Television Loving Care
“In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer.” That’s how every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer begins. For the uninitiated: Buffy Summers, a sixteen-year-old California schoolgi
O’ahu: regular priced milk and the view over Pearl Harbour
When we arrived in O’ahu we headed for Waikīkī first. From the airport we walked to the Alamo car rental, where my father talked to the desk as my mother sat in the plastic chairs between me and my brother, sobbing as quietly as she could. “We’re safe,” she kept muttering to herself. I
Photo Essay
This project started with a two-hour conversation about waistlines. I started thinking about how an accentuated waist makes me feel more feminine, but also makes me sharper in conversation. I know I’m much better at delivering a punchline in a pencil skirt than pyjamas. Each morning I plan my outf
A Summer Sliced Up: my two months in a Singaporean kitchen
Saveur is an affordable French restaurant nestled between swish corporate offices and a busy shopping district. It has travelled a long way from its humble beginnings as a modest stall in the far-most corner of a large food court, the passion project of two young Singaporean chefs who sacked off the
University: An Only Child’s Guide
In my experience, only children are raised in two ways. The first has always been treated as a child, the second as an adult. The stereotypical Little Prince/Princess model of Only Child is a product of the former upbringing. I was the latter: my mother explained to me, aged 10, that I was essential
In Praise of Letters
Letters have always seemed a strangely heightened form of communication to me – you can’t burn an email, and frankly, I’ve yet to see an email worth burning. Letter writers from Oscar Wilde to Peter Wildeblood have found themselves incriminated by their own words. Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woo
Dirty Dishes
NIGELLA TALKS DIRTY—a YouTube video I found the other day, which manipulates scenes from Nigella Lawson’s various cooking shows to make it sound as if she’s having sex. “If you want to squeeze”—and here the video cuts—“my plumptious beauties”—and again— “then be my guest”.
Ode to Joy
When I first began to touch myself it wasn’t “masturbation”—it was nothing but an expressive action. Its implications and attached politics were unknown to me. I was unencumbered by any words or conversations that may have inflected my private action with shame or disgust. I was, at least fo
‘We’re Not Heroes’: The ISIS meets the Night Climbers of Oxford
Night has set upon the city of dreaming spires. Rain pours over the freshers hastily making their way back from Cellar. The queue for Hassan’s spirals around Turl Street. The sound of joyful revellers intermingles with the patter of rain against gravel. You sense something above you, a fleeting in