Lover of The Smiths; Morrissey; The Courteeners; vinyl; my cats; my lovely nephew; Puffin Classics; the word ‘cube’; stationery; Foyles; ythe London Underground; the colours yellow, green, red and sky blue; daydreaming; the NME; flags; hot chocolate with whipped cream and mini marshmallows; Doc Martin; Sherlock; New Girl; Mighty Boosh; Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy; The Guardian; Charlie Brooker; 4 O'Clock Club; organising my stuff on the desk before exams; Geography; notebooks; the Northern Quarter in Manchester; French and France; Newcastle United; stylised ampersands (&); the RAF; that feeling you get on a Friday when you're listening to ‘Walking On Sunshine’ and you're going to your friend's house; the noise a tram makes and Nerimon (AKA Alex Day).
Mum: What goes ha ha bonk? An apple falling out of a tree. Me: Why's it laughing? Mum: Because it proved Newton's theory yet again
The Record Store Libs Fan fic "Latte, please." I went and sat down on my favourite table- it faced the window out onto the record store. After a little while, I saw them. They were walking together, arms linked. I presumed they were gay, but they weren’t Canal Street regulars- there was definitely something more about them. I vaguely recognised their faces. I watched them. The taller was looking away, blushing, while the shorter playfully headbutted his shoulder. He did this for about 30 yards before the taller stopped, grabbed the shorter by the forearms, pulled him into him and kissed him. Proper passionately kissed him, tongues and everything; number 6. Finally he pulled away and the shorter just grinned. I watched them walk on, hand in hand into the record store. I smiled to myself. I took out the record and re-examined the inner sleeve. On the other side was some pictures I hadn’t noticed before. I frowned. No. It couldn’t be! But it was. The two men I’d just seen were Pete Doherty and Carl Barât. "Figures," I murmured, and sipped my latte.
On French Terms Of Endearment Is it just me or is 'ma loutre' (my otter) the cutest thing to call someone ever?
Miss Hall: And what do you want to be doing in ten years? Louis: I wanna be the second-richest person in the world. Miss Hall: Why not the first-richest? Louis: Well, you told us to be realistic. What can I say?
Vignette No. 1 The lighter flickers for a moment before a strong flame lights his pipe. He breathes out the smoke and his hand stops shaking. Below the window he hears a loud, bawdy laugh followed by a quieter chuckle in a lower voice. It'll be a girlfriend, he thinks, of…well, if that isn't Joe Dunn! He swivels in his chair to face the window and his heart swells with pride as he sees him, the handsome young man- barely twenty!- in his No. 1s. He peers at his shoulder to see his rank. Ah, yes! Flying Officer. Always was a cut above the rest- but never obnoxious with it, like that Carter lad was. All the others were Pilot Officers: exceptional, but not like Joe and his lot. He could remember the day, even now. His wife, his brother (John already being a Lieutenant-Commander in the Navy)- and him, happy-as-Larry– that's what John said. He missed John. He missed a lot of people. That was the drawback of a #life in the military. And that was why he watched every passing-out parade, every August, with some sadness. A third of those bright-eyed, proud young officers would die.
