I’ve just returned from a short trip to Cornwall, a county in the south west of the United Kingdom. Cornwall is renowned for its breathtaking coastline, blond beaches, and picturesque towns and villages. I flipping loved it.
The lure of the tragic, charismatic star is hard to beat, at least for me. I’ve been reading lots of books about dead celebrities; the kinds of people who made quite the impression in their lifetimes and have become all the more fascinating in (tragic) death.
When I find new music that really appeals to me, I always ask myself, “Would it fit my selection for Desert Island Discs?” It’s been an incredibly difficult exercise to whittle down my favourite music to just eight tracks but I’ve given it a bash.
Never again shall I sweat over bibliography formats and citations, or suffer eyestrain that felt like someone was tightening a rope around my forehead. Never again shall I sit on Amazon for hours on end, attempting to source the cheapest reference books, swearing profusely at the cost of postage and packing.
Doug and I stayed in a Beethoven themed apartment in Vienna, featuring an ominous Beethoven plaster bust, no less than five framed Beethoven portraits, and a whopper biography of Beethoven.
I’m a person who gets a kick out of being ever-so-slightly frightened, and is interested in unusual, strange experiences. I booked tickets for me and my friend Kam to visit the McKittrick Hotel in Chelsea, NYC for ‘Sleep No More’, an immersive theatre show produced by Punchdrunk Theatre. It was sensational.
There aren’t very many literary books with positive female friendships as a primary narrative. I had to scour the internet to piece together a reading list, and once I’d gathered all of the books, I really had mixed feelings about those books I’d sourced and went on to read.