Confessions of a Prickly Plant

History student and general lover of 'old things.'

The pieces that make up my life?

Smiley people, rainy walks on the beach, laughing, chocolate, surfing, being outside, listening to great musicians, reading, writing, languages, singing loudly, giraffes, old pretty things, the sound owls make, Gaeilge, broccoli, gramophones, the smell of hoof oil, travelling, whickery horse noises, sleeping outside, BSL, saddle soap, family, summer evening smell, photographs, funny people, Pink Lady apples, flying lanterns, melty tarmac, pebbly beaches, Suffolk, the colour green, horseshoes on concrete, grand pianos, bunting, winding staircases, Coca-Cola, rainstorms, the word 'gawp', sloe gin, cross country jumps, midnight walks, Ireland, ribbons, homeade lemonade, bumble bees, snowy silences, analogue cameras, the smell of new books, nonsense poems, bourbon biscuits, pine trees, beach huts, cinnamon, derelict buildings, art galleries, old fashioned street lamps, my friends, weak orange squash, new pyjamas, gypsy caravans, Innocent smoothies, cloudy mountains, swimming, Aldeburgh chips, ducks, pesto, not being on a boat and not being near a pig.

"I’m too busy to be lonely," declares "Granny" Eva Barnes Henderson, who at age 83 lives alone in a small, time-weathered house near the banks of the Buffalo River.
National Geographic - March, 1977

"I’m too busy to be lonely," declares "Granny" Eva Barnes Henderson, who at age 83 lives alone in a small, time-weathered house near the banks of the Buffalo River.

National Geographic - March, 1977

(Source: justenoughisplenty, via florencings)

Strangely enough, these days I quite look forward to Mondays. 

The start of the week means two days of lectures, meetings, and sitting in a warm library researching the little bits of History that I feel most passionate about. My dissertation this year is based on the portrayal of disabled people in nineteenth and early twentieth century children’s literature; I have the best excuse to read fierce and outspoken articles on disability rights and I can unashamedly curl up in a quiet corner and read some of the books I grew up reading. I also get to learn about people like the “Irish Giant” and the “Wild Boy” of Aveyron, alongside science demonstrations in the eighteenth century (think of the science competition in Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists) and how those episodes in History like colonialism affected the spread and communication of scientific knowledge. 

 I enjoy learning. 

I love studying science and medicine history. I still feel incredibly lucky to have found my ‘niche’ and I still feel incredibly lucky to have been able to study for an MA - an extra year not borne out of illness and failure, but out of having stumbled across what really floats my boat. 

So roll on tomorrow. Roll on my next assignments. 

I’m taking Monday back for myself.

Strangely enough, these days I quite look forward to Mondays.

The start of the week means two days of lectures, meetings, and sitting in a warm library researching the little bits of History that I feel most passionate about. My dissertation this year is based on the portrayal of disabled people in nineteenth and early twentieth century children’s literature; I have the best excuse to read fierce and outspoken articles on disability rights and I can unashamedly curl up in a quiet corner and read some of the books I grew up reading. I also get to learn about people like the “Irish Giant” and the “Wild Boy” of Aveyron, alongside science demonstrations in the eighteenth century (think of the science competition in Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists) and how those episodes in History like colonialism affected the spread and communication of scientific knowledge.

I enjoy learning.

I love studying science and medicine history. I still feel incredibly lucky to have found my ‘niche’ and I still feel incredibly lucky to have been able to study for an MA - an extra year not borne out of illness and failure, but out of having stumbled across what really floats my boat.

So roll on tomorrow. Roll on my next assignments.

I’m taking Monday back for myself.

(Source: witlovesyou, via coloredmondays)

Love Letter - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

This will probably be nothing like you have ever heard from Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds before, but it’s beautiful and it’s lovely and I think you should listen to it.

The video is stunning, as well. 

  • Not feminism: Oh my God, that woman is wearing make-up and high heels! She can't be a feminist. She's just adhering to the patriarchal expectations of femininity! What a traitor to her gender.
  • Not feminism: I hate men! Women are so much better than men! All men are rapists and we don't need their help! Men are just there to oppress us and keep us down! Women are the superior gender.
  • Not feminism: You're giving up your career to have a baby? You're being dictated to by a man! That's the wrong choice! You've slept with twenty men? Wow, way to show that you have no respect for yourself.
  • Feminism: Women and men are equal. No-one should be discriminated against on the basis of their gender. Women have the right to decide how to live their life, how to dress, what to do with their body and who to love.

My Poet Friend

It’s more than words on paper; two dimensional, black and white. He spins them into something solid and uses them as weapons, spiky shards of broken letters clutched tight in his fists, the perfect prickly sentence held at the back of the tongue until the time is right to spit it out like fire.

He’s a walking stereotype. Poor dress sense, negative outlook on life. Hipflask poking out of his trouser pocket. Intelligent but demotivated, tumbling from idealism to realism and back again. Sits at the window revelling in gloomy rain and the shiny trails dragging down the glass. Moleskine notebook. Burns, Plath, Yeats. Dusty books and the smell of wood polish; oak panelling; no sunlight.

I miss him.