A postcard from Will D

Sunday, 19 October 2014




I know it's cruel to think I'm breaking, so selfish and fickle to suggest my youth has run its course on love/luck(?),

                              even if only for those few moments I sat awake on the corner of your bed.

Your eyes glint and
shatter           all
of the prewritten unrhymed poems I'll scribble on the backs of receipts on the train home that tell me
I'm
not
fine.
It is whatever,
but whatever it was certainly wasn't.
You are too kind to notice and I am too kind to care,
it's always the same and I struggle to be that kind
anymore.

Even still, I wish I could change your mind.

McArthurGlen New Denim Icons

Wednesday, 15 October 2014


Levi Jeans - (c/o) McArthur Glen // Fred Perry Shirt - (c/o) McArthur Glen // Khaki Cape - Zara // Scarf - Zara // Chelsea Boots - River Island // Necklace - Topshop

As the winter months draw in my smile draws wide.
ATLAST, a season I know how to dress in.
Throw me the thermals, unleash the wool and most importantly bring me some denim.
The wonderful people at McArthur Glen sent me on an adventure around their Ashford outlet (literally like Oxford Street on crack...and better) to re-fall-in-love with the perfect pair of jeans as part of their #NewDenimIcons campaign.
Generally speaking, you can't physically go wrong with Levi's and these are a dream.
The pockets on the back don't make my arse look terrifyingly massive (RARE!!!) and they're tapered down to the ankle so I don't have to roll them up at the ends like a school boy in the summer. 
With a crisp white roll neck shirt and some burgundy Chelsea boots, I think I might be able to get away with turning up to a meeting or three in jeans...


Letters to people I love - Shannon Saunders

Wednesday, 8 October 2014



Letters To People I Love - Shannon Saunders

Dear Shannon,

I write this to you and also to the 100,000 other people that will stumble upon this.
If I had a soap box to stand on and read this to you and the world I would, but this little spot on the internet will have to suffice.

I've never understood love at first sight. I still don't.
I know it's bullshit.
But when I went to interview you two years ago in that kitsch tea room in East London, it was as close as that feeling is ever going to get.
Instead of formalities, we found ourselves shuffling towards a common ground that most don't discover until the third dinner or the sixth introduction, we took the piss out of each other and deliberated conquests, scrapping the interview to go shopping and drink cocktails in my secret hiding place in Chelsea.

On the Overground train with someone I'd known for two or so hours I bashfuslly uttered under my breath "I feel like we're going to be that new group of people."
I knew what I meant, you knew what I meant, but I felt embarrassed.
It's only now that I can admit exactly what that sentiment was to myself and it's -
"You and I get it. That's really fucking cool. Let's keep doing really fucking cool things and see if other people like it."

Little did I know at the time you so soon after my vague statement would go on to do the things I wanted people to talk about. You were 'it'. You epitomised 'it'.
The months I spent rallying around the country to gigs proudly with your dad, waiting in the wings documenting it with my battered DSLR, fuelled me on my own quest to smash it as much as you.

We enjoyed each other drunk and we tolerated each other tired- but we loved each other hungover with make up down our chins in Bristol or Berkshire the next day after 10 hours of working and endless hours of catching up and that's what really made it.
We were burnt out and exhausted, we were pursued by our passions and we were the corpse of a creative. Perhaps a vague personality lay within us, but to most it was imperceptible.
But between us - it was great.
The silence. The fact we could sit infront of one and other in silence and feel comfortable.
To know that the inner workings of our brain were finally left to sleep or functioning ten to the dozen and not question it- that's what meant it was real.

I dont have many female friends, I can literally count them on one hand, but meeting you made me want an army more - even if just you would've been enough. 
Never, ever, have I met someone with such untapped talent and charisma that I've wanted to tell everyone I know or dont know about.

You got signed to Universal this year and I've waded through four freelance jobs which has meant our gin fuelled nights haven't been as often. I really miss the 5am trains home and the three hour phone calls, but it's never meant you're not still there.

Shannon Saunders, thank you for all that you've taught me, the friends that you've brought me and the memories I'll never forget. 

C x


If you've got a friend that you know you absolutely adore, stop right now (thank you very much), call them, open up What's App, leave a long ass voicemail.
It's not often you meet incredible people and when you do, in whatever capacity, appreciate them. 

I'm Still Me Because You Were Still You

Friday, 3 October 2014


It's been a year and I'm still here.
A little bruised, a little exhausted but also- still here.
Twelve short months ago I walked back to London Bridge Station with a half smile, a head filled with terrified thoughts and an answer.
I organised a drink with my best friend and we sat in a pub in West London with an overfed dog overlooking the river, I stuttered a few excuses for words and before I knew it, something that had been 'just in my head' for so long was a tangible piece of me hovering over a wooden picnic table.

I now knew I had Bipolar II, whatever that meant, other than being weird and probably someone others would distance themselves from.
It was alien to me that something that was supposed to put an end to all of my questions felt as though it'd put an end to ever feeling good again.
So I wrote about it.
I vomited experiences and thoughts to try and piece them together over my keyboard like a cat who'd successfully hacked up a hair ball and wanted to turn it into yarn.
365,000 people read it.

One year, thirty two boxes of medication (some half finished, some untouched), eighty three emails from strangers, five self diagnosed friends, two parents who now know and countless cold chinese take aways later, it's all becoming a healthy piece easier.
Nobody shut me out or referred to me as crazy.
It's still hard, I still wake up some mornings and ignore it but I'm also now in an incredibly blessed position to walk next to it and treat it as though it's my daughter who needs my undivided care and attention.
I've learnt to embrace it, I'm no longer embarrassed - I am not Bipolar, I have Bipolar, I own it and it doesn't own me.

As winter winds in and I know I'm about to catapult off my high, I am no longer scared of October's and January's, I am ready to feel the ground under my feet as the same earth as July, just with a few more pills to plan.

Thank you to friends, to family and strangers.
I'm still me and that's because you were still you.
We're all a lot stronger than we knew.

To read my conversation about mental health and discovering bipolar click HERE.





oh my kale

Monday, 22 September 2014

"To juice or not to juice?"
I half heartedly ponder scrolling through my instagram feed.
Ever the cynic and Kinder Bueno for breakfast eater, there wasn't a single ounce of appeal to a handful of blended kale leaves that I could find.
I searched, I mustered, I sneered at my packet of Quavers, nope - nothing.
"I'll leave it to the food hippies and the experts."
 
Suddenly it wasn't just the health fanatics drinking their vegetables, it was just about anyone who could afford one of these unspeakably expensive cleanses.
As they flooded my social timelines they also filtered their way into the hands of nearly every pretty 20 something on my commute to work.
'Another fad I'm not buying into' I reasoned, 
until I noticed that waiting in the wings observing these flat stomached fashion editors were teenage girls coveting over the pristine eco-packaging to gain instagram likes quicker than a shopping trip to Celine would and to lose weight fast.

All well and good as a middle class health kick, but what if it was just unnecassarily prying into young minds making them think it was a necessity and not a luxury- a social media prop - a gateway into believing all of your meals should be drinkable, is healthy?
And were there REALLY any health benefits other than weeing every 5 minutes?
Obviously, I had to try it.
I got in touch with the lovely people at FRUVEJU Juice to see if they'd be interested in letting me try one of their cleanses for free (one of the best and most reasonably priced online, I still couldn't afford it myself) and the next day 18 juices arrived at my door.
I was scared, I was unprepared and I was in my pants eating from a carton of leftover chinese.
It was going to go well.

I started the following day and winced at every bottle I opened expecting them all to taste like WholeFoods bin juice, but was desperately surprised when my favourite one was a shade of Kermit the Frog green.
Still denying that Gwyneth Paltrow was lurking somewhere in my second skin, I moaned and contemplated eating my own feet by the time it was lunch.
It got easier and by 11pm I was sat in a bar with friends sipping on a glass of water whilst they finished their 3rd bottle of wine.
Then, something terrible happened.
Truly truly terrible.
I had become so miserable from being hungry that I caved into a glass of wine thinking I deserved it.
One glass lead me to the cheapest drunk I've ever experienced and in turn had to eat an entire Pizza Express order at 3am and Pizza Express aren't even OPEN at that time.
I was a failure.
But there was always day two.
The next two days I managed to stay clean and drink my 6 juices and nothing else, but working 10 hour days and having a healthy social life made it miserable.
These juices would be great if I didn't have to get out of bed for three days.
It really was a new low, I hated everyone around me and contemplated killing just about anyone that tried to cut me up on my commute.
The only good thing that came from starvation was the sparkly glint in other women's eyes on the train at 7:30am who would tilt their pond muck at mine in an early morning cheers.
It was the kind of satisfaction I always dreamt of when the popular girls at school didn't know my name.

In three days, despite the first day slip up, I lost 7lbs and it became terrifyingly easy to see why so many people were using this as a quick weight loss trick.
My stomach was as flat as a pancake, I felt like Karlie Kloss with thighs.
Well, Karlie Kloss with thighs and a chicken nugget problem.

But in all seriousness, these things are to be done carefully.
You don't need to spend £400 for an instagram opportunity when you could just be watching what you put in your body.
Stop drinking Coke and you'll probably notice just as much of a difference in your skin.
Oh my kale, moderation is key.







Falling in Love with East London - Film Photographs

Sunday, 14 September 2014


Where an old city meets the sky it caresses a new London and in between the cobbled streets with two friends I fell in love.
All shot on a Canon AE-1 with Kodak 400 film. 

Tom Thum and Jamie MacDowell

Monday, 8 September 2014



It's a Sunday night and I'm drunk on red wine, by myself.
I say this with no declaration of pride, but instead enveloped by nostalgia.
Two weeks ago I was sat in Edinburgh by myself, on the front row of a show, with a bottle of red wine hidden under my seat.
A year prior, I was in a very similar position, yet that time with company and with fewer expectations.
"I know you love music, so I've sorted out tickets to see this show tonight,"  Jack beamed.
Lost dense in the scenes of a comedy festival, I fizzed with excitement- at last, something I'd understand and would be able to form a real critical review on.
"One of them's a beatboxer."
My heart sunk.
After 15 months of bonding, late night chats, texting and heart to hearts, clearly my best friend didn't know me at all.
"A beatboxer? YEAH COOL NICE ONE JACK!"
"No, give this a chance... you'll love it."
I sat down amidst a roaring crowd, sceptical and a bit peeved. 
I left goose bump ridden and speechless, questioning every ounce of what I knew to be in creativity and artistry. 
A year later, without him, I bought a ticket and watched it again. 

Jamie MacDowell and Tom Thum epitomise the talent epidemic that this generation often finds itself on the cusp of, effervescent with passion and untapped skill -  they're still only performing to 200+ with the personal capacity to sell out arenas.
The show rounded to an end and I found myself emotional, a pranging pride and happiness smacked its way at my heart, I was unbearably excited to know this shit still existed, that I could still sit in an intimate venue and walk away with my own personal souvenir, an anecdote that the preponderance of the general public wouldn't have and perhaps a piece of inspired writing that no one else could conjure.

Jamie and Tom are a complete one of a kind, with an anarchic fluency that should make every brotherhood fearful, witty and smart; it's with the most oxymoronic childlike behaviour they pull off one of the more sophisticated and sharp shows I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, three times.
Jamie's wistful words, songwriting so smooth and slick meshed and sifted through Tom's outrageously dexterous demeanour and beatboxing, it all proves flawless. 

Tom and Jamie make me proud as a crowd member, as an acquaintance and as a friend.
I've seen a lot of live music, a lot of live comedy and a lot of live life and none of it quite equates to the experience these guys give. If it's not their inherent, uncontrolled stage presence as friends, it's the showcase of contradictory pieces they throw together in some sort of portfolio patchwork quilt that proves whatever you thought of the music industry and the comedy circuit was so far off the chart.
It's duo's like these that are not only commodities to an industry, but also as people.

Whilst I've written a few, there are no words worthy of these gentleman,
Thank you Jamie and Tom for giving me my spark back.
Fosters are on me next time.


 

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