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You know what I love most about lit mags? It's that wee rush of excitement I get at seeing a thin parcel lying on the kitchen table when I've come home after a long day at work. And over the past couple of weeks, that's happened on two occasions.

The latest issue of Counterpoint was the first magazine to greet me over dinner, quite appropriately focused on the theme of 'Eating.' My CNF piece on the unofficial rules of public consumption is featured, as well as a bundle of other great content - including an interview with Daniel Frazer, pastry chef for Yotam Ottolenghi. A few days later, I was then surprised by the new issue of Popshot. As ever, it's beautifully illustrated and I can't wait to dive in over a cup of coffee. So that's my weekend sorted!

The latest issue of Counterpoint Magazine was published in September 2017 - you can buy a copy from their shop. To subscribe to Popshot Magazine, click here

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I don't often visit South Bank, not since the Hayward Gallery closed for refurbishment. But this weekend I decided to take a look around, and on the 5th floor of the Royal Festival Hall, away from the noise of bands rehearsing and children playing, I found that the National Poetry Library is hosting a small (tiny) exhibition called Larkinworld. In it, artist DJ Roberts explores the work of Phillip Larkin, using neon lights, drawings, and collections of pop-culture ephemera to find snippets of joy in typically melancholy poems.

I'm always intrigued by this kind of 'creative response' artwork, which transforms (and in some cases, translates) one art form into another. I like to think of it as a kind of collaboration, across time, place, and medium; artists and writers working together to build a network of creativity around a shared theme or idea. Isn't that better than each of us working in isolation? Exhibition details can be found here, and you might enjoy browsing DJ Roberts' work on his website.



Lately I haven't had time to write much - and even worse, I've started to forget that I actually want to. You see, this new life of mine (the 9 to 5 office humdrum) has been slowly, quietly, sneakily erasing my old habits. But yesterday morning an envelope tumbled through my letterbox containing the latest issue of Counterpoint Magazine; inside it was something I'd written before Christmas, plus a note from the editors giving me a little reminder as to why I love working with small publishers so much. My piece for the Space issue tells the story of a secret pocket in a vintage coat. It's a playful, slightly inquisitive story about the past lives of the objects we cherish. I hope you'll read it.

This issue of Counterpoint Magazine was published in January 2017. You can buy a copy of your own, and look out for their next issue on Survival. 



Back in December, the latest issue of Severine Literary Journal was published ft. my creative non-fiction, 'He Painted The Stars.' My collage (painstakingly put together with a glue stick and hundreds of tiny triangles) was also chosen for cover art. Both were inspired by an American artist called Joseph Cornell; they reflect on his life in New York and his habit of collecting stars - not just the celestial kind, but special trinkets discovered at flea markets and thrift shops, too.

A selfish part of me wishes I'd never shared his story, for the same reason that I used to hide my favourite toys when friends visited for play dates. (Is that an only-child thing?) In short, it's hard to share what we love most. But the rational part of me understands that he cannot be stolen. So, if you do read it, let me know what you think. And perhaps you might share your secret love in return?

This issue of Severine Literary Journal was published in December 2016. You can read it online here or buy a copy of your own. Submissions are also open until January 31st 2017 for work related to the latest theme - wild

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It's been four months. My MA dissertation has officially taken up a third of my year and I have barely any recollection of it. I can't remember any of my initial ideas or any moments of epiphany and frustration. Time has erased everything aside from my final submission. I should have kept a journal, I realise that now, which is why - in one last bid to preserve something, anything, of the experience other than a stack of A4 pages - I've chronicled the day of hand-in. 

5:27 - Bed
It's back. I can hear it through the open window, c-oo-OO-oo-oh. Again and again and again. I throw the covers off, reach for the curtains and slam the window shut before climbing back into bed. I hate that pigeon so much. 

7:00 - Bed
My alarm clock bleeps. It's a horrible high-pitched sound that gives me palpitations, but I'm sticking with it because I don't like my phone to be the first thing I touch in the morning; it's actually the second thing I touch. Baby steps, right? I get up after allowing my eyes to adjust to the light. 

7:16 - Desk
I take a few sips of my tea and eat half the bowl of porridge I've just made, quickly scrolling through Twitter and Instagram on my phone before responding to a couple of messages. As soon as my laptop has fired up, I open the browser and check Facebook; then I check Twitter again. I spend the next hour fixing the half-assed conclusion I wrote last night. It's still not great but it'll work. 

8:45 - Kitchen
There's a new oven in the middle of the kitchen floor, all wrapped up in polystyrene foam. The dog is circling it, sniffing every corner. As I wait for the kettle to boil, I think to myself: 'That's the kind of protective casing I'll need if I'm going to get through this day.'  

10:23 - Desk
I've finished editing, at last. I want to catch the 11 o'clock train into London so I have approximately 10 minutes to check page numbers and compile 5 different pdf files into a final document. I'm thoroughly panicked.

10:42 - Front Door
I'm stuffing my back with books as I run through my checklist out-loud. I give the dog a quick kiss and tell her to wish me luck, then head out of the door. My dad yells 'you can do it, mate!' as I scramble down the garden path, adjusting my t-shirt and tucking my phone into my pocket.

10:53 - Greggs
I've given myself shin splints from walking so fast, but at least I've got some extra time to stop off in Greggs before I reach the station. I pick up a bottle of water and some kind of caramel filled, sugar covered donut. I Instagram it, what else? 

11:07 - Train
I've bagged a window seat so I'm pretty pleased. After replying to a few 'good luck' messages I plug in my headphones; I'm listening to My Dad Wrote A Porno because it makes me laugh and I'm enormously anxious. A guard checks my ticket after about 20 minutes but other than that my journey is uneventful.

11:50 - London Waterloo
I've missed my connecting train by a few seconds, so I wait for the 12:03. It's really hot. 

12:36 - Library Cafe
I need to take a moment. I'm sitting on a purple sofa drinking tea and eating a cheese and onion sandwich, the same spot I sat in just over 2 years ago, but I was with my housemates then. We'd been surviving on a diet of cheese toasties as we prepared to submit our BA dissertations. It would have been cool to share the MA with them. I'm trying not to get sentimental so I listen to another episode of My Dad Wrote A Porno and write a list of all the things I need to do next.  

14:34 - Student Office
After battling with printers and binders, I hand in my dissertation. Various pieces of paper are stamped and I watch as the past 4 months of my life is dropped into a cardboard box, wrapped in green-coloured plastic. That's it? 

15:06 - Corner Shop
I call my mum from outside the station to tell her I've done it. I feel a bit spaced out, so I nip into the corner shop for an ice cream. There's carpet on the floor which isn't as gross as you'd think. The whole shop smells like pick'n'mix and I feel like I've been transported back to my childhood. I resist the urge to stay there and head to my platform to catch my train.

15:56 - Train
I wake up after falling asleep against the window. I have a few messages from friends congratulating me and asking if I feel relieved. Weirdly, I don't. I feel stressed, tired, and a little sad. These moments are always quieter than expected. No confetti, no heart-pumping soundtrack, but that's ok. For now, I just want to get home and have a lie down. I'll toast to my achievements tonight.