Global Issue

God everyone’s so intense these days
Every conversation I have is so
There is a common denominator here
I guess people are just more
These days!


I hate how
Coffee shops are
Laptop use
On the weekends
Because apparently that’s ‘family time’
Which completely disregards the fact that my 
MacBook is

NB: Yes I know they are just saying that to sell more brunches

It’s Been A Lovely Night

I’ve never understood this ‘Don’t want to die alone’ thing. You know, like –
‘Why you on Tinder?’
‘Don’t wanna die alone!’
Because dying alone seems preferable to me.
For example:
You go out, you have a good time. You have both been consummate conversationalists. Your stomach sits sated. At certain points of the evening, you may have even felt like you embodied jazz. Now it is time to go home.
But wait! They insist on accompanying you to the bus stop. And so you stand shivering as ellipses bounce back between you because there’s only 3 minutes until the C11 to Archway and how can you now inorganically conjure something up that doesn’t defraud the entire night?
You should have just left it at the door
Guys –
Leave it at
‘It’s been a lovely night’


‘Oh I think that’s normal though’ I say
‘To feel like that’
They don’t look comforted, mostly
Most people

Don’t want their pain to be
Most want their pain


‘Live each day
As if it’s
Your last’
That’s what they say

But then one day you wake up with an
Interest only mortgage
And a
Body of excess
And you think:
I probably shouldn’t have
Lived each day
As if it was
My last
Because most of the time
It wasn’t

Architecture 101

Have started watching
Grand Designs
Of late
Quite funny
‘But disaster has struck’
Really Kev?? No!
Surely not
‘The upper middle class couple
Didn’t realise masonry was
That complex
They are now
A hundred thousand pounds down
And have had to bring in
A project manager


Everyone’s like
‘We need to talk to people with different opinions than our own’
And it’s like
But –
Within reason
Insofar as:
Their argument should contain
At least

Third Way

I have been saying for some time now that there should be an additional option alongside the ‘online’ and ‘typing’ statuses on WhatsApp. And that this should be:

‘Online. Typing to someone else, though. Not you. Definitely not just staring at your name waiting for you to message me. No. No. No’


I’m reading a poem in a book by an obviously published poet and they have at one point just taken the same word and rewritten it several times but with the letters in a different order
And I think:
You’re just taking the

Strikes A Chord

Katie said:
The thing is people
Classical music
(esp. Rach)
And I am like:
“It sounds really screechy and there are no words or discernible beat? What is there to
Hold onto
The feeling that
You are being transported
Into a


It’s incredible the lengths we will go to, to avoid paying 5p for a plastic bag, isn’t it? Like no no NO I’ll just carry these six bottles of rose in my arms, like they are my baby, which in many ways they are.


‘Get out into the real world!’
They say
‘Get off your phone!’
They say

But you go out into the
Real world
And everyone is
On their phones

At one point
Do we have to admit that
One world has become
The other?


I start these
Candid conversations
With people at
Really formal events
Start waxing all those lyrics about
Love, existence, et al
And they stilt, initially
Look at me as if to say
‘Should we be talking like this?
Is this … indecent?’
And I
Look at them as if to say
‘The universe wants this’
‘The universe demands this’

Starbucks Breakdown AKA On The Letter H

Pen poised
He says:
What’s your name?
I say:
Sara – S A R A
He says:
But …
What about the

Inside I’m screaming:

My heart sinks
I’m in my
Third decade of this

I see it now
Understand it now
That mythical H
Hovering over my entire life like that
That mythical H
Has been the bane of my banal existence
I was doomed from the
Very start
I see it now
Understand it now

‘I Am So Shankable’

Miriam is watching
‘Orange is the new black’
She says:
I wonder if I would get
In prison?
I would probably just get
She continues:
You might get laid though
I think you would up your Dave* game in prison
You’re very adaptable
If we’re
Judging by your ability

*Miriam differentiates English accents by putting us into one of two categories – Dave is ‘lets go nandos mate!’. The alternative is Bronwyn ‘If there’s anything I hate it’s negativity’

Split Second Analysis

When running for the tube
Do remember
That there will be another one along in maximum, say,
3 minutes.
Trust me,
Nothing is so urgent as to risk
The acute humiliation
Of being temporarily
Between two metal doors.
Frozen there
A twenty first century


I hate it
When automated telephone systems
Offer non-sequential options
Press 1 for accounts
Press 2 for lost cards
Press * to speak to an operator
No no no
It should be press 3 to speak to an operator
We all know
It should be 3

On ‘Potential’

That scene at the end of ‘Withnail and I’ where he performs the perfect Shakespearean soliloquy to a pack of wolves, and you think what a waste, what a fucking waste. And that, that is our entire generation completely utterly depicted there, in him. And I’m so fucking angry that so many of my friends, with their strong minds, their beautiful minds, are pissing away their lives because, what else is there? Half the jobs are just bullshit thinly disguised as otherwise, where if you’re lucky you lose all sense of yourself. Or if you’re unlucky you forget you ever even had a sense of self. And the creative ones, where you try and monetise your soul and to your disappointment find out it’s barely worth an unpaid internship in arts administration. Or you do your day job and say you’ll do your creative stuff in the evenings and at the weekends but sometimes you’re just too tired from the day job and the day job makes structures in your mind where there were none and increasingly, you – who you really are – is whittled down to near extinction.

And the piercing irony of it all is that we … we come from Blair’s ‘education, education, education’ era. Yet what Blair never understood is if everyone has something, no-one does. And so we all do a masters now in something we’re vaguely interested in, and we probably do it part-time so we can string out more time before actually having to accept the fact that there’s nothing there anymore. Our parents who strolled in to not jobs, not careers, but lives. They don’t understand and even the socialists use the Tory line of ‘just work harder’ now. Of course, the ennui should have left us in our early twenties but still slouches around our veins like a never ending hangover. And people tell us about our ‘potential’. That’s the worst one. Always vaguely saying we have some potential, something… different, but for what, and how to be utilised, is never really specified.

And the clever ones of us became teachers because we know teachers are respected. Teachers can countersign your fucking passport application. But what for those that don’t want to teach? Or at least, not yet. That want to create something that will last longer than they will. Well I guess we all know deep down we can’t do this anyway; the Internet took away any notion of our own legacies. It was this massive gift, this Trojan horse gift, to our generation. The amount of Internet traffic generated in a millisecond shows we won’t be remembered. We will fall in to the abyss of macro history. Oblivion: take it, it’s yours.

It was almost like the perfect peaceful 90s was this sweetener for what was to come. We must now work in an office where we sit in a row, administration by any other name, tap tap typing away the best years of our lives with bureaucratic language and inauthentic tones. And kind regards and best wishes and moving forward and where were we with this one and have a good weekend and add this to the agenda and diarise that and can you conditional format this excel document and print 50 copies double sided in colour and 8 slides to a page and ANY WORDS APART FROM THOSE THAT SAY ANYTHING FUCKING REAL.

And I wonder … how many, how many of our generation are screaming soliloquies to wolves?

Well the discerning of us did science. And I guess they were happy in that but I remember the pathologist who sighed heavily one night; ‘I would have loved to be a stand up comedian’, her brow furrowed from her anxious push pushing parents legacy. And I guess you could work in health care or helping people in society for barely minimum wage and long hours and then the government cuts funding because what hedge fund manager is interested in actual people and you get made redundant and then you really wonder what it was all about. So you take the safe choice and work 9 to 5 and you tell yourself you just wanted the easy life when really you know it’s the harder life, and you ignore the ever growing voice in your mind which is ambitious but not in the conventional way, and it gets louder and louder as it shouts ‘but… I want more‘. And I wonder how long you can ignore that voice. Maybe until you die. Because, you know, you really, really, know, there is nothing more. Than this.