Overtly Unaccomplished

On my mum's birthday, three days after Christmas, my gallbladder finally had enough of DEALING with my SHIT. Dealing with CHEESE, and MI...

I started my MA in October 2016, as my mum died. I had surgery a month later. It was Christmas before I knew it. It wasn't really until ...

On Valentine's Day, the DWP charmingly sent this tweet out: Claiming to be living alone is one of the most common types of benefit f...

Currently, I do not feel the urge to blog. My life is a nonstop whirl of work, because uni hate me and set the deadline for my dissertation ...

Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people When I was a child, Christmas began at some point in late November, whe...

A few weeks ago, I had to write about the rise of the leisure town in the nineteenth century. I wrote a 5000 word essay on Cromer, my most f...

My dad said, rhetorically, on the anniversary of my mum going into hospital "Why do the anniversaries hurt so much? What makes that day...