. A former shell of myself. Today marks six days since I got back from Menorca to rainy, cold Newcastle. Since then, if I haven't been sleeping or eating, drinking or moaning, I've spent every minute with my boyfriend, Lukas. Who, I may add, I missed unbelievably when I was away. 

However, today is supposed to be good. It's Friday. Excitement fills the air and fuels the parties. And then there's me. I am currently showered and dressed and have crawled back into bed as a way of channeling pain. This is definitely a holiday comedown. No more sun. A severe lack of Vitamin D, or actually light whatsoever. I'm burried under a tartan blanket and hoping, -no, praying, someone brings me coffee and a sausage sandwich to my bed. I don't know what a Friday feeling is meant to feel like, but aching bones and heavy eyelids aren't exactly a great sign. I'm craving autumn. Let me bury under wooly knitted jumpers and wear boots and my parka again. Cosy. 

While it lasted.

Sitting on the balcony, in the darkness, looking up at the lit up main road, and I can't help but smile. My family are all a metre behind me inside the villa drinking various caffeinated beverages, eating sugary food and on a total alcohol-infused comedown. The week is coming to an end. We fly home to less-than-sunny Newcastle tomorrow. I'm kind of excited as well as disappointed. I'm loving the sun. My tan is coming along rather well. Although, I'm homesick. I miss my boyfriend, my puppy and my own comfy bed. I miss waking up without insect bites and sunburn. I miss being able to walk to the shop without having to layer myself in Factor 15 and armed with sunglasses and a huge hat. Apart from that, my first visit to Menorca has been kinda lovely. I'm tipsy on lager and cider, and really hot air. This time tomorrow, I'll be tucked up in my own, cold bed with nice freezing pillows and the ability to sleep soundly. Back to wearing my parka and jeans. I knew there was a reason summer didn't last forever.

Hectic holidays.

So, it's Friday morning. My mind is working in a stressy overdrive mode. And I'm neglecting any form of writing whatsoever lately. Wrapped up in too much sleep, the rubbish british summer, and my lovely boyfriend, writing has just been pushed back underneath everything. Oh, and to tell the truth, I'm a bit uninspired. I'm stuck with regards to writing. And now, holiday planning is running wild. Me and seven others, my family, are jetting off to menorca on Saturday afternoon, (yes, as in tomorrow afternoon.) Note these things:

1. We aren't packed.

2. We have no holiday money

3. The holiday docs for our details are somewhat vague. 

That's a stressy start. I have a lot to do, and no time at all to do it in. My alarm is set for 7.30am, and I've got a list in my 'Notes' of things I must achieve tomorrow. All of which, I intend to have finished by early afternoon, for then, I have something vital to do. Oh yes, SOPPY ALERT...I'm off to see my boyfriend before we part for a week. Oh, and I'm telling myself I won't get all emotional and cry. (WHO AM I KIDDING?) 

Take a breath, Eleanor, god. Holidays aren't supposed to be THIS stressful. Jeeeeeez. 

Nothing like it.

Curled up in bed together, the rain cascading down the window pane fervently. My head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat and strumming along to the familiar, comforting thud with my forefinger. I smile, and you feel my cheek swell, a tell-tale sign. An eyelash strokes your cheek every once in a while and you laugh, or giggle, as it tickles ever so slightly. The way you smell seems to drift onto me for hours after we've left one another, and for that I'm always thankful. A tear to be shed when we part next. Difficulty, if only temporary. I feel like there will be an aching void in my chest for eight days without catching a glimpse of your cheeky grin and deep eyes. I well up just thinking about it. Clutching hands say goodbye, salty tears like the raindrops, cascading, yet, speedier, gloomier, more heartfelt. I hug your pillows, taking in the scent, they smell of you. Familiar, safe, my happy place. The one I'll leave tomorrow night, and return to next Sunday, with brand-spanking new holiday snaps and a topped-up tan! Slap a smile on, Ellie, you're supposed to be excited.

#homesickalready 

Forgotten raindrops.

 

This is the view from my bedroom window at present. It's raining. It has been for about four hours now. I might add, that in the small world that is Chester-Le-Street, it pretty much rains non-stop. The greying clouds have set in, however, spirits aren't dampened. Its Friday after all, and "we won't melt if it rains" is something my mam always says. I'm uninspired, lazy and apathetic today. Worrisome, stress and out of sorts. I don't feel ill, I just feel, well, not quite myself (or on-point, yes... go on, laugh you lot!) With a family holiday around the corner and Final Year on the horizon, I'm supposed to be all chip and cheerful and optimistic. This isn't me. I feel all empty and bored. I need to set my sights high and my act together. I need a reading list sorted, my iPod updated (which may be one of the most gruelling tasks ever pre-holiday) and a desperate plea for inspiration where my ECP is concerned. This is rubbish writing, basically. Side note: A massive, lovely happy birthday greeting to my favourite girl and wonderful writer, Gracie. Enjoy today. You bloody well deserve this.

So, with Little By Little playing on a loop, the rain falling like teardrops staining my double-glazed portal to the outside world, and the irritable feeling of being unsettled, I sign off. Have a lovely weekend, wherever you are. Monday, my strict healthy eating starts, my early morning awakenings and the feeling of constructive tasks commences. Oh well, good intentions are a start, aren't they?