Saturday, 25 February 2012

Today is a Saturday

Sometimes, I marvel at how lucky I am. Today was one of those days.
I woke up to every teenage girls dream; sunlight shining through the curtains, birds singing, big muscly arms around me, to be followed by unlimited cups of coffee and breakfast in bed. Empty house, hot shower, more coffee, and then back into bed with Mr Megan to hide under the covers for a while. I then went home to my family; my sister has just learnt to swim underwater, my dad has just been invited to a second interview for his new job. Then I made pancakes and watched the rugby. Little things like these make me happy.
Not just cliche moments like this morning, just the fact that my family is all happy and healthy, even if they're not quite right in the head, sometimes irritatingly Tory, and embarrassingly racist. My friends might not be flawlessly supportive, or without their own annoying quirks, but I love them to pieces and I think (and hope!) that they care about me too. I have a house to live in and financially, we might not be cracking but at least we're fairly solid now.
It's times like these, when we feel as though we should be truly thankful, that our minds automatically drift to the best times we can remember. It might seem strange, but is it not so? When we go to a good party, do you not compare it to the best one you can remember (or the better ones you can't?) When we're on a first date, do we not compare the poor fella to that One That Got Away?
I know I always think back to a time when life seemed (GAYYYCRINGECLICHE) a bit magical, when I first realised that I was lucky and had pretty much the whole world open to me, when I first tested the waters of what was to come. I think of the crazy times, the times I can hardly remember, and the moments I will remember forever, because they seemed to stretch out seconds into little pockets of nostalgia.
This is a seemingly unrelated introduction to my main point; that the loved ones that we lose can seem all the more lovable for what more they could have shared. You'll always remember the one you couldn't have for the love you'll never know - for the depths you never knew it could reach, and the things you never knew they could teach you. The truth is, the people we lose in life teach us the more about ourselves than anyone else, and yet this is the love that is the most pure and unselfish. The moments we share with them become the most treasured, and the ones that you replay over and over again in your mind, fighting with your memory to recall the smallest details, and keep them tattooed in your mind forever. They are the conversations that you will kick yourself for having, or worse, for not having. They are the goodbyes that will seem the most callous and unfeeling on your part, and the remarks the most flippant and stupid. Stupid.
You could torture yourself with "what if I had said this?" and "why didn't I just tell him that?" and no, it probably wouldn't have driven him away and yes, you are the reason the goodbye was so painful. But at the end of the day, the worst pain is knowing that they're not there, and never will be.
If you have time today, do something for somebody else. Donate some money to the Leukaemia and Lymphoma Society. Donate blood. Tell that person you love them. Stop being afraid, and too proud, and stubborn, and cold. Yeah, you'll seem like a cock, but I know I wish I had.


This post is dedicated to Emma Donald, whom I did not know well enough. She triggered, but did not inspire, this post. R.I.P. x

Wednesday, 22 February 2012


So, I finally dyed my hair, after realising my roots were actually horrific, as pointed out lovingly by my younger sister - "Megan, you're hair is black at the top!"
A la my new years resolutions, I had a strange and "bad taste" dye job, just, you know, to build character!

It's sort of red at the top, fading to strawberry blond, rocking that whole "ombre effect" thing - it is much, MUCH, brighter than it appears here, but I can't get good sunlight in February at a time when I feel awake!
Also, as promised, here is a picture of my tattoo...

YES, THESE ARE MY BOOBIES. However, I am not flashing them, or pushing them together with a wry little pout, it is purely for the illustration of da tat, init. So don't judge me, please.

Love, Peace and Silly Little Things,

Sunday, 19 February 2012

“To change one’s life: Start Immediately. Do it Flamboyantly. No Exceptions.” – William James

Recently, I've been thinking. And you know what? More than anything, I think I am sick of fitting in. I'm quite fed up of living my life one way, a certain way, because that's how you're supposed to do it. It might well be the best way, but I'd rather find that out for myself.
This is how life for a person like me goes: you go to school. You learn to work. You do sixth form, go to university, get in incredible amounts of unneccesary debt, go into a low paid, unfulfilling job straight away to start paying them off, holiday in Majorca, get married, have babies, holiday in Menorca. Die.
I'm sorry, but fuck that. This is what everyone expects me to do, and what everyone wants me to do. Insane amounts of hard work and effort seem to go into producing a standard of living which is frankly morbidly average, and it depresses the hell out of me.
Maybe there are other ways. Maybe you can take a massive jump outside your comfort zone and - and this is hugely corny - carve your own path out. I don't want to have the same experiences, same values, same life as my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother before me. I see no fulfilment in that. Its just that kicking out on my own seems like such a frightening and lonely prospect - but I don't want fear to keep me stuck to this shitty path to disenchantment.
I don't know if you've ever heard of Yes Man. It was an experiment by Danny Wallace, who said yes to every opportunity that came his way, everything, and it enriched his life. Lately, I've been saying yes. Yes to a tattoo, yes to crazy hair, yes to a free 60's makeover. I was asked to a ball the other night, and I said no. Everyone else went, and seemed to have a fantastic night. What would have happened if I'd have said yes? What would happen if I said yes to every opportunity, however remote and far-flung? What if I said yes to the Australian work placement scheme laying at the bottom of my bed, or the lone trip to Ireland that's been forming in my mind all year?
Urgh, I feel horribly neurotic and teen, moaning about how humdrum my life is, and I do apologise. It's been almost a year since I lost someone who taught me everything I know about "carving my own path," doing whatever I want to do and having the self-belief to think, "you know what? Fuck you and your entire existence." And to be perfectly honest, I'm still as lost as my first day without him.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012


Days until my tattoo... only a tiny one, but I'm still nervous! I've watched youtube videos of people basically blacking out, vomitting and DYING on encountering their first.

Days until my "valentine's day surprise." Yep, that's right. Me. Celebrating Valentine's Day. Bring it.

Days until I see the Kabeedies live... if you haven't heard them, have a cheeky little browse on YouTube, Spotify orrrr have a butchers on there.

...and who knows how many days until I get busted for just generally failing at Sixth Form. Yeah, so I'm getting A's, but who the fuck cares about my grades when oh my gosh will you just look at the girls attendance?! HOW SHOCKING. 86% people. And I am in NON-COMPULSORY EDUCATION. I'm not asking for the Earth hey, just a bit of slack. Je suis humane.

Love, Peace, and For Christ's Sake's don't go do A-Levels,

Sunday, 5 February 2012

So long January, we didn't get on...

So now it's February, hey? Took it's time really, I can't say January was a particularly enjoyable month. But since I have combed my hair (a remarkable feat, I can tuck it into my high-waisters now, and it takes a good 45 minutes just to get the knots out) and olive oil-ed it, completely tidied my house, completed that irritating 1,000 word story that needs to be in Monday (I cannot get it below 1,601 words. Shite.) organised my wardrobe set everything straight, I feel so much better.
I've booked my crazy bad hair do, and my tattoo is booked for Friday (eek!) Now I'm just chilling on my laptop, watching the snow fall outside and waiting for the boyfriend to arrive so that we can go, errr, play in the snow.

Outside my window.

Also, just wanted to share a few February songs with you, They're quite chilled, so don't worry about the screaming alerting your parents to your sudden death.

1. English Rose - The Jam
2. Far Away - Wolfmother (I adore this band, they remind me of my dad's 70's pyschadelic rock! They're tipped to play at Reading this year as well - yay!)
3. Higher Love - James Vincent McMorrow (this bloke is Irish, a little bit like Bon Iver, but has a really sweet voice. He used to do all the rock shit, before he like, found himself and all that. A bit mellow for my tastes, but I really like this song, I think it's a cover.)

Love, Peace, and February Fun,

P.S. Note the lack of mention of V-Day, the 14th. That's a whole other blog post, folks!