As the mornings grow colder, the nights longer, and it feels like there are perpetual grey skies threatening months of rain, sometimes all you can do is put on your most threadbare pyjamas and snuggle up with a good book. However, with deadlines looming and online University being weirdly more stressful than the real thing, considering I’m attending in said pyjamas, what I really need is a slither of a good story. A short story, so to speak. Sculpting a believable and captivating world in a handful of pages is a difficult thing to get right, but fellow Exeter student Daisy Ella does just that in her first self-published story, Beneath the Waves. Continue reading Review: Beneath the Waves
My mind is a house partway through renovation, laid on ancient foundations on an island beneath the sea. I live in the basement, its walls of steal streaked with the iridescent graffiti of imagination, the floor littered with opinions cast aside. My room is my solace — but also my prison; outside the ocean currents rip and claw. Piled high in crooked towers are books … Continue reading A Room
‘How much longer?’ Benji asks. He’s playing on his Switch in the back-seat; the tinny sound effects an accompaniment to Daisy’s strained breathing. ‘Not long, the sat-nav says ten minutes.’ I flit my eyes between the screen and the road, gently turning the steering wheel. ‘A whole ten?’ He groans, shifting about on the leather. ‘Why don’t you put your game away, look out the … Continue reading The Life Chronicles: Field Days Pt.5
Today I felt time in my cells, in little nooks
And under hairs and sitting on a skintag.
I feel the rasp of my sole, and as I step
my toes crackle on the kitchen floor. Continue reading Creative Corner: The Crumple Lady
When you are twelve, you lose interest in the difference between a stag beetle and a dung beetle. It’s not cool to like insects or play in fields anymore. I had started ‘big school’ as Mum promised. I hung out with a group of five boys; we would play football in the playing field after lessons, staining the grey trousers that were ironed for me, … Continue reading The Life Chronicles: Field Days Pt.4
Me and my toenails are staying inside.
As I water my feet, with spiced bubbles,
they grow horned edges
that rasp through my socks and make holes Continue reading Creative Corner: Lil Lockdown Toes
Summer 2005. I was ten. It was two years ago that I had seen the baby fox and their mother. I would sometimes wonder if they were still out there, flashing through the woods. I stomped through the landscape, looking for fun, growing bored of what the countryside of Devon could offer.I was growing restless in the fields and hedgerows, which manifested in a lethargy. … Continue reading The Life Chronicles: Field Days Pt.3
I became a witch in quarantine;
There was nothing else to do.
I listened to my neighbour’s bass
And thought ‘I’ll murder you’. Continue reading Creative Corner: Hubble Bubble Your Music is Shit
In Devon, I used to embark on several projects in the summer time. Mum and I didn’t have our own garden until years later, so whilst we lived in that terrace house, the slice of terracotta-brick was all we owned. The hills beyond the house became ours too, but we didn’t own them in the same way that we owned the brickwork. The summer of … Continue reading The Life Chronicles: Field Days Part.2
They say the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself, but for me it is a sign I’m cooking. I admit, there is a certain flair of insanity to my culinary methods. I defy measuring, exchange ingredients routinely, and follow recipes how I follow most advice – listening but rarely enacting. Cooking is a language for me. I’ve confessed and drank wine with Nigella, I’ve laughed and ranted with Ramsay, and I’ve questioned Oliver on many occasions. Cooking is a warm hello in the shape of tender meat and clouds of mash, it is an apology sweetened with strawberries, it is a declaration of love infused with chillies, and it is a get well soon in the shape of a bowl of garden vegetable soup. Continue reading Cooking and Conversation