Tag Archives: blogging

The Dawn of a New Era

15 Sep

Image: Flickr (NS Newsflash)

As some of you may know, I’m starting an MA Journalism course at Kingston University next week, in the hope that it will lead to the real journalism job that I’ve been lusting after for as long as I can remember. In celebration of this, I’ve started a new blog, in which I’ll talk about journalism in general, and my MA journey in particular. I’ll be continuing to post reviews and creative writing here, but I’d be eternally grateful if you’d hop over to Destination Fleet Street and take a look at my new project!

A Quick Update

12 Mar

After posting nearly every day for almost two months, I’m aware that this blog has looked a little empty of late. My explanation for this is simple: I had a dissertation to write. But as of 10pm yesterday evening that is complete, all 8,000 words of it, and now a more regular posting schedule can begin.

Despite the stress, I have been watching some fantastic television recently (Upstairs Downstairs, anyone?) and I even escaped to the theatre yesterday evening to catch DULOG (that’s Durham University Light Opera Group for those not in the know) performing RENT. So over the next few weeks you can expect a review of that, as well as a few more reviews, and maybe even some creative writing. Don’t you all feel lucky?

Salzburg

27 Feb






#DearValentine Week Four: She Smiled

26 Feb

Prompt: Surgical tools, a car, the countryside. This was also inspired, in no small part, by my addiction to Grey’s Anatomy.


She Smiled

Most people would be afraid if they found a complete set of surgical tools in the back of their boyfriend’s car. Actually, afraid is something of an understatement. Most people would either call the police, run for the hills, or do both simultaneously.

But, there being no hills in the vicinity (it was Norfolk, after all), she simply smiled, retrieved her lip gloss – the loss of which had caused her to find the tools in the first place – recovered the tools with the cloth, and went inside to make dinner.

The next day, when he suggested they go for a drive, she didn’t panic. Didn’t imagine her body lying in a shallow grave, the looks on her parents’ faces when her picture appeared on the evening news. She smiled, she accepted, and she sat in the front seat, determinedly not thinking about what she had uncovered the day before.

Eventually they stopped. It was a field, that was all she knew, and this part of Norfolk was mainly fields so that didn’t exactly help her with getting her bearings. She wasn’t worried though. She smiled, sat on the blanket which he spread out on the slightly damp grass, and made small talk about the shapes of the fluffy clouds floating above them.

Eventually he stopped talking and gave her an unfathomable look.

“I’m just going back to the car.” He said. “I won’t be long.”

She just smiled.

True to his word, he reappeared after a few minutes, hands behind his back. He looked at her, spread out on the blanket, still smiling, and his face fell.

“What?” She asked. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, it was simply amused.

“You know.” He said dejectedly. “Don’t you?”

She kept smiling, bit down on her bottom lip, and nodded almost imperceptibly. He groaned.

“It was supposed to be a surprise!”

He held out his hands. In one was the bundle of surgical tools, in the other a bunch of bananas.

“I knew how worried you were about our first day, and I wanted to make you feel better. One of the second years suggested this….and why are you still smiling?”

She laughed at the irritation in his voice, and pulled him down beside her. And she kept smiling afternoon, as they performed life-saving surgery on the bananas and quizzed each other on medical terminology. She had known better than to be afraid of surgical equipment. She was a trainee doctor after all.

Satin Review

25 Feb

Guess what? It’s another theatre review! Durham Drama Festival, a week of student-written productions, is currently taking place, and last night I had the pleasure of seeing Satin. The dark tale of a group of Victorian prostitutes, this performance took place in Old Shire Hall, and was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. As always, I will link you to my review on the Durham Theatre Review site, rather than posting a full review here, but I do hope that you go and take a look, and read reviews of some of the other DDF performances while you’re at it. And so, without further ado:

http://durhamtheatrereview.com/reviews/event/TylqOXBsRpGyCARQXDx6yg

I’m proud of myself for this one, as I managed to write what I consider to be a well-balanced review, and to give three stars without being guilty. The do say practice makes perfect!

(For those of you looking for my final #DearValentine entry, I will post it tomorrow. Too much journalism/blogging, not enough academic work!)

Venice

23 Feb

Because I’m feeling both nostalgic for my Year Abroad and desperate to go travelling (anything but work) here are some pictures of Venice, one of my favourite cities!





Finchdale Priory 2 (Vertical Shots)

21 Feb

Finchdale Priory 1 (Horizontal Shots)

20 Feb

All photographs are my own work.

Angel of the North

19 Feb

#DearValentine Week Three: His Moment

18 Feb


Prompt: a gun, a tuxedo, an abandoned fairground.


His Moment

He’s standing next to the carousel, the gun weighing heavy in his pocket. His mouth is dry, his palms sweaty, and he wipes them on the lining of his rented tux, hoping that his nerves aren’t as obvious as he thinks they are. This is his moment. He can’t afford to screw it up.

For the longest thirty seconds of his life there is silence, and he forces himself to remain in position, eyes trained on the gaudily-painted candyfloss wagon, until footsteps alert him to their arrival. He turns, smiles, faces the newcomer.

Drawing in a quick breath, praying for his voice not to fail, he speaks.

“Hello Jack.”

His hand darts to his pocket, withdraws the gun, holds it to the other man’s head.

“Goodbye Jack.”

A shot rings out, drowning out the sound of his pounding heartbeat.

Jack crumples to the floor.

Silence falls.

But a moment later the silence is broken again, this time by thunderous applause. It continues, and he remains frozen in place until the curtain falls.

He barely registers the next few minutes; standing in line with the rest of the cast members, bowing for the delighted audience. Slipping out of that awful tux and back into his comfortable jeans and hoodie. Congratulating the others, accepting their praise with as much modesty as he can muster. It’s a blur of happiness, and he doesn’t think that it can get much better.

But the door opens and she’s there. She ignores Ben Russell, considered by most of the female population of their school (along with some of the males) to be the sexiest man alive, and walks straight past Matt Davis, who is shirtless and displaying his impressive abs to the room at large. The girl of his dreams walks right up to him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him passionately.

He had thought that things couldn’t get much better. Now he knows they can’t.