Practically Alice

Every year I list ## number of books that have made an impression on me in 20##. This year I read a total of 114 books, the most I've ever read in a year since I started recording this. That's 35,909 pages that I have consumed, hour after hour, day after day. And, boy, there's been some good'uns. 1. When Bad Things Happen in Good Bikinis  by Helen Bailey 2. Who Fears Death? by Nnedi Okorafor 3. The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion 4. Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie 5. The Sleeper and the Spindle  by Neil Gaiman 6. The Storied Life of A J Fikry  by Gabrielle Zevin 7. North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell 8. The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss 9. How to be a Heroine by Samantha Ellis 10. The Time Inbetween by Nancy Tucker 11. Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga 12. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen 13. The Rabbit Back Literature Society  by Pasi Ilmari Jaaskelainen 14. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte 15. The French Lieutenant's Wom...

Once again it's hit that time of year that myself and (apparently) every single other student at the University of Lincoln flock the the hallowed halls of the Library. I got to the point when I was writing my essay earlier that I resorted to tweeting: Now, don't get me wrong, I am so very much enjoying my course. It's wonderful. Every day poses a new challenge and third year so far has been brilliant . I've had so many great opportunities and experiences that previously were not even on my horizon -- I am so so grateful. But... I could really do with a nap for a week. Third years seem collectively to be wandering around aimlessly like zombies. Slowly raising their hands in a sloppy waves, whilst struggling to form coherent sentences because words are difficult when you're this tired.  Last night, I came back from my lovely friend's flat at half midnight, charged until 1:45, fretted about university work until I eventually drifted off and before I k...

These past couple of days have been very poignant for me. I heard of the passing of Mike Sutton, who worked at Harrogate Library and showed me the ropes as a bright eyed and bushy tailed fifteen year old on work experience. That week's work experience introduced me to the Young Volunteer scheme which I was part of for about five years; I met so many great people through it, had some laughs and grew as a person. Not to mention that over the years Harrogate Library has been a big staple in my life: providing me with books, friends and a place where I did most of my revision back in my A Level years. Mike and I spoke now and then, in person and every now and then online. No matter how he was feeling, he always greeted me with a smile when I came into the library and asked how I was. I also am so very aware how much he meant to his colleagues, who will miss him incredibly. The past couple of days I've also been reading a beautiful and sweet little book called The Penguin Lesson...

Imagine a stage where the performer is so intimately exposed to us. She lies on the stage (very Abramovic) surrounded by the costumes which will make up her show. The performer is Louise Orwin and she is about to take us on a journey. Teenage girls around the world post videos of themselves online, asking viewers if they think they are pretty or ugly. Orwin took this idea and decided to see what would happen if she played the roles of three teenage girls online for a year. Most of the comments were negative, a majority of them from men. However, this show is not just about exposing misogyny or, indeed, paedophilia (she was posing as underage girl, and most of the genuine posters online are under the age of consent). Pretty Ugly is also about girls – about being a girl. About how we question, doubt, and construct ourselves. Imagine Moran’s How To Build a Girl on stage, with some shocking scenes. Orwin introduces not only to the characters of Baby, Becky and Amanda, but also th...

My lovely friend Bee  posted a blog post this evening of her happy things. Many people know I like to read, it's a thing I shout about on a daily (cough-hourly-cough) basis. But, I thought I'd trawl through the dusty recesses of my mind and list some things that make me happy. Maybe it'll be something I can come back to and cheer me up on a rainy day? Or maybe you, too, decide to mind-vomit some happy things. I like senselessly, carelessly writing what comes into my head. Let's do this. the smell when everything is cold and damp outside and there are leaves on the ground my dog's ears bookshop smell cosy blankets hot tea hot coffee evenings with my mum and dad and sister my cousin Harry's laugh laughing washing my hands in hot water standing under the shower with my face up heavy rain feeling breathless recalling a memory and getting a funny feeling in your tummy choosing books for people and them actually liking them feeling full up from a r...

Hundreds- thousands- millions of people on our planet live with invisible illness. Whether they suffer from a long term medical condition, chronic pain, or mental illness, invisible illness is tough because there's simply nothing to see. The amount of times of the last five years I've wanted a big sign above my head saying "I'm ill, please believe me"  is unreal. A woman, just this last 6 months called me out on taking up a space for my suitcase because I couldn't lift it onto the overhead rack on a crowded train. When I explained I had a bad back, she said she did too and that it was disgusting that I'd taken up a seat. I got off that train and cried; I'd been travelling three hours with around 20 books in my suitcase. I was in so much pain, and yet when I'd tried to explain (calmly and nicely) that I had a bad back, I was interrupted and disbelieved. Today was a big day for me. I went to the cinema with a friend, and for the first time, I was...

It's eight o'clock in the evening and I'm sitting here, three nights before I move out for my third year at university and what am I doing? I am panicking. (In a good way. Kind of.) These past few days I've been pouring over old photos because two of my young cousins hit milestones this past week: one started primary school, the other started secondary school. Now, I'm not being funny but when did I get so grown up ? I  should be the one starting school surely?! But no, I am alas beginning my final year of my degree. Don't get my wrong, I am excited; I'm so looking forward to living with the girls I'm sharing a flat with, meeting new people, being confident-sassy-sexy (the killer trio), spending time with my nearest and dearest, and (hopefully) (seriously, so much hope) kicking ass at my degree. I'm a final year english student which generally means me running around aimlessly with a book in front of my face saying stuff about words and hoping I ma...