era.

So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough.

Dear The Couch,

This is the letter I always wanted to write to you but
I dunno. It
seemed silly,
y'see?

Way back when I wanted to say
"Hey,
I'm doing okay!"

(I could have slipped another
rhyme in there).

I wanted to say
"Thanks for showing me
how to be happy.

I've got a new boy now and
you'd really like him. He
has blonde hair
and plaid shirts
and I help him with his art.

And Pap-y doesn't
hate me any more
so I don't hate him.

Sometimes I see
my friends as demi
brothers and sisters which
I've never had
before.

Iz nice.

If we did that shell exercise again, I'd
still pick that horrible
one to represent the world.

I still resent what I used to call
'the machine' 'cause my

hair is too wild
and my boots are too big
and my skirts are too short

for me to get a proper job. I'd rather
die young than
grow grey (not as in 'old',
but into a 'sad charcoal
soul').

But that's okay,
'cause I still have an ideology."

Some of that is no longer
true. Insert slight
edit
here.

"I gotst a nose stud and
I think you'd like it. I wear
flowers in my hair
now and lipstick
everyday.

I was thinking how funny it is,
The Vines and Frank Turner
remained my favourite artists

ever since I was fourteen.

Rock n' roll cannot help but prevail with me.

I think you'd
be okay with that.

It's because of you that
this blog survived. When you told me
this was my method of process, I
trusted you. I'm glad I
listened to you.

I don't wanna be a skinless body in the
dark, in the
nothing any more. I can
be fine without hiding now.

Well, I still
hide on the Heath. But I love
the Heath. I
always will."

I could do a Wayne's
World with my
very own Scooby Doo end? Lolz,
nawr.

"I did it. I'm going to university
today.

I'm going to study English Literature and
dress how I like
and party how I like
and talk to who I like.

And I'm nervous excited terrified happy. All
wrapped into one.

Oh, and I'm gonna see Frankie T in
Decembre, 'cause
old habits die hard."

"Spaceship will carry B home."

the playlist

Dear Art Boy,

So, when we were going out
you said that I Am The Resurrection was
our song.

A song about
breaking up and
hating each other?

Nahh. I listened to
Iron and Wine's Such Great Heights and The Beatles' Got To Get You Into My Life and Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees and Tracy Chapman's Fast Car and Sigur Ros' Sigur 3.

See? They're not so bad.

Now I listen to
Joan Armatrading's No Love and Mumford and Son's After the Storm and José González's Heartbeats

and sometimes Summer of '69

'cause I'm not as emo as some make out.

Uhm,
insert some
memories I guess?

Not seeing you for a week 'cause
of Theatre Studies, then
running towards each other for a
massive hug at Purbeck.

Making a plaster cast
model of your head.

Kissing good bye at
the top of Station Road,
always by the same railings.

Bill Bailey,
the countless hobos
and circus theme tunes.

A piggy back to your
summer house when my
feet were sore.

You reading The Globe aloud as
I dozed beside you. Story
read to half sleep.

Crosswords on trains
and post-revision pints
and hangover fry ups.

"Why are you so amazing?"

Playing,
giggling,
pulling (faces)

like we were kidz,
like we were playtime friendz.

Kissing hello though
golden morph suit?

(Sorry, I remember a
lot. I'm not sure
what to put).

I wish I didn't remember
you looking at me
as if you didn't know
who I was

or letting me wait crying at
the top of your road whilst you
lay hungover in bed

or you staying up all night putting
shit up your nose, so I
couldn't hang with you
alone before you went abroad. And then
came home. And then,

yehh.

I remember blushing as
you drew me. In other words,
realising I fancied you a little.

If you're reading this you'll
probably want to
hit me by now, but
this is my turf. Don't

give me grief for how I feel.

I feel stupid saying the four letter
or five letter past participle
words slash whatever
'cause you never felt the same.

I'm sorry I
scared you. I've re-learnt my
lesson in that one
must have a guarded heart.

(Can you tell I'm
trying for the balance
between sappy and angry?)

Uhm. I don't want to tell you
you were special
when I know there's silence in return. But

you made me happy,
you made my cry
and you made me seal off my heart

(with laser beams and a moat and sharks with guns)

and that's what special boys do.

in the green grass behind the stadium

Last night, B got her good bye.

Beer,
cigarettes
and banter

were first which is standard

and then B was too drunk for her
train and so she went back
with the lads to the summer house

where they listened to The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and drank more beer.

And B's friendship bracelet
and playlist
and side of the bed

are all still there.

The heart feels
lighter now. Much
better and

I hope we can see each
other at Christmas 'cause

I think you're my friend now.

no, you WILL stop.

Dear Gooch-y,

My blog affiliate, my carer, my best friend (one of).

I didn't really know what
to say on our last night. I
felt like a bloke, shuffling
my feet and hugging tightly.

I'm gonna miss Starbucks after
work and cigarettes at Henry's
and pints at the Bun Shop and
our pulling pact for Fez. Ooh,

and the stories we tell about
the cunts we know and the
people we like and the
ones where we don't give two flying fucks.

I might even miss you taking
the piss a little bit. Lolz.

I think one of my fondest
memories is sat
swigging Blossom Hill at
Grantchester Meadows and

just talking books. Shit-y,
female flick books. It
was nice.

Just look at us. Haven't
we grown? I can't believe

how much you terrified me at
the start of Hills Road.

(By the way, I
got so mope-y when you left. You
would have wanted to
slap me. Ha).

Muchos lahv-os and kiss-os and snuggles
(but no tears, 'cause
I know you hate them).

date night

Dear Belle,

I like that out of
all my school friends, you're
the only one I've kept.

And that this is despite
a fight
(of sorts) 'cause it turns
out that we need each other.

I love that we bonded over
Paramore and The Academy Is..., our
lives soon revolving around
Kerrang (haha).

We've been friends around four
years now? That's a little
scary. Maybe that means we'll

make it across the ocean. We
made it from different sixth
forms, didn't we?

I'm gonna cherish all the cawfees
and chemistry lessons and
nights spent watching MTV.

And I wish you luck and hope
you chase all your
dreams, ('cause you have
so many now).

it was like a train on a track

I haven't felt that
hungover in a long fucking time.

Woke up on Cute-y's bedroom floor
(my limbs still sore) and stumbled
slowly to the bathroom.

I recollect meeting Friend at four
and marching into town, picking
up Lambrini (his choice, iza
not actually thirteen) and

proceeding to get fucked.

This is B's last night
"out out" in Cambers (insert
tears and mass invite texts)

so she's slipped into her red
rose dress and shiny gold
vintage jacket

and we're back at Henry's. And
Dean-y's there
and Pasc-y's there
and Keen-y (fellow Brum)

and Campbell and Jam and Party Boy and his girlfriend and Snack Boy and Nomalish and Cute-y and Wink-y and Crayon Girl

and kinda everyone still left.

It's kinda awesome. It kinda helps B
realise how many good friends she's made. And

she feels like she's actually
gonna be missed this time. Iz
nice.

Beers
and beers
and beers

plus smokes
plus punts
plus one final whisky.

Dawr, Fez! B loves Fez and
zomg, they played such good
tunes. Welcome to Jamrock,
54-56 was my Number,
Out of Space, In
for the Kill, The
Dog Days Are Over...

to name but a few.

Where's My Money? now
reminds B of Peho. Who knows
why?

B so very much loves to jive

but 'tis exhausting. Nom,
burger.

'Twas an average night to be
honest (or as Friend puts it,
"standard") but 'twas lovely.

Good byes are hard though.

I'm never sure what to say.

There remains one, still
the hardest one. You said we
could meet over the phone, so
please don't change your mind

'cause I need peace in mine.

I watched the Skins episode 2.10 and
I got it. I'm also making memory
playlists, and shall read
Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I am a connoiseur
in nostagia.

PS. B misses Gooch-y. A lot.

purbeck (with love)

Dear Purbeck

(and all of you in it),

You all know who you are. I count
you guys as my bestest buds this year,
I guess. 'Cause we were
together twenty four seven,

blowing smoke outside Club Cafe
or on Purbeck Road
or on the grit salt
(or mine and Cheryl's spot on King's Parade)

and we drank cawfee
and sang songs
and chatted absolute shit to pass the time.

Occasionally we went to lessons
which was okay.

Mostly we hid in the art room
which was more than okay.

And at weekends (and
this summer) we drank beer at Henry's
and jived in Fez. Ooh,

and we watched Buddy play many gigs.

Now it's hard to say good bye because
with you guys is where I fit in and
it's hard having to make new friends
when I already love my old ones.

Two last words (just for Gilb-y)?
"Biddly bong."