Tag Archives: Thoughts



Before I even begin to put thought to keyboard, can we just take a second to focus on the fact that it’s January? It’s 2017. I.. How? When the fluff did that happen?


Christmas flew by quicker than a Sunday Grey’s Anatomy marathon this year. I swear one minute I was eating an entire box of Thornton’s chocolate and wrestling the button of my jeans open, next the calendar pinned to my cupboard door became about as useful as a chocolate teapot. However, the speed it flashed by at definitely doesn’t reflect how good a festive period it was. Not only did Santa Clause shower me in all my favourite things, but I went to my first Christmas market.

Now, getting me into the festive spirit isn’t exactly on a par with the more difficult things in life. – In fact, at times, Buddy the Elf has quite the rival in spreading the Christmas cheer. – But let me tell you, nothing quite got me into the Christmas mindset quite like Edinburgh’s attempts at the festivities. There were endless stalls filled with the most pleasant smelling diet-ruiners you could ever imagine, absolutely out of this world little gifts from all over the Christmas joyed planet and to top everything off, a Christmas tree maze which was intended for children yet myself and my also not-a-child sister, got completely lost in. But by far, the beautiful Christmas themed icing on top of the Christmas pudding was undoubtedly the Ferris wheel. What’s better than seeing Edinburgh, than seeing Edinburgh from a great height, whilst being recorded swearing like a trooper about the fact you’re at a great height?

It’s definitely something I’ll be revisiting this Christmas.

However, the festivities have come and gone and now we’re in the January blues no man’s land, where everyone is setting themselves unrealistically high goals for the year. But you can all rest easy, my friends. You will have continuity in your year, you can continue your week safe and sound in the knowledge you will not be receiving any ‘new me’. I pledge to remain the same serial Dominos ordering, excessive wine drinking, life-stumbling, money spending Alice that you have all come to know.

I’ve decided that my approach to 2017 will not include any mahoosively unrealistic resolutions, it merely will revolve around the premise that I will tackle the year with the same clumsy gusto that I always do and will try my hardest not to half-arse anything I do.

But if there’s one thing I will make a conscious effort to change is my self-sabotaging ways. It sounds extreme but we’re all guilty of it, you make it to the end of another year and claim that the next you’ll do more, or you’ll see your friends more or even simply exercise more. But behold, when your best friend rings you up and tells you to get yourself ready cause you’re going out, you look at your Disney pyjamas and suddenly it seems much more appealing to remain potatoed on the couch. Only to find you later regret it. Or you find yourself in a deathly staring match with your gym shoes and walk past them daily in spite of it. But not anymore, not this year. As sweeping a statement it seems, the reality is much simpler, just stop saying no to things and yet I never do.*

2016 was… Well, it was really something. So here’s to another a year of chaos, clumsiness and trying to navigate this nightmare that we call our twenties.

*To any of my friends reading this, please god make this transition easy, I beg of you. (And yes Charlotte, I mean you and your knitting groups.)



To have grown up into a culture where terms such as ‘side chick’ are commonplace, I can’t help but feel horrendously out of place. Growing up, I was the typical delusional Disney child who’d been convinced by our good friend Walt that she’d grow up to one day fall in love with her handsome Prince Charming and they’d ride off into the sunset together, having overcome some great and torturous evil.

The reality? Not so much.

Twenty-first-century dating, is no walk in the park. All the romantic, nervous and quaint ideals that were once surrounding the act of “courting” someone are now a distant memory, and what we’re left with is a distinct lack of morals, with a side order of wanting your cake and eating it too. Intimate, romantic dining has now been replaced with sloppy, drunken nightclub settings. Beautifully composed love songs, have now been replaced with the unbelievably sexist musings of Robin Thicke. Eyes meeting across the room, has now been replaced with a ‘swipe right’ on Tinder. Forgive me if I sound outdated, but when did we let romance die?

At which point did we lose the social structure of meeting, courting, dating, relationship? Everybody knew where they stood. Nobody was left tentatively awaiting a text message during their walk of shame the next day and nor were people left pondering, scrutinising each and every communication from their date, frantically rationalising that ‘seen’ button along the way.

What changed? At which point did we decide to drop the 1950s style courting rituals, for the 2000s style ‘quantity over quality’ mantra.

And, more importantly, how do we get it back?

Believe it or not, this blog has a purpose.

Given that life itself is something I generally find most taxing and is certainly not my greatest of skills, one may ask why I’m writing about it – And one would be right to. However, the answer isn’t one of a straightforward nature. Keeping journals, diaries and up to date social media has been a frequent feature in my life since an incredibly young age, and I have a love of writing, so the next logical step was to turn my nostalgia-filled love of the English language and drag it into the 21st century with me. 

Whether this results in four followers who often roll their eyes and wonder why they are still reading, or four hundred, is of no grave importance to me. What is, is having a place to build up memories, favourite books, makeup products, music, general wonderings and somehow have the end result being a documentation of my twenties that I can forever look back upon.. Hopefully with the odd sentimental chuckle, as opposed to recoiling in cringeworthy horror.