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 

Channeling avoidance.

July breezes and inane sneezes. The sun is out already. I'm gallantly attempting a tan. Or a top-up, that is. There's nothing I love more than a good ol' vitamin D binge, hence why summer is my favourite time of year. So, the sun worshipper is optimistically donning an outfit not too suitable for northern summertime, but who cares. Im writing because, well, I'm slacking. It's been a fair few days since I've written anything, and that's not just on my blog. I haven't written so much as a list, or a note, or a reminder in recent days. I'm being lazy. Avoiding the inevitable. Savouring my summer holidays before the dreaded, important final year stress sets in. I don't have a clue what to do with my life. I need help. I need opportunities. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm ready for a challenge! 

July daze.

So, it's here. Today. The seventh month of 2014. That sounds strange. Gosh. (I never, ever say that, but it seems fitting today.) I'm speechless. Sitting on my bed, in sweats, (yeah, I do that now) and no make up and freshly painted nails of which I've been trying to establish the real colour for about a week now (we've settled on 'heather.') I have my iPod attempting to play a soundtrack that seems fitting for July, but I keep my forefinger stubbornly paused on the 'Shuffle' button. I'm restless today.

I feel like I haven't had enough sleep. I feel dissatisfied with July already in one respect, and in another, I'm totally, utterly and completely happy with everything. No sun = poor excuse for summer, well, in my eyes anyway. I have Coldplay strumming right now. Maybe it fits, there are clouds hanging heavily in the sky outside my window, after all. I feel like I should write something profound and substantial. Pinch-Punch and all that jazz. Here goes. Here's to trying.

#1: Today, I read Gracie's latest and probably, the most important blog post. A fabulous girl I write about frequently, and yet, I've never so much as clapped eyes on her in person. (This year, we'll share a coffee, in person. At some point, I've vowed.) I let my coffee go cold as my eyes adjusted to what was appearing rapidly on my iPhone screen. My mouth fell open. My eyelids gathered salty tears. My heart seemed to stop a moment. Not only is this a very beautiful piece of writing from a lovely girl with a huge personality, but I can only even try to comprehend how hard it must have been to write. For reasons, that if you give it a read, you'll know. Hell, of course you'll read it. She's wonderful. Gracie is someone I feel like I've known for years, and in reality, it is merely due to reading her blog intently in a pseudo-stalker-like fashion (oh, and a few avidly typed tweets: Come say hello!@eleanorward_) Anyway, she's been through an awful lot lately, and deserves acknowledgement, and a very strong Jack and Coke. That's my first 'July' thing. I'm sending her lots of love, because I have a lot to thank her for, and she's one of my favourite people.

#2: July sparks something for me I've never been able to say before. Exciting! As of a few days time, me and my boyfriend will have been together for six months. Half a year. To some, that's probably not a big deal. To me, well, it really is. I hope he won't mind me saying all this, well actually, I know he won't. It's pretty surreal to think it's been almost six whole months. It's a blur. A happy blur at that. We've known each other a lot longer than that though. It's a funny story. Well, maybe it is, but that's for my own memory. We were friends for a long time, and have known each other for around 15 months now. I won't throw all the soppy clichés your way, except maybe this one: not only is he my other half, but he's also my best friend. That's all I'm saying. He's incredibly important to me, and how anyone copes with me for a week, let alone six months is beyond my comprehension, but I'll not complain! Stop grinning Lukas, this isn't for your ego.

#3: July is the limbo for me, between holidays (Ibiza and Menorca) and just some of the space that makes up the journey between Year Two and Final Year in degree lingo. This year, my final desperate shot to prove to myself, and everyone around me that my degree has been anything but a waste of time and money. I need to prove myself. I need to "write something substantial." I need to do something that scares me but maybe will open up an array of opportunities for me, and ultimately, I need to decide on what I'd maybe like to do in that scary thing called Future.

July is full of indefinite possibilities, opportunities and events. It's getting warmer. It's getting closer to Decision Time with regards to my degree. It's closer to my 21st Birthday, which I'm really excited about, but also kind of apprehensive. 21 means responsibility; and not just being able to cross the road on your own, or standing on your own two feet. July features my mam's birthday, the anniversary of my Grandad's death, and the cram of planning and organising for a family holiday that has filled all eight of us with a sense of dread and excitement at the same time. Also, here's a random fact: July was named after Julius Caesar, as it was his birth month. I'm positive, I'm excited, and I'm ready to go. Metaphorically speaking, that is. In reality, I'm lazily perched on my bed, still, checking my phone compulsively and eagerly awaiting my latest purchases from my beloved ASOS. Russell is making his way to my house, to deliver what I hope will be the most beautiful handbag I've feasted my eyes on. Only time will tell.

"If anyone's worth letting your coffee go cold for, it's definitely you."

Book #9: Room by Emma Donoghue.

(Okay, reminder, this is a week ago in writing, sorry guys.)

It's 12:53 Ibiza time, my head is pulsating with the intensity of the heat, and also, at what I've just finished reading. I feel like I've been deprived of words on this holiday so far, so I'm writing this in my notes and will publish it when I get home on Monday/Tuesday. Tuesday probably, considering our flight lands in Newcastle at around 10pm Monday and I'll have other things to do than rewrite my inner thoughts that are three days stale. So with my up and coming tan lines I've worked many a tiring day to afford, here goes. 

This isn't a book recommendation, I really must say this from the off. This book is like nothing I've ever read before or am unlikely to read again. Gritty is one thing, but this is unbelievable. Emma Donoghue's 'room' has won awards, rightfully so. More so, I imagine, recognised for the content of the narrative than the writing itself, which is kinda sad, but it makes sense. A novel in it's own right, Room is more than that, it's a journey. The writing is exquisitely fresh and unbelievably well thought-out. The perspective in which it is told is comforting and yet makes Emma's writing more perverse than you can ever really comprehend. This story is none other than an art-form frankly. It is so well written that it made me cry, made me sick, and made me laugh. Donoghue combines the naivety of the narration with a sudden realness you absolutely must bring to a story about kidnap. Oh, didn't you know that? I didn't either. I had no idea what Room was about until I opened it on my kindle a few days ago, surrounded by an Ibiza coastline and lots of suntan lotion. So now, as I'm basking in the rays, room is on my mind. I honestly had no idea what this book was about, never mind that it was a piece of fiction so harrowingly considered when it comes to abduction.

A subject matter I would shy away from usually, but I can't say this enough, this book is BRILLIANTLY WRITTEN. It's riveting and shocking and at times, surprisingly it's very funny. I want to rave about it and thrust it into the hands of those around me, just so I can have someone to discuss it with. I felt drained as I finished this book, and understandably so. It kind of breaks your heart and then pieces it back together again. It doesn't need recommending, it doesn't need praise or advertisement, because the writing speaks for itself. 

Departure.

In less than 48 hours, I'll be departing Newcastle airport and arriving in Ibiza. The pilot will announce over the receiver the local time and the temperature outside, and be greeted with a few hundred passengers all cheering happily. Excitement brews. Prospects are all over the place. A week, two weeks? Ten days? All of these people have something in common, a holiday destination. And yet, they'll all have very different holidays. 

A girly holiday is our chosen plan. Betty, Steph, Sarah and myself are ready to hit the white isle for a second battering after last year's drunken antics. This time, with a little bit more money, a year's worth of preparing our livers, and an even more desperate need for a tan. 

This time however, things are different. I'm excited to go away, but there are things pulling my back. Ties I've made. Things I don't want to leave, not even for seven days. Excitement in the air, a tear in my eye and euros in my purse, I'm ready. Well, okay, that's a lie. My suitcase isn't even packed. The flight is Monday afternoon. I literally finished shopping for stuff today. I'm very, very disorganised and it's totally not like me, at all. My camera isn't free of photos, my iPod isn't stocked up with new songs, my money isn't properly sorted. I'm out of sorts. It hasn't quite hit me properly that I'm actually going away. Part of me still thinks it should be January or something. Madness. Let it begin.

Making Ties.

making ties and breaking ties.

It's 10:04, it's Friday, it's 30th May (YES, WHAT? Where did May go?) and I'm screwed in every kinda sense. As I lie on my bed, seemingly the only neutral safe-house in my colossally-messy room. It's like a bomb hit twenty years ago, and the inhabitants just didn't clean up, ever. Holiday clothes are thrown around my four walls with reckless abandon, as if in a desperate attempt of artistic license, rather than the reality; that I'm being a slob.

So, where's my destination? The White Isle, of course. Cue the horrendous attempts to sing along to Vengaboys with alcoholic beverages in our clutches. Ibiza. Take two. It's funny. Last year was my first 'proper' girls holiday, and it's really weird to look back and realise the changes that have occurred. I've never really noticed, but, as I look back, a mere maybe 10 months, the changes appear crystal. My wide-eyed look comes to notice that said changes have crawled sneakily out of the woodwork of my life, and nestled themselves comfortably beside me.

This time last year, I probably could count my ties on one hand. As I was planning a holiday, everything went chaotic, and the strain was too much for some friendships to handle. While some ties were severed, others were made and celebrated. In that sense, I mean, the people I was really close to. The special people in my life. The ones I'd hold onto, not with entwined fingers, but clutched fists. The people I'd walk over broken glass for, run into a burning building to save, ultimately, the ones I was unprepared, and unwilling, to live without. Ten-(ish) months later, my ties are cemented in a truly different pattern. My friends are a different group of people. My close group of friends has expanded, and been truly tested through some bad times, as well as good. My ties seem to be barb-wired, rather than haphazardly flung together with frayed pieces of string.

I also have a really special tie. If it were a real, physical tie, in a suit-and-jacket-kinda-garment, it would be the brightest ever. The jazzy, jokey one. With some crazy pattern all over it, but not verging on garish. It would be the one you'd want to wear all the time, but it was expensive, so you sometimes think it should be kept in a fancy box in which it came. It's silk. It's gorgeous. It's the best fucking tie you've ever owned, and as you run the material through your fingers, the texture excites you in a way that nothing ever has before. It withstands all weathers, it doesn't fray or break. It's a constant. A feature you always want to show off. A tie everyone likes. And moreover, you love it. You love this tie more than anything. You trust this tie. With your life. Your family. Your hopes and dreams. Your tie knows more about you than you know about yourself. Your tie is wrapped in gold and you wear it around your neck with pride. With absolutely everything. Even if it doesn't go with that dress, obviously. It's sewn together with passion you can't even comprehend. But y'know the best thing about this tie? It's all yours.

the big 100.

"I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

I say to myself with a grin the size of China sprawled so effortlessly across my face. This, believe it or not, is my 100th blog post. A sign of my hard work, a signal of my determination, proof that, in fact, I can do anything I set my mind to. I'm big on achieving. I don't mean in the literal, 'here's-your-certificate' kind of thing, but the feeling of achieving something. There's nothing else like it. A sense of pride. Accomplishment. Knowing that hard work does pay off, and luck hasn't really got much, if anything, to do with it. It took me many attempts before I actually started up a blog successfully, but when I did it, I finally found that it was everything I wanted it to be, as well as so much more. It's a gateway to other writers, a place to share my inner-most thoughts and feelings without being judged, chastised or shot a hasty glance. It's a place to let off steam, or express my creativity, or just have a little bit of a laugh. To write a memoir, a list or a play. Anything I can think of. Well, it took me just shy of six months, but here it is. The big 100. The centenary of my writing, as it were. The milestone worth celebrating, getting out of my seat and shouting about. The number I never thought I'd get to. Countless hours, many, many late nights, various different ways of writing down my initial thoughts, but the ones that made it here, are truly, the ones that count.

I've been through an awful lot over the last six months, while writing this blog. As you read it from 7th March onwards, you can almost sense it. You can tell if I'm feeling high, or feeling low, or just feeling everything under the sun. My good days, my bad days, and the days I just wanted to forget, bury deep into the corners of my mind and wish with all my might that they never happened, are all documented here. Love, loss and laughter. My darkest times are reflected in some of my most bitter creative pieces, and my happiest times required me to write gushingly over and over and over again until the smile on my face cause my jaw to ache. 

Looking through the last six months in text messages, photographs, tweets, posts and Facebook statuses, I realise how much has happened. I started blogging in March, which saw my cousin Sophie celebrate her 16th birthday and me get some of my first uni results. April saw a lot of loss and heartbreak in my life, and a lot of others I know. It was a hard month. May was busy. It saw me prep, cram and stress before completing my first ever (eek!) uni exams, then celebrate like crazy when my little sister turned the big, legal 1-8. We certainly partied hard, and that's when my crazy weekends truly began. Also, late May bank holiday we added a new addition to our family, a shih-tsu/bichon frise puppy cross, Heidi. June saw happy, sunny days arrive out in full force and more alcohol was flowing than ever. Bad decisions were blamed on vodka and upset, and put down to experience. Two of my cousins celebrated their proms and I began to feel old. July was anticipated for a while, as it signalled something me and my two best friends were eagerly awaiting, a week in Ibiza. A wonderful, hilarious, drunk week was had by all. Note: I discovered absinthe and began a tumultuous love affair with sambuca. Returning from Ibiza saw the flow of alcohol return with more vigour and liveliness than ever before. My friendship group widened, my drinking partners doubled and my drinks trebled. My shopping habits got out of hand. My decisions got worse instead of better, but  all with good intentions. My (love) life [I just laughed at this] well, I best not comment. It's definitely an eyebrow-raiser. So, August has been waved goodbye to, sadly, fondly, and rainy, disgusting September is making its way unwelcomingly into my life (and everyone else's.) One hundred posts, six months, 180-ish days, lots of bad singing, too much binge-drinking, like, 12 birthday celebrations, hundreds of nail varnish applications, too many "fuck"s screamed,  hundreds of shots, 500+ photos, 20-something ASOS orders. Lots of smiles, too many tears but all-in-all, a wonderful half a year. 

Of course, there are things I would change, looking back, but mostly, I'm happy with what the last six months has had to offer. Despite the rain pouring down like there's no tomorrow, I'm smiling. Now to make sure the next six months are as good, if not better, than the last. Only time, and blog post #200 will tell. 

Kisses 

X

September sunshine.

Yes, we're all staring at that big yellow thing in the sky with a mixture of delight and disbelief. It's four days into what is usually known as an autumnal month, and yet, the sun is burning hotter and shining brighter than ever. Much to my amazement and happiness, I admit, as the prospect of winter coming has made me prematurely miserable for weeks. I hate it. The cold, dark, rainy nights, the need for a coat, and gloves, and even sometimes wellies. The freezing mornings that make you want to stay in bed for all eternity. The impractically-chunky-knit jumpers. Leaving the house looking half-normal, and getting to your destination looking like a horror movie extra with an under-achieving make-up artist. The need for copious hot drinks and the longing for soups, and hot dinners. The need for slippers, and dressing gowns and a thick duvet, not a summer-weight one we've all grown so accustomed to as of late. Waking up to a ground covered in white dust, and wishing you were a burrowing animal, just so you had an excuse to hibernate throughout the long, cold, winter months.

Usually, I'm hating on September. A lonely, darkened, moody month. A month of Fresh Starts, except this year, it's not. Well, not for me, anyway. Every year, I've greeted September with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The knowing. The foresight of school days, new beginnings, or even that big one, University. However, this year, that dreaded sense of misery has vanished, to my utmost pleasure. As I am ready to start my second year at Uni, I feel somewhat prepared. I have made my way, reluctantly, through many of the texts on my reading list for Semester 1, I've made plans with friends for birthday celebrations in the coming weeks, and I'm even missing the bustling campus vibe. The city streets, the sea of people carrying overly-huge textbooks like me. The student daze. I'm thriving on it right now. Relaxed, yet stressful. Peaceful, yet loud. I'm happier now, than I have been for a while, every time this time of year comes around. My worries are being thrust under the nearest rug, because, frankly, I'm not ready to give up my summer smile yet, even if the big yellow ball in the sky does a fateful disappearing act on me. This time, I'm ready.

You're never too old for a new start.

Well I've done it. I've finally come reluctantly into the 21st Century, the modern age, the blogging phenomena. I'm actually (yes) blogging from my brand-spanking-new iPhone! It feels weird to be doing it, after all I've kind of come to associate blogging with my lovely little laptop. It's funny to think I'm now able to write on-the-go and post a thought immediately. It's kind of cute anyway in my eyes.

So, summer is drawing sadly to a close, and as every second ticks on, I realise that I'm one reluctant step closer to turning the horrendously big 2-0. However, there are upsides to this. As autumn approaches, so does the new uni semester, meaning that I get to see my three fave girls again, which I'm super excited about. (Hiya girls!) The workload, well, you can practically hear my brain sighing lazily as I even just mull over the idea. But then I guess the good things in life usually (we hope) outweigh the bad. Meaning this; when winter draws bitterly in, we'll appreciate the summer more when it arrives again next year as promised. When it rains, we know the heavy downpours are only temporary and its only a matter of time until it lets up. Sadness makes us realise how happy we usually are, loneliness makes us appreciate company and loss makes us grab love between our fists like an iron vice. 

So come at me winter. I'm ready, with my Hunter wellies and my parka, for anything you can throw at me. I'm ready to kiss goodbye to sunny nights and embrace cosiness and thick duvets for a few cold months. There's no reason for me to be unhappy any longer.

Kisses

x

(I had to add a cheeky little PLL reference in there, I mean OMG!)

Breathe.

It never just rains, it pours.
How true that is.
Especially today.

For Gracie.

To the one person who told me to document my holiday antics until I returned to still-quite-sunny Newcastle, to update her, so here you go Gracie. I told you I'd do it. Some may be slightly beating around the bush, for dignity's purpose.

Tuesday 9th July 2013: San Antonio Bay, Ibiza.

As I sit surrounded by young people and one or two families, not satisfied with the way I look in the bikini I'm wearing, the sun blaring down on the stony ground by the pool, I realise how perfect this is. There's the usual lot. The girls who are ready to have the time of their lives, tanning straight away and spend their days giggling away and admiring the lads, and the lads who perhaps fancy themselves a bit too much, tattoos in show and have a bottle of whiskey with breakfast. I have Taylor Swift playing on my iPod and it's so hot, my hair has done that *woo hoo* thing that Phoebe says. A picturesque backdrop of woodland and sand, our hotel is situated literally a minute's walk away from the sandy coastline of San Antonio Bay. Bikinis, sunglasses and pints are out in full-force. All Inclusive alcohol has just kicked off at half ten and we're already drinking what is fondly known in Geordieland as Trebles. A mad week ahead I think. I miss by blog but my notebook and phone will suffice. Cue the cameras and fasten your seatbelts, you're about to have the best week of your lives.

Goodbye for now.

With less than 24 hours to go until I'll be jetting off, from Newcastle airport, to the sunny isle of Ibiza. Seven days of blissfully sunny (I hope) days, and a few too many party nights. Excitement, nerves and anticipation are in the air. A week with my two best friends, what could be better, you ask? I'm hoping we have a fabulous time, (Did I mention it's All Inclusive?) and come back with some brill holiday snaps, a tan and one or two funny souvenirs. With our Ibiza playlists, Factor-15 and beach-wear at the ready, there's nothing else to do, but check in, order a large drink, and get on our way. I'm even taking a notebook with me, as you do, as an aspiring writer. So, think of this as a little goodbye. (I'm getting teary-eyed!) I'll be back in a week or so, to update you with my holiday antics and whatever else may or may not be going on in my life. Meanwhile, hope you all have a fabulous week (after all, Britain's having a heatwave) whatever you're doing. I'll speak soon, much love.
#BoundForIbiza.

100 books in the making.

Okay, for months now, I've moaned about how boring it is, only being restricted to reading Course Books for my Literature and Creative Writing degree. So, now that I'm finally free for four whole months, as well as getting wasted, I have a very carefully adapted list of books I want to read. Some are randomly added, some are recommended by others- friends, people from the twittersphere, my cousin Sophie (canny little mention there, hey Sophs!) who has a very keen eye for a great book, so we're always swapping our latest finds and fawning over them together over the dinner table on a Sunday afternoon.

So, what does my list consist of? I'll probably add to this, (okay, who am I kidding, of course I will) and some will probably be found, flicked through, then discarded, but for this moment in time, this is my list, as follows:

1. Paper Towns- John Green
2. An Abundance of Katherines- John Green
3. Will Grayson, Will Grayson- John Green
4. Reckless- Allison Brennan
5. Safe Haven- Nicholas Sparks
6. Pygmalion- George Bernard Shaw
7. Lily's Mistake- Pamela Ann
8. Silver Linings Playbook- Matthew Quick
9. Never Too Far- Abbi Glines
10. Fallen Too Far- Abbi Glines
11. Gone Girl- Gillian Flynn
12. The Story-Teller- Maud Lindsay
13. Wait For You- J. Lynn
14. The Book Thief- Markus Zusak
15. Vanity Fair- William Makepeace Thackeray
16. The Picture Of Dorian Grey- Oscar Wilde
17. Inferno- Dan Brown
18. The Dice Man- Luke Rhinehart
19. Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend- Jenny Colgan
20. The Beautiful And The Damned- F. Scott Fitzgerald
21. This Side Of Paradise- F. Scott Fitzgerald
22. Why We Broke Up- Daniel Handler
23. Sense And Sensibility- Jane Austen
24. Little Women- Louisa May Alcott
25. A Streetcar Named Desire- Tennessee Williams
26. 1984- George Orwell
27. Mrs Dalloway- Virginia Woolf
28. Lolita- Vladimir Nabokov
29. The Sky Is Everywhere- Jandy Nelson
30. Dash And Lily's Book Of Dares- David Levithan and Rachel Cohn
31. Identical- Ellen Hopkins
32. Someday, Someday, Maybe- Lauren Graham
33. Kissing The Rain- Kevin Brooks
34. Nine Uses For An Ex Boyfriend- Sarra Manning 
35. A Day At The Office- Matt Dunn
36. You Had Me At Hello- Mhairi McFarlane
37. Mistakes In The Background- Laura Dockrill
38. On The Road- Jack Kerouac
39. Starter For Ten- David Nicholls
40. The Rosie Project- Graeme Simsion
41. One Night That Changes Everything- Lauren Barnholdt
42. Revenge Wears Prada- Lauren Weisberger 
43. The Post-Birthday World- Lionel Shriver
44. Room- Emma Donoghue
45. Waking Up Married- Lyn Mira Kelly
46. Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore- Robin Sloan
47. About A Boy- Nick Hornby
48. The End Of Alice- A.M Homes
49. Me Before You- Jojo Moyes
50. Engelby- Sebastian Faulkes
51. Whale Talk- Chris Crutcher 
52. How To Save A Life- Sara Zarr
53. The Knife Of Never Letting Go- Patrick Ness
54. Hold Still- Nina LaCour
55. Wintergirls- Laurie Halse Anderson
56. Please Ignore Vera Dietz- A.S King
57. Ask The Passengers- A.S King
58. Afterwards- Rosamund Lupton
59. Breathe My Name- R.A Nelson
60. A Thousand Cuts- Simon Lelic
61. Attachments- Rainbow Rowell
62. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
63. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
64. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
65. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
66. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
67. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
68. Harry Potter The Deathly Hallows
69. Whiskey Beach- Nora Roberts
70. Beautiful Ruins- Jess Walter
71. Defending Jacob- William Landay
72. Hunting And Gathering- Anna Gavalda
73. Stay- Deb Caletti
74. Such A Pretty Girl- Laura Weiss
75. Kez- Barry Hines
76. Gone With The Wind- Margaret Mitchell
77. The Lucky One- Nicholas Sparks
78. A Bend In The Road- Nicholas Sparks
79. So Much For That- Lionel Shriver
80. Big Brother- Lionel Shriver
81. Lace- Shirley Conran
82. Rachel's Holiday- Marian Keyes
83. Catch 22- Joseph Heller
84. Hate List- Jennifer Brown
85. Monster Love- Carol Topolski
86. The Rules of Disappearing- Ashley Elston
87. The Hunger Games- Suzanne Collins
88. Catching Fire- Suzanne Collins
89. Mockingjay- Suzanne Collins
90. Speak-  Laurie Halse Anderson
91. Umbrella- Will Self
92. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
93. Fahrenheit 451- Ray Bradbury
94. The Bell Jar- Sylvia Plath
95. The Unknowns- Gabriel Roth
96. Follow Me Down- Tanya Byrne
97. Close My Eyes- Sophie Mckenzie
98. Tigers In Red Weather- Liza Klaussman
99. Cloud Atlas- David Mitchell
100. Visitation Street- Ivy Pochoda

I'm not setting a deadline for these books to be read by, because life is unpredictable and I just know I'd end up resenting a task that should be nothing other than relaxing. For every book I read on this list, I will write a blog post, on what I think, what others think that have read it, and over all, my verdict on each piece of literature. Some are just for fun, some are deep and meaningful (well, the blurbs say so) and some are just sarcastic and witty words all thrown together. I'm looking forward to this. I love reading more than I can say, so this is not an effort for me in the slightest. So, I'm ready..Are you?

Summer- I'm ready for you.

I love hot, humid, slightly suffocating nights, where you can't get comfortable, and remind you of foreign places, and holidays abroad, and caravan sites in the height of summer, and having the curtains open at ten at night because it's still light out, and sleeping in very little, or nothing at all, and being comfortably, or even uncomfortably hot. There's something weirdly relaxing about being too hot to breathe properly. You mightn't get it, but I know what I mean. I love summer, and I'm praying, hoping, and keeping everything crossed, that summer 2013 will live up to, and defy expectations. In both weather and events. Are you all ready for the time of your lives?

Dedication #2: Steph.

Right, I've been meaning to do another dedication for weeks, and never got round to it. I really probably should have a million and one other things to do right now, like revision for my last exam on Monday, but that will have to be done at a more motivated time. For now, my dedication is as follows. I hope she reads this, considering we've just been talking about my blogging habits over piping hot Starbucks.

Stephanie, or more so, Steph. One of my best friends. One of the craziest, funniest people I've had the pleasure of getting to know over the last few years. It's one of those weird situations. We went to school together for years, and always spoke, but it was like, as soon as we got into Sixth Form, we immediately clicked. I found myself thinking 'how the hell have I not been friends with this girl before now?' It's hard to explain. So, if a picture speaks a thousand words, here's a summary:

It's like there are no words to describe how much this girl means to me. She's painfully hilarious (we laugh for hours on end!) about anything and everything. There's nothing I can't tell her, and I like to think that the feeling is mutual. We've been through a lot together, from two years of mind-numbingly difficult A-levels, including our very weird Pyschology lessons, to receiving our exam results and finding out we both were destined for the same place. I know what you're thinking, stardom, obviously? Perhaps one day, rather the same Uni. Northumbria, to specify. Perhaps the lesser known of the two universities in our home town in Newcastle, but certainly that does not mean it's in any way less eventful, in fact, I think we certainly show everyone how to enjoy themselves.

I've had the funniest time lately, since starting uni. I trust Steph with my life, and I know I can say anything and everything to her, and she can do the same to me, (and has on a few very necessary occasions!) She's definitely what you'd call my drinking partner, and I'm always telling people exactly that. We get drunk together, we shop together and we never ever stop talking. In the past six months or so, we've been to pub crawls, countless parties (including a fancy dress foam party, pictured above) celebrated birthdays, holidays, exams, results, or just partied because it was Friday night. She's the kind of person I can talk with for hours on end, and we never ever run out of things to say. But even if we did, what would it matter? The one I immediately look for, ring or text when a particular favourite song comes on, when I spot a certain someone in a crowd of people, or just when I have some seriously juicy gossip to share. She's amazing, and I don't tell her enough how much I love her. She's been with me through a lot, and I know I can count on her. The girl who I know can ring me up for a quick chat or a three hour update on the latest things happening in our lives. She knows everything, and I trust her with every word I say.

                                                             "Trebles anyone?!"
                                                       

Also, I must say, at times she must have the patience of a saint. As anyone who knows me well, knows I have a tendency to get drunk and make a fool of myself, well, although this is fine, Steph's the one always there, to make sure I don't ring the one person I shouldn't, waste all my money on sambuca and get me home in one piece. I thank her for that often, because everyone knows it's necessary from time to time. The girl who honestly doesn't believe in herself enough, and she seriously should. She's amazing and lovely, and it's about time she realised the extent of it. I'd be lost without her, so much so, we're jetting off to Ibiza in the summer together, for a fabulous time, I'm sure. Steph's also kind of a genius. She'll laugh when she reads this, because she's quite modest, and god knows why, because there's no need to be sometimes! Pursuing a degree in Human Biosciences (yes, oh my god) genius. Not only is she studying something scientific, she's also pretty damn good at it, and that's not what many people can say.

So, Steph, if you're reading this, then I hope you're smiling. You're fab. I wouldn't change you, and you're not losing me any time in the near (or far) future, just to instruct you of such. (I know you'll probably be laughing!) There's so much more I'd say, but it all depends who's reading this. Steph will understand the references more than most. We're very alike. In more ways than one. She copes with my drunken antics, and I'd do the same for her. And she, somewhat astonishingly, hasn't slapped me, when my increasingly foul mouth runs away with itself. Dilemma hour seems to be a regular thing between us, and I'm so looking forward to spending the summer with her (and others) and having what will, hopefully, be the time of our lives.

Because let's be honest, we always do.