The Hedge: Week 6 - The Essay Is The Ultimate Form of Self-Hatred

In my final year of my undergraduate degree, I had a 5000 word research paper to write. This was supposed to take about seven months.

Today I'm working on a 4000 word research paper, which is supposed to take about a week and a half. This should give you some clue as to the difference in workload between the two programmes.

Right now I have twenty tabs open on my browser. Only one of them is something other than an academic article (if you're curious, it's a delicious-looking recipe for a rustic sausage and cider stew). Words are blending together in front of my eyes and slowly starting to lose any real meaning. I keep clicking from one journal to the next, as if this were some valuable work in itself and not a pathetic attempt to delay having to do any more reading. I maintained enthusiasm for my research topic right up until I finished my outline, at which point I immediately hated it. Every sentence I complete is the worst sentence I've ever written; a symbol of my utter paucity of talent. I expect to continue to hate everything I write, right up until it's finished. Then, inexplicably, I'll read through it and decide it's actually good.

This is pretty standard essay-writing procedure for me, or at least one part of it. The other parts vary, but usually involve some combination of poor sleeping patterns, junk food, innumerable cups of tea, and listening to the national anthems of former Soviet states in an attempt to rouse my spirits. (I'm not a Stalinist, by the way. They just have the best national anthems. This is not up for debate.)

There is, thankfully, a silver lining to all this: I've noticed how much easier it is now than it was four years ago. The hardest part of these kind of projects is getting started, sticking to a plan, and simply having the self-confidence to know you are capable of reaching the finish line. When I did my final-year research paper at the undergraduate level, I still felt like I had no clue what I was doing. That, in itself, was enough to make me put off the work for far too long, agonising over how to even start rather than actually starting, and left me panicking and rushing in the final weeks. Today, I still have no clue what I'm doing, but I at least believe I can...figure it out somehow. And if I don't, I can at least pretend I know what I'm talking about, present my professors with something that looks a bit like I know what I'm talking about, and who knows, maybe even convince them that I do. I'm pretty sure that's how PhD students do it.

Will update again when the stupid essay is over. Now, back to the Kazakhstan national anthem.

The Hedge: Week 1

In my last update, I was freaking out about the stresses of moving house, moving countries, and leaving my job to start a degree in the Netherlands.

Fortunately, since that last update I have sorted everything out and become a calmer, newer, more organised me.

For example: last weekend I went to a talk by a UN official and managed not to be late, even though I'd just woken up twenty minutes before. I was dressed way too scruffily but I cleverly sat in a way which hid the hole in my jeans. I inexplicably had a satsuma in my pocket, which meant I didn't need to worry about breakfast.  I didn't spill any coffee on myself. I managed not to ask the very important UN guy any stupid questions. And even though on my way home I got the wrong tram three times, it DID lead me to walk home, which meant I got plenty of exercise. (In the rain.) And on the walk I found a very nice cafe. (Which protected me from the rain.)

So as you can see, I am entirely put-together in my new life.

***

Let's back up: three weeks ago, I was pushing a very heavy suitcase down a suburban road in The Hague - my new hometown. A woman started giving me a stern telling-off because, as it turned out, I was walking in the cycle lane.

It had not been a good morning.

I'd been up since 5am and hadn't even had anything to eat or drink. (I'd bought a scalding cup of tea at Gatwick but after twenty minutes it was still hot enough to burn my tongue, and I ended up having to leave it behind.) I'd had to pay an excess charge to easyJet for my big fat overweight suitcase, I'd almost lost my laptop at security, and the electronic passport readers at Amsterdam's airport were broken, leading to a massive queue of customers all as grumpy as I was. And now a woman was chastising me for not knowing appropriate lane etiquette. In my travel-induced delirium, I was starting to wonder what on earth I was even doing here.

Fortunately, things got a little better after I'd had some lunch, a nap, and met some of my fellow students on our orientation programme. Everyone was very nice and made me feel thoroughly ashamed of my language abilities, since despite being from all around the world, they could all speak English better than I could. With two weeks of free time until classes started, I had a little bit of space to get my bearings, download all the necessary apps, figure out how trains work (the answer is: better than back home) and all the other little necessary things. The feeling of "what on earth am I doing here" didn't entirely subside, but it did get noticeably quieter.


***

I'm typing this on Sunday night, as my First Official Week As A Masters Student draws to a close. (I notice *none* of you have sent me a card or a balloon, but don't worry, I'll get over it.) I'm feeling a lot more settled in now - I have an apartment, I have a vague sense of how to get to my classes, and I can order coffee in Dutch if the server is patient and doesn't ask any questions. I also have an essay due ALREADY, but I'm actually working on it rather than leaving it to the last hour, as I would have done five years ago. Progress!

I'll let you know how things go.

I'm writing this on my phone because my screen is cracked

I've come home from a long day at work and opened up my laptop to find the screen cracked. Fortunately this was ten minutes before my nearest reputable repair shop closed, so I was able to bolt down there and I should have it back tomorrow. But quite frankly, it was not what I needed. Planning one move is hell, let alone two (I have to move from my flat this week - the flat which, as it happens, just had its roof burst open - and then move countries at the end of the month). I have no university housing and looking online from another country is a minefield. I'm at the point of considering living in a hostel or airbnb for my first month of study, and just hoping to God I find somewhere. Moving out of my flat is stressful. Getting rid of furniture is stressful. Wondering why your university hasn't been in touch to confirm you are actually on the course is stressful. The various other emotional stressors going on are stressful. I am in a constant state of mild panic, even when asleep. And yet I've just returned from eight hours of dealing with people who are in much worse situations than I am, and feel guilty even taking up digital space.

Don't bother reading this. Just...argh.

Panic

You would think that I would remember that I'm supposed to move out of my flat in two weeks. And that I'm moving out of the country three weeks after that. But this morning, in the shower, I suddenly remembered: I'm moving next weekend. Not some indeterminate time in the future. Not a couple of months from now. Next weekend. Everything has to be packed into boxes, furniture disassembled, rubbish thrown out, skirting boards dusted. Freezer defrosted. Next weekend.

Somehow, I'd forgotten about this. Of course I knew in the abstract, but it wasn't in the forefront of my mind. I've been getting on with work and projects and dealing with various things that have cropped up. So I've sort of surprised myself. You have masses to do and you aren't prepared at all! SURPRISE!

There's also the small matter of not having anywhere to live when I get to the Netherlands. The university very kindly offered to set me up with housing, and then very unkindly retracted that offer. I've been handed the unfortunate task of having to flat-hunt online, without ever getting to see the place in question, and wondering if a) I'm ever going to find somewhere and b) if, when I finally get the flat, it's going to smell of cigarettes and sulphur, and have a floor that's actually just painted dirt. You never know until you see somewhere in person, do you?

So, yes. I am panicking. Just a little.

Please watch Samurai Gourmet

If you have Netflix, you need to be watching Samurai Gourmet.

If you don't know what this show is, I will explain the premise. A Japanese man retires and doesn't know what to do with his life. He spends his time going to restaurants. He eats the food and enjoys it. Sometimes it reminds him of some food he ate a long time ago. Sometimes, someone in the restaurant is obnoxious, and he fantasizes that a samurai will come and threaten them. He is perpetually socially anxious and amazed at the fact that he has free time now and can go to restaurants and drink beer whenever he wants. Then he goes home to his wife. This is literally the entire show.

It is my favourite thing right now.

It combines two stalwarts of Japanese television culture: food, and low-stakes appreciation. There is no need to think about destruction, or fear, or difficult decisions. There are no explosions, and not really much in the way of belly-laughs either. Instead, you are treated to twenty minutes of the protagonist musing on the minutiae of life, etiquette and enjoyment. A lunchtime beer is savoured; its colour in the sunlight, the thickness of the foam (naturally, being a Japanese beer, it is served with a head that would get the barman glassed in England). A simple plate of spaghetti or grilled chicken triggers a pleasant memory, and makes him wonder briefly about people and establishments from his youth. This is all the tension you need to make you keep watching. I think it's telling that I'm more addicted to this than to the new season of Orange is the New Black, which features a prison riot, and yet doesn't have half the power to draw me in as Samurai Gourmet.

I would implore you to give it a go.

An update.

Hey all. I have quite a bit on my plate right now (although not literally - haven't had dinner yet and I'm suuuuuper-hungry).

To be honest, I've been letting myself get a little drained and not taking as good care of myself as I'd like. I recently took up some extra hours and responsibilities at work, which is good for paying bills but has put on a bit of additional stress. I now have one less hour of free time per day, which doesn't sound like much but I'm feeling the effects. In addition, knowing I'll be moving soon means a) there's a bunch of extra stuff I have to do, and b) I'm feeling the pressure to enjoy living where I am right now, see all the things I haven't seen, eat where I haven't eaten etc. Instead of letting myself relax, I've responded by putting even more pressure on myself, which in retrospect might not be the correct decision. Squeezing everything I want to do into my week is taking a toll, which I've especially noticed the past few days. This weekend, I completely crashed and slept a total of about 27 hours over the two days.

I'm hoping to get back to normal service soon. In the meantime, I think I need to get back to basics: go for walks, take pleasure in books, cook simple and familiar meals. Follow my instincts on what will make me happy.

To start with, let's get dinner. I have halloumi, bacon and bagels, which basically means I'll be eating a shaker's worth of salt. But it'll be comforting and delicious, which is the important thing right now.

Chat to you later.

Exciting things happened.

So, just as I'm settling down in my flat, I'm getting ready to leave again.

Some context might be relevant: This time four years ago, I was cobbling together mind-maps and flowcharts for my final university exams, sellotaping notes to the walls of my damp-ridden room, memorising pre-planned essays, and quietly putting to the back of my mind the fact that I wasn't quite sure what relevance any of it might have to my future. 

Three years and nine months ago, I stepped down from a stage in an echoey hall, holding my diploma in my sweaty hand, letting it awkwardly flap between my hands as I applauded the next person behind me and wondered if they had any more clue than I did.

Three years ago I moved abroad, and for the first time discovered the joy of speaking languages, of communicating across barriers, of learning the similarities and differences between cultures, and navigating politics, economics and manners in a totally new environment.

 Two years ago I Googled "international relations masters degree".

Six months ago I narrowed down a list of about twenty universities down to four, and emailed my old professors to ask: did they remember the girl with the ever-changing hair colours? and would they mind writing her a reference?

Three months ago I was agonising over the wording of the final draft of my personal statement. Is the word "passion" clichéd? Did I spend too many sentences on hobbies?

One week ago, I got the last of the responses from my four chosen programmes. I'd been accepted to three of them, and waitlisted at one (the result of wasting too much time fussing about with the minutiae of the application essay, and getting it in a month later than planned as a result. Don't do this.) 

Today I chose one of those programmes, and sent in my acceptance form. 

This September, I will be moving to The Hague for two years, for an MSc in International Relations and Diplomacy.

Guess I'd better start learning Dutch.

Exciting things are happening

News coming soon...

Weekend Frolics Photodiary: Glasgow

A couple of weeks ago, I ended up on an impromptu 24-hour trip to Glasgow. The city's been on my radar for some time now - I've been to Edinburgh a couple of times, but I've heard Glasgow is often considered the better option for museums, arts and character. I'm not sure if I would have got round to visiting if not for various coincidences, but I'm glad I ended up there, if only for a day. I don't feel like I got enough exploration in to make any extended comments on the place, but I thought I'd share some photos and a few thoughts! That's all.

The Pot Still - local pub famous for its massive whisky collection. I'm not a big whisky drinker, but the beautiful range on offer just begs you to try it. I ended up with something smoky and...mossy? I don't know how to describe things.

Botanical gardens. Featuring a fun carnivorous plant section (did not get to see anyone be eaten by plants). 

Hillhead Bookclub - a bar/cafe/vintage shop in the West End. Mouthwatering menu. Just on the right side of hipster.

Kelvingrove Museum - beautiful lobby (where we managed to catch a free organ concert), some interesting niches of local and international art.

Hanging from the roof of the museum. Good for photo ops.

Very important Scottish cultural product. Not a proper trip without. 

First thing that happened when I got out of the airport was a guy at the taxi rank cracking a joke at me. Last thing I saw before I went back to the airport was this. Apart from the wideness of the roads and the colour of the stone, the humour is probably the thing that sticks with you the most.

See you for another frolic soon!

My 2017 Cooking Challenge

Everything is basically a muscle. Your heart is a muscle. Your legs are a muscle. That table over there is a muscle...

No, I've lost what I was trying to say here.

Let's start again. As far as I can tell, everything is a muscle, in that you have to practice again and again, and the more you practice, the easier it gets to work it. I've found this to be true with learning Japanese, making sure I read every day, and of course working out....unfortunately, not all of these are things I've continued to do. It takes so much time to make the habit, which eventually becomes easy and natural - but allow yourself to fall out of the habit and it's suddenly as hard as it was at the beginning. It's like sweating and puffing your way through climbing up a mountain, and then sliding all the way back down on your arse.

Cooking is one of these habits for me. While living in Japan I got very used to cooking frequently, especially in bulk. But moving into a new flat with a tiny kitchen, with no radiator, in the middle of January, does not exactly inspire me. I want to be curled up in my bed with takeout, not huddled over a stove in a hoodie. Moving to a new city with loads of cutesy restaurants doesn't really help either. I've become more reliant on cafes for food - especially lunches - and it's having a bearing on my wallet and my waistline.

With that in mind, I've set myself a challenge. I will select 10 new recipes to try every month. I thought about making all these recipes healthy, but to be honest it's not my priority right now. My priority is to find joy in cooking and eating homemade food again. I'd also like to improve my basic skills - I'm not a bad cook by any means, but I could just get a little bit cleaner and more efficient with things like knife skills.

For the record, here's my first recipe. It's sort-of based on fettucine alfredo but mainly based on the fact that I love pasta and nutmeg. It was simple but went very well, and will definitely be a staple in my future comfort-eating regimen. It also turned out to be one of those recipes that gets better the day after you make it - the sauce thickens overnight and clings to the pasta all the more. Not diet-friendly, but very definitely me-friendly. I made it just before going to bed, so I will name it:

Delicious Creamy Midnight Pasta

Ingredients:
200g pasta
400ml tub of single cream
A big ol' slice of butter (50-100g)
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
A generous knob of parmesan
Salt and pepper to taste

1) Boil the pasta in one saucepan, melt the butter at a medium-low heat in another.

2) Add cream, and nutmeg, grate in parmesan. Cook the sauce for the same time as the pasta, stirring frequently, and adding salt, pepper and more of the nutmeg and parmesan to taste.

3) Oh...that's it. Enjoy hot or cold.

I will endeavour to update in May with how the cooking challenge is going, and showing you my favourite recipes of the month. Maybe some of them will even be healthy!

Skinny Windows

I don't appreciate the English countryside enough. That's one of the lessons I took with me when I came back from Japan - along with 'cold canned coffee tastes like cigarette butts and, like an Epipen, is only to be used when you might die otherwise'. Many, many times, when I told people I was English in Japan, they would begin to gush about how beautiful England was, how much they wished to go there, how quaint the villages, how green the hills. (And that was just the Americans.) People showed me tourist brochures they carried around with them like a good luck totem. And I just took it for granted a lot of the time.

My patch.

I was not at all outdoorsy growing up - why are things crawling on me? why is there a leaf in my face? why mud? - so appreciating the countryside is something that I've only learned to do in the last few years. And even now, I often don't like to venture out for long hikes unless it's properly warm, so the English countryside is out of the question for at least three quarters of the year. Still, I've recently become aware of how little I've explored the countryside, in my own native Sussex and also further afield. I've never been to the Lake District, the Peak District, Cornwall or the New Forest. I know that on this small island there's a surprising variety of palettes - move from region to region and watch the changes in shade and softness of stone, darkness of tree, stubbornness of chimney, curve of street, moodiness of cloud. And so much of it I have yet to see.

A couple of weeks ago I tried to rectify my ignorance by spending a weekend in Norfolk. The first thing I noticed: all the buildings have skinny windows. Second thing I noticed: the ground is low, and chewy underfoot.

Like this.

After a warm, cosy evening in a pub, I spent a grey Sunday morning treading across marsh, along the squishy fringe of the East Anglia coast. The edges of Norfolk are quite alien. I sometimes wonder if they could have filmed Tarkovsky's Stalker there. It is not hard to imagine the ground simply dragging your foot in and taking you out to sea. Down south, land and sea are two separate things. In Norfolk, I have learned, there is a lot of grey area. None of this bothers the dogs. I have also learned that every single person in Norfolk seems to have a dog.

I'm not sure if I liked the place or not. There is a kind of brackish, earthy beauty to it I suppose. Very brown. Perhaps I would have liked it better if I hadn't wandered onto an A-road with no pavement and been forced to take a detour through a cabbage patch that probably belonged to a farmer with a shotgun.

A few miles down the road, I whiled away the afternoon in a seaside village called Cromer, which was much more familiar territory to me. (If you grow up in a town with a pier, going to any other town with a pier just feels like going to the Bizarro World version of your town.)

 Cromer's beaches are sandy, which is a change for a Sussex girl. I must admit being a little jealous, though I'm tempted to cover it up with scornful comments about how sand is for wusses and real beaches are made of pebble. There are also pristine cobblestone streets, leading up to a massive church. Like, a really massive church.

This picture does not show you how massive this church is.

Couple of hours around Cromer, fish and chips, a train back to Norwich, and a National Express home. Not a huge adventure I'll admit, but a new way to spend a weekend.

Would I come back to Norfolk? I think so. There's a few more place on my bucket list first. But I'm happy to have taken some shy, sandy first steps to discovering more of my own country.

25 Things I Learned By The Age of 25

Technically, I won't be 25 for another twelve hours, but officially it's been my birthday for an hour and forty minutes. I don't feel much wiser yet, although I do have a strange urge to yell at the damn kids mucking about in my garden (despite the fact that I don't have a garden and there are no kids). I feel like I haven't learned much thus far in life. But in case anyone wants to know my pearls of wisdom, here are 25 things I've learned before turning 25:

1) Avoiding thinking about a problem doesn't make it go away.
2) Don't buy clothes that are slightly ill-fitting, or slightly broken, or slightly weird, on the grounds that "oh, but it's *almost* perfect!" You will never wear them. Ever.
3) Make your bed every day. It will make you feel approximately 20% more like a successful person.
4) Be aware and honest about your weaknesses.
5) Remember that being aware and honest about your weaknesses isn't the same thing as working on them.
6) Discovery brand guacamole is terrible.
7) Don't turn down opportunities just out of fear they won't pan out as well as you hope.
8) It's okay to not look perfect every day.
9) If you heat leftover pizza in a frying pan, it gives the crust a freshness and crunch. Microwaves are rarely the best option for reheating.
10) It's not the end of the world if you're not good at something right away. Not being good at something and persisting anyway is called discipline. You need more of it.
11) Walking is nice, and healthy, and cheap. Walk everywhere.
12) Putting effort into organising yourself well is the best way to achieve your goals.
13) You will not achieve all your goals. That's okay, some of your goals are stupid. You are not going to design the world's first personal mini-submarine.
14) Write as much as possible, even if you're not planning on showing it to anyone.
15) People are too busy worrying about how they look to other people to think too much about how you look to them.
16) Showing a little bit of extra appreciation to someone, or paying them a compliment, can really make their day.
17) Always carry mints.
18) If you know you're going to regret something, but think about doing it anyway, maybe don't do that thing. I am surprised this something it took several years to learn but apparently it did.
19) Trying new things will (mostly) not kill you.
20) Learn languages, and then maintain them. You will lose them faster than you think.
21) Water parks are actually fun and not that terrifying.
22) The best day to do something is the day you decide to do it. I actually got this one from a Japanese t-shirt.
23) You can get a lot of useful life advice from Japanese t-shirts.
24) A few people are awful. A few people are the nicest, most genuine, wonderful people. Most people are all right.
25) You are actually all right.

Where are my glasses?

I cannot begin to explain how such a small thing is triggering the unraveling of my mind.

I have not seen my glasses for two weeks. They are not in my kitchen. They are not in the bathroom. They are not in the bed. They are not under the bed. They are not on the shelf. They are not under the sofa cushions. They are not at my desk at work. They are not at any other desks at work. They are not at my parents' house or the place where I volunteer. They are not at my boyfriend's house. They are not at the doctor's office. They are not in my mother's car. They have come unstuck in time and space.

They have to be somewhere and yet, somehow, they just aren't.

When I taught English as a foreign language I learned that one of the hardest things to get right as a non-native speaker are prepositions - why "in the morning" but "at night"? Why "on the train" not "in the train"? - but right now I feel like I'm done with prepositions as a general life concept. Once you look on top of a pillowcase and under a pillowcase, and then with only a slight hesitation look in the pillowcase, and then begin to wonder if it would be possible for your glasses to somehow be wrapped around the pillowcase in some four-dimensional manner that you simply can't see, you realise that our perception of physical objects and the relations they have to each other are basically a very complicated way to convince our brains that there is order in the universe and we're not just all hurtling on a big rock towards hell and chaos. In a weird way this might be the most frustrating thing to have happened to me all year, because it should be so simple and yet it isn't. They should be right next to me, or on the counter, or on my bedside table, but they refuse to be there, preferring to taunt me from invisible universes. They appear in my dreams, just out of my reach and inexplicably the size of the obelisk from 2001: A Space Odyssey. I am the Tantalus of the studio flat.

Please tell me if you find my glasses.

How to Keep Going

Warning: this does get a bit self-help-y.

I'm writing this at exactly midnight on Sunday night/Monday morning. Another week has come and gone and I feel a bit crap because I haven't done my weekly blogpost again. Loyal readers - all eight of you - will know that one of my New Year's resolutions was to do one post a week, but so far I feel like I just haphazardly rush something out before bed, or else don't get it done until a couple of days late. Looking at the publishing dates makes me feel like a failure.

But then I look at them again and I think - well, this is my sixth post of the year. And it's been six weeks. Okay, so if you discount the one where I literally just wrote "tuna sandwich" there's only five. And if you discount the one that was only a couple of lines, it's only four...

...and if you discount whatever this is, it's three.

But that's three more than nothing. And it's following on from nine months where I didn't post at all. For a hobby that I'm balancing with a full-time job and various other life demands, it's actually not that bad. Maybe I need to stop feeling so guilty all the time for not committing myself 100% to everything when I only have 100% of me to give (85% if you allow for naps).

As I said in my last post, I have an all-or-nothing tendency where a key part of being productive is feeling like I'm being productive, and riding the wave of that energy, if that metaphor doesn't make me sound unbearable. If I waste a day sitting around, it lowers my mood and makes me feel guilty and useless, which tends to create a self-fulfilling prophecy of convincing myself I can't do anything and perpetuating the cycle of doing nothing again and again. If, on the other hand, I get lots of things done, I feel like I'm capable of more. I can keep going. If I could have that feeling all the time, I know I'd be so much better at life. So: maybe part of being productive isn't just about doing everything right away. Maybe it's about forgiving yourself when you don't do everything right away, so you don't feel worse and get worse. Maybe I have to get a more accurate picture of how much I should expect myself to do, and realise that there are only so many hours in a day. Maybe the trick is, instead of punishing yourself for failure, to give yourself the privilege of letting it go so you can keep going.

Even right now, with this blog post, focusing on the positive of how much more I've posted in the last few weeks has spurred me on to finish this post. I was originally telling myself just to start it, do a couple of sentences, see how it goes, and yet now I'm finishing it within 27 minutes of starting it (sorry about the unedited feel). I feel like this is probably a healthier way of going about things than my usual all-or-nothing tendencies - managing my goals and breaking them into smaller pieces when I don't feel totally up to them. Of course, I want to draw a line between letting go of failures and outright complacency, but I'm also going to accept that finding that line will take some time. We all struggle with that to an extent, I think, so I shouldn't expect myself to get the balance right instantly.

I'm going to bed now. It's 12.27 and I'm really tired. Happy though. Happy I kept going.

How to be Useful: The Importance of Nice Sounds

I'm not very good at getting things done. 

I like to sit. Sitting is really, really nice. I like walking as well, but oh boy, do I love to sit. I like warmth. I like sitting in warm places. I'm essentially a human cat. And, like any other cat, I'm not terribly good at writing blogposts or taking out the recycling on time or getting to a spin class.

But, whether it's because I'm feeling more energetic, or just because I'm getting older and it's putting the fear of death in me, I've spent the last couple of months getting more and more done. I've noticed a massive, pleasing uptick in the speed in which I cross things off my list. It's surprising, given that it's coincided with moving back into working a full-time job, but this seems to be how I act - like a gas, I expand or contract into whatever space you squeeze me into (I always like to think of the most flattering similes for myself). In periods where I haven't had a lot going on, I find it easy to slip into bad habits: sleeping in late, not getting out of the house until late, general wallowing. When I have a job or activity that takes up a bunch of my day, I manage to use my time much better, I guess because I value it more.

So how do I make myself get things done? And keep track of everything I need to do? In the past I used my laptop to keep long to-do lists and notes; then, for a while, I moved to keeping a notebook in what I believe trendy people refer to as "bullet journalling", but both were imperfect systems. I found them a bit fiddly and I didn't necessarily have a laptop or notebook everywhere I went, which was unhelpful because I tend to think of things to put on there constantly. In addition, it didn't give me much satisfaction when I managed to finish a task; on the laptop lists, I would delete the task and it was like it never existed in the first place, and in my notebooks crossing things off just looked a bit ugly, like I was a child who'd crossed something out in an essay. It sounds dumb but I like organisational systems that are aesthetically pleasing: neat, cute and fulfilling when I tick something off. I want to enjoy my productivity. Ideally, I wanted to hear a little "bing!" sound when I achieve something. I like bing sounds.

I'm not sure how the thought didn't occur to me earlier, but since I'm carrying my phone everywhere I go, I recently realised I should probably find an app that does this job for me. I haven't actually managed to find one perfect app, but I have two that I use in conjunction: Wunderlist, and Productive.

They're both very simple, which I love. Productive is good for things you want to get done on a regular basis - household chores, the gym, taking medication, studying etc. You can program what the task is and what days of the week you want to do it, then check your list daily and swipe things as you complete them. And yes, you get a bing. I've been using that for seven months now and found I have pretty good success; plus you can look back at previous weeks and months and see how often you achieved perfect days where you completed all your tasks. My only nitpick is that the system doesn't distinguish between days where you completed, say, six out of seven tasks, from days where you were total rubbish and achieved nothing, but I guess it might encourage you to strive for perfection. Wunderlist is newer to me; I've been using it a few weeks, but I really like it. It's a lot more flexible and allows you to create multiple lists; so you can have shopping lists but also things you want to get done that week or that month, lists of places you want to travel to etc. I like Wunderlist for keeping lists of one-off tasks, to be used together with Productive for my daily tasks. You get bings in Wunderlist too. Productive has a heavier bing - more of a bloop, actually - whereas Wunderlist has a light, springy bing. Bings are very important when it comes to productivity.

I'm curious to know how other people organise themselves, so please let me know if you have apps or systems that you like (also let me know if it involves bings). Myself, I'm going to continue trying to get better at using my time. Although I don't think I'm ever going to be the kind of person who doesn't like to sit.

University applications suck.

Being up at 2am trying to write an essay about how great you are is no fun. I would be rubbish at being Donald Trump.

Cribs 2017: The Unheated Studio Flat Edition

It took a bit of time, but I'm here. I've got bin-liners and an Allen key. I'm about to tackle Ikea self-assembly. I've gone mattress shopping, which as it turns out is a very pleasant experience where they give you cups of tea and invite you to bounce on a variety of expensive beds. I've had the internet set up twice, once on Monday and once more when it broke down half an hour later. I've moved my furniture around pointlessly out of pure curiosity. I've become dictator of the central heating.

I've moved into my own flat.

Okay, so the mattress I bought won't arrive for a few more days, so in the meantime I'm sleeping on a rather uncomfortable sofabed (I keep dreaming I'm an Indian yogi lying on a bed of nails to impress my circle of hippie followers). And the radiator is tiny. And there's bird poo on the window. But the window's so big! And it's mine (well, rented). The kitchen's adorable and the bathroom's surprisingly spacious. I'm on a leafy street with an easy walk to the beach and the city. I feel very lucky and I think once I actually have, y'know, basic furniture I'll have something pretty nice going on. The space is small but I think I can make it cosy and welcoming if I invest in a couple more candles and drapey materials. I've only been here a few days so I still feel a bit in-between, but I'm looking forward to being properly settled in. Living by yourself for the first time opens up a lot of opportunities to cook in your pyjamas while you play the same Dead Kennedys song on loop and rest assured, I will be taking those opportunities. Plus, I'm eliminating the two-hour-per-day commute I've been doing the last three months, and that frees up a lot of time for blogging and mooching about in cafes.

Life is good.

5 Things I Miss About Japan

Okay, I already did the post about things I love in the UK. But there are nice things and not-so-nice things about every place, so without further ado:


Mountains - I never knew I liked mountains. In Japan you can see mountains pretty much anywhere in any direction that isn't the sea. It's not only majestic, but also gives you an odd sense of protection. Like the hordes aren't going to come and get you. The hordes could totally come and get you in the UK.

Sento - Since coming back in August, I'm not sure I've ever felt...100% clean. Or maybe I've felt 100% clean, but a sento - a Japanese bathhouse - gets you 130% clean, you know? The little pre-bath showers, the steam everywhere, the lovely big massive bottles of shampoo and lotion and the weird novelty baths with the electric current running through them - they all contribute to a kind of super-clean you can't quite get from an everyday shower. Oh, and it might sound strange, but: when there's an open-air bath with a balcony and a view, and you get the chance to be there all by yourself, and after a few minutes of soaking in the tub you get out and don't even notice the cold air around you because your body temperature is so high, and you're naked as the day you were born with no shame whatsoever and looking out onto the city sprawled below you...you honestly feel like the supreme ruler of the universe. Trust me on that one.

Decent opening hours - Are you in the UK right now? Do you want to buy something or do some kind of activity outside your house? Is it later than 5.30? Too bad. I have a theory that this is genuinely a large contributing reason to the UK's binge-drinking culture. Places that actually have things you can do when it's night-time don't seem to become weird pits of alcoholic despair after dark in quite the same way we do. In Barcelona, kids run around the public squares well past an English kid's bedtime, making their own entertainment while their parents laugh and joke with their friends in nearby cafes. In Seoul, people buy jumpers and drink frappuccinos at midnight.. Drinking is one of a range of possible activities, or a stimulant to other, more central activities, rather than the means of whiling away cold hours. I miss that sense of lunar camaraderie. Also, it's really annoying when you need eggs for midnight snacks. I need my night eggs.

Festival spirit without aggro - somewhat related to the last one. I miss being able to go to massive cherry blossom picnics or other traditional festivals, cracking open a few beers, chatting amiably with strangers and feeling like everyone around me is having a harmlessly pleasant time. The UK really doesn't have enough traditional festivals, and most of the ones we do have seem to revolve around Morris dancing. But to be honest, I don't really want lots of festivals here, because I know we'd do them wrong. People would get edgy and ruin everything. There would be litter and a constant low-level aura of menace. As a generalisation, I trust Japanese people much more when it comes to combining massive overcrowding, alcohol and ceremony.

Trains - I live in the kingdom of Southern Rail. This one wasn't difficult.

Placeholder blogpost just to keep to my 1-per-week minimum because I'm moving this week and I am ill-prepared

Tuna sandwich