Review: Gully Boy

Gully Boy is Zoya Akhtar’s new film about a young Indian boy that dreams of becoming a rapper. The story unleashes an unromanticised and unapologetic version of Mumbai on to the audience that is really hard not to be intrigued by. The story has captivating dialogues and a beautiful yet extremely relatable love story being deployed on the sidelines.

The main story is set in a real-life slum in Mumbai and focuses on the dreams and ambitions of a 22-year-old man called Murad who is in his final year of university.

Murad’s Father is a driver and firmly believes in the idea that your dreams should match your social standing and therefore assumes and expects his son to follow in his footsteps and become a servant.

However, his Mother has bigger plans and encourages him to get an education in order to get a stable and secure office job.

However, the plot twist is that Murad has even bigger plans and sets his goals on becoming a rapper.

One thing that makes Ranveer Singh’s portrayal of Murad extremely relatable is that he has absolutely no sense of entitlement. This makes his dreams slightly daunting because he is ultimately venturing out into dubious waters on a whim. He may succeed, obviously for the purpose of the film we know he does, but in real life, he may not. The narrative of this story is fundamentally encouraging the audience to take a risk and follow your dreams, the same way Murad does.

The film mainly focuses on Murad’s journey towards success and explores several obstacles and restrictions that he faces.
The main one being his abusive father and his inability to believe in his son’s dreams. Another hindrance is also his surroundings

Despite this, Zoya Akhtar depicts a real sense of struggle through Murad’s character and because of this, his demeanour doesn’t convey arrogance or ego. Another interesting aspect of the film is that Murad isn’t given too much importance. The start of the film begins with a side character given the centre stage and Ranveer Singh subtly slips into the shot behind him.

As the movie progresses, we see Murad conform to his surroundings and accept a job as a driver and ends up working on New Year’s Eve. Murad is following protocol and doesn’t talk to his rich and entitled passengers and waits for their party to be over in his car all evening. But as he hears the New Year count down and celebrations whilst trapped in his car he consoles himself by saying ‘Apna time aagya” [my time will come] and uses his current situation to write a powerful rap about how he desperately wants to more than his reality.

Later in the film, when he’s on the rise of becoming an established rapper in the Indian hip hop scene, he opens his set with that song and introduces it by saying; ‘I wrote this song when nothing was going right in my life.’ The audience has witnessed Murad’s character come full circle.

One of the most relatable things about this film is that Murad doesn’t have a strong connection in the music scene. He comes from a humble background, everyone around him believes that you die where you were born, but Murad dares to dream much bigger than that. He does not have a Karan Johar to launch his career, he does it alone.

A key aspect of this film is that Murad and Safeena (Alia Bhatt) both have unconventional dreams. We can see that Safeena is very determined to obtain her goals in life. First goal: become a surgeon and second goal: marry Murad.

Whereas, Ranveer Singh portrays a sense of vulnerability in Murad’s character as he takes a little longer to take ownership of his dreams.

The film has managed to redefine Hip Hop within mainstream media and the soundtrack of this film is simply fantastic. The rap songs go beyond conventional rap topics such as drugs, girls, cars and actually talk serious issues in a way that relates to 80% of the Indian population.

To conclude, I’d pay to watch it again.

Protect our privilege

I’m part of a generation that basks in anarchy, whilst the society proudly regresses in a way that can sometimes feel like that the right side of history is yet to come.   

Especially when recent political voices have managed to relaunch the remaining racists in the world as ‘very fine people’ and blurred that line once again.

Institutionalised racism and the systematic oppression of minorities has always been either, glazed over or deeply underrepresented in mainstream media. Until Millennials and Gen Z decided to make the issue into a movement that actively works towards deciphering and uprooting the core principles of racism.

The premise of this movement uses education and social media as a missile, by explaining several social and political issues on Instagram through the use of a meme.

Despite this, the subject of race is still presented as a dichotomy between the powerful and oppressed. This is because the tyranny of a patriarchal bureaucracy has been normalised; we have accepted defeat and become complacent.

How are we expected to take a stance when the leaders of the free world are too busy challenging their peers to math tests and running through fields of wheat. As opposed to setting an example to impressionable minds?

It’s naive to devoid the fact that your professional success is measured and tightly woven into where you fall in an institutionalised hierarchy, that favours a particular narrative. You are at the mercy of how much privilege you were born with and how your ethnicity is perceived in mainstream Western media.

I am at the mercy of Apu, an Indian character, narrated by a white man.

Apu and his exacerbated accent were often used as a punchline in The Simpsons. The most striking thing about the character was that he was Indian and that alone was enough to define him.

Until many South Asians starting to call out The Simpsons narrative of Indian men. For example, a popular Indian comedian; Vir Das celebrated the Indian accent by saying something along the lines of ‘I could really easily pretend I have an American accent instead, but I actually want my audience to see the Indian accent as a perspective and not a punchline” 

Furthermore, I attended a literature conference a few months ago. When I arrived at the seminar room the tables were positioned into a horseshoe shape so everyone could see each other. The Seminar leader explained that the session will involve going around the class and we will take it in turns to talk about books we like, blogs we may run, creative pieces we write, among other things. 

When it was my turn to speak I mainly gushed over 20th Century European Literature and drew attention to writers like Kafka, Thomas Mann and Christa Wolf. I also mentioned some South Asian writers like Mindy Kaling and Twinkle Khanna who often rely on humour to explain contemporary and political issues within society.

As I was talking I held up a tablet to show my blog and I noticed the seminar leader taking a picture of me. I did wonder if the interface of my blog really was that impressive or whether she was just trying to make the conference come across as multi-cultural as possible when posting the event pictures on Facebook.

By the end of the seminar, it felt like my common sense was trying to hold on to my last brain cell so I could pay attention to my surroundings. But when the final person in the conference began to share their thoughts, alarm bells automatically started ringing in my head.

Initially, they spoke about writers of colour like Reni Eddo-Lodge, Rupi Kaur and Trevor Noah and shared how much she admired their work.

I have to admit, she lost me when she said that racism isn’t a real issue in mainstream media anymore and then I watched everyone in the room do a double-take.

As she continued it became apparent that she believes caucasian people don’t have an ethnicity but then implied that the colour of someone’s skin is the most interesting thing about them.

But when a white woman stands on a platform and claims she has an ‘authentic’ narrative on what it’s like to be a Person of Colour, I can’t help but think she’s setting the rest of us up for failure.

Obviously, everyone’s narrative is supposed to be different, but when you’re fighting for the same cause, are we supposed to be contradicting one another, if not, how do we weed out the frauds?

She may live in a society where some people are systematically oppressed in the educational, professional and domestic sphere but her argument makes it clear that she has never been on the receiving end of it. 

I wonder what her thoughts are on what happened in Charlottesville. Would she take it as a case study or a cautionary tale?

It’s obvious that her statement has derived from a rose-tinted view of life. But I wonder if she genuinely believes in this? But when another social issue arises, will she take off her current glasses and upgrade for a more ‘relevent one?’

If I had this option, I wonder if I would take it?

 

Basic-(ing)-ly: Reviewing Lip Balm

I wrote this because my mother told me my lips looked dry and I seem to have accidentally embarked on a quest to find a new trusty lip balm. In total, I have reviewed four lips balms in this post.

When searching for a new, reliable lip balm, there are certain ingredients that you should look out for. The list below all have moisturising qualities, and you should definitely look out for them when purchasing a new lip balm.

  • Coconut oil
  • Sunflower oil
  • Almond oil
  • Cottonseed oil
  • Jojoba oil
  • Aloe vera 

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1. Eos Crystal Hibiscus Peach Lip Balm

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This product is animal cruelty-free and suitable for vegans.

Retail price:

Boots: £7.00

Superdrug: £6.99

Amazon: £6.99

 

 

Key ingredients: Shea and coconut oils (moisturising properties)

When you open the unit, the actual lip balm is a firm transparent gel shape in the form of a dome. It has a rich and subtle aroma and is soft upon application. However, the balm is generally quite oily and can make your lips feel greasy rather than smooth at times.

Initially, this product gives off a strong first impression. When you first apply this balm it makes your lips feel quite soft and smooth and also adds a quaint shimmer to your lips but does not add any colour. But, it also makes you feel like you need to constantly reapply.

This product doesn’t really improve the overall quality of your lips; it just makes you feel like you’ve improved the overall quality of your lips. For example, one of the things this lip balm claims to do is soften and hydrate your lips. However, it only really makes your lips feel soft and hydrated when you are wearing the product.

Having said that, this product would be perfect to keep in your bag/office desk or car because it is quite a good quick fix for your lips. eos crystal clear lip balm will add a nice shimmer to your lips and make them look soft and hydrated.

I actually bought this in the sale for £4.00..ish(?), in Boots. If I were to be brutally honest, I wouldn’t pay the full price of £7.00 for a product that doesn’t really do what it claims to do.

Stars earned: 3/10 stars (the extra star is because the packaging it low-key (high-key) cute)

2. Carmex Cherry

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This product is animal cruelty-free, but not suitable for vegans.

Retail price:

Boots: £2.69

Superdrug: £1.79 (on offer) 

Amazon): £3.01

 

 

Key ingredients: Flavour, Menthol, Theobroma Cacao Seed Butter (this will provide immediate relief to the skin when applied).

I used to think Carmex was my ride and die until I put it on and my mother told me my lips look dry. So now Carmex has just become another source to fuel my unnecessary paranoia.

Carmex as a brand is predominantly known for the immediate cooling sensation you feel when you first apply it. Carmex creates this sensation (tingling) by using two ingredients’ called menthol and camphor which is either synthetically made or derived from peppermint oil.

Although often when brands promising a cooling sensation they are using peppermint because peppermint gives the user a cooling (tingly) sensation on their lips, it doesn’t actually do anything to improve the quality of your lips.

These particular ingredients can dry your lips out quickly making you think you need to reapply your lip balm.

Having said that, Carmex could be used as a good base before adding lipstick because the product is clear. It is actually quite a good product for your lips it does reduce soreness and prevents them from chapping. It just makes me feel paranoid because my Mom said it makes my lips dry.   

Stars earned: 5/10 stars (No extra stars awarded because of cute packaging)

3. Burt’s Bees (Pomegranate Flavour)

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This product is animal cruelty-free but not suitable for vegans.

Retail Price:

Boots: £3.99

Superdrug: £3.99

Amazon: £2.66

 

 

Key ingredients: Pomegranate Oil (Punica granatum), natural flavour, canola oil, Helianthus Annuus seed oil

Burt’s Bee’s is probably my favourite lip balm of all. It has quite a refreshing smell and a lovely dark red colour. The small packaging means it can easily fit into pockets and those tiny bags/purses that don’t really fit a lot in them but you still buy because they look cute.

After using this lip balm for a week, it has definitely improved the quality of my lips and leaves them feeling soft and hydrated. It smells great and does nourish and hydrate your lips. Burt’s Bees doesn’t make me feel like I need to constantly reapply, and I found that this balm repairs and replenishes them for when you’re not wearing it. This lip balm has definitely helped the overall quality of my lips and prevented them from looking and feeling so cracked. 

The only downside of this product would it claims to be a lip tint, but the colour comes through only after applying several layers. 

Stars earned: 8/10 (The packaging of the product is gender neutral. They also come in a set of three which would be the perfect gift!)

4. Melty Talented Dry Lip and Skin Balm

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This product is animal cruelty-free but not suitable for vegans.

Retail price:

Soap and Glory Website: £5.00

Boots: £5.00

Amazon: £8.85

 

 

Key ingredients: This balm contains coconut and almond oil (which are particularly moisturising for your lips and skin), water, Glycerin (which is really good for your skin, it creates a protective outer layer on your skin/lips that prevents moisture loss)

This product is unique because it melts when it meets oil which makes it easy to massage into your lips. It’s also very lightweight but it can make your lips feel quite oily once you apply it to your lips. I quite like this though, because when you apply it on the skin it feels like it soaks into your skin and hydrates and softens your skin immediately.

The packaging is small and compact, but I don’t think this is a product I would put in my everyday work bag. Instead, I would add it to my night-time skincare routine to help nourish and moisturise my skin at the end of the day and use the Burt’s Bees lip balm for everyday, on-the-go use.

Also, this would be great for travelling because it’s very practical: you can use it on not only your lips but on your elbows, knees, hair tips and cuticles. It’s basically saving you space in your wash bag.

Stars earned: 7/10

To summarise:

  1. Eos: bad
  2. Carmex: okay, but makes me low-key paranoid that it’s not actually doing anything
  3. Burt’s Bees: love, cause it’s gender neutral, vegan and moisturising
  4. Soap and Glory Melty Talented: like, very practical for when travelling 

Overall, Carmex probably has the most undesirable ingredients as it includes menthol and flavouring; and the Soap and Glory product is probably the best one for your skin. The products I would purchase again from this list would be Burt’s Bees for everyday use, and Soap and Glory’s Melty Talented as a new aspect of my night-time skincare routine.

Thank you for taking the time to read my review, especially because this was my first official(ish) review of things on my blog. xx

Graduate Life: The Meeting that Encouraged me to Re-evaluate

Sometimes, do you ever commit to something even though you know it’s going to be shit? But the pessimist and the idealist inside you are curious to see how everything plays out. Like how shit will this actually be? Will it exceed my expectations, will it not? I’m intrigued.

Intrigued enough to wake up at 7am for a meeting that starts at 9am.

The day of the meeting the sky had a piercing look because it was covered in grey clouds that looked like they were ready to implode. My motivation to leave my house was already wavering. The guy I was meeting was starting his own business and was looking for a graduate web designer so I messaged him through LinkedIn and emailed my CV because it’s freelance and I’m bored.

By 7:15 I had watched 3 YouTube videos on how to layer your clothes in order to ‘make the perfect autumnal outfit’: their words not mine. I decided to peel myself away from the heat of my bedroom radiator so I could get dressed and after dedicating an entire 15 minutes I had successfully managed to ‘make a mediocre autumnal outfit.’

Usually, when I have to drive somewhere new, my younger brother, Ashok or one of my friends will offer to come with me because I always manage to get lost. I know these aren’t the words of someone who aspires to be a strong, independent, woman of the 21st century but I have literally been told that I lack geographical common sense.

So I usually leave one hour early because whilst on a 20-minute route I will get lost for about 30 minutes and need to compensate for the time I spend aimlessly wandering around, trying to read google maps, looking dishevelled and trying not cry. Although it happens so often, I just started to consider my inability to read a map and getting lost as another form of cardio.

My brother on the other hand always has a really good sense of direction, but we still set off at eight so we could get Starbucks for the car journey. Sometimes I think it’s healthy to pretend you’re one of those Instagram models who need to get coffee before they do anything productive with their day and always look beautiful and have their life together. I even took a keep-cup so I could be an environmentally friendly Instagram model trying to save the world.

I usually refer to my little brother as my first child and my sense of direction because we managed to find the building with 15 minutes to spare. Also, having my brother in the car was important because he just lets me get on with parallel parking judgement free and I hate using a satnav because when the lady says ‘turn around when possible’ I always feel personally attacked.

We stayed in my car for 15 minutes to avoid the rain, I even tried combing the rain out of my hair whilst we both sang to the Moana soundtrack.

At 8.50am, I started to walk towards the building and Ashok said he was going to walk into town and I told him I was going to meet him there after the meeting.

As I approached the building I did wonder if I should have been alarmed by the fact that the office was in the middle of nowhere.

By 8:53, I had told the lady at reception that I was here for a meeting and she ushered me into the waiting room with 3 other people.

By 9am a man in a well-tailored suit came in, read a name from a clipboard and a girl wearing different shades of blue walked out of the waiting room.

I checked my watch, it read 9:04. Whilst I was waiting I couldn’t help but notice that this room was the most millennial room I have probably seen throughout my entire life.

As a millennial, this room was too millennial and was an amalgam of black, white and rose gold.

They were trying to go for a sophisticated and minimalist look, but the only seating provided was a transparent beanbag with funfetti sprinkles trapped inside it. 

The room had at least 4 succulent plants sporadically placed and there was even a rose gold Polaroid on top of the filing cabinet. The receptionist tapped away at her baby pink Dell laptop, I think she was humming God is a Woman by Ariana Grande.

Above the desk, there was an inspirational quote that I couldn’t quite read without squinting.

All they really needed was a noisy fish-tank, proper seating and a screaming toddler waving play-doh in the faces of strangers and they would have replicated the waiting room of a dodgy dental surgery.

By the time the well-dressed man with a clipboard and bad time management called out my name the receptionist was humming buttons by the Pussy Cat Dolls and it was 9:20.

It’s not that I didn’t want to work here, it’s just, I couldn’t see it. 

The office was so small, I walked two steps out of the waiting room and followed the man into a much bigger room that had a series of small offices on the left-hand side. Each office was separated with a man-made divider.

I always think that baby boomers need to fuck off and retire so the people who have been treated like shit in the workplace by the previous generation can encourage a new way of thinking.

But after being interviewed by a millennial, I realise how generalised that statement is and how far millennials actually have to go because this interview was a whole new vibe.

As we reached the man’s office, I sat down and noticed another inspirational quote above the desk and even more succulent plants and the man shook my hand and said; ‘My name is Dave’ and I thought Dave; at your big age, you’re sat in a cupboard with your succulent plants? Have you named them?

I said; “Hi Dave, my name is Ila, it’s lovely to meet you.”

I suddenly realised I drove in the rain for 20 minutes to have a 7-minute meeting with a man in a cupboard.

The whole premise of this meeting revolved around me making them a company website for their business.

2 minutes into the meeting the well-dressed man with a clipboard and bad time management told me that the company doesn’t rely on computers at all and they don’t use them to carry out any form of business and everything is done mainly face-to-face.

In the 21st century? Dave, are you a magician? Then it hit me, face-to-face was code for DOOR-TO-DOOR, they didn’t want a graduate web designer they wanted to exploit a graduate web designer and keep me in sales for the rest of my life. OH MY GOD.     

At this point, I decided that Ashok and I should go for brunch after the meeting to make me feel better.

The man continued; ‘In just two years of starting this company, I have become the CEO and I’m 25. You can be like me’

Two things Dave:

Firstly, we are literally sat in a cupboard with an inspirational quote above your desk. Hypothetically, if you were to spread both arms out in your office, your hand would hit the wall and the wall would fall down.

Second thing; of course you’re the CEO, you’re the flippin’ founder, who else is it going to be?

As the meeting came to an end he told me he would send me a list of client requirements in order to complete the job. I smiled then shook his hand and made a mental note to ask my most grown-up childhood friend Elle how to write a rejection letter.

When I came out of the interview my degree felt offended and then even more so the next day.

The email came through at 11.17am the following day. I noticed several typos in the email and for a second I thought that this is the mark of a true corporate organisation after enduring ‘sent from iPhone’ by university lecturers for three years at university, but then I decided not to be so complacent. 

Although, the spelling I can somewhat forgive, but the exclamation marks used throughout the email just led me to believe that calling me back was actually part of an elaborate plan to lure me into their conveniently deserted office and kill an innocent young graduate that just happened to have graduated in a recession. Because no one is that excited.

Finally, I’m not sure I really want to work in a place where I’m actively encouraged to dress well. That’s always a given.

When In Prague

The problem with being the dramatic one in your friendship group is that when you are really, throwing-your-guts-up ill, they think you are being dramatic. 

My projectile vomiting began on last Thursday at 10pm, Prague time. My friends and I were walking home after dinner on cobbled streets that were making me question if I could actually walk in a straight line in six-inch heels or whether the streets of England have just been humouring me for all these years.

Prague is filled with 14th-century med-evil architecture, the streets are an amalgam of traditional marketplaces with a Sephora and Starbucks lurking around the corner, moulding it into a land of euphoria. 

The sky was slowly setting into a dark blue shade with sporadically placed transparent clouds and I can only imagine this scenario being more scenic if I didn’t feel like I was going to face plant on a communal pavement out of pure nausea.

I could’ve had food poisoning from dodgy chicken. I don’t know that for sure, I didn’t want to google the symptoms, just in case I really did have food poisoning from dodgy chicken. It was probably safer to live in denial because what doesn’t kill you doesn’t necessarily require a thorough investigation.

On the bright side, if I were to pass out on the street, I would be living up to the stereotype that British tourists are not able to hold their drink. On the downside, I had not been drinking. So on the contrary to Chuck Bass, there would not have been any truth in advertising. 

As we continued to hobble back to our hotel, I thought it was appropriate to start planning out my will and share my plans with all my friends. So one of my friends decided to ask a passer-by where the nearest pharmacist was whilst the rest discreetly googled maps the nearest psychiatrist.

We paused for a moment so everyone could give me the you-can’t-throw-up-in-the-taxi pep-talk after the club in order to trek to the pharmacy.

These numbnuts I call my friends weren’t even acknowledging the fact that death could be on the edge of my horizon. I could be summoned to walk the bridge into the wrath of hell whilst being succumbed by the literal stench of death.

All whilst the stupid deaths theme tune from horrible histories is faintly being played in the background.

The numbnuts paid no sympathy towards my evidently frail demeanour as one of them decided to hoist my hair in a bun on the top of my head with a Primark scrunchie.

So, even in my worst moments, my friends were making sure I was following the major summer fashion trends whilst involuntary and publicly hurling on the pavement.

En route to the pharmacy, a 30-year-old man wearing a purple and black striped shirt and light denim jeans approached us saying that he could help us get to a hospital. So we stopped and asked him for directions.

One of my friends asked for his name and he hesitated before he mumbled “Jacob.”

I feel like I was the only one who thought it was obvious that he didn’t give us his real name. Only an idiot, a liar and a bad con-artist would hesitate when someone asks for their name. I thought it was the latter and suggested making a quick get-away from the man in the bad outfit. I was ignored.

Suddenly, 079 me by Byoung started playing. I assume a dazzled look was painted on my face as I started to look up into the universe and question if this is really the song my subconscious wants to play in the background of my final moments.

Then I realised that the song was Jacob’s ringtone. So now I must conclude that my man Jacob could just be the former, an idiot. Regardless, I wondered if was reasonable to take medical and geographical advice from a grown man whose ringtone is 079 me?

When we got to the pharmacy everything was written in Czech and I could see purple spats of paint everywhere, so I blinked and then blinked again. I caught the attention of the pharmacist and he offered me a seat.

The man said our aura was shitty.

I did wonder if I should inform a professional pharmacist that one of the side effects of food poisoning was diarrhoea. Maybe my shitty aura was simply predicting my future. Immediate and metaphorically long-term.

The next morning I was sure to avoid all dairy products so my morning coffee was black and I was

quickly reminded how much I dislike black coffee.

A frail attempt of cheering me up was made by buying me an ugly fan that I accidentally broke before we got past customs at the airport.

Finally, on the plane ride home I mentally added another reason why I can never get married on the list. This story is bound to surface in at least one of their bridesmaid’s speeches whilst the rest of them try to shotgun who gets to call me dramatic.

Send Help: Is there a Psychopath Living Next Door?

dirty coffee edited
Low-key/high-key practising my Michelle Obama side-eye

‘I’m just going to ask him not to come. Like not ask, I’m going to tell him…he invited himself, like the fuck was I supposed to say?’ 

‘I mean if you don’t ask you don’t get.’

‘I feel like, in this situation, if I ask then all I’m going to get is animosity.’

Autumn and I are fairly reasonable people to live with. She is easily excitable, and I am the physical embodiment of Eeyore. We have our morning routine down to a T and always make the effort to appreciate random people in good outfits. Reasonable.   

However, that sense of reasonability may begin to waver when a psychopath moves in next door and everyone in our periphery has been sleep-deprived since March (when said psychopath moved in). Sleep deprivation can result in receiving a glacier reception from even the most reasonable people.

My irritability is under perfectly logical premises: he doesn’t sleep at universally designated sleeping times; so now no one sleeps at designated sleeping times. In conclusion, my internal clock is currently being controlled by a moron.

Also, I have been planning a graduation meal since February. We are graduating in July; that’s five months of planning! Every time I see The Male and the unnecessary sleep deprivation he has orchestrated, I’m reminded of how since he moved in my quality of life has been dramatically declining.

I refer to him fondly as a psychopath because he coincides with a few psychotic tendencies and according to BuzzFeed, there are three different types of psychopaths. First, the below average psychopath; then the average psychopath and finally the high psychopath. A key attribute of being a high psychopath is not being able to empathise with other people; victimising themselves in a situation where they are at fault and also, possibly not being able to recycle.

Allow me to explain: Autumn and I bumped into our friend in the corridor the other day. It was 4pm and we were coming home- so he was probably starting his day. There we were chatting to him, casually dropping hints about recycling-why we do it? How we do it?—and then out of nowhere, he invited himself to our party? Like no? You are the reason I could potentially live the rest of my life with a 2:2, no you cannot come to my graduation celebration. No one asked him; no one likes him; no one even knows his last name. The only thing I know about him is that he doesn’t know how to recycle but does know how to like posts from the WWF about saving the whales on Facebook. I know this because he never separates his plastic and rubbish and he doesn’t know that you can’t recycle cardboard in the paper recycling bin so the bin men never take his shit and it ends up piling outside mine and Autumn’s door and who eats a packet of quavers just before bed, like Jesus drink milk and go to sleep like a normal person you nocturnal asshole. Or it means we have to evacuate our flat and seek refuge with Sam and simply look past the rat infestation taking place in his flat. Seriously, like we were here first.

Read Next;

University: Did I Learn Anything?

Spider-gate: That time we became a spider’s bait

Saturday morning, the problem had arrived. An eight-legged monster had scuttled into our home and declared war on its residences; making Saturday a dark day because the spider won. After the incident drastic measures were taken; the girls I live with began to pee in packs and before showering a text would be circulated around the household notifying everyone that the bathroom is temporarily out of bounds because showering with the door open seemed safer than being trapped with the beast.

After contacting everyone in our periphery, my housemates finally accepted the harsh reality that no one was going to come and deal with the situation. So we did what anyone else would do, ran away, and camped out at uni for as long as was humanly possible. I ended up having a productive day, I completed my dissertation, googled harmless ways to make spiders leave without having to go near them and what life would be like for young immigrants in China.

Continue reading “Spider-gate: That time we became a spider’s bait”