Tag Archives: childhood

Taylor Swift and the Lucky Golden Ticket

Reading has always been one of my most cherished past-times: as a child I spent hours flicking through the pages of Enid Blyton, J.K Rowling and Roald Dahl, drinking in their words. I was with Charlie, hoping to find a Wonka bar that contained that lucky, golden ticket. I was stood next to Matilda as she defeated Miss Trunchbull and finally found the love she always craved; I wasn’t alone. Any problems I had suddenly seemed superfluous and all that remained was the story and the characters of the book: my friends.

Whilst the words created by my most loved authors captured my imagination as a child, nowadays, the sounds of Taylor Swift and the sweet accompaniment of a bottle of red wine are far more likely to entice me on a Monday night. So earlier this year I made it my mission to read 25 books before I turn 25; the concept is adorable and I need to create goals for myself so I foolishly believe that my life has meaning.

Unfortunately, as someone with commitment issues,  I intend to follow through with everything I set my mind to but the execution isn’t quite there yet. Couple that with a love for binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I’ve fallen off the reading bandwagon, and picked up a few library fines along the way.

I’m not a child anymore, I don’t have imaginary friends or climb into my wardrobe hoping to find Narnia: I can watch the film on Netflix instead, but isn’t that a crying shame? It’s about time I turned off my laptop and reconnected with some old friends: I think they’ve missed me.

Is there anything you’ve read lately that you’d recommend to spice up my bookshelf? 


Never Been Kissed and The Cultural Stereotype

I was catching up with my talented friend, Alex this morning when she mentioned watching the 90’s rom-com classic, ‘Never Been Kissed’ and its resemblance to our high-school experience. Just like Drew, I didn’t exactly win any popularity contests as a teenager, and resided at the bottom of the food chain throughout my years in education.

Every day I’d wake up, complete my work and talk to as little people as possible along the way. Despite never being the most intelligent member of the class, my shy and insecure personality meant I often faced a barrage of name-calling. Spiff, geek, and loser: you name it, I heard it. Never the most colourful set of insults, but they still get points for trying.

Admittedly, I also used to tarnish everyone that dared insinuate I was a loser with the same brush: air-heads who have nothing better to do with their time than insult me. I silently planned my revenge rather than postulating my theory out loud, but I’m just as guilty for pre-judging based on assumption as those who bullied me.

The quiet, insecure teenager that used to dread social interaction still remains, but with age comes confidence and the ability to care less what people think. Cultural stereotypes will always exist in a society obsessed with image, but if Hermione Granger can successfully make geek chic, so can I.


I was about 12 when I first decided to create my own email address. I remember sitting for hours thinking of cool and edgy usernames that would impress just about everyone at school, and encourage every Tom, Dick and Harry to add me on MSN. Suffice to say the handle ‘hippyh’ didn’t have people rushing to correspond with me: the only person I’d email was my best friend and she lived up the road.

Years later, my heart still skips a beat when I log into my inbox, hoping for a secret admirer or even Topshop informing me of a 20% off sale. Unfortunately the only things I receive these days are adverts for Viagra or angry work emails with wankers requesting read receipts.

It got me to thinking that whilst in the midst of the social media generation, where every detail of a person’s private life is shared via Twitter and Facebook, it’s easy to forget about the time when we’d use the internet for cultivating friendships rather than trying to impress the world wide web with pictures of what we’ve had for lunch. My first email address was used for creating stories based on overgrown tomatoes terrorising small towns, whereas the content of my last tweet was complaining about having to go to work on a Monday. Honestly, who cares? How many people genuinely enjoy the pictures posted on Instagram of skinny models and mojitos, aimed to impress people we barely know or like?

It’s hard not to get caught up in the secret, unspoken, competition we have with our peers about who’s living their life better, but I’m going to try stop posting selfies and retweeting pictures of delicious food for a second to focus on what’s really important: stories about killer vegetables.