It's you again.

Maybe she's old-fashioned,  but she'd say she was traditional. 

I never was one of those little girls who dreamt about being rescued and marrying their sweetheart. Never. Not once. I didn't have a string of on-off romances through my teens, a whirlwind love affair at any point, and yet something in me changed. I can't even recall when I first felt like this, but I can just say that now, at the age of 21, I'm very much a romantic. 

There was a time I'd scoff at my friends receiving cheesy, gushing Valentine's Day cards and teddies  holding heart-shaped cushions. When I'd see a couple kissing in the street and avert my eyes, sighing. I'd come to associate romance with a sickly feeling in the back of my throat, a fakeness to it, a childishness. And then, I met someone. 

I've never ever imagined a future with anyone until I met you. I'd never even entertained a marriage, never mind anything more than that. Overtime, I've become someone my old self wouldn't even recognise, and yet I welcome the changes. I'm a happier person because of you. The romantic side of me has flourished, and not before time. You're the person I now cannot picture my life without. You're part of me, and I'll walk over broken glass before I let you go. 

You've changed me, and I welcome those changes. I'm a happier, healthier person. You've made me proud to be who I really am. The romantic side of me is truly alight. Because, why not?! 

There's nothing better than flowers just because they're pretty and he thought she'd like them. A little surprise is cute and thoughtful, and that beats expense hands down. Sometimes, all she want is for him to wake her up and say "I'm taking you out for breakfast" just for the hell of it. She sees a future with him, as he holds the door open for her, grabs the bill, does the chivalrous thing extremely well when he can. She has a lot of admiration for a man who isn't afraid to compliment his girl and show her off. She's always waiting to be whisked off her feet at a moments notice, even if that's for a coffee and some cake. She'll hold your hand like her life depends upon it, smile at you like you're her entire world, and wake up every morning with you dancing in her thoughts. She already knows she will hold on to you before she ever says it aloud. She will make you work for it. She will test you. She will push you to your limits if she thinks you may be the one for her. She'll tell you what she wants, what she loves and what she hates. She'll tell you what she expects from you, even if she never has to say it out loud. She wants to be wooed, she wants to be spoiled, but most of all, she wants to feel loved. 

Songs for every occasion.

That, is one of my grandmas favourite and frequented sayings. (The Moon to my Duffy, FYI.) 

After what has been a tough few days for some of my closest people, (Grey's reference, IKR) I got to thinking about songs, and how they remind you of a certain person or situation. These are important to me in some ways. 

Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline will always remind me of my grandad. My dad's name is mentioned, and I hear a library of music play, from Bob Marley, to Madness to Kaiser Cheifs (the really, really old stuff.) My best friend, Betty, will always be seen as The Killers' Somebody Told Me, after all, who else can I air-guitar down the front street with on a Saturday night. My sister is seen in various colours; she's Pretender by Foo Fighters, Phil Collins' In The Air Tonight and Gabrielle Aplin's version of The Power of Love. She's also the likes of SHM and Armen Van Buuren, LMFAO and 1D's Little White Lies, Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal, Katy Perry's Dark Horse and more recently, What Do You Want From Me? By Monaco. My mam will always be met with the classic and soundtrack to her favourite film; Goo Goo Dolls' Iris, while the song that always makes me think of my grandma is Don McLean's American Pie (a really rather tipsy karaoke singalong one Christmas.) Robbie Williams' Come Undone is the song that makes me think of my boyfriend, Lukas, as we just so happened to tweet the entire song lyrics to one another pre-us getting together. It's a long story, and I'm keeping it close to my chest. Steph's song is, and always will be David Guetta and Sia's Titanium, or perhaps Spectrum (Say My Name) by the one and only Florence and The Machine. Night's out will always be greeted with Katy Perry's TGIF or something like that. Nights spent in Brit are fuelled by The Beatles, Arctic Monkeys and of course, Club Tropicana. My auntie will always be I Gotta Feelin' courtesy of BEP. Now for the others. Flo Rida's Right around reminds me of an old friend, Sexy Bitch ironically reminds me of a distant friend, and Orson's Bright Idea will be a distant memory of someone I've grown apart from. Gives You Hell by All American Rejects signals heartbreak and tears, along with Taylor Swift's Fifteen. A massive shout out to Abi, someone I was friends with, and grew up with, throughout some pretty tough teenage years; the soundtrack of our youth looked a bit like this; Love Bites- You Broke My Heart, Alice Cooper- Poison (except I'm sure ours was the weird techno remake from Groove Coverage or someone), the total spoof of The Jam's Going Underground- London Underground, Special D- Come With Me, and of course, Scooter's Jumping All Over The World. (WHAT CAN I SAY, we were Chester kids!) While Jenny (Reece, yes that's you) will always make me think of Taylor Swift's old stuff. There are probably many, many more I'll think of by the time I publish this, but a little shout out to you lot in particular. I love you all, oh, and thanks for sticking by me until my music taste developed into something a lot more acceptable!!!!

Visionary.

       Peaceful, haunting, visionary.

We go home every day with memories filling up our pockets and photos hidden in our irises and no one ever seems to notice. The days pass and the nostalgia lies behind your eyelids and the important things lurch in the safety of your carefully entwined rib cage. The things we don't say are forcefully choked back; the things that were once on the tip of your tongue become uncomfortably lodged in your throat. The only truths we dare to whisper are in darkened rooms and through intoxicated pupils. You'd think it was more than that, visionary. 

Private Practise.

Okay, I never really do this, but today, right now, I am. Evidently. Sorry, that was deadly obvious. Literally, seconds ago, I watched the last ever aired episode of Private Practise. It's kind of broke my heart, and left my chest with a gaping grief-ridden chasm where all my favourite characters used to be. For anyone who doesn't know, Private Practise is a US medical drama, originally marketed as a spin-off from Shonda Rhimes' very successful Grey's Anatomy. I first started watching Grey's by accident, but then, I fell into the trap. Someone mentioned Private Practise and I just became obsessed. More intimate than its counterpart based in Seattle, Private Practise is set in sunny, dreamy LA, where the sun always shines, and there's a constant backlog of patients for the doctors involved.

I won't give anything really away, because I hate it when people do that. With a PASSION. There's nothing worse than someone who is very adamant that they need to spoil your favourite television programme for you. I could stab those people in the eyes with very sharp pencils, and they still wouldn't get their just deserts. All I'll say is this, it's more than worth a watch. It will draw you in almost immediately. The storylines are brilliantly written, the characters are unbelievably well thought out, and honestly, I've seen every single episode, and each one leaves me with a different feeling, and yet, a more familiar one; every time the shot fades, the camera pans and the credits roll, there's something I always think:

'I wish I'd written that.'

 

 

With every ounce of my being, I love this programme. It's like my baby, my happy place and the thing I go to when all I need is comfort and to shed a few too many tears. Admittedly, it will make you cry, it will make you laugh, and more than likely, it'll make you go through a 'I want to be a doctor' phase, (but then again, I went through all that in my Grey's addiction.) So, it's brilliant. And my one true talent in life seems to be gushing about things I love (hey, could be worse, couldn't it?) As you can guess, I'm feeling a bit lost now. The final credits began to roll and I wanted to shout out and scream a negation of sorts, something to stop the end, cling onto the characters and envisage a new, perhaps more fitting, more satisfying ending for me. I can't remember the last time I was so attached to a programme, or so invested in it's characters. Private Practise has at times, been my salvation, and other times, my suffering. Lots of snacks, black coffee and tears later, through six whole seasons, two name changes, thousands of confessions, tense moments and happy celebrations. Here we are. The end is nigh. I'm blank, numb, empty. This is how all the best shows should leave you feeling; if they don't leave a bitter taste of nostalgia in your mouth, they haven't been worth the time.

 

 

 



Nostalgia is a dirty word.

I've done it again. Got all nostalgic. Caught myself looking through old snaps, and that strange mix of happiness and sadness crept up on me. And that stench drifting in, what was it? Regret. Denial. Horror. A mixture of all three. Those days. Years ago. The happier times. Or at least seemingly so. I seemed to worry less back then, I seemed to smile more, I seemed to be happier, more carefree. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm miserable now, or unhappy with where my life is at at the moment. It's just, every so often, that little bittersweet feeling of nostalgia kicks in, and gets me to reminiscing of simpler times. My "younger and more vulnerable years" as described by Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, were, to me, strangely some of my most daring and carefree. I guess it has something to do with age. 

At merely 14, the weight on my shoulders was less, light, easy to carry. I had less baggage, less experience of the world, less responsibility. I was naive, and thankful to be. The pressure was practically nonexistent. School was just somewhere to go to socialise with friends, the real work was yet to come. The real life was just around the corner. Experience of the big, bad world would be sooner than we expected. In the blink of an eye, we grew up. We aged overnight. Everything got serious, straight-laced, important. Those mid-term tests became exams, those spats with friends turned to unsettled feuds, those little jobs turned into big responsibilities. So, why now is everything different? As my teenage years are drawing rapidly to a close, (excuse me while I try not to dwell on this) why is it that I'm edgier than ever? 

The older we get, the more baggage we carry, and ultimately, the less willing we are to take risks. Why? Well I think I've figured it out. The older we are, the more we have to lose. At 19, I'm all too aware of what the big, bad world has in store, and sometimes, I'm not willing to take that risk, because there's just too much to stake. Even though I'm only young, there are certain things I'll hold on to tighter than ever, and not let go. It's also harder to say how you feel. Rejection, judgement and a thousand and one other factors come into play when you're in your latter teenage years. Those soul-destroying, stomach-plummeting moments we've experienced before, well, understandably we're reluctant to put ourselves in similar situations just in case the outcome matches up.

So, nostalgia really is a dirty word. It makes you bitter and confused and yet, at the same time, makes me want to get back to those days, those feelings of freedom. Throwing caution to the wind and risking everything you've got for something you want/need. Maybe it's time I did just that. For once, not concentrate on what's at stake, but what I've got to gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever.

If I stopped lying, I'd just disappoint you.

As I sit here listening to Robbie Williams' Come Undone, it finally hits me how much of a brilliant week I've just had. I got back from Ibiza yesterday morning, and I'm already terribly nostalgic and sad to have left the white isle. This is a song that's played one-too-many times around the pool over the last seven days, and while I was feeling close to depressed at it's constant playing, I think I've learned to love it for what it represents. I'm donning a very commercialized 'I heart Ibiza' top and trying to hold on to the hilarious, fabulous and drunken memories of the past week. With more funny quotes than you can shake a stick at, and hundreds of photos, I think it's safe to say we'll be reminiscing for a while yet.

We met so many lovely people, I guess I should say hello to you all, just in case one or two of you actually stumble across this. So, a big hello to Amy and Courteney, Alex, Danny, Lucky (of course!) Jack, Sam, Tom and Jamie, Gaz/"grandad", the man who actually claimed he was Paddy McGuinness' brother (yes, WHAT) as well as all the lads from Manchester, including Ollie and not forgetting Luke Longsocks. Also, George, the owner of the cafe on the corner, a woman who had never heard of "Charlotte", Isabella and everyone else who actually made our holiday one of the best experiences in my entire life.

Big thanks to you all. I haven't got much to say on that front, but here's a few little messages;
Alex, if you're reading this, fetch me some absinthe (oh, and well done on finding this, you said you would!). Jack, I'm still awaiting my diamond, so hurry the hell up. Sam, I'll try and write my novel by next week and send it to you, but don't worry if it's a bit late. Tom, I seriously miss our apple schnapps sessions, even if there's next to no alcohol in them, so I must find myself a bottle. Jamie, I seriously can't wait for these photos to appear on facebook. And for god sakes Luke, take your long socks off, it's thirty nine degrees out.

An amazing week in the sun, partying our arses off. There's so many more blog updates to come so hold on tight.

Next stop: Nostalgia Junction.

Imagine this. You wake up tomorrow, and it's all been a dream. A long, complex, crazy, out-of-this-world kinda dream. Your teenage self wakes up a meagre ten years old, with no experience or worry on your little shoulders. You lift your head up from your pillow. Sit up in your bed and rub your eyes violently with your hands. It's July 1st 2003. Do you remember that day? I don't. So, you wake up and it's ten years ago. A decade of your life just wiped out. A clean slate. There's a note addressed to you on your bedside table. At the top of the page, it reads; " Advice for the future, take note." And then there's a list of tips. A long, lengthy list of advice. Brought to you by an anonymous source. The advice fairy? It's a mystery. So. This is your chance. You've been given the opportunity to start your teenage years over again. What do you do? What do you wish you did differently? What does your piece of paper say?

Mine says the following;

• Don't worry about silly fall-outs in Primary School. Enjoy it while it lasts, the easy stuff. The relaxed days. The lack of real work, stress or aggravation. You'll come to love that place, and miss it when you leave it. As for the people, you'll realise that Primary School friendships very rarely last, and that's okay. You'll spend your last day denying that you're upset, but you'll cry when you walk down that staircase and take one last look at the first place you were ever educated. It will make you who you become. 
• Secondary School is tough, not just for you, for everyone. Speak up. Don't sit back and be referred to as "the quiet one" as it'll get you next to nowhere.
• When you like him, why don't you just make it obvious. You're young and you have absolutely nothing to lose. Taking a risk is better than spending the next year and a half upset when he's with someone else.
• When that girl is horrible to you, with her nasty, bitchy slurs, stand up for yourself. Straight away. She'll realise she can't talk to you like that, and grow out of her bitchy phase. Ish.
• Don't take anything too seriously.
• Year 7 will be full of petty arguments and fights. Ignore it.
• At 13, you'll be very naive. Don't trust those girls who say they're your friends. You'll be better off without them.
• Don't let anyone kick you when you're down.
• Don't let certain people see your tears, they'll play on your insecurities.
• Make it clear where your passions lie.
• Don't break your heart over your name being dragged through the mud at fifteen because of a choice you may or may not have made wisely. They're bitches. Facebook will cause a lot of unnecessary trouble, so be careful.
• If you like him and he likes you, there's not a problem. Unless there's someone else involved. If so, stear clear. It's not worth a bitch-fight. This one is vital. Learn from it.
• Don't tiptoe around that girl who pretends to be your friend. She's not vulnerable, she's manipulative. Watch out, she'll ruin your life given half the chance. Confront her, and you'll be satisfied with yourself.
• Enjoy your GCSE years, they're the easiest exams you'll ever sit. They aren't worth the stress, and these years will be some of the best of your life.
• Laugh every chance you get.
• And make sure you pick Media Studies.
• P.S. No matter how much of a good idea you think it is, don't choose a Geography GCSE. Sorry to be harsh, but you're just not very good at Geography. Listen to your teachers, and your parents, and pick History. You're good at History.
• Don't stress about GCSE results. They're good. In fact, they're brilliant. You'll ace them, so stop stressing and enjoy the carefree time you have with the people that matter.
• Those people you took chances on? Never mind. Shrug it off, move on. You can do better.
•  Don't cry over certain individuals who hurt you.
• You don't need anyone in your life that doesn't absolutely need you in theirs.
• Write early. 
• Pick your A-level options wisely. And no, Eleanor, that doesn't mean French.
• Avoid Psychology if you can, you'll break your neck to pass.
• Apply to Uni, even though UCAS looks like the scariest thing ever. It's not as hard as you think.
• Don't give up.
• Work hard, play harder.
• Be daring in your personal statement. Show off your passionate side. They WILL want you.
• Do get your hair cut short, even if you get stick for it. It's who you are, be an individual.
• Get used to the sight of the Wicket Gate. (It will be a pub. Just so you know.)  It will become your second home at 18/19.
• Learn to love Sambuca and Tequila. It'll be beneficial in the long run, and help you avoid so many nights spent on the bathroom floor.
• Openly admit you love your home comforts. Chester may be one of your favourite places on the planet. Never ever forget your roots, you'll be happy for them when you're almost 20.
• The best nights out are nights close to home fuelled by lots of vodka.
• Don't move away for Uni. Everyone knows you love your family too much to leave right now. It's important you're around. 
• Your family believe in you an awful lot, so it's about time you appreciated that.
• Hold on to your friends. The ones who hold on to you are keepers. Betty, she is. You call her Betty now, it's a long story. She's lovely. So is Steph. You'll get to know her better in Sixth Form.
• Take a chance with everyone and anyone. Be risky.
• Drink too much from time to time. It doesn't always end badly.
• Never, ever bottle things up; if you need to cry, then cry.
• You'll be reunited with some of your long, lost family. Be happy about it, it's not their fault things turned out the way they did. Get to know them.
• Write because you want to. Screw what anyone else thinks.
• Don't spend hours/days/weeks worrying about Uni. It'll be great. You'll meet some of your best friends there. Keep tight ahold of those three girls.
• Maintain that blog of yours.
• Read at every chance you get.
• When you meet HIM, walk away.
• Everyone is entitled to a second chance, not a hundredth chance.
• When That Thing happens, don't let him off with his excuse. But rise above the hurt, you're better than that, and you're better than him.
• Those people aren't worth your tears.
• You'll make mistakes, so learn to live with them and move on.
• Know when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak up.
• Don't stress too much about school stuff that it makes you miserable, but work your arse off, it'll pay off.
• Don't acquire a taste for wine or gin. It'll wreck your nights out.
• Do go Abseiling even though it scares the shit out of you.
• Make sure you take part in Freshers week, you'll love it.
• Say "yes."
• Discover ASOS sooner. It's fabulous.
• Black coffee, fish finger sandwiches and the Friends boxset is a winning combination.
• When Harry Met Sally, Sex and The City, Mean Girls and Friends will teach you everything you need to know about love, and life.

And most of all, be happy in your own skin. Learn to be confident. Love YOU. You can't be anyone else, and after all, why would you want to be? You've got it pretty fucking great. <3

Nostalgia is a dirty word.

I've done it again. Got all nostalgic. Caught myself looking through old snaps, and that strange mix of happiness and sadness crept up on me. And that stench drifting in, what was it? Regret. Denial. Horror. A mixture of all three. Those days. Years ago. The happier times. Or at least seemingly so. I seemed to worry less back then, I seemed to smile more, I seemed to be happier, more carefree. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm miserable now, or unhappy with where my life is at at the moment. It's just, every so often, that little bittersweet feeling of nostalgia kicks in, and gets me to reminiscing of simpler times. My "younger and more vulnerable years" as described by Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, were, to me, strangely some of my most daring and carefree. I guess it has something to do with age. 

At merely 14, the weight on my shoulders was less, light, easy to carry. I had less baggage, less experience of the world, less responsibility. I was naive, and thankful to be. The pressure was practically nonexistent. School was just somewhere to go to socialise with friends, the real work was yet to come. The real life was just around the corner. Experience of the big, bad world would be sooner than we expected. In the blink of an eye, we grew up. We aged overnight. Everything got serious, straight-laced, important. Those mid-term tests became exams, those spats with friends turned to unsettled feuds, those little jobs turned into big responsibilities. So, why now is everything different? As my teenage years are drawing rapidly to a close, (excuse me while I try not to dwell on this) why is it that I'm edgier than ever? 

The older we get, the more baggage we carry, and ultimately, the less willing we are to take risks. Why? Well I think I've figured it out. The older we are, the more we have to lose. At 19, I'm all too aware of what the big, bad world has in store, and sometimes, I'm not willing to take that risk, because there's just too much to stake. Even though I'm only young, there are certain things I'll hold on to tighter than ever, and not let go. It's also harder to say how you feel. Rejection, judgement and a thousand and one other factors come into play when you're in your latter teenage years. Those soul-destroying, stomach-plummeting moments we've experienced before, well, understandably we're reluctant to put ourselves in similar situations just in case the outcome matches up.

So, nostalgia really is a dirty word. It makes you bitter and confused and yet, at the same time, makes me want to get back to those days, those feelings of freedom. Throwing caution to the wind and risking everything you've got for something you want/need. Maybe it's time I did just that. For once, not concentrate on what's at stake, but what I've got go gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever.