This is where it all started and is a piece I will always be proud of. Thanks depression: you made me a writer. And thank you to everyone who has supported my writing in the last ten years: you kept me believing I was a writer.
‘It wasn’t even that bad,’ Ben sighs. ‘Like, she asked me what I was wearing,’ Ben pauses. Harry raises an eyebrow and gestures with his hand for him to carry on.
Read More...‘You can DO ONE!’ Hayley turns and marches towards the school building just as the tears spill down her cheeks, streaking black mascara. There is a collective, ‘OOOOH!’ followed by silence as the group’s eyes move from Hayley to Ben.
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Leg 0 of the northern Spain cycling tour…
So I haven’t cycled anywhere yet but my hotel is locked and no one’s home (how do you get out if you’re staying here?) til 12 apparently! A nice man popped over to tell me; it’s currently 11am. I’m not about to search out a coffee shop with a 31kg bike box so I guess I’ll just um wait here then…
Read More...I’m straight. I think. In honesty Netflix teen romcom Heartstopper, created from Alice Oseman’s graphic novel, has made me question this. But. Annoyingly. I really do like men (and watching gay men kissing, I don’t know it’s complicated).
As a teacher and ally (congratulations)
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Wtf happened? It was the middle of a heatwave, we sweated through our commutes and our pants, and my Uber driver’s chat was about how he’d ordered an air con unit off Gumtree at 3am, then immediately driven 20 miles to collect it. He beamed as he turned around (we were at traffic lights) to tell me, “And I grew up in Pakistan, man!”
And now here we are.
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I’ve been dragging my feet about writing this, because I feel a bit… silly.
After I very publicly declared in my June 2015 blog that I’d suffered from – and beaten – depression, receiving hundreds of messages from friends and strangers alike thanking me for giving them hope, it wasn’t so much embarrassment as not wanting to destroy the illusion.
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So, we swam with the local humpback whales (see part two) and the ground beneath us was still imitating the rolling waves as we arrived back to the guest house. That morning, the owner had invited us to a family feast being held in celebration of his niece visiting from Hawaii. The feast was the best food we experienced in Tonga: we drank from coconuts and were treated to octopus salad, chicken in taro leaves, fresh fish, and the privilege of being part of this private family occasion. One moment that will stay with me…
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After a couple of interesting days in Tonga’s capital (see Tonga part one), we’d arrived at a hideously early hour to the domestic airport. We were awaiting our flight to Vavaʻu, where we had booked the focal activity that had brought us to Tonga in the first place: swimming with humpback whales.
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I didn’t know what I was doing. In a bid to find a Pacific island paradise for my Kiwi friend and I to chill outus maximus, I was conducting late night Google image searches of the various options: Fiji, Rarotonga, Tonga, Niue. It was impossible to choose, they all looked the damn same. Idyllic, but the same. It was only when my eyes caught the words humpback whale swimming…
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George writes 