Holiday Friends

A weekend of many a seaside jaunt, including going to see my friend Paul Murray sing some lovely songs and we all talked about whether we should move to Worthing. Paul is of the marvellous musical duo Bee & Jackrabbit and, as always, I am astounded that they are not internationally renowned and revered, TBH.

If, like me, you also watched series 3 of Stranger Things in one big gulp and are now slightly bereft - here is another little musical gem that echoes my many strong feelings about Steve Harrington.

I've now started watching Call My Agent, which is fun. It's really trashy, but in a glamorous way because it's French.

I also went swimming, which was nice. I should go swimming more.

Yesterday I made pancakes for breakfast and ate them with homemade jam, and few things have ever brought me more joy. I have high hopes of our late homegrown carrots, and a plethora of pickling plans. The herb garden is coming on beautifully. I have homemade kimchi in my packed lunch today. I've got my eye on some blackberries for foraging.

I wonder if this sudden and virulent enthusiasm for preserving things in jars is a futile reaction to the terrible state of the world at large. Probably. It's the sort of thing that can make you feel like you're in control of events when you're really, really not. Oh well.

Conversely, watching a lot of rubbish late-night horror films and Japanese wrestling. Grown-up life can be pretty great.

What I've been up to.

It’s been a quiet cosy time, but it also feels like a productive time.

I have been making a lot of stuff. Kimchi, oat milk, hummus, chocolate spread. I have been pickling a lot of things. The olive tree in the garden has yielded an abundant freak crop of Brighton olives. I’m trying to make us into a zero waste household. I’ve planted some carrots. I’ve started using a natural deodorant and I don’t even seem to stink.

I went to a gin festival and drank coffee.

I’ve been to some nice gigs. I highly, highly recommend checking out the ED Fowler Band and Peter Cat, two of the best things I’ve seen lately.

I re-read The Outrun by Amy Liptrot and The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy, both of which are beautifully written and highly inspiring. This is the sort of thing I’m in the mood for these days.

I went to a Belinda Carlisle drag queen contest and it was a lot of fun.

I went for a massage, on a whim. Never done it before, best decision ever.

I’m trying to do yoga every single day, and it is helping.

I watched all of the new series of Stranger Things in a 24-hour period. I cried profusely at the end. Rare for me these days; I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.

I hate shopping but I’ve suddenly taken to buying second-hand clothes on the internet. Getting parcels is fun. So is having a lot of jumpsuit options, it turns out.

I am in awe of my wonderful friend Harriet, who has made a book and a baby in dazzlingly quick succession. She is one of the most beautiful writers on this earth, and you should definitely read the book.

Emma Forrest has also – again – cemented her place as my favourite living writer and I cannot wait to see her film.

I’ve been listening to Domino Kirke’s beautiful record a lot and also aiming to be beyond waves. There’s graffiti at the end of my road that declares NO MORE DRAMA and I want it tattooed on my heart.

Today I am 28 days sober, like that film with Sandra Bullock.

Fab Five

I guess we all know that Joan Didion said that ‘character – the willingness to accept responsibility for one's own life – is the source from which self-respect springs’. J-Diddy is right about most things, after all.

However, it’s something I have been thinking about lately. A lot of our small life choices are connected to our self-respect and vice versa. In short, if you’re living poorly – which I go through phases of doing – something is wrong.

When I’m in a phase of drinking too much, not cooking enough, my house is dirty and I am behind with my work, my self-respect is not doing brilliantly. Of course, then a vicious cycle ensues.

I am saying this mostly because I have been watching a lot of Queer Eye. Yeah, I know there isn’t a lot of it to watch (eight episodes) but I have watched each of them three times. I honestly feel that there is much to be learned from them.

It is true that it is ‘more than a makeover’. Yeah, people can criticise all they like, say that Antoni only slices avocados and Tan just rolls up the sleeves on things. (Actually, no they can’t. Try it. I will fight you.)

It’s about self-respect. It’s about taking the pride in yourself to bother. It’s about making an effort with what you have. That might all sound very basic, but I struggle with it sometimes and so does pretty much everyone else – even if we’re not, as Jonathan would say, totally strugs to func.

Honestly, the power of that programme. It has not only made me laugh, cry and swoon over Antoni in a Strokes T-shirt, it has reminded me that there might be some good left in the world. We should all try our best to live our lives with the grace, kindness and generous spirit of the Fab Five.

So… Use the good bath oil (thanks, Nora). Plant some Pound Shop bulbs in pots. Do a facemask. Paint your toenails and don’t shave your armpits, if you’re me. Wear your best knickers and do a dance around the kitchen. Cook on a Sunday. Light a candle. Keep some herbs on the windowsill. And watch Practical Magic whenever you can.

The end of Love.

At the weekend, I binged the whole of series three of LOVE.

I first watched series one because my stepbrother Simon recommended it. He thought I would love the writing, but mostly I think he just had a major crush on Mickey because he loves a girl in sliders, and he just wanted someone to talk to about it. Simon is unfailingly good at TV recommendations, though.

LOVE is one of those programmes I have come to feel incredibly fondly about. If anything, the writing is a bit TOO good. I relate to those characters a bit TOO much.

Funnily enough, my dad and stepmum have just started watching it from the beginning. Discussing it on the phone with them both yesterday, I sensed that they were basically treating this programme as an exercise in 'Learning More About Ellie's Life'. My dad drew some obvious parallels. My stepmum said she was gleaning a lot about texting in the context of modern relationships, and how tricky it actually is.

For me, series three has come at the ideal time and has some pertinent themes. I want to live authentically. I want to stop feeling the need to put a narrative on absolutely everything and turn it into a funny story. I need to be reminded not to put everything into neat narrative boxes: he's the nice guy, I'm the fuck-up. It's something I'm guilty of. That's not how it works. It's lazy and reductive. It's ultimately extremely unhelpful.

I shouldn't need a TV show to tell me that, but it's not a bad thing to see these themes in action sometimes. And it's definitely why I wept through the last couple of episodes of LOVE.

I'm so happy it ended where it did.

Over. It.

January is over. The supermoon is over (although it was, rather magically, still visible in the sky as I took the early morning train into London this morning).

Today it is a new month, a beautiful sunny day in London. Spring in the air is sniffable.

Yesterday, I wept through therapy, dragged myself through a dance class hoping it 'would help' (it did, kind of - only kind of). I ate a barely-cooked steak as big as my face. I had a full-moon bath and left my crystals out on the windowsill. Then I stayed up for most of the night watching The End of the F***ing World. Cannot recommend highly enough, is pretty much all you need to know from me. Bonus props for the on-point True Romance aesthetic, perfect architecture and Earl Cave.

I've saved this article by the inspiring (in an I-wanna-be-her-or-maybe-be-her-friend-or-at-least-have-her-hair sort of a way) Molly Guy. I've been finding it most useful. When ANYONE offers you a plate of crumbs and tells you it's a feast, tell them to fuck right off. I'm working on it. A work-in-progress, I must admit.

Today, I brought a green smoothie to work in a fucking Kilner jar for my breakfast. Smug levels high. Think I might go and hang out in Holland and Barrett at lunchtime. Yoga tonight.

The Fuck-Boys-in-the-Eye February regimen is afoot. I'm actually excited.

The good stuff that I am seeking.

I seem to have spent the past week or so typing and deleting posts. You can guess what they're about. I may or may not post. I'm not sure there is any point.

And so, instead, to the absolute opposite end of the spectrum. Stuff I like; stuff I'm excited about; stuff that brings me joy.

My New Kitchen
I've been redecorating and it is an absolute DREAM. Mexican star tiles, Pepto Bismol candy pink walls, floorboards, many shelves for tiny wineglasses and cookery books... Kitchen discos ahoy (the kitchen glitter ball, of course, remains).

Stella Vine
I am a long-term and avid fan. So, it was a stroke of luck that - semi-drunk on a train the other night - I saw her post on Instagram saying a new limited-edition print was available to buy. Total whim, bought immediately - so much so that I got the very first one. I am in love with it.

Riverdale
Total binge-watch like I haven't done in ages. I watched the lot in one weekend and am now struggling with the idea of having only one ep per week. I need more Veronica in my life.

Glossier
The magic is real. The package arrived like a proper glorious treat, and the lipstick is the perfect naughty shade to make you look like you've been drinking raspberry cocktails and snogging a boy you fancy on a rooftop all night.

I AM NOT ASHAMED
Issue 2 of my old-school 90s-style fanzine, lovingly made with the beaut Harriet Reuter Hapgood, is now available to buy from our online shop! Featuring essays on Riverdale, Emma Forrest, Courtney Love; the in/out list, behind the issue, euphemism cocktails and more!

And don't f**k it up.

I'm in bed this morning simultaneously writing, watching RuPaul's Drag Race and drinking coffee.  Not even 9am and I've written over 1,000 words before I have to get up and go to Zumba class - not bad.

Drag Race is now into series 9 and obviously I am following it avidly (even though the absence of my bae Santino Rice still looms large in my heart).  In fact, it occurred to me this morning that I have written much of my recent work with RuPaul playing gently in the background.

It only just struck me - is this where the theme of makeover and identity in BECOMING BETTY came from?!

Thanks, Ru (I absolutely adore you).  I would also like to mention that my all-time faves are Pandora Boxx, Sharon Needles, Alaska Thunderfuck 5000, Adore Delano, Jinkx Monsoon, Bianca Del Rio, Kim Chi, Ivy Winters and Jiggly Caliente.

May we all have Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent.  Don't f**k it up.

Guess we're not actually Girls anymore.

It’s a funny old feeling when a TV show lasts longer than the life you thought was permanent. You know, actual proper things. Whole universes. Whole lives.

GIRLS first aired in 2012. Funnily enough, I commented to a friend the other day that I think the last time I was uncomplicatedly happy was in 2012. Sounds melodramatic, but it’s true. That year, I lived in a sunny top-floor flat and went on holiday with my nan. It was the year of the London Olympics and I swear the world was a nicer place back then.

In the interim, there has been death and divorce. I have been forced to wonder if I have had a particularly shit run of it, or if this is simply what being a grown-up over 30 looks like.

Of course, a million other tiny things have happened. I have met new friends and in some cases not seen enough of old friends. On the good side, my best friendships feel a million times stronger than they ever have.

My hair has grown. I have new tattoos. I have had new jobs, a new house (now not even new any more). I have written a few books. I have read a lot of books.

I don’t know if the science holds up – that’s not really my thing – but I’m sure I once read somewhere that our cells fully regenerate every seven years. In that case, I am almost a completely different person. My hair has grown, my face definitely looks older.

So... To the end of GIRLS. A show I loved so whole-heartedly when it began, that I actually felt like it changed my life a tiny bit. I wrote about how exciting it was to see girls like me on television, in a mainstream show (while reflecting on what a small demographic this may represent). I enthused about the cleverness of Lena Dunham’s writing and basically everything to do with the show (especially Jessa, obv).

It was genuinely exciting to me.  Even (maybe especially) when I lived with a boy who insisted on referring to it as ‘Sad Sack and the Fellas’. He once walked into the room, took one look at the television screen, said ‘oh, ugly people having depressing sex – great, must be Sad Sack and the Fellas’ and walked out again.

My friends and I discussed it at length, passionately. When season 2 was released, my friend Ruth and I preordered the DVD and cleared an entire weekend so we could watch in one go, together. Season 2 may in fact remain my favourite – when my love for GIRLS was at its strongest. I still think the episode with Jessa’s dad remains one of the most affecting pieces of television I have ever seen. It may be purely personal, but I tear up even thinking about the moment when Jessa says ‘BUT I’M THE CHILD’.

Like so many relationships, it has become more problematic as it has gone on. GIRLS is problematic. My relationship with Lena Dunham is not as unquestioningly positive as it was, to say the least. But that’s because we have all changed and (I hope) grown. That’s what should happen over the course of six years.

I have watched this final series with a fond nostalgia, even while it has been happening. It’s time for it to end, and in the most part it’s done so pretty well. I will say: I know I’m in the minority but I love Jessa and Adam together. No matter what anybody else says, I refuse to think that Marnie is the worst. I will never not love Ray.

I also don’t mind saying that chief of my Many Feelings about the whole thing is: I can’t believe we are ending this with Hannah having a baby and not me.  But it’s OK – sounds trite, but it’s all a lesson that anything can happen in six years. Who the fuck knows how it will end?

Where you lead...

This post feels like a very, very big deal.  It’s about something that I have dedicated pretty much every waking thought to for the last couple of months.  Seven series, 22 episodes each.  It's been intense.

I also don’t want to wade in wrong-footedly – for I have come very late to the Gilmore Girls.  Which, frankly, is batshit insane of me and just WRONG.  For years, my sister and a lot of my friends (especially Ruth and Harriet) have been telling me how much I would love it and how I MUST WATCH IT.  I always meant to, but somehow I never did.  How I rue those days now, which could have been filled with Gilmore Girls instead of literally anything else.

For, dear reader, I am in love.  GGs speaks to me on the deep level that my nearest and dearest knew that it would.  OF COURSE I adore the rapid-fire dialogue and every single cultural reference.  From the beginning – and especially the moment when Rory makes an oblique and very obscure Rosemary’s Baby joke to Dean the first time she lays eyes on him – I was in joyful awe (it wasn’t until later that this was overshadowed with ‘urgh, Dean’).  Obviously, the Grey Gardens episode had me literally weeping with fateful happiness throughout.

Of course, the writing and the characters are perfect (the latter perfectly flawed, of course).  The themes are deep and executed effortlessly – feminism and class and family dynamics all right there wrapped up in a veil of joyful, witty FUN.

I want to move to Stars Hollow.  I want Lane to be my best friend, oh but I also want Paris to be my best friend.  And Sookie.  And Emily – kind of, sometimes.  I want to marry Max Medina, please.  And maybe also Jess.  Although my ultimate relationship goal remains Babette and Mory (let's face it: he is just my type).  Plus: cats.  Although I wouldn’t mind being Miss Patty one day.

I watched the final episodes yesterday and wept copiously and uncontrollably throughout.  Then I watched the new trailer and wept throughout.  There’s been a lot of weeping.  It’s been emotional.

Although I am feeling the void of my hitherto unnecessarily GGs-less life, of course there is a Stars Hollow-worthy silver lining.  I only have to wait a month until the revival (blocked out in my diary, with plans for a veritable EVENT – the details of which I remain unclear on, but will involve a lot of food, definitely Pop Tarts, and possibly a Lorelai-like outfit).  I don’t know how I would have waited 10 years if I’d been watching it in real time.  As it is, I still can’t wait.

(If you would like some proper GGs analysis from a legit expert, rather than my half-baked johnny-come-lately fangirling – you should definitely read THIS by my brilliant friend Harriet.)

Bank Holiday

THINGS I SHOULD HAVE DONE YESTERDAY:

• Gone to a party
• Done my post-holiday laundry after a very fun trip to Vienna
• Cleaned my house
• Done Writing
• Made the most of the sunshine, possibly while doing some of the aforementioned writing in the garden
• Spoken to other humans
• Got dressed

THINGS I DID YESTERDAY:

• Watched 14 episodes of Gilmore Girls
• That's it

I can't help myself.

So, this song currently brings me total joy in the same way that certain Elliott Smith songs do.  Honestly.

This is probably (I sincerely hope) the first time that Elliott Smith has been associated with the early 90s teen pin-up Joey Lawrence, of Blossom fame and a short-lived and (in my opinion) underrated solo music career.

I know this is purely due to a weird sort of rose-tinted nostalgia, but I woke up with this song in my head a few days ago and now can't stop listening to it.  The longer this goes on, t's almost like I genuinely (slightly) believe it is actually a good song.  I mean, I know it's *not*.  And yet...