ALL THE THINGS I REMEMBER @allthethingsiremember - Tumblr Blog

Okay, lads. Here it is. Here’s the cover. My previous post detailed the process of working with my publisher to decide on a cover we were both happy with, so have a click there if that’s of any interest to you.

I’m really glad to have a cover that is (hopefully) neutral, whilst still being relevant to the story. I think it avoids being masculine or feminine, it could be picked up by a reader of any age, and it doesn’t presuppose the type of person who might enjoy the story. When asked ‘Who is the target audience of your book?’ I always think, can ‘people like me’ be the answer? And by that I don’t mean a white female in her 20s, I mean someone who has a crippling fear of death, only likes simple coffee, loves dogs and hates cats, doesn’t want to grow up in some ways but grew up too fast in others, feels most alive when scared, cracks their knuckles, feels trapped by routine, is super into the idea of sea-monkeys, feels guilt from others’ sadness, loves pulling fluff out of their eyelashes, dropped their snack biscuits in a puddle at age four and is still haunted by it, doesn’t believe in ghosts, gets freaked out by them anyway, and at the same time desperately wants to see one so that life and death still have mystery. Just someone human, really.

Whilst I adore pretty books, and I obviously understand the necessity of commercial design, I think reading is so personal, that it seems absurd to subtly suggest a book should be read by a certain ‘type’ of person. If some guy who works in finance and plays rugby at weekends loves Twilight, that’s his prerogative. If there’s some twelve year old girl sitting in a room plastered with One Direction posters, staying up into the middle of the night reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, fine, that’s what she’s into. People are complex, let’s not insult them by telling them what they should read. How the hell am I meant to know who will like my book? If anyone will like my book? I’m going to be grateful to every single person who takes the time to sit down and read it.

Of course, assuming that a pink glittery book cover would be aimed at young girls, or a stark, black minimalist cover at adult males, is a problem in itself. But right now I’m just showing you the cover of a book I wrote that will be available on real shelves in physical shops. Or you can pre-order it, which I think you can do here (or at least there will be a link to Amazon there, I don’t know, I just do the writing).

Please buy, read, and then pretend you like my book. Thank you.

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Scared While Playing Dead

My parents’ house has those little windows above the bedroom doors. Instead of a foot of wall between door and ceiling, there’s glass. This utterly redundant window provided a prime viewing area for ghosts and monsters to watch me sleeping as a kid. I would stare at that window from my bed, gazing into the darkness of the hallway beyond, and know there was a shadowy face grinning down at me.

My mum eventually put a translucent floral decal on the window, but by this point I was eighteen and the monsters had transferred their voyeuristic tendencies to younger kids in the neighbourhood. Fifteen years too late, Mum.

Anyway. One day, when I was somewhere between the ages of five and nine, I was alone in my bedroom pretending to be dead. I’d turned my rocking horse onto its side and draped myself over it, eyes closed, dead. After cycling through a few different death positions, all involving the rocking horse (some, more elaborate deaths, involving stretching between upturned horse and bed), I looked up from a particularly dramatic pose to see a face in the window. I screamed.

My father had stood on the laundry basket to spy on me in my room. The fear of seeing a face in a window eight feet above me only barely masked my embarrassment at getting caught dying a lot. Neither of us mentioned it.

#memories #ophelia dagger #childhood #playing dead

My friend is in an emotionally abusive and threatening relationship. A while after hearing this news I showed her some of your relationship videos where you talked about your experience, which was eerily identical to the one she's in, taking into account how little you talked about it. She seemed very surprised that other people had been in similar situations to hers and asked me to replay it a few times. Thank you for being an open and authentic voice on this issue when I needed one the most.

So sorry to hear that, I'm glad she has people like you to help her. I really hope she's out of that situation now, or if not, I hope she gets out of it soon. I know it can be incredibly difficult, but I'm sure she won't regret it, especially if she has a support system. Thanks so much for letting me know I maybe helped her to feel less isolated in her experience.

Cancer and Crisps

Today I want to work on my second book #plug #firstbookcomingoutMarch2016 #sorry #thecoverisuglyandiloveit, so I figured knocking a memory out would lube my fingers up right nice.

I think I’ve talked about this in a vlog, but it came up again yesterday when discussing how in touch we were with empathy as kids. Some children have a great capacity to feel for others, you know, the smug little selfless ones from viral hits. From my mild misanthropic tendencies now, I assume I may have been somewhat deficient in two of the big three ‘pathy emotions. Is apathy an emotion? It’s the lack of emotion. Is the lack of an emotion an emotion? Probably not, a lack of pizza isn’t a pizza. And that’s something we all have to come to terms with.

So, we were trying to figure out the first time we felt genuine empathy. My first recollection of a sadness, which didn’t involve my own emotions over Homeward Bound, was when I was thirteen. My best friend had been dating a guy in the year below us at school. His name was Jeremy. I didn’t understand why she liked him, because we were thirteen, and he was just a sort of schlubby nothing we hadn’t even really spoken to. He certainly wasn’t from the group of popular boys we were friends with in our year, or the not-so-popular (but older and therefore acceptable) boys we knew from two years above. He was a younger, soft bodied indistinct with one friend.

I didn’t spend much time with Jeremy. Whenever my best friend and him were together we'd be in a group so I’d just go off with someone else. Also she went to his house once, they made out a lot whilst he played Cher’s Believe on repeat. After that incident she told me she never wanted to listen to Believe again, which was a personal tragedy because this was during the time I’d go to skating discos on Friday evenings at the sports centre, and my anthem from those wonderful nights was, you’ve guessed it, Believe.

Not long after that, Jeremy’s mother died of cancer. I never spoke to him about this. I don’t know if my friend did. I don’t know if Believe came before or after the emptiness from his mother dying. But one day we were standing on the grass next to the playground outside our school’s Holkham house. There were four of us; my best friend, Jeremy, his best friend and me. No one was saying much. Jeremy had a packet of Hula Hoops. He was really enjoying those Hula Hoops, he was chubby so he always seemed to be enjoying his food, when he dropped them. A few rolled out of the packet onto the grass. His chin did a little twitch. The ‘I just dropped something’ twitch. And I cried.

Looking back, I’ve always said, ‘His mum died, and then he dropped his crisps, so I cried. Those soiled potato snacks were the final emotional straw pushing me into empathy.’ But, writing this, I’ve just realised that the crisps probably came before the death of his mother, because after she died I don’t think I saw him around at school for a long time. And when she died I thought, ‘First he dropped his crisps, and now this, how much tragedy can befall one person?’

I wonder what happened to him.

#ophelia dagger #oldhotradio #memory #cancer #crisps #thirteen #teenage

Through Glass

There’s a Reddit thread right now about 90′s music nostalgia. I listened to a bunch of the stuff they posted, most of which conjured memories of many hours on Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. But it also made me feel that weird sad-happy excitement that only comes with nostalgia. It’s addictive and beautiful, that feeling, so I went to Spotify, searched for Reef - Place Your Hands (the club anthem of one of my greatest, but lost, true blue friendship groups - Charlie, Billy, Chris, & Andy - 2011) and commenced upon a glorious ‘related artist’ linked journey through some of the best years of my life.

I don’t have enough of a passion to actively search for music any more, but between 2004-2009 I had a constant soundtrack, and I had completely forgotten about so much of it until tonight. Going through related artists, band after band came up, and song after song. If I didn’t recognise the title I’d play it anyway, and immediately all the words would come flooding back. Words to songs I'm convinced I’d never have thought of again. Songs like Our Lady Peace - Clumsy, Matchbook Romance - Tiger Lily, or Mest - Chelsea.

Oddly, the song that brought back a memory I thought I’d lost to time was a song which I still listen to, but which comes from those same days of Good Charlotte, Fenix TX, Alter Bridge, Less Than Jake, et al. It’s Stone Sour - Through Glass. For me, Through Glass was one of those songs you hear once and it immediately takes up home in your heart, never to leave, attaching itself to a time and a place irrefutably. Tonight it dislodged a memory which, the night it was made, I remember feeling that I was living life the way movies always tell us to.

My memory of it is hazy now; all that remains are character names and a shot from a montage sequence.

Third year of university. We’re in the woods behind campus. I’m with Cat, Beth, Rob, Louis, Phil, and Simon. I live with Phil, Lou, and Simon at 1 Friends Road. Cat and Beth live directly across the street at number 2. How cute, right? We took the F.R.I.E.N.D.S dream literally. Rob lives somewhere... I remember he has a couch and a door... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ We have a pretty decent bonfire, and we’re sitting drinking in a circle around it. It’s cold at our backs so I’m sitting huddled up to Rob. I can see Cat and Beth doing the same across the fire, Simon is sitting a bit further away to my right, and Lou and Phil are to our left. In a moment of silence, someone quietly sings, I’m looking at you through the glass, then someone else joins in, don’t know how much time has passed, then we’re all singing. We’re all singing and hugging in our pairs and smiling at each other like we know this moment is special and there won’t always be days like these.

And whilst I don’t remember them well now, their feeling stays with me, and I miss them severely.

#memories #opheliadagger #oldhotradio #university

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Depression and Ladybirds

This post is about depression and ladybirds. The title is 10/10 for accuracy. The ladybird portion of the title currently appears like an innocent juxtaposed sweetness to depression. It is not.

So today I was reading about Hemingway’s ECT, and how it ultimately made him forget his own name. I saw a comment from someone claiming to have had ECT for depression, confirming they have memory loss but that it did help relieve them from the clutches of the fog. Someone else chipped in that depression ruins your memory anyway. I never knew this.

I thought it was just a gruelling march through years of waking up. To find the entire act of living to be an ironic joke. Largely apathetic to people and ambition, days simply become heavily melancholic pauses between the relief of sleep. With periods of respite, of course. Sometimes months of respite. And then there are periods where you believe you’re so sad you might die anyway. Where you’re so sad you almost dare to hope that your brain might just shut everything down, because surely this is enough pain.

But apparently it takes other things too. Like memory. And with it the use of language, and speed and wit. And I oddly found that a relief. Because, as I half-jokingly mentioned in my first post here, I was scared of early-onset Alzheimer’s. It was the kind of fear that seemed irrational, that I would say with a false smile. But then in conversation I’d pause more frequently, unable to find the word that should come next. This was never noticeable, not really. I’d circle around it, use a synonym. It happens to everyone. But as a captive witness to every blip, it seemed to be happening a bit too much. As a young teenager I used to read the dictionary; language was something I valued a lot in high school. I believed we could only really exist within the language we possessed, we could only experience that which we could describe, so to broaden my vocabulary was to broaden my life. I was a bit of a dick, don’t worry about it. I blame Dawson’s Creek.

So, today I’m relieved. I’ve seen Alzheimer’s take family members. I rationally fear it above all else life throws at us. And now I’m pretty sure it’s not my turn just yet.

One day, when I was about five, I was on a beach. Heacham beach. There was an infestation of ladybirds at the time. Hundreds of them were undulating over the stump of a tree. I took my tiny shoe-covered foot, and I stamped on that tree stump. It was the most evil thing I have ever done and, despite the fact I’ve probably forgotten a lot of people I spent five entire years of high school with, I’ll never forget that. My parents were watching. I expect in life I’ll never really disappoint them as long as I don’t do any killings. Silver lining.

#memory #childhood #depression #oldhotradio #opheliadagger #trigger

As today is our 2 year friendship anniversary, and the 1 year anniversary of our joint channel, it’s only fitting to talk about my Jim.

Most people who know me from the online internet web system are aware of my best human friend, Jimmy0010. I love Jim.

Way back in 2007(?) I used to be a huge Jimmy0010 fan. This was when Jim was funny, chubby, and in SD. You know, before he went AWOL for a couple of years and came back all thin with a hair cut (I unsubscribed (sorry Jim)).

During his emo Co-op years, I’d watch his videos and it was like watching myself. I KNEW if we met we’d be best friends. A lot of YT commenters say that, and it’s often not true. But with Jim it was like a brain twin I’d been separated from. I obviously had no way of distinguishing myself from everyone else commenting the same thing, I didn’t even make videos then, so I just watched in happy silence.

Cut to 2013. I’ve been making videos for a year. It’s the SitC after party. Everyone is on a boat. I hear from Daniel J Layton that Jack Howard wants to meet me, so I sit down with Jack, give him a hard time, and we get on really well. Obviously. As I’m talking to Jack, Jimmy0010 walks by, and I gasp, ‘Jack, that’s Jimmy0010!′ Jack knows him and shouts Jim over, despite my protests. I felt bad for Jim; he’s trying to have a nice time and someone’s forced him to talk to me.

Next day, Jim tweets me saying it was nice to meet me, because he’s a beautifully sweet and polite fuck. I see him a month later at a charity thing, and we immediately fall into the patter that we have now. We made a video together soon after and started hanging out all the time. We were as similar as I knew we would be back in 2007. We went from strangers to ‘chelsandjim’ almost immediately. SoulMATES.

Exactly one year later we started our joint channel, ChelsandJim. And now he’s my best friend and favourite human. I’d love to go and tell 2007 Chels how right she was.

Anyway, our birthdays are two weeks apart and this is the middle week, so to celebrate we’re now off to Soho to get food, drinks, and see The Mentalists this evening <3

P.S. I have since re-subscribed.

#memory #chelsandjim #jimmy0010 #opheliadagger #adulthood

Foreskin

The first time I saw a foreskin (I think I just plagiarised that opening line from Dickens) I was in a big tree. Now, before you get too aroused at all these titillating details, I’ll point out that I was eight years old. Also the foreskin was probably about seven, but it’s hard to tell with those because they’re born old. Foreskins and scrotums are the Benjamin Buttons of the body. I’d also like to take this opportunity to point out that it was attached to a body. Luke’s body. Specifically it was attached to Luke’s penis.

A brief round up before we continue: As a child, I was in a big tree when I saw the safe, clean, anatomically correct, atheist foreskin of another child.

It was all consensual and unrelated to anything sexy. We had been building a den when Luke said ‘Do you want to see something I can do?’ and I said ‘What can you do?’ and he dropped his trousers, pulled something out of his pants, and squeezed just below the end of it. At this point in my life I’m aware I saw the head of his flaccid penis come peeping out through his foreskin. But at the time I saw a mesh of garbled flesh, as though Luke had been in an accident and whilst he had healed, he had healed poorly and misshapen. I said ‘Oh yeah’ and we got back to building.

#memory #opheliadagger #oldhotradio #childhood

Everyone I’ve Ever Been Attracted To

I’m sitting in my pants watching House of Wax, which is fine I’m fine my life’s going great, and who pops up? None other than Chad Michael Murray. And this made me think about all my childhood crushes. I wrote a somewhat sad post yesterday, so to juxtapose that with something supremely banal I figured I’d make a list of everyone I’ve ever been attracted to. Mostly famous, some real. It’s rare I’m into a real life one.

So, in no particular order (but a rough order), here is everyone I’ve fancied from the age of 4:

Simba (the lion)

Jonathan Taylor Thomas (as Randy from Home Improvement (voice of Simba - related? Who knows))

Jonathan Brandis (Bastian from NeverEnding Story 2 (RIP))

Casper (when he turned into a real boy)

Devon Sawa (who played real boy Casper, but much later in life, in Idle Hands and as Stan)

David Bowie (in The Labyrinth, a love that will never end)

Elijah Wood (when he was little and I was littler - I’m talking North/The Good Son)

Edward Furlong (as John Connor)

Haley Joel Osment (in Pay it Forward ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Joshua Jackson (specifically and only in Mighty Ducks 2+3, Dawson’s Creek, and Magic in the Water)

David Stafford (went to my primary school, and all my other schools but only relevant in primary school)

Craig Mann (middle school)

Jacob Smith (In Cheaper By The Dozen, warning, do not look him up on Facebook now)

Robert Downey Jr (notably in the 1989 movie Chances Are)

Michael J Fox (as Marty McFly, always)

A French boy the summer I was thirteen (he was an exchange student and beautiful, I said I liked him and gave him my address, he wrote to me after he went home saying he loved me and included a photo... unfortunately in the photo he wasn’t wearing his hat and was less attractive. I did not write back.)

Eminem (from 1999 - FOREVER)

Stephen Boss (some guy who transferred to my high school)

Frank Skinner (wtf, child me???)

Chris... Someone (some guy I dated in high school, don’t recall his second name)

River Phoenix (RIP)

Spike from Buffy (when they tore down the house tho)

James from Busted

Jeremy Sumpter (as Peter Pan)

Rob Lowe (St Elmo’s Fire)

Kiefer Sutherland (hot as a Vampire... hot as Jack Bauer)

Leonardo DiCaprio (1991-2006 only)

Adrian Grenier (Drive Me Crazy with Melissa Joan Hart, oh yeah, how’s that for 90s?)

Josh Hartnett (Faculty - in true Napoleon Dynamite style, I really liked his sleeves)

Will... Someone (only American at my high school, only guy who wore eyeliner, was good at art, never spoke to him, but he had the double sleeves like Josh Hartnett in Faculty)

Adam Brody (Seth in The O.C. SETH IS STILL THE PERFECT MAN, also sports the double sleeve)

Jake Gyllenhaal (Donnie Darko/Bubble Boy/The Good Girl)

Jared Leto (Highway/Requiem for a Dream)

Baz (one of my best friends at art school, he was beautiful and hilarious and so interesting)

Tobuscus (2007-whenever Happy Wheels became a thing)

Stewart Lee (young Stewart Lee... old Stewart Lee... all Stewart Lee)

Emile Hirsch (Into the Wild)

Ali Fraser (boyfriend of 2 years during and after my MA, looked like James from Busted and Jeremy Sumpter had a kid... literally wouldn’t have cared what his personality was like, turns out he didn’t have one)

Crabstickz (before I knew him, not that he’s not beautiful in real life, it’s just that Ali ^ used to leave me alone with YouTube when he went to Uni)

James McAvoy (predominantly in the movie Inside I’m Dancing (hold me whilst I weep))

Vinny Guadagnino (I honestly can’t tell you what the fuck I was thinking, this was probably when I was drinking a lot)

Michael Cera (Superbad/Juno - he said things and had a face)

Jesse Eisenberg (I liked his voice especially when it was saying an Aaron Sorkin script... not so much when it’s saying a Max Landis script)

Robert Sheehan (Misfits/Cherrybomb)

Harry Styles (the early years)

Jay Baruchel (This is the End)

Dane DeHaan (Chronicle changed my life, excited to see him as James Dean)

Michael Jones (Achievement Hunter)

Ray Narvaez Jr (ex-Achievement Hunter)

Geoff Ramsay (Achievement Hunter)

Nick Robinson (Kings of Summer is a perfect movie)

Miles Teller (dude saves any movie with his natural comedy brilliance, also Whiplash)

And that’s everyone I remember.

#memories #crushes #oldhotradio #opheliadagger

Station

Walking through Farringdon tube station one morning, the sun cut at an angle through the window so bright and all consuming that it turned the lower half of the scene white. Legs vanished, people floated to the ticket hall.

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I don’t remember the day I graduated from my Master’s degree, but I found these photos and the thing that stirred my heart most was recalling how those were some of the best shoes I ever owned.

I lost a lot of my favourite shoes, all very similar looking and all Peter Pan themed, after an incident relating to a boyfriend kicking me out of his house. But that’s a memory for a different time... maybe... it doesn’t make me look very good. But he had a history of cheating on his ex-girlfriends SO HEAR BOTH SIDES OF THE STORY BEFORE YOU JUDGE, YEAH? And by ‘both sides’ I mean only my side. I’m not even sure he was literate; he read YA and let his friends tattoo him.

The above photos brought back about 2 minutes of the day. I don’t remember walking across the stage to get my certificate, but I remember Philip Pullman was there. He managed to leave without anyone noticing and we wondered if he went through a portal to Lyra’s world.

I also remember that my boyfriend (not the one who kicked me out of his house, and not the guy pictured (that’s my friend Jon)) drove me from Plymouth to Exeter that morning. We were running really late and then he missed the correct turn on the motorway so we had to take a huge detour which was not great for our relationship.

When we all threw our hats in the air I chucked mine with a little too much gusto and it landed in a water fountain. It was soaked. When returning it to the rental people we ditched it on a nearby table and ran.

A lot of my professors commented on the jaunty angle of my mortarboard. So I told them, if I’m going on stage, no matter how briefly, I’m going on with pizazz.

#memories #graduation #university #opheliadagger #oldhotradio

Outward, A Friend in Need

So far all my memories have been very self-centred. Which I guess isn’t just me being an insular, egomaniacal millennial, it’s the nature of the beast. Memories are exclusively things that have happened to us and they live IN us, like those tiny eyelash mites. Fuck those guys.

I figured to break the self-absorption I’d try and recall something that didn’t happen to me. Something I only witnessed. But I’m not coming up with too much. Nothing I really want to divulge, anyway. I guess that’s the problem. I can’t tell someone else’s story; I don’t deserve the power to paint them in any particular light.

That said, there’s a memory I have which is probably one of the first times I realised we all have secrets.

In high school my best friend and I wore matching clothes a lot. People didn’t know which one of us was which so they’d always shout both names to get our attention, even when we were alone. When I first went to sleep over at her house her mum let us drink alcohol and I thought that was really cool. She’d even drink with us! Then another time I slept over and her mother had already been drinking all day. She was shouting a lot and couldn’t stand up. Embarrassed, my best friend tried her best to look after her mother over the course of the evening (giving her water, cleaning up vomit, putting her to bed), but she’d fight her every step of the way. This was her home life. She was thirteen.

A couple of times I was visiting and her mother drunkenly declared to us that she wished my friend was more like me because 'she’s smart and you’re dumb.’ She’d get drunk and tell her she was stupid but ‘at least you’re pretty.’ My friend clung to that backhanded compliment. She’d tell me all the time how her mum thought she was pretty. Which to my stupid child brain seemed like a weird arrogance, but now it breaks my heart.

It’s strange, as a kid I couldn’t tell that she was also a kid. That either of us were kids; we were the oldest we’d ever been. She wasn’t little or hurting or in need of someone to look after her, she was three whole months older than me! But now I’m an adult left with the memory of a troubled thirteen year old girl who didn’t know much about the world or how to stop any of the things that were happening to her.

My best friend would always laugh off her home life, but she didn’t have a real father and a lot of bad shit went down when she was a kid. I’d leave hers after a night, my dad would pick me up, we’d sing in the car home, and my mum would be in the kitchen smiling and saying she’d missed me.

#memories #childhood #opheliadagger #oldhotradio

Slime and Snails: Middle School

When I was in middle school, or junior school as it was actually called, I sat next to a boy called Mark Jones. Now Mark and I had a great relationship based largely on the game mercy (where you twist each other’s arms until the pain makes someone concede defeat) and a constant stream of what would now be described as pre-pubescent banter (excuse the tautology).

Due to the fact I was female (still am) and he was male (still is) this meant that we were sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g to most of our peers. We were not. And I resented this because Mark was ginger, and it was the 90s so we didn’t have Tumblr or Bonnie Wright to correct my childhood discrimination. Also, in the 90s every ginger male was called Mark. That was one of the rules.

Anyway, the memory is this:

We had drawers under our desks to keep our pencils and Pogs in. Mark and I also had a pair of invisible dogs that lived in our drawers. One each. They did not get on and a lot of our banter was based around whose imaginary pet dog was the best and therefore which one of us was the winner. Hindsight is 20/20 and I can safely say we were both losers.

I think one time Mark said his imaginary dog actually liked my imaginary dog so I gave him a nettle burn. That’s not what we called it in the 90s. It’s probably not what we call it now but it suddenly seems very racist so I’m hedging my bets.

#memories #childhood #opheliadagger #oldhotradio

Ex Boyfriend #1 Moment #1

There are a lot of moments with my recent ex that I’m already forgetting. I don’t really even think of him as an ex. I don’t mean I think we’re still together, he’s just more like an arm or a wart or something.

He’s also a complete asshole. That’s not me being bitter, he genuinely is. There’s loads of women girls you could ask to corroborate this. He was an asshole before we got together, he has been since we broke up. As far as I’m aware he was perfectly wonderful when we were together. I’m scared of forgetting those things because I never want what we share to get tarnished by time and to one day remember him only with hate or disgust. I feel both of those things now, but only intermittently and to his face, so it’s fine and healthy.

I suffer from a thing (I’ve had it about 6 years) which means I periodically get pain. Sometimes every day, sometimes once a week. Usually it will go away in an hour or so, but when it’s bad it can last 4-8. If I get it in the day I can’t walk. If I get it at night I can’t sleep. I’m hoping that’s my thing, you know? Like if I bear this burden I won’t get any of the other big diseases. It’s like pain tax. Mostly what I’m saying is, as a human, I’m fucked up enough to believe that if I suffer regularly I won’t get cancer. The same way people believe in prophetic dreams or ghosts or that thing between Kennedy and Lincoln.

When my ex would stay over and I’d get the pain, I’d leave him in bed asleep and go and sit on my kitchen floor. When he noticed I wasn’t there, he’d come and sit next to me and cuddle me until the pain subsided. On the hard floor. At 4am. For however long I needed. He never complained or made me feel guilty. And I really love him for that.

#memories #pain #ex #opheliadagger #oldhotradio

Teen

The memory which, for me, most articulates the dramatic difference between having the mind of a teenager and the mind of an adult happened when I was 16.

I had a Saturday job in a newsagent and this guy would come in with piercings, pink hair, and parachute pants with babies’ dummies tied all over the straps. This was all I needed to decide he was my soul mate. What a fucking idiot. Both of us.

#memories #teen #opheliadagger #oldhotradio

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Science Asshole

So when I was twelve I guess I was a bit of an asshole. Not a fully fledged asshole, just a slightly inconsistent bitch. I never bullied anyone in that dogged, relentless sense of the word, but I was a dick to a weak link on occasion.

I think most of the actual bullies at my high school were terribly unpopular, and the popular kids were just a bit bitchy. I will give an example of this bitchiness in the following memory:

One week in year eight, three friends and I were putting together a presentation for chemistry class which required us to play characters (it probably didn’t actually require characters, and at this point I can’t imagine how on earth we managed to shoe horn characters into something that inevitably revolved around a Bunsen burner). So we were choosing our names for our acting début and regrettably suggested our chubby friend's character name should be Fatima.

I remember fairly few things about high school, but I remember that so I probably felt super guilty about it for a long time.

And I know I must have felt bad because when I was eighteen(ish) I was told that I punched someone when we were in high school but I have no recollection of that incident so I assume they deserved it.

To alleviate some of the guilt I feel writing this post, I’ll admit I chose my own character name and it was Disney. Disney! So who was the real loser? Fatima, obviously. Disney is an awesome name for both a capitalist manufacturer of dreams and a scientific genius. I bet Stephen Hawking made Jane call him Disney Hawking in bed back in the Cambridge days. I think it’s actually the main plot line during the second act of The Theory of Everything.

Did you know Steve only answered the questions he wanted to answer in his finals at Oxford but they gave him a first anyway? What a lad.

#memories #teen #opheliadagger #oldhotradio #bunsen burner

My Granddad’s Death: Dad’s Side

I remember when I was about thirteen, my nan was in hospital for something - something like getting her appendix out, not something emotional - but my dad, my mum and I went to visit anyway. Dutiful. Granddad was there sitting by her bedside, and as we came over he remarked loudly towards me ‘You’ll be needing a bra soon.’ I was thirteen. I was not comfortable with anyone noticing any sort of breasts I may or may not have had. It was the worst moment of my life (at that point). Anyway, ten years later he died and I didn’t attend his funeral.

#teen #opheliadagger #oldhotradio #memories #breasts #funeral

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