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Thursday 31 December 2020

The Toilet Roll Archives (22) Back to the Beginning..."Happy New Tier!"

Back in June, two things happened on the same day. I saw a woman throw a basket of shopping at a shop assistant’s head in refusal to put on a mask, screaming it was all a fat conspiracy and a way of the Government controlling everyone. It was also the same day I found out that our neighbour’s sister had died, officially leaving her the “last one in the family,” she tearfully told me at her front door. It was a nasty day – but probably quite tame, run-of-the-mill, given the nature of this year. For so many, by June, it has been around four months of pause, punishment, loss and suffering. And though none of the bad stuff I saw and heard that day directly affected me, it still felt like a hard day. I think, really, it just felt hard to imagine 2020 providing anything in the way of positive signs as to where we might be going.

2020 might have been the heaviest year of my life so far, but I think it was the kick up the arse I desperately needed. It’s been full of change, loss, quickly finding and adapting to a New Normal…which actually isn’t so normal after all. So, I guess it’s also been a year of redefinition, of trial and error, of guessing games. It’s also been a year of mass confusion and grief. 



People are wishing for 2021 but, in all honesty, I don’t think 2020 will end until I officially shoot whatever dosage I need of whatever vaccine I’m given into whichever arm I need to hold out (honestly, just post it through my front door, I'll do it myself!) Not to be a downer, because I’m all for a bit of optimism at the best of times, but I highly doubt 2021 will be much better. 2021 won’t change our lives in the way people seem to be expecting it to, until we are willing to sit down and recognise how and why 2020 has changed us for the better.

Which sounds ridiculous, really. So many of us want to wipe the slate clean and erase the 2020 whiteboard permanently, repaint over the walls, cover up the mess, all that stuff – which sounds nice, but kind of impossible, because how can we make things better if we are so easy to dismiss the shit this past year has brought? Disregarding 2020 is disregarding the people it has forced us to become, which is cheesy and bleurgh but also very true. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think it’s very fair to do us dirty like that. Seems a bit harsh.

I’ve heard so much about 2021 making everything right again. Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. We all hope for a better tomorrow at some point and, don’t get me wrong, focusing on the future isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But it becomes a danger when we treat it as some sort of barrier from reflection.

So yeah, I never wanted this version of 2020. I never asked for it. Nor would I ask for a repeat. But it was most certainly the year I needed. I cannot be selective about the experiences and stuff that have shaped the year, and in turn, shaped me.

2020 has meant a lot of different things for me. It has meant security. It has meant progression and development. It meant lots of green tea. It meant enjoying a lot of time alone. It has meant a lot of time full stop. It has also meant anything but a highlight reel lol. It’s meant boundaries. It’s meant a lot of loss, and a lot of terrifying near-loss. It’s meant a lot of missed weddings, funerals and birthdays. It’s been a whole lot of moments where I’ve had to move forward without fully understanding how and why. If I’ve learned to do anything, it’s how to completely go with the flow. Taking every day as it comes. Because why think too far ahead? Things change on the daily nowadays!

It was these moments, though frustrating, which have been wrapped in this essence of transformation, of this fluidity which is as powerful as it is graceful. It wraps itself around obstacles and continues to move in this gentle strength. I've realised that some of the best moments of my life have been disguised in routine, in the supposed mundane, in the security and safety of everyday. I've realised that life is a lot less about perfection and a whole lot more about getting up and doing it anyway. I've realised that I wouldn't know any of these things without 2020.

Call 2020 whatever you want. Call it terrible or awful or the worst of all-time; it has been for so many people. That's fine. Let yourself feel what you're supposed to feel. Don't feel like you can't be upset because someone else has had it worse than you. Feel as much as you need to feel. But 2020 has hardly been a wasted year, at least for me, despite the fact that we seem to be in a worse off place as a country (but let's not do that rn.) I think there’s been a thawing of some kind. Gears are grinding in their own weird way, resulting small personal victories that are worth celebrating. 

2020 has been pivotal. It's taught me what has really mattered and I like to think I'm a whole lot more patient, resilient and thoughtful because of it. 

So, in the most bizarre (slightly sour but whatevs) way, thank you 2020. Happy New Tier*, everyone. 


*creds, Benjamin, that really made me laugh :)   

 

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Saturday 26 December 2020

The Toilet Roll Archives (21): 20 Things We’ve All Said to Our Mates in 2020

Wonder how many times I can say it, but 2020 has been A Bit of A Year. With the whole global pandemic, Brexit on the horizon, world slowly shutting down sort of thing, I’ve been spending a lot more time indoors. I’m probably more familiar with the cast of House of Cards than I am with my own birth-giver, these days (though no one is more excited about me being stuck up in Manny for Xmas, away from Tier 4, than Fiona – “this is the best Christmas EVER! You’re stuck with me! You can't go back!”)

I mean, my lazy day of choice is usually me dragging someone out for a Big Walk, followed by me hosting one of my infamous Cleaning Parties to the sounds of Shania/Chris/Dolly/whatever Netflix series I’m watching. Being forced to stay lazy, however, was a pain in the arse at first.

Remember Lockdown 1.0? How hard it was to stay inside? How our bubbles were intensely limited? 

Here are 20 things we’ve** (**lol ok sometimes I've) deffo said to by best friends this year.



1)      “2020 was supposed to be my year.”

We’re entering 2021 quietly, people. We’re not making a big deal. We’re going to slip in, fingers crossed, hoping for the best, letting 2020 end and 2021 come in peace without any expectations. However, I’m also partially minded to admit that I’m happy to let 2020 continue until I pump my arm with the vaccine, and let 2021 begin then and only then.


2)      “No, I’ve seen that.”

The truth is, I’ve seen it twice. The other truth is that you probably didn’t even like the show, you just didn’t have any other options left because everything worth watching has already been watched.

 

3)      “Tiger King was shite.”

Carol Baskin for sure killed-her-husband-whacked-him, and her flower crown and leopard print combos are the height of fashion for me, but, really, Tiger King wasn’t great. It’s ok, we can all admit it now. I think we were all just going through it at that point. It’s ok. We can let it go.

 

4)      “Is a ten year age gap even that big a deal?”

Love is Blind, on the other hand, was worth every second of everyone’s time. Cameron and Lauren’s ten year age gap controversy was the height of the group chat. Add some Tinder fun in there (mate (you know who you are!), who is 26 and called Barry!?!?!?!?!), and you’ve got yourself a Checkmate.

 

5)      “Social Distancing. Please don’t touch me.”

For someone like me, who cannot stand being touched*, this has been a blessing.

*lol, sorry, another tangent here. I didn’t know this story until my Mam brought it up recently: apparently, when I was about eight, I sat my parents down on the sofa, stood in front of them, and politely (but v seriously) asked if they could no longer hug/pet me because “I don’t like being touched.” This was around the time I was begging to be, in my own words, “gotten rid of” and sent away to boarding school, resulting in my Mam thinking she didn’t love me enough. Now I’m stuck here and she can’t get enough. Sick.

 

6)     “I haven’t worn real clothes since March.”

Clothes are a distant memory since the world shut down overnight. Am I mad about it? No. 


7)      “You’re on mute.”

When they make a film about this, this needs to be its title. I will die on this hill.

 

8)      “Right, I’m going to take the bins out!”

When Covid hit our flat thanks to the wonderful world-leading T&T system which delivered our result 5 days late (not forgotten about that, Matty/Bojo), once every few days, myself and my other uninfected flatmate would take it turns to take the bins out to the chute. Mask-donned, obviously, and not passing anyone else on the block. Those 2 minute trips to the bin were what we looked forward to the most; we’d literally schedule our day around it.

 

9)      “This won’t last long, will it?”

When things kicked off back in March, no one really knew what to expect. Measures were deemed temporary. It all felt a bit like a story. And then people I knew started dying and it got very scary very quickly.

 

10)   “Why do I even have dating apps in a pandemic?”

The amount of people using dating apps soared during lockdown…I mean, I suppose it was someone to talk to, other than your household.

 

11)   “I am never turning down a night out ever again. I’ll clean the club. I’ll cash up with the staff. I’m never going home early.”

I just want to be able to choose to decline, rather than be restricted from going in the first place.

 

12)   “Shit, forgot my mask!”

I will never, ever, ever not wear a mask on public transport ever again. Cannae believe I used to let people breathe on me? Rank.

PS: if you’re still refusing to wear a mask, I would just like a chat. I’m still a bit confused!

 

13)   “I’m so mad Covid cancelled *fill in blank*.”

From concerts to birthday parties to weddings, Covid really had fun swooping in and cancelling what should have been a pretty busy year for me. FFS.

 

14)   “Why can’t people just follow the rules?”

Ok, if you’re still meeting up with people outside your immediate group illegally and have swanned off abroad simply because you’re “technically allowed”, I cannae be arsed with you and your small-minded little attitude. You think it’s “my right?” You need to “just get away from it all?” You think “we can’t just stop living?” Guess what babes, yes, you can. It’s a pandemic. You literally do not matter. Your holidays do not matter. You are not that important. You’re a speck of dust. Get over yourself. You’re irrelevant in the grand scheme of things and are personally responsible for the spread of a virus that has caused some serious damage. Play your part, keep your head down, and funnily enough, you might see numbers reduce. Check yourself, because I’d like to get out of my house and go meet my friends for dinner before I’m 30. Ta. Rant over.

 

15)   “My makeup/clothes spending has reduced massively.”

Not going anywhere = not having to look remotely presentable. And my web camera is kind of grainy so I can ease off the hair washing.

 

16)   “These people are clearly not from the same household.”

But we won’t say anything because we’re British. But you better believe we’ll give them dirty looks and roll our eyes. *I’ve also taken to passive-aggressively fake coughing because I like watching people silently panic.

 

17)   “I miss you.”

Even the introverts felt it.

 

18)   “I don’t eat meals anymore, I just graze all day.”

A whole mood.

 

19)   “Is it too early to decorate for Christmas?”

I received this text at the end of October. Decidedly yes. Spiritually no. We decked the halls of Alderney the final week of November and, to tell you the truth, it really brightened up the dullness of Lockdown in Winter.

 

20)   “I’m bored.”

But do we want to facetime? Absolutely not.

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Sunday 29 November 2020

The Toilet Roll Archives (20): Rocking Around the PPE

Hello again!

I finished all my uni work for the weekend and had a minute of free time (I know, monumental!) so I figured I’d whip out one of these bad bois since I'm feeling merry and bright. ‘S been a while. How’s things?

So we’ve put up our Christmas Tree and collectively, as a QuaranTEAM, have decided to extend the Covid drama to our nordic pines and are "Rocking Around The PPE." 

Not real PPE, just FYI! We had some spare surgical masks lying around, and have garnished our tree with those, along with some rubber gloves, toilet roll and antibac wipes. Finishing touch are some lights and a Yellow Marigold Claw-Star.




It’s the final day of November as I’m writing this, and I, like so many others, cannot believe it’s almost the end of another year. I know the 1920s didn’t end all too well, really, but at least they got off to a Roaring start. Seems we’ve just skipped the Roaring and gone straight into Depression but let’s not get into all that (especially since I’m typing this whilst watching Queen-of-Country-Vaccine-Researcher-All-Round-Messiah Dolly Parton’s new Christmas film, featuring Christine Baranski aka me in 45 years’ time!)

I’m a massive fan of winter. I like the cold. When I wake up early, I can watch the soft dew melt itself away from my window, the drops bouncing off in time with the wind. I think it makes waking up easier. The air has that crisp harshness that takes your breath away, shocking you out of the sleepy daze that clouds your early morning. Isn’t it weird how knocking the air out of a tired body instills more life in it? It’s not like the little fan I had to buy for my room this summer on account of The Heatwave. That cool artificial breeze doesn’t feel the same in the thick heat of the Summer, especially when stuck inside in a Very Small and Very Warm Box. The crispy winter air is weightless. The big windows at the back of the living room spread their arms wide, and when I hang out of them, the grey knitted cushions hang so low, it’s like I could prod them.

I see squirrels jump across sparse branches of the trees in the back, birds pecking at the rotting winter vegetables that have fallen out of the bins the night before. Winter is like a breezy whisper; lightweight and close and very real. Everything is just that little bit colder inside too, even in this sauna of a flat. The couch is slightly cold at first touch; you need to nestle into the soft fibres of the fabric just that little bit more to warm up. The fruity, summery teas in the cupboard are pushed to the back, replaced with the spicier scents of cinamon and warm apple. Pictures and walls have little lights like stars balanced precariously against them because renters can’t (afford to) be denters xoxo

I always feel a whole lot closer to the world this time of the year. I don’t know if it’s because I have to pay more attention to where I step in the darkness of the afternoon, or because I bring the outside inside with a pine tree that smells good but feels gross. Maybe somewhere in the middle.

The cold signifies the ending to another year. Plants are dying (not my (bam)Boo though, she’s thriving!) Trees are sparse. The colours of the summer fade and wilt into the soft muddy browns that don’t sound all too good, but they make me feel more alive than ever.



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Sunday 18 October 2020

The Toilet Roll Archives (19): Isn't It Ironic?

I've spent the past month feeling super guilty about my lack of uploads on here but, here we are: back again!  

In the most Kerry of fashions, less than 24 hours after posting a blog on the importance of staying positive in these weird af times, I’m bringing back some good, old-fashioned pessimism because I'm angry. 

Why? Because one of my flatmates has got Covid and the three of us now need to isolate. I want to quickly state that I am not angry at my flatmate. This is not his fault at all. Obviously, we don’t blame him; we’ve made that very clear! 

It’s the fact we were waiting five days for a result to confirm his diagnosis. Five days. Yep: f-i-v-e. Cinco. Cinq. A cúig.

Not that I really needed any more evidence to prove how incoherently incapable this preposterous shambolic mess of a so-called “Government” (aka Dom & Co.) truly is (throwback to that good ol’ Red Wall back in December!), but this just hit the nail on the head for me. Five whole days to receive confirmation of a positive or negative test result. That’s a joke. 

I’ve done my best to remain apolitical on here throughout the Covid saga, but, honestly, this is the final straw for me. Actually, that’s a lie. The final straw was the official Downing St. statement (minus big man Bojo) made late last week, shirking the responsibility of feeding the nation’s poorest, most vulnerable children – not that I expected anything less, tbh, but we move. xo

I've decided I'm going to vent in this one post because I've remained tight lipped for a while now, and I think I'm going to burst. I think you can probably gage where I stand on this whole thing, unless you're new round here (hi! welcome! I promise I'm not always like this!) But I'm not going to rant. I think as great (and as necessary) as it feels in the moment, it's the most unproductive way to air any sort of frustration. 

I don’t think it is too bold a statement to declare that effective ‘testing and tracing’ is underpinned by fast action, swift diagnosis and clear protocols and measures. And Britian’s “world-beating” (*gag) response does absolutely none of the kind. Five days? A joke. 

Not that it completely ruins my schedule or plans or whatever. I mean, I hit record time on a 10k this week so I’m kind of gutted I won’t be able to try and beat it over the next 14 days but, aside from that, my daily routine hasn’t been affected by the text I received earlier today declaring that I needed to self-isolate. Mate, maybe coz I knew it five days ago!??????!!!!????!!!!!!

This past week has been like one giant game of "What Time is it Mr Wolf?" (lol What Time Is It Mr Johnson!?) in my flat. We've been creeping around on tiptoe, gently edging forwards in the direction of the powers at be, without a clue whether they'll turn around and bite us with the accusatory defensiveness the party in power only seems capable of doing. Even my flatmate said to me today: "I've literally been made to feel like I've deliberately sought out getting this virus!"

Right: the Government faces all the consequences of locking down, but alternatively faces all the consequences of not locking down. I get it. I don't envy any political figurehead at this point. But for a "world-beating" test system that takes five days to deliver a result, Mr Cummings & Co. are acting a bit too confident for my liking. They might be the Wolf who controls the time, but can they see much beyond the clock? Doesn't look like it, from my end. Might be time to check your sight again with a three hundred mile road trip to test (and not trace) it, again, Dom. I heard Durham's nice in Autumn? 

This Government has failed. They have failed our national (un)health(y) service. They have failed thousands of businesses. They've failed thousands of young people, especially those in the 21-29 age bracket. Trying to study and work a job (lest find one) in the midst of this mess, then getting blamed for eating out to help out isn't fun, especially when I've noticed that they're mainly the ones waiting tables, working the bar, and cashing up behind tills, serving older people who throw hissy fits about their right not to wear a mask in public places. I mean, a couple of months back I saw a woman (probably my mother's age) throw a literal basket of shopping at a shop assistant's head in Sainsburys, after he politely asked her to put on her mask. But, hey, just an observation. Lol. Blame the youth, right? 

But don't worry, guys, it won't be the youth for long. It'll be care home staff again soon. And then the seasonal workers from the EU - perfect timing for that brand new points-based immigration policy, right Priti? Talk about killing two birds with one stone!

You see what I'm getting at? All these people to blame, to focus on what they're doing...overshadowing all the things that the men in charge are not doing. Not testing in airports. Not supporting the self-employed fully. Not delivering the Brexit they promised 'leave' voters in 2016, 2019, and 2020. Going at it alone doesn't sound as good when there's a virus circulating, right Mr Johnson, Gove, Frost et al? But, yeah, continue to blame the idleness of the EU. You're also more than welcome to come and hide in my fridge, Boris - we've got four empty shelves since we didn't know whether we could leave the house to buy food for five whole days. We gotchu xo

When law is optional and a disease is doing better than the economy, all I’m going to say is this: stock up on your pasta and get your toilet roll ready because, at the risk of sounding dramatic, I smell a Lockdown 2.0 that won’t be so easy to bounce back from.

Tightening on the reigns of that Brexiteer sovereign invincibility that won them elections and referendums, the party that sit in the saddle of power is no longer a Government. When the masses ignore your instructions, you're not a Government anymore. Then again, they never have been really, not in my eyes. They’re a failed state. They’re a delusional cult of navy blue without a leg to stand on, since the economy crutch they cared so much about three months ago is splintering (again.) But we aren’t ready for that conversation yet.

5 days for a test result. 74 days til we leave the EU. "What time is it Mr Johnson?" Time to get a watch, by the looks of it. 

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Saturday 17 October 2020

The Covid Checkup 3 - 19 Reasons Why

Well hello there friends.

How has it been almost a month since I last updated this ol’ thing? Remember when it used to be twice a week? And I oop –


Lockdown restrictions are well underway (again) but rather than shed tears over tiers (bcos ‘No Tiers* Left To Cry’) I’m going to go ahead and give you a Covid Check Up 3 – because this pandemic is NOT over just because you want it to be.

Let's be real: Rona isn't all fun and games these days. She’s ruined so many events, she’s cancelled so many plans; not to mention not being able to hug my immunocompromised loved ones is fucking gutting. One thing that she’s done, however, is made me appreciate those shining lil golden nuggets of hope and positivity and optimism all the more. Pandemics have that effect, don't they? Shines a spotlight on the good stuff when everything else is just that bit more doom and gloom.

I reached out to a few people and asked them if they had anything they wanted to share (anonymously) to brighten things up a bit. It's getting a bit colder and darker, and with Covid restrictions levelling up, a lot of us are certainly going to be feeling the effects. So here we are; 19 reasons to celebrate the good stuff that Covid-19 brought around:

1)      I got a job in the industry I’ve studied for. (proud bestie, you incredible Online-Fashion-Graphic-Designer-Slash-Stylist)

2)      We adopted a puppy!

3)      I graduated and now I’m a paediatric children’s nurse. (again, a proud bestie!)

4)      I’ve become a lot calmer. I think it’s because I took up yoga. (mood xo)

5)      Less traffic.

6)      I genuinely think I can handle anything now. Those challenges at the beginning were a nightmare – my kids at home, trying to do online school with them, working full-time too. I’ll call it An Experience. (honestly do not envy you!)

7)      We rescued our cats! (I've 'adopted' the one across the road; I call him Mouse!)

8)      We’ve decided we’re saving up for a house. We both work in London and were gonna rent a place but we’ve decided we’ll wait it out and save for a place. Talk about growing up :/ 

9)      I’m speaking to people more than ever, which I suppose is kind of ironic.

10)   More time to appreciate the little things.

11)   Staycation 2020 was amazing, ngl. Explored more of the UK than I probably ever would have done minus a pandemic ps Scottish Highlands are wonderful.

12)   I started uni and, even though we’ve had to quarantine, I know I’ve made friends for life with my flat. There’s 10 of us so it’s pretty wild.

13)   I moved out – hallelujah! (love that staying inside wih your family 24/7 was the driving force behind this!)

14)   I’ve started my own business - which is scary but, hey, so's a pandemic!

15)   Tik tok – can I say that? (erm, yes!)

16)   I’m reading more.

17)   I moved out of the city and back in with my mum and, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

18)   I can cook, but, like, properly now! (we progressed beyond eggs, yeah?)

19)   I’ve picked up the guitar again; not saying I’m good but I’m certainly better than I was 3 months ago hahaha!

 

PS: 7 months to the day since I began working from home xoxox Happy Anniversary xoxoxo we love starting new jobs on the brink of a sweeping pandemic xoxoxo

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Friday 18 September 2020

POV - ur my bank account *cries in coin*

Bonjour!

In another episode of 'I Shit You Not,' I've decided I'm not busy enough being a 'Kerr'tastrophe as it is (creds @Sandra Holt) and am 'going home' (to a degree, I suppose - haha PUNS!) to do my Masters through Manchester Uni. 

Going home with an emphasis on 'to a degree' because I'm studying it online and part time because even I'm not stupid enough to do a full time MA with a full time job. So, looks like I'll still be in Landahn for the foreseeable future lolol (POV ur my bank account *cries in coin*). Jk, I love this city and I don't think I'll ever be done with it entirely, but, as always, Manny Repre-SENT xoxo

I always knew I'd be going back to get my MA sometime after I graduated in 2019. I love learning and making a complete fool of myself by trying to articulate stuff that I can barely understand. I was always going to study for my MA...even if I already have one in my surname...it was just a question of what I was going to do, and when I was going to do it.

Looking back, not jumping straight into an MA after third year was, hands down, the best decision I ever could have made. It gave me time to sort my life out a bit - esp with Corona. Nothing like being forced to stay inside to save your immunocompromised mate's life to make you stop and weigh up your options. I'm all for jumping headfirst into something but as the world came to a gradual standstill, so did I, to an extent. It made me realise that there's no real rush and understand that the sense of urgency and immediacy that I built my entire character on wasn't exactly a personality trait; it was a privilege. And, weirdly enough, accepting that I had to slow down helped me make this decision faster than I thought I could. Just call me Alanis Morissette, bcos "isn't it ironic? Don't you think?" 

I had had my toes dipped in too many different ponds and fingers in too many pies for far too long and, finally, I found my feet in the field I never thought I could worm my way into, figured things out as much as you can try to do when you're 22, and now I'm heading back to do what I love most (browsing through ASOS with a sweet student discount with a few tabs of Microsoft auto-recovered draft essay paragraphs open!) "Someboday come geeeet uurrr, she gon' be ay mayster!" - fingers crossed, anyway! 

I found the particular course earlier this year. I read the spec, fell in love, wrote a personal statement almost immediately and loaded it up to my application portal, but I never hit 'send' because, tbh, I didn't think I was capable or good enough or experienced enough in the field and all that stuff (I know I know she's a humble queen too, it's amazing xo). But it played on my mind for a good couple of months. It was my amazing newly-employed-graduate-graphic-fashion-designer-friend Benjamin who eventually convinced me to send it off. I received an email back a few weeks ago to confirm my offer and I'm over the moon! 

So for the next couple of years, I'm prepared to sacrifice my social life, sleep, and any other free time I may have for the sake of working towards getting another fancy piece of paper to prove how much I adore my job and what it is I'm doing and what I hope to do more long term. And I know it's gonna be tough but I want to do it so badly and I'm pretty sure that's half the battle. Plus, in the words of Graphic Fashion Designer Ben Holt, I'm "Kerry Fucking Maxwell." I can do anything 💪💁 (she says hesitantly.) 

What it most certainly means, though, is that any free time I already have is gonna be stretched to the max. So that probably means no more weekly/bi-weekly posts on here for a while but I'll do my best to show my face as often as I can - even if it is just me moaning on about something pointless or letting you in on some more I Got Locked Out stories (because, let's be honest, it's probs going to happen again!) If not that, then something else - I mean, a couple of weeks ago I managed to fall onto the lap of the only other human in the tube carriage xoxo rip me xoxo gone but never forgotten xoxo


So, yeah, your favourite 'Kerr'tastrophe is going to be fumbling her way through her twenties with even more on her plate - and I'm so excited for it. Life's boring only juggling a million things, anyway. Why not make it a million and one? 

All the love (as always) xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

yes that is a pen behind my ear no I don't know why xoxo
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Tuesday 1 September 2020

Pulling Words Out of Your Fingers?

My dad thinks he's really funny (side note - he's not). In the most stereotypical paternal way, he tries to joke around by speaking in rhyme half the time (lol that was most certainly not intentional but am v impressed w myself!) 

I'm not slating my dad's sense of humour for a laugh by the way. I promise there's a reason behind it!

We're approaching his 51st birthday I know for a fact that no gift will top what we gave him 12 months ago. Last year, for the big 5-0, my siblings and I decided we’d do something hilarious and creative in honour of his long-time/poor-rhyme jokes. We're hardly a sentimental trio at the best of times so we really outdid ourselves. Basically, we compiled our favourite memories and stories and stuff then, on the Friday before his big day (the Sunday), I wrote a wee something for his gift. I say ‘wee something’ – who else has a whole anthology dedicated to their paternal existence? 

They're alright xoxo

50 poems for 50 years; it sounded like a grand idea at the time. In practice, it was probably the hardest thing I have ever written; emotionally, technically, whatever. I’m by no means a poet; I don’t read poetry, I don’t like it very much (sorry to every woman out there who read Rupi Kaur.) And trying to articulate all these stories down on paper in structure and pattern and rhyme was no easy feat. It took me, I remember, eight and a half hours all in all. I wrote it in Knock Airport’s bar after catching an early morning flight from Stansted, waiting for my family to arrive from Manny that evening.

I told Dad I was waiting for a lift from him and he must have thought I was crazy initially; I could have just caught a bus or rang some family and made my way into Westport easily enough but I don’t remember him questioning it too much at the time. What he did question, however, on Sunday afternoon after we gave him this book filled with rhyming stories waxing lyrical about how great he is was “how the fuck [we] did that?”

Ironically enough, explaining stories and words is the hardest thing for me to articulate. I don’t know about others but I never go into a Word document with a plan. I’ve always hated it – from essays to blog posts to Dad’s birthday anthology. It’s all well and good to go into a blank page with an outline or a plan of what we want to happen; we think we can create some sort of order and structure and have the whole thing figured out, but sometimes I think that words just need to tell themselves. Sometimes, sentences just take on a mind of their own and stories grow legs and arms and a spine and walk off in a direction you never intended. And it’s cool. Often it ends up being the best part of what you’re writing.  

It’s kind of like everything else in the world. Faith and patience are pretty much standard requirements when it comes to the everyday. Unsuccessfully pulling words out of your fingertips and onto your piece of paper has been a great lesson, in that respect; there are some things you just can’t force.

That’s how that anthology initially started. I pulled open a document and ended up distracted and frustrated because time was ticking and pressure was mounting and I had to finish it (Lol start it!) but, instead, I’d open up my laptop only to stare at a blank page for hours. Funny. That's how this blog post started too. Some things don't change, do they!?

Weeks turned into days and before I knew it, it was the 12th September and I had approximately 3 words written - "Happy Birthday, Dad." But when I was sat at a sticky table in the middle of an airport the size of a supermarket car park on the edge of a cliff, the words came. All 10,000 of them. And I know there is nothing like the pressure of a non-negotiable deadline and running the risk of ruining your father’s 50th birthday to spur you onwards, but faith and patience were truly the driving force behind how we wrote it. You have to be patient enough to let go and take a step back. You have to have faith that the words might not be there right now, but they will be eventually. And sometimes there are none. And that’s ok too. Some things aren’t meant to be written, I suppose. They’d write themselves if they were.

Maybe it was the whiff of Guinness combined with jet fuel and a lack of sleep (this is peak accidental-freelancing-loving-life-time) which allowed the flood gates to open. Words poured onto the page and, in less than a day, 50 poems for 50 years were written and all that time spent on false starts and procrastinating and struggling was made up for.

Writing stuff challenges every belief I’ve ever had and, if you’re a human who has had to pick up a pen or type something out, you’ve probably thought the same thing. Maybe on a far less dramatic level bcos I think I'm getting carried away here but you (hopefully) get the vibe. Whether it’s for work or fun or school or whatever it is your working on, I can guarantee you’ve snapped your laptop shut and asked (probs out loud) who gave you permission to use words. Because it’s hard sometimes. Sometimes I wonder whether my stories are even worth telling because what’s so important about me and what I think and feel and whatever.

But at the heart of the matter, the world needs stories in whichever way we choose to tell them. I’m sure I’ve written that sentence before on here somewhere (or something eerily similar). But it’s true. Stories are what make us human. They're how we bond and connect and develop both as individuals and together. It’s where we find inspiration and learn from the world around us, listening to people we may never truly know beyond words on a page or in our ear or on a screen because we find out that our stories aren’t all that different.Behind The Scenes With An HS Survivor Our outcomes may be different and there might be a completely different set of characters and obstacles and stuff but at the end of the day, we are all just trying to get to that next page, innit.

Lol. Wow. Idek where that came from. Doubt it even made sense, really. See? Sometimes words just write themselves. Ps: this is my reminder to begin proofreading my work (no matter how much u try and deny it Kerry, they aren't Mona Lisas, they're poorly written and illogical words, fix the grammar!) 

And the weirdest part of the whole thing (as if it can’t get any weirder Kerry xoxo) is the end of a sentence. Like, a full stop has the option of opening up a brand new sentence or page or chapter. It can move onto something entirely different. We can pick up right where we left off. Or it can come, I suppose to a complete ‘full stop,’ in the most literal of sentences. The end.

And it’s when you write those two elusive words or you conclude your essay in a tight wordcount or a blog post just come to a natural conclusion that you realise that you’ve created something tangible that will live in the universe for as long as that story or essay or post will exist. Pretty sick, innit. Far better than the saying “you’re the author of your own life story” – which makes me gag every time I hear it because a) 'hear' as I would never say it myself unironically and b) it is so cheesy and disgustingly cringe bcos it's dramatic af but also true and that's a lot to handle at 9pm on a Tuesday. Because even though it’s true and you’re the master of fate and shite, what do you have to show for it beyond yourself? You don't exist forever. You're here and then you're gone. But what aren't gone are your stories. They last forever. Words last forever. On paper, on a screen, in speech, whatever you do with them and however you present them, they're all in your control. They leave something beyond you. Which is kind of frightening but also unbelievable because the lasting power words have and the legacy they leave and the cultures they create are immeasurable beyond belief.

So, to answer Dad's question almost a year later in a far more honest, explanatory way than a simple, awkward laugh: how do we do it? Dunno rlly. Just happens sometimes. Words always write themselves eventually, if they're meant to be written. They won't always be ground-breaking or revolutionary or, in the case of your anthology, poetic masterpieces but they tell the story they need to tell in the time they want to tell it. 

And with that full stop, seems like we've fallen into a natural conclusion. I'll stop now :). xoxo

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Wednesday 26 August 2020

"What Potato Side Dish Are You?" An Ode To Flatmates and Personality Tests

Since my last post was extraordinarily deep and feelings-y and all the stuff I pretend not to be at the best of times, I thought I’d lighten things up with something a bit more interesting.

In case you didn’t know, I lived with the wonderful Millie Pritchard for a total of two years. Minus the fact that we were university students with no Wifi at home for nearly two months and also didn’t have running water throughout the winter of 2017 (good times), they were probably two of the best years of my life. I wish I could be perched on the end of your single bed with Han and Rach with your Rose Quartz lit up and planning (another) Italy trip. I miss getting ready to go out then sitting and talking in the kitchen till it was too late to go. I wish we could be sat on the sofa together, panic-typing essays with an hour on the clock, stressfully watching Mamma Mia and taking it in turns to scream out loud about (trigger warning) Renaissance Literary Culture.  

K, cool, promise I’m not crying. This wasn’t meant to be emotional, I swear down. I'm not even listening to Meryl Streep's rendition of The Winner Takes it All as I write this. Clearly I feel nothing towards you (jk I miss the Mamma to my Mia xoxo).

Moving swiftly on, the reason why I’m ever-so-dramatically referring back to Mills is because of a recent phone call, over which we both took the Myers Briggs personality test – pretending we hadn’t taken it, like, 9232423 times before! 

I think, somewhere between The Hot Water Saga and Deadline Szn, personality quizzes became mine and Millie's drug. Actually, I 100% blame Millie for our addiction and I know she’ll hold her hands up and take full responsibility because her catchphrase pretty much is “…so I took this Buzzfeed quiz and…” At one point, we weren't sending each other actual texts. The 'Flat Chat' was literally just composited of links to different online personality tests. 

So, yeah, cheers Mills. "Thanks a lot [Millie], thanks a lot!!!!!" Because of you, I stay awake at night and debate over which potato side dish I am and what that says about my personality. And, indeed, everyone else's. Mills and I are very similar in the sense that we are invested in learning as much about individuals as humanly possible. We're both dangerously good at 'reading people' off the bat - not that we ever let that dictate our attitudes. Just intuition, innit. 

I guess I find it pretty fulfilling trying to crack people. It’s not just that I want to know if you’re the INFJ to my ENTP (yep, I share qualities with Mr Tom Hanx so, lol, I think we all know who the real winner is here!) I want to know "What percent Phoebe Buffay you are based on what you pick at the buffet!" I want to know "Which Love Islander you’d ‘categorically crack on’ with based on your morning routine." Looking back, I think we probably spent too much time taking quizzes and not enough time doing our dissertations (but, hey, "takes pressure to make a diamond", right Mills?)

I was struggling to sleep the other night so I went online to find out "What kind of dog breed I was based on my ideal winter weekend" (as if I didn’t know the answer would be a Golden Retriever.) But, as I was taking it, I was struck by a question that wasn’t part of the quiz: is my interest in personality tests simply a vehicle for my narcissism? Is the line between self-discovery and self-obsession that blurred? Do I really need the internet to tell me that I am a Golden Retriever when I only need to look at a funny Tik Tok of one falling in a pool to confirm that, it is, in fact, true.

Millie would say it’s a “Gemini Thing.” I think it’s down to curiosity. Brb, just gonna nip on Buzzfeed to explain the complex processes of human nature and personality differences.

Personality is a slippery, evolving concept that researchers have been trying to put their finger on for decades. I suppose it’s a relatively new field of psychology, when you think about it. I might be wrong, though. Please don’t hate me if I am; I’ve got no formal academic grounding in the subject, I just like reading around it!

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) is the OG personality assessment tool that truly changed the game. It was created by a mother-daughter duo with no formal grounding in psychology – yay, can relate. And whilst it is all sorts of problematic and by no means completely accurate, it’s used by Fortune 500 companies and the military as a means of organising their workforce. 

I guess our curiosity is underpinned by trying to find a balance between individuality and tribalism. That is, we want to be recognised for what makes us unique, but we also need to feel a sense of belonging to a larger ‘group’ of people who share similarities. Personality tests offer an opportunity to reflect on our individual character styles and tendencies, while also providing reassurance that we do, indeed, belong. 

So maybe it's an informal self-help guide? No, I think that's wrong. I think undertones of the self-help industry are rooted in the problematic (general sweeping statement, but that's another blog post entirely!) Maybe the word is self-awareness? If we see ourselves (aka our qualities) written down on paper, then it might serve to actualise the positive parts of ourselves we want to shine. I bloody love the word 'actualise.' In fact, I bloody love the idea behind it. Writing stuff down makes stuff happen, I'm telling you!


Ok, the quizzes may not be perfect — many of them are not based on anything more than imagination and opinion – except for the Fully Accurate and Science-Based, Data-Driven, ‘What Kind of Soup You Are’ quiz. But they fulfill our curiosity about ourselves and our loved ones. The human psyche is a complex web of multi-determined factors - biological, social, emotional, experiential. But these tests boil all that down into something simple: I am Carrot and Ginger soup, and that’s facts. 

These quizzes give us a lens through which to understand ourselves, and help us achieve a sense of belonging. They help anchor us in reality in the most creative and weirdest of ways. We can appreciate our similarities with others and smile at our differences, all whilst subconsciously enhancing our introspective sides.

So, no, we’re not narcissists for wanting a quiz to tell us if we’re Carrot and Ginger or Classic Tomato, if we’re more Monica than Rachel and if we’re cat or dog people. Rather, we’re just human. And perhaps that’s the most affirming news of all.

PS: I flick between ENFP and ENTP but I think that simply depends on how moral I'm feeling when taking the quiz. Most of the time, I'm the latter xoxo.

All the love (and find out what potato side dish/soup/dog breed you are!!!!

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Sunday 16 August 2020

What You'll Find When You're Kind

I was having a really hard time early this year; well, from around November to January. Not a long period of time, but dense with worry and stress and intensity.

Most of my freelancing jobs had come to an end in the December/early January. I was scraping as much writing work as I could possibly get, doing shifts at the store I had worked in throughout university in the evenings, and then staying up most of the night finishing work, finding more work, and sleepless with the knowing that I was running low on money, energy and passion. I was on something of a deadline down here. Burnout is a bitch. I had been trying so hard. So hard. And it was all a mess. For something that had started out so promising and exciting, things were quickly spiralling out of my control and capabilities and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I don’t want to go into it all today; it’s not what this blog post is about. If I’m completely honest, it’s all a bit of a haze. I think I blacked out most of the winter 😊!

I did have one particular stand-out moment though, in that blur, and I think it’s a moment I’ll carry with me forever.

I was working a closing shift in the store towards the end of the week. It was during the post-Christmas period, in that little window we had before Corona came and wiped us out. Without going too much into it, I remember I had had a real tough day. At the time, I hadn’t told anybody much and kept things on the downlow (probably not wise when I think about it but hey ho) and I felt like I was about to self-implode. You know that feeling when you’re so exhausted that you feel like your brain is a cauldron bubbling with fire? Your whole body feels like it could just crumple in on itself like a piece of origami? Yep, me!

Thankfully, as per every Friday evening in late January/early February, the shop was pretty quiet. Time passes quick in retail when it’s busy but this one day, I was so grateful that the store was dead. It gave me time to think. I remember if I was alone in an area of the store, I used to walk laps of the room; I must have looked like a right twat, thinking back, but it would really calm me down. It was like I was being paid to meditate.

This one day, I remember I was talking with a friend who had come to give me an item we had in the stock room; she’d stayed out and was chatting with me for a bit. We were both stood in front of the entrance and an older customer who I had helped earlier approached us on his way out. He turned to me and thanked me for my help. He told me “you’re so kind.”

In that moment I thought I was gonna pass out with the sweetness. My situation at the time, particularly that day, hadn’t been so easy (putting it lightly) and the fact that somebody had complimented my kindness of all things made my heart burst with this immeasurable light. In the moment, I think I brushed it off with a simple “I get paid for it!” and a smile and a thank you and moved on, but inside I thought I was going to cry.

I think kindness is the bravest choice we can make. When everything around us is going to shit, when you feel like you’re being sucked up into this galactic black hole of intense worry and burnout, when everything feels out of control, if you can still choose to actively be kind to people, then you’re still reclaiming some sort of power. If you’re bringing light into darkness and calm into chaos, then you’re doing something right.

Ok, my earlier rambles in light of that last paragraph seem very dramatic. I think I must have grabbed him the correct size or said something nice to him; I can’t even remember. I doubt it was something extraordinarily big or kind or good or whatever. But in that moment, I just remember that my heart skipped a beat because some random stranger saw something good when all I could see was everything around me going wrong.

I know I used to get paid to ‘be kind’ and whatever, but outside the contextual bubble of the store, I think that kindness is very much purposeful. Kind people aren’t kind on accident! Kindness is a choice. A hard one at times; sometimes painful, sometimes tiring and trying, but rewarding beyond imagination.

Looking back on that time of my life, and any other times where I’ve had to cope with difficulties and challenges, it would have been so easy to be bitter and angry and to let all of my worry and frustration out on the world because I felt like the world had done me so wrong. There’s no denying it. I’m sure it’s the same for plenty of you too. Maybe it’s a control thing; the whole ‘riding the wave of life’ is so easy if you let your thoughts and your attitude be dictated by a situation.

But regardless of it all, I don’t think I could ever be mean to someone simply because the world has been mean to me.

I’m not saying internalising problems is the solution by any stretch, at all. Please don’t do that! But in my case, I found myself on the side of knowing the pain I was going through so intimately that I never, ever, ever wanted anyone in the entire world to feel it. So I would act accordingly. I still do 😊.

I’m not claiming to be perfect at it. I still find those Tik Toks of people falling over pretty funny and I don’t always make time to check in with someone I think has been pretty quiet. But I really, really, fucking try to. And I think we all should.

Kindness isn’t always fun. It sometimes leaves us taken advantage of and sour or beaten down or argued against or whatever. But if there is purpose behind kindness and if it is a choice, then we maintain some sort of active control and power. It’s about taking personal responsibility and capably taking ownership of ourselves in a situation that feels beyond our control. Kindness is just as much about ourselves as it is about serving others. And that is what stops us from catering to others’ wants. It stops us from becoming doormats and pushovers. Kindness works because we are deliberate. We are intentional.

Kindness walks hand-in-hand with resilience and they’re the most beautiful combination that will see anything and anyone through.

Sometimes, in the moment, it feels anything but. I doubt it is in human nature to just forgive and walk away. Sometimes we want to confront and to push and to defend and to argue but – and this is something I swear by – if you really are in the right, you don’t need to prove it. Watch situations and false conclusions and slander backfire in someone’s face with the silent but smug self-satisfaction that you were, indeed, right all along. The world has this weird way of striking a balance when the time is right. And when you’re on the better side of it, there’s nothing better.

Kindness is hardly a trait you practice for fun, but I don’t think there is anything better than seeing its effects. A stranger’s acknowledgement of it has never ever left me and I doubt it will anytime soon. It is the greatest compliment I could have ever received.

We choose kindness because the world needs balance; there’s enough shit going around already. We know what it’s like to feel suffocated by darkness. We like the challenge of seeing if we can light things up again.

During that time of my life, I had every reason to be angry. I had every reason to be sad and scared and confused. And it would have been so easy to just be a twat because of it. But recognising that, acknowledging the pain of your environment and your situation, and then not refracting that back out there is the vital first step to building resilience. I suppose it’s the whole mirroring effect innit? Your internal and your external link and you’ve somehow have to find the light in the dark because without it, you’re kind of at a loss.

So be nice. Be kind. Stick your finger up at the world and be good. Because it pays, I swear.

All the love xoxoxoxoxo

PS: Mr Hollister Stratford Customer Person, you’re also v kind and I doubt you’ll ever be able to comprehend how much your acknowledgement got me through that really tough time. I still think about it months later. Thank you 😊

PSS: I’ve just finished this and lightning just struck and it’s all of a sudden thundering down w rain. You might think it’s some sort of sign, I’m just thinking I’m gonna sleep really well tonight because of the background noise.

PPS - missing sunny summer days so here's a nice shot from way back when xoxo


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"Why am I Crying in the Club rn?" - Book Edition

Helloooo lovelies. I’m here to say that Daisy Johnson is on full “x games mode” when it comes to her absolute masterpiece of a story. “The volume inside of this [book] is ASTRONOMICAL; it is way too loud in [it]” and I can quite easily declare that it is now my second favourite novel of all time. Pls read it. It’s only little (off the top of my head, it’s around 150 pages or so) but it is like literary quicksand.

Bruh I’m not even kidding when I say that I ordered this to collect from W H Smith’s, then went and bought the last copy on the shelf in Foyles the day it was released, and went to cancel my order from Smith’s because I had finished it by the time it had arrived. This is a Real One, I swear – which is why I’m telling you to go and read it on here.

I don’t think I’ve ever done Book Reviews on my blog before. I’m not really a Reviewer. I’m more of a Reader-and-Digester-then-Move-On(er?). I never normally read formal reviews myself either, mainly because I like to decide for myself if something is good or bad. Saying that, I think most novels have good points and bad points; I don’t think any book is entirely awful, (except for The Lovely Bones; that is a Bad Book).

However, I’m making the exception today for Daisy Johnson’s Sisters because, wow, reading that was a couple of hours of a raw, lyrical culture shift for me. What a book. Full on firecracker shit. Wow. I finished it last night and I took it out to the pub garden with me because there was no way I was letting it go so soon. My poor flatmate had to listen to me rant and rave and over-gesticulate my theories so much I almost poked a lovely staff member in the eye (sorry Matt!)

(President) Daisy Johnson enters liminal, watery territory with a profoundly moving tale of an eerie mother-daughter bond which cuts deep with a blade of grief. It’s as eerie as it is absorbing and pulls you in with its distant lyricism, giving off these mythical vibes with a 21st century twist that grounds the impossible in a sensitive and steely reality.

The experience of reading Sisters is almost operatic but in the softest, most quiet and controlled of ways, as the family’s past, and the tragedy that is the book’s true narrative engine, are revealed in fragmentary, frightening glimpses. July and September are teenage sisters, as near to twins as two girls born 10 months apart can be. As we enter their tale, they are heading north – or so it appears – with their mother Sheela, driving from Oxford to Yorkshire, to a broken down house “beached up on the side of the North York Moors, only just out of the sea.” It’s called “Settle House” – probs the most Yorkshire name ever – and it’s anything but settling.

The toxicity of siblings deeply entangled in each other echoes across the pages of this absolute question mark (yep, no longer a book; it’s punctuation!) From September insisting that they celebrate both their birthdays on the day of her own birth to the truly disquieting intimacy of the pair (one?) sharing a phone, these girls are “isolated, uninterested, conjoined, young for their age, sometimes moved to great cruelty”.

I know that I joke a lot about me crying on here but, as a matter of fact, it’s actually really rare that it happens because I’m not a wimp, I’m hard af and mainly because I hate that burning knot you get in your chest and the stinging behind your eyes. I know crying is meant to be a healthy expression of emotion and shite but it’s hardly healthy how much of an ugly crier I am. When I say my eyes go ALIEN, I’m not kidding (when I quote “Whoa!”, Mills and Han know exactly what I’m talking about!) No one needs to see that mess – except poor “Whoa!” guy, apparently.

But this book got me. I closed it, sat it on the kitchen counter, and did one of those whimsical glances-out-the-window ft a Lauryn Conrad-inspired ‘mascara tear.’ It was all very dramatic. Could hear violins playing in the background and everything if you listened hard enough as the flood gates opened.


But seriously, I wouldn’t post a book recommendation on here unless it was worth it and, trust me when I say, the elision concealed by the “almost” that underpins this hardback manages to be both a force of attraction and repulsion. Might be a good time to suggest that if you’re triggered by the themes of mental illness, grief, the maternal or domestic/sexual abuse, give Sisters a miss.

Folktale terror meets the Iphone in the pages of Johnson’s third novel. I read it and couldn’t help but think that Sisters is the baby of Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier and Stephen King’s The Shining. The eternal terror of intimate disgust and the fragility of the mind washes up on the pages of Johnson’s tale about the Yorkshire coastline, with an unwillingness to fix on what “the problem is” – and the unspoken lack of explanation is probably what makes the story so capturing yet alarming. Not knowing is just as, if not more, horrifying than revelation, when you think about it.


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