A Half-Yearly Review: 2018 H1

Oops, I did it again. Another few months without a blog post, and without a long and rambling paragraph (or five) explaining where I went and why.

In all honesty, there wasn't a big "This Is It" moment which led me to stop blogging. There also weren't any external influences leading me to give up either. However, I have been thinking about dipping my toes again for a while now, and a car journey with Clare on Friday talking about the benefits of blogging for yourself as an online journal (yes I know, full circle blogging, back to the roots, blah blah blah), got me to stand on my kitchen chair and take the above photo with my 50mm lens, which has clearly seen better days.

So, just so it's on record for me to look back to on a rainy day at some point and for anyone who has a vague interest, this is my half-yearly review, looking back at the first half of 2018.

A year ago yesterday (yeah, I’m not exactly 100% on the ball with my personal Instagram atm) I had the offer accepted on my first home. Tbh, it was the 4th place I’d put an offer in on so wasn’t expecting anything until I exchanged 5 months later, but yanno. It’s a nice kinda weird to know the place is yours 🔑 Also, thanks to @dizzybrunette3 for the tip off on the £3.50 aldi peonies! #home #manchester #interiors #farrowandball #myfabhome #hagueblue #peonies #peony #homesense #primark #next

A post shared by Rebecca (@rebeccacohen_) on Jun 28, 2018 at 2:04pm PDT

Home

Back in 2017 (3rd November to be precise), I picked up the keys to my first home.

Hallelujah, I can eat avocados again without the Telegraph raising an eyebrow and tutting at me.

I now live in the covetable M1 postcode (lol), in a two bed flat with exposed brickwork, four sash windows (of which two open) and a semi-functioning dishwasher. It's simultaneously great and absolutely terrifying. There's no letting agent to bitch about when your boiler isn't fixed within 3 milliseconds, and I now have a third bank account after my debit and credit cards that's got a big old minus in front of it.

However, as my mum put it when I was tearing my hair out with stress (more on that later) as my solicitors told me the vendor still wasn't replying to emails, the daily borderline heart attacks and reams of legal text will all be worth it when you can close the door behind you and know that it's yours. Yes, it's a flat rather than a house, meaning I don't own the building, but the secure aspect of knowing that I'm slowly working towards making sure I've got some kind of real asset in my life is reassuring. Of course, the crippling fear of the whole thing falling down one day or it depreciating in value by 50% is hanging over my head, but a lot of touching wood and stalking rightmove is helping me to panic slightly less.

Brb, getting down on Friday 🍾 #prosecco #tb

A post shared by Rebecca (@rebeccacohen_) on Jan 19, 2018 at 10:51am PST

Career

You might not be able to tell, but I'm not a full-time #influencer. Yes, I have a blog I update as an when I fancy, but I've never been one to want to do that all day every day, which some people struggle to come to terms with the moment you hit publish.

Instead, I work for a fairly well known company within their beauty group. Yep, I made the transition from fashion to beauty in November last year, and I think it was a good choice, you know. There were a few hiccups in the changeover, but now I'm in a highly motivated team and learning things daily. It's also the first time I've ever worked as a retailer as opposed to a brand, so learning the nuances of this aspect is a learning curve, and one I know will be beneficial long-term. I'm ecommerce through and through, so it's great to get to know the fast-paced industry from another angle.

Sometimes (read: a lot of the time) I find it really hard to feel okay with having #alopecia, but getting dressed up with these two sassy ladies last weekend really helped to make me feel better 💙 You can shop my outfit on @liketoknow.it here and in my bio http://liketk.it/2wu5u #afflink #liketkit #thgsummerparty #ootd #nastygal #nastygalsdoitbetter #publicdesire #alopeciaareata

A post shared by Rebecca (@rebeccacohen_) on Jul 10, 2018 at 1:47pm PDT

Health

Perhaps one of the hardest changes for me to deal with this year, all my hair fell out. I've had alopecia for quite a while now. I first noticed patches falling out when I was at university. In fact, I can distinctly remember taking these blog photos and point blank refusing to shoot any of the back of my head as a fair bit of hair, or what felt like it at the time, had fallen out at the nape of my neck. Fast forward five years, and I can count a grand total of three hairs on my head, so things have clearly got "worse".

If I were to pinpoint the lowest day, it's a toss-up between the day I decided to not leave the house without something on my head (a hat or wig) ever again or the day I realised my eyelashes were falling out too. The main thing I struggle with is the complete lack of control over my situation; I'm not sick with this being a side-effect of a drug, and I'm definitely not making an anti-establishment fashion statement.

I go through phases with how I feel about it. One day I can shrug my shoulders and get on with things, on other days I'll be crying through an episode of Love Island because I've seen someone brushing through cheap hair extensions, so I just take each day as it comes.

#WHPGetLost 🏔 Although perhaps ironic that I had signal right at the top, so knew exactly where I was 🧐 #snowdon #wales

A post shared by Rebecca (@rebeccacohen_) on May 18, 2018 at 2:04pm PDT

Fitness

I now semi-willingly go to the gym. I do appreciate the irony of having the time to type this blog post up, due to having sacked off today's classes, however it's something I find less and less intimidating as time goes on.

It's fair to say I'm not #bodygoals or whatever weird fitness fad is going down on the gram this week However I feel stronger and more comfortable in my body, so count that as winner. After a lot of umming and ahhing about getting on board with a PT, I've finally bit the bullet and booked in with a personal trainer in Manchester. Sarah was the person who helped me make it to the top of Snowdon, so I'm sure she'll help me with my overall fitness goals, in spite of my near constant moaning.

Pulling out all the stops this #iwd and heading deep into the archives for this money shot. 😉 Always, always support your local girl gang, tagged as many as I could! #iwd2018 #tbt #internationalwomensday #mallorca #luxurybitchlife

A post shared by Rebecca (@rebeccacohen_) on Mar 8, 2018 at 12:30pm PST

Friends and Family

As I become more settled in Manchester (come on, I bought a bloody house, I've clearly committed to it in some way), I've become a lot more settled with my life here as a whole. About a year ago, I quite regularly got upset about living so far away from friends and family, however I'm definitely a lot more chilled out with these relationships now.

It's always hard to feel like you're the one putting in the effort with the four hour train journeys every month. But as life here settles into a more long-term rather than day-by-day routine, I'm learning to accept more and essentially chill out.

As regards friends in Manchester, I'm more than happy with my lot! I'm lucky enough to have met a lot of people I respect and admire in the three jobs I've worked since moving to the city, and I already know that these are friends for life.

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Evening and chill.

How to Chill The Fuck Out

It's been a long ol' process, learning how to chill out. I'm not 100% there yet, but I've been learning how to let go and generally stop being a ball of stress at all times. I still get massive FOMO and let tasks build up, but these are the small steps I'm taking on the daily in order to make sure that I have my shit together and keep functioning like a, well, functioning human being.

Plan to wake up early.

Massive disclaimer here: I am not a morning person. I find my prime hours of activity are between about 8 and 10pm. That said, I am slowly weaning myself onto a normal person's bodyclock.

When I wake up early, there's a weird sense of accomplishment that I get from completing tasks and activities before I've started the commute to work. This means that I don't feel like things are unachievable by the time my PC's booted up, as I've already started to boss the day. Do you see my logic?

I say "plan to" rather than "do it", because there's no way I'm waking up at 5.45am every single day, even if my alarm's set that way. Even if you snooze your alarm, it's totally a-okay because no one's that good at life every day.

Treat yo' self.

Whether it's Fat Friday (definitely a "thing") or an evening of having your phone on do not disturb and catching up on the Real Housewives of Cheshire, everyone needs a lil something to look forward to.
For me, I like to indulge in an evening out of the loop. As said above, I live in a constant state of FOMO. I say yes to a lot of things, just in case I miss out on a funny story or one of those you-had-to-be-there-moments. I look forward to an evening out every once in a while where I can vegetate in front of my laptop, watching youtube videos while I treat myself to a skin treatment and sort my nails out.
I've been a long time fan of Antipodes, so when they got in touch a few weeks back I knew that these guys would have something to help on one of my chill out days.
Today is the last day of Organic Beauty Week (I know, who knew that was a thing?), so I've been testing out their Aura manuka honey mask for just over a week. I've been having quite a few issues with my skin recently due to a new hospital treatment, and this little tube of goodness has been helping to settle my skin regardless. It's very gentle and the results aren't dramatic, however long term use has shown rejuvenated skin and a less patchy complexion.

Take ten minutes to develop a routine.

Morning and night, there are little things that I can do on autopilot. Once you've developed a routine, you don't even have to think about what you're doing, meaning you get some time to think whilst still doing something: multitasking like a pro.
For me, this is my skincare routine. I talked about my evening skincare routine a while back, and it's just gradually progressed, new item by new item, to a very similar one today. Both in the morning and the evening, I take a good ten minutes to cleanse-serum-moisturise my to-do list. As I go through the motions, I work out that day's plan of action and work out my priorities.
Once I've got it sorted in my head, things are a lot more manageable.

Switch off at least one evening a week.

From reading a minimum of two books a week when I was at university, things came to a stop. Or rather, things fell off a bloody cliff. When we drove home from Liverpool, I just stopped reading. From being that weirdo bookworm kid who used to read a book on her walk to school (not good when you're as clumsy as me, fyi), it was odd to have gone cold turkey.
However, I've recently been getting back into it, and it's definitely helping to clear my head further. The internet is an absolute overload of content and conversation, and it's easy to get sucked into trying to catch up and add your own voice all the time. Rather than getting sucked into that hammed up hamster wheel all the time, I've been taking one night out a week to get stuck into a story and concentrate on that one thing fully.
Recently I've read the Miniaturist by Jesse Burton, and now I'm onto the Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling. Next on my list is Tess of the D'Urbevilles, which I recently salvaged from an old unread reading list pile.

If you've got any more tips on how to chill out, definitely let me know @rebeccacohen on Twitter. Other than that, here's hoping that everyone's doing a-okay.
Because, as always, there's nothing worth crying over, unless it's a video of baby pandas.

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Moving to Manchester: six months on.

Moving to Manchester: Six Months On

And some completely unrelated photos to go with it.

Okay, okay, seeing as I moved on 6th February it's nearer the seven months mark, but I'm gonna go with it, as six seems like the bigger "landmark". But doesn't time fly when you're having fun and drinking the Northern Quarter dry? Since moving to Manchester, there've been a few changes, and I thought where better to word vomit have a look back than here? This blog's seen me through moves to Liverpool and Munich, so here's to bulking out the Manchester chapter.

Whereas my last two jollies had a very definite end date (in Liverpool I was there to study for three years, and my contract in Munich was for six months before landing back with a jury service-shaped bump), moving to Manchester was always going to be a little different. With no specific end date, this one could be a little more permanent. I've been focusing more on getting to know the city centre with brief excursions out, and working out whereabouts I fit in. There was that day towards the end of my first month where it had rained/snowed for the twentieth day in a row and I broke down via whatsapp to Georgia saying I hated it here... but I'm now happy to report that's one of the very few dips I can report since moving to Manchester. Plenty of people have asked when I'm planning to move back South like I've had my moment of madness. Although I don't see myself being here forever, I'm certainly nowhere near done with this city and plan to be here for a good while yet. And hey, while I've got my Railcard, it's max £60 to get back to Essex.

Of course, completely upending your life doesn't come with hiccups. Although the rent sector may not be as cut-throat as London's, things still move quickly. Finding somewhere to live proved pretty tricky, but eventually Laura and I settled just outside the city centre. Up to that point I've been staying in airbnbs (the good, the bad and the ugly), which was emotionally straining on top of starting a new job/city/everything. Thankfully that bit's over, and we've been in our apartment for six months, exactly this time. As I'm not sure quite how long I'll be staying here for, I haven't gone crazy in the furniture department and it's hardly swamped in homewares, but it's definitely feeling a little bit more like home. If you fancy, you can see a little of what it looks like here. I like the area we live in as it's a fifteen minute walk to Piccadilly station (or ten, if you're late for your train and prepared to sweat a bit), close to the Norther Quarter and removed enough to not feel like your pores are clogged with pollution every second of the day. Little mercies.

Surprise, surprise: I'm another one of the multitudes of bloggers who've ended up working in Social Media. I don't reeeeeally talk about my job online that much any more; there are plenty of other people who are happily authoritative on the subject so I'll let them get on with it. This was my principle reason for making the move. I'd started applying for a new job about this time last year, absolutely convinced that I'd simply be moving to another place in London. When I saw this one come up on Twitter, I applied that evening and arranged to come up the next week. Soon enough, I was booking trains and making stuff happen. Manchester is known for its fast fashion, so I wasn't worried about making the move. Yes, I work for a young company, but I've no concerns about its continued success. And that staff discount goes a lot further.

Blogging has taken a bit of a backseat since moving to Manchester, but these things happen and I don't have any concerns. I'm not prepared to quit and take up blogging full time, nor am I in the position to do so. But I do want to keep things ticking over here to continue this little journal I've had since I was at uni. It'd be a bit weird to just... stop. Manchester bloggers are a great group of people, and I see Clare and Laura a happy amount. Basically, I just need to work out what I want to do with my blog, and then maybe I'll create a plan of action. Who knows what'll happen?

I do, of course, have moments where I wish I were based in London. I can't just pop on the tube to get to a networking event, and have to mute whatsapp groups when they're talking about plans for Friday. There is a lot going on in Manchester, but there will always be those greener grass moments. 99% of the time I'm so busy in the here that I'm not concerned with whatever's going on a couple of hundred miles away, but it'd be a downright lie to say it's not hard at times.

TL;DR? Moving to Manchester is happily one of the best decisions I've ever made, and this city seems to have adopted me quite well. And I've sort of started to say Northern phrases, which is really, really weird.

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Why I decided to move to Manchester.

Missguided pyjamas: £30. Glasses: c/o Miki Moko. Phone case: c/o Paperchase. Caudalie eye cream (swear by it). Sally Hansen cuticle oil.

Whoops, I did it again. Long time readers of this lil blog might know I've got a rather annoying particular habit of tending to up sticks every once in a while, and this is a perfect example of me having itchy feet and thinking "I know exactly what will fix this". So, here I am, roughly 230 miles away from home, making a new start in a new city, and doesn't it feel great?

Why change is good

I'm not the kind of person that takes kindly to being tied down (I can hear my good friends howling at that comment as I type it, they know). An overpaid psychologist would probably put it down to my home breaking up when my parents divorced a while ago leaving me with no real base on which I can manifest nostalgia, or I can work it out for free and say that was something of a wake up call. Shortly after, I moved schools, went to uni, moved house, moved abroad, networked, interned all over the place and worked my arse off to wind up in what I've had people tell me was a "dream job". As someone determined to make the most of things to stop life being a bit crappy, falling into a job that required using Greater Anglia every day (insert sicky emoji a thousand times) seemed a bit... lame. The insane amount of train delays gave me some rare time to wonder what the hell I was doing - when I wasn't working on my phone, of course. The real turning point for me was when I was out for dinner with three friends in similar jobs, and I just... crumbled. It may have been over dessert, but there's no pun intended. It had reached the point where I was working so much I'd made myself ill, and it was the combination of incessant work and not being able to afford to live in London which had driven me to that point. So, instead of whining about it, I decided to give myself a kick up the arse and use LinkedIn for something other than seeing what my old schoolfriends were up to. I found out about the job I'm currently at when it was retweeted onto the work account's timeline - it'd seem I'm so good at my job I see everything, what lark!

Why Manchester was 'the one'

"But... Manchester? Really? That seems a bit extreme" said every southerner ever. It's really easy to fall into the mindset that London is the be all and end all of the world when it captures so much of the media's focus, it's a busy ball of amazingness and generally it is bloody fantastic. But, and this is a big but for people who've never stepped north of Watford, that doesn't mean the rest of the UK is a grey landscape to be Avoided At All Costs.

When I was feeling a bit out of odds at the beginning of university, I decided to (surprise, surprise) go somewhere else. I'd spend pretty much every weekend in a new city, trying out Sheffield, York, Cambridge and, you guessed it, Manchester. But, when I got into things in London, it honestly felt like I'd have to put up with it forever, because the job I did simply didn't exist outside of the M25. What a pickle. So when I saw that tweet come up, I sent an email that very evening, arranged an interview the next day, had two trips to Manchester (even I'm amazed I managed that one in peak trade) and in the new year I had a job offer. I do love proving myself wrong, it's very satisfying.

Preparing to move

I've treated moving to Manchester exactly the same as I treated moving to Munich, just minus the 4am alarm. I've booked myself into an airbnb for the meantime, and am viewing flats with a view to rent for the immediate future. I've been asked a fair few times if I'm intending to buy while I'm here as houses are considerably cheaper than their southern counterparts. There is that possibility (because whatever it may look like on instagram, I don't actually spend all my money on crap, just a little bit of it), but I'm going to stick it out for a bit and see how I get on with this city before making such a massive investment. And a pretty permanent commitment, at that.

Living in Manchester

In a slightly different attitude to Munich, I'm taking things a bit more slowly this time round. Rather than throwing myself into nights out and discovering every bit of town, there's definitely a much more chilled vibe (that, or I'm getting old). Getting used to a new company and their way of working is always going to take a little time to adjust, but I can already tell that this was a good move - and I'm not saying that just because they bought pizza for us on Friday (but maybe a little bit). I've found myself a great place to stay in a really convenient location, and things are looking up on the new flat front too - keep those fingers crossed for me! I'm not sure whether Manchester will be my forever place, but I'm not ruling it out completely...

Have you ever moved cities? I'd love to know if you've got any tips for me in the comments below, or you can just say I'm cray like 95% of my friends, but I've definitely heard that one before.

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Hey, shorty.

It's my birthday.

Sorry to interrupt transmission blogmas (as if I was actually taking part, I've just spent the last 3 hours catching up and it's only day 6), but here's a little interlude of the birthday variety - it is my 24th, after all. 23's been a bit of a weird one, really. For a lot of people, 23 seems to be a lucky number; it always seemed to be people's number of choice when buying lotto tickets, although my only connection was my form room being C23 between the ages of 11 and 17. There's no point beating around the bush, the last year hasn't been my best. I've had a fair amount of health problems (shout out to all the staff at Royal London hospital who now recognise me), stopped taking bullshit which seems to have pissed off a few people, and generally ended up isolating myself quite a bit, probably as a result of putting myself under a lot of pressure, stress and generally not being as chill as I maintain. However, it's time to kick myself up the arse a little and think of the few things which have gone well so far. And you know what that means: TIME FOR A LIST. Because when have bullet points ever not helped a situation?

• The people I have in my life are the strongest support network. As I get older, I have less time for fair weather friends (drinking buddies, all the time in the world for, but those who only crop up when they want something need to do one), resulting in a much closer bunch of pals. Unfortunately that means I don't live anywhere near half of them (North, y u so far?), but it does mean that when I'm sat there doing a Munch crica 10pm on a Tuesday there's always someone to tell me that it will be okay.
• Professionally things are going alright. I have my wobbles when things are getting that little bit too much, but I'm consistently meeting targets and feel like a part of the team, so that's got to account for something, right?
• I've introduced a few features in my blog that make things a little easier for me to manage. I am vaguely interested in numbers - we all are, and you're lying if you say you're not - but I don't generally care what they mean, I just like to know what percentage of people reading my blog are from Russia. Whether it's things like adding a gif or two, or making things a little more interactive with maps so you can have a peek of where things are - they're all little steps to make sure I don't get bored, and, in turn, hopefully means you don't too.
• In general, I'm caring less what people think of me. Obviously I have my moments of despair/apparent melodrama when one slight comment will send me off, but I have a much more laidback attitude to what comes out of people's mouths when they're angry or drunk. Now all I've got to do is work on what I think, and the negative thoughts which run through my mind. Baby steps.
• I suppose I ought to mention my love life here as I know you lot are all a load of nosy parkers, just like I am. Obviously it's still non-existent, but I am 100% happy with that, believe it or not. It only really affects me when I'm feeling particularly vulnerable or lonely (tying into the thing where people liver far away), but on the whole tinder is something to go on when I've got an hour to kill and dating is only viable when I have literally nothing else to do (i.e. never). There are some boys who I feel sad about when I think of them, but I'll get over it.

So, here's to another year, and cake for breakfast tomorrow. Hope you're all having a lovely weekend, and things are starting to feel a little festive for you all!

Rebecca x

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On openness.

If you’re capable of tweeting three times about how much you like toast, you’ve got to be a pretty open person, right? Despite sharing the minutiae of life on a near daily basis, I’m careful about what I do share. Facebook status? Haven’t had one for years. The last proper selfie I posted on Instagram? Twenty-seven weeks ago. If you consider that a blog is an online diary of sorts, this could start to become a problem. I absolutely love reading how others tackle major life issues, successes and failures in the open, cheering them on with a tweet, so why am I so reluctant to write a few words of my own, let alone click publish? So here's a post that's been in my drafts for a good eight weeks...

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, both in real life and online. It’s a bit like that lacy and incredibly uncomfortable bra you adore but will only ever come out on special (and probably slutty, we’ve all been there) occasions. You’re vaguely aware of where it is, but it’s an effort getting to and you're convinced it won’t be worth it - best it just stays put. I’ve been told time and time again that I can be pretty frustrating to talk to; I’m not forthcoming with personal information and work on a strictly need to know basis. Inability to leave my room for weeks on end other than to attend lectures (just)? Nah, just not been out much. Recurring medical problem? Left it over two years before seeing a doctor. That tooth I broke in November? I still need to make that dentist appointment… Yet I’m probably one of the easiest people to talk to you’ll ever meet (not to blow my own trumpet or anything, I’m just pretty chatty). Get me in a good mood, and I can talk like we’ve been BFFs for years, but it's doubtful you'll learn anything about me other than what I got up to at the weekend. This kind of thing just doesn’t come naturally to me, and, although I bottle things up with the inevitable outpouring of tears in the work toilets, I’ve made it to 23 without a criminal record so I can’t be doing too badly.

In fact, I post so infrequently about the feels that I can pinpoint my few moments of emotional openness on the internet very easily – namely because I’ve had to suffer the consequences of it. The first very open chat I had on my blog was about my time at university, and how I hadn’t enjoyed every second of it. I’d massively toned down the extent of how much the loneliness had affected me (I’m still not comfortable going into the details of that to this day), regardless I got three people to check it wasn't "too much" before deciding to go with it. So I clicked publish. I got people messaging me saying how they were upset by the post (wait, you know I blog?), saying how I should’ve opened up to them at the time, how I should’ve mentioned them by name in the post, saying how I should’ve consulted them before publishing it, etc. When my next big life moment happened, I didn’t bother saying much. I announced I was moving to Munich by sticking to facts. I fannied around with what I’d been up to (FYI, it was spent going out out at least twice a week and ebaying everything I owned), but there was literally zero depth, as planned.

This post may have a pretty self-derogatory tone, but there is the question of whether this is actually a big problem. Blog isn’t short for “web log” any more – it’s a word in its own right, and we’ve moved on a long way since Live Journal. I frankly can’t be bothered to dissect the true meaning of the word in 2015 as it’s something to be done over a bottle of wine, but, as a lot of bloggers have mentioned, blogs are now becoming your A+ version, leaving those Cs and Ds as drafts and Snapchats – there’s no room for the imperfect, and I’ll be the first to tell you I’m as far from that pinnacle as can be. My blog isn’t special; my only niche is myself (and, perhaps, my rather excellent puns). Seeing as I’m not putting the former into my blog, it’s slowly making me wonder whether there’s any point in putting in hours of dedication to one post, because... who cares? It’s one-dimensional, and I’m amazed on a daily basis that I have any regular readers (you guys are well alright).

I’m clearly not going to promise to write more open posts in the near future, as it’s simply impossible to change my mindset on a whim, or even a published (!!!) blog post. Yet I still do love reading about the blogger behind the Instagram filters, and with the added bonus of conversation – hello, Twitter! – even I can open up a teeny tiny bit. Maybe.

I may not be Megs with her incredibly frank and amazing video explaining her smear test and treatment, Katy who you just want to cuddle (as much as Runkle) and drink milky tea with to remind yourself it’s OK to not be OK, or even the wonderful Soph who goes on in the best possible way about one little thing, but that’s OK because they are so much better at it than I am. But when you do get a little snippet of what’s going on inside my head it’s probably going to be muddled and come at you like a bloody hurricane (because I’m hurt and shouting it at you), but it will be from the heart. So even if I’m not letting on I cried a tiny little tear at a Hannah Maggs vlog that one time, I hope you guys are happy with what I do share, and if you ever have any questions feel free to send me an email and I will reply with an honest to blog answer. Promise.

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All my little plans and schemes.

Tell Someone Who Cares tee: £24, Topshop.

Oh 2014, where to start! There were fireworks from the beginning (literally, I rolled in the new year at Marienplatz, before rolling in early that morning), and all the way through these past twelve months it's been pretty non-stop. From Munich to London via Berlin, Innsbruck, Zurich and Liverpool, a lot has happened - and I didn't end up metaphorically all over the place, hooray! I can safely say that I have never felt so comfortable in my own skin: I feel like I'm surrounded by the most supportive people I could wish for at home and have plenty more friends around the world (I'm talking about you Liverpool and Stylight lots!) having left most of my negative influences in 2013, I've a newfound confidence in my own abilities and I'm, simply, happy.

It would be silly, not to mention a lie, to say that absolutely everything is peachy; I've got a lot of things to work on in 2015 (yes Sarah, my organisation is one!) and I still occasionally find myself dropping into sad little places, but this is becoming less frequent and I'm getting much better at taking my emotions into my own control. If there's one resolution I plan to stick to, this year I'm determined to be less hard on myself. Whether it's just deciding to leave my inbox one night a week or going on a little blog break once in a while, I think it's about time I let myself relax a little - and I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

So here's to a happy and healthy 2015 - keep it sassy!

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When I get home.

You may have noticed, but this isn't an outfit post. Actually, what I'm wearing right now is a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a ponytail that probably has some leaves in it, so I think I'm going to save myself some BB cream and not document this one. The reason for the casual attire is that I'm (finally!) moving house after living here for over ten years, and I've just helped my mum to take down the swings in the garden. The past week has been a series of finding the ends of brown tape (the trick is to trace your nail round the roll, who says blogging isn't educational?), and going back and forth to one of the Havens Hospices charity shops with a fair amount of the clothes I've been lucky enough to receive from blogging. I know that It's Cohen is a place for me to share my sartorial disasters, but it is also a personal space, and this is a pretty big thing for my family. We'll be moving from this pretty thing to somewhere more normal, as this is the last thing tying my parents together (trust me, this is a lot more pretentious than we are, and doesn't reflect my family at all). I managed to escape last week to attend the boohoo wrapup party near St Paul's, and had some of the best cocktails I've had for a long time, not to mention a chance to meet Natasha, Shore, Shope, Alex and Lucy, which was an evening off I definitely needed! Post-move tomorrow, I'm off to my friend Amy's 21st birthday celebrations, and then it's time for Brownstock! I'll try my hardest to keep blogging throughout the transitional period, but here's my longwinded excuse for being rubbish at replying to tweets and emails, and a prayer for a good wifi connection in the new place.

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My University of Liverpool experience.

I remember moving into my room (F Block, Lady Mountford, Carnatic Halls) nearing three years ago pretty clearly: my light didn't work properly, the window had a wonky 'X' sprayed onto it, and the toilets smelt so strongly of bleach I couldn't help but wonder what they were trying to cover up. That night I went to a club so heavily promoted that I should've known it'd be awful, with people I could barely remember the names of, in a city I didn't know. And thus began Freshers: a week and a bit (I gave up towards the end) of learning the number of Delta taxis by heart, not to drink so much wine you can't make it out, and to go to the toilets in packs. This, I feel, is a pretty average university start.

Despite how much I go on about how much I adore it now, I never intended to go to Liverpool. I had my heart set on Sheffield, but a study leave of house parties and coffee shops resulted in grades worse than expected, and a few hours crying my way through clearing. That weekend I got a train up to visit the place I'd committed myself to, and hated it. This feeling persisted through the first year and a bit. The grim weather (it is colder up North), and constant niggling loneliness plagued me, and the January of first year nearly marked me dropping out. I'd had arguments with two of my closest friends over the Christmas holidays, felt like I didn't fit in with anyone else in my block (which I now realise was completely self-inflicted), became very introverted, and survived through visits from friends and going to see everyone's new hometowns. If I wasn't hosting or visiting, I was either wandering through the city centre on my own, or in my room. It got to the point where the only time I'd leave my room was for lectures, and it was rare I'd head to the canteen for dinner. The thought of Summer kept me going for the last month or so, knowing that I was going to see the Arctic Monkeys, my first ever blogger meet-up in Birmingham, Dublin, and just being in a place where I felt at home, and where people wanted me. I'd convinced myself that I didn't want to be there, and so I refused to like it.

I think it was the three months of people saying how much they loved university that made me go back. It can't have really been that bad, can it? This time round things genuinely were better. I got more involved with English society socials, Ellipsis (the university magazine), and made sure I booked train tickets home for reading week in advance, just in case. I undeniably felt lonely the majority of the time living in halls (again, this time Atlantic Point) where half the people I "lived with" were absent or just not the kind of people I felt comfortable with (sorry, third year sports scientists are not my type) and had my fair amount of emotional crises, normally over a hot chocolate. During term time, most of my home friends who were also at university didn't acknowledge their other life, and those who didn't go to university at all just thought I was in a constant hangover, and told me it'd be better tomorrow. It wasn't. I spent a lot of weekends in London visiting my friend Sabby which soon turned into my secret lifeline; seeing someone love university life so much made me push myself that little bit more, I looked at Liverpool in a different light, and slowly began to notice its beauty. It was around this time I fell in love with the city, and from that point on I knew I couldn't leave, even if I were lonely all of the time. I'd secured a few internships for the summer, I was doing well on my course, and I'd actually started to make friends. Things, basically, had started to look up.

Summer was a haze of early morning walks to the station followed by late nights keeping up with my friends' social lives in various Essex nightclubs. It was a kind of complacency of not-quite-adult-ness that I was happy with, but at the end I made a few mistakes and actually found myself wanting to return to the North to try and escape the intricacies of the South's social politics. Things felt so much more comfortable this time around, and I honestly put it down to both living in my own flat rather than halls (I think Liv and Jaz can vouch for how homely it is!) and feeling like you'd be missed if you weren't there. Simple things like being in the same seminar group as some of the people I'd made friends with made a massive difference, and it meant I didn't end up spending half of my time in Essex. I went through a bit of a down phase (understatement) during December and January as a result of feeling like I'd lost all my friends at home, leaving the vast majority of my dissertation work till the last week (don't do it, kids, it's not worth the gaunt look you get from the average two hours sleep a night) and general hatin' life attitude I appear to have developed and can't get rid of. But throwing myself into Cuthbert's and Heebie's has certainly helped to cheer me up recently, and, despite a few things that have really upset me over the past couple of months, I've been able to cope and not fall into dark thoughts every day with the reassurance of having people living a ten minute walk away. With my final deadline hitting last Tuesday, the time since hand-in has been a cocktail (literally) of tequila, wronged body-clocks, and getting quite emotional at Miles Kane gigs. I'll be back in Essex by this time next week, but it's Real Life and not Summer that I'm returning to, things will have to get serious pretty soon.

What I'm really trying to put across here is that university is not what you see through your facebook timeline. I can assure you that, despite what I've written above, my profile during first and second year was a continual stream of photos of me holding bottles of tesco value vodka with a deceptive grin, events I've attended (emergency services theme? Really?), and all the new friends I've added. For me, university was something I had to do: I know I'm not thick, I genuinely enjoy education, and, on a less "go me" note, my school expected me to (that's grammars for you, eh?). When I say that university was the best three years of my life I don't necessarily mean that it was easy and I was smiling the whole way through it, but that it's made me so much more aware that life is something you have to be prepared to work for, rather than something you can cruise through. That genuinely sounds like the most cliché bull that google can offer, but I really would not have had the experiences and the memories created were it not for the perseverance and conscientious effort to make the most of it. This is not to belittle anyone that does not go to university, it's not for everyone and I know a lot of people who have achieved so much without having a couple of letters after their name, but for me this was the best thing that could ever have happened. I've lived in one of the most amazing cities in the world for three years, and my only regret is not realising this earlier. Hopefully I'll be able to live here in the future, but for now I'm just going to make the most of the week I have left and cry a lot when I wave goodbye to the Liver building.

If I ever had a real chance to travel in a time machine where would I go?

Probably wouldn't want to see the past, 'cause all the memories are enough.

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this woman was once a punk

this is vivienne westwood dressed as margaret thatcher.

sarah burton, creative director of alexander mcqueen, has just been spied going into the plush hotel that middleton is staying in tonight. yes, i am celebrating the royal wedding if wearing heels and a posh dress during the day and drinking something vaguely nice rather than whatever dirty cider is on offer in tesco can be considered "celebrating". just the idea of the future ("drink!") queen wearing a dress created by a company that is meant to represent something utterly and beautifully subversive is, in my opinion at least, inherently wrong.

i'll save the queen if someone throws a penny in my drink tomorrow, but she ain't no human being.

(tra la la, less ranty post next time, folks)

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got the world locked up inside a plastic box

amy bought my diary this year.

see previous entries here

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i've been presented the 'stylish blogger award' by both emma (when she used to be 'two sugars please') and rebecca. so here are seven things about me, and it took me far, far too long to think of that many.

ps, a few people have asked, and you're welcome to add me as a friend on facebook, if you'd like (there's a link on the left)

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Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.

one hundred posts...

may this post be as unconnected and nonsensical as my day (which involved waking up late, almost bursting into tears in the apple store, and trying not to laugh when reading "a midsummer night's dream" in starbucks until it shut)

and in relation to that middle point, i've no idea whether they're going to have to take my laptop away. you'll find my delusional thoughts on twitter, if you care to look.

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all the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey

title lyrics: california dreamin - the mamas and the papas, but the john mayer version is so good! tam has definitely brainwashed me...

i weirdly like doing diary posts, even if it means sitting there for ages on photoshop with the blur tool.

i'm oddly willing to show the vast majority of these pages with strangers from foreign lands, considering i find it difficult to tell my friends how i feel on a day to day basis.

strange.

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