27 things I love.

I was 27 last weekend. I won’t bore you with my usual lengthy spiel about how much I love birthdays, how I embraced my Leo energy, how much pressure I put on myself to entertain others and love every moment for myself, blah blah blah… let’s just get to the good bit: a good old soppy list!

Hang on a sec there, Gracelet. Haven’t you done this before?

Yes, yes I have. But before, I did a ‘24 Things I Have Learned’ list. That’s old news now. This year, I’ll be blogging about 27 Things I Love. Sound good to you? Good. Here they are, in no particular order… 

Coffee. Let’s start with one of the biggies, and most obvious. I was brought up in cafes (thanks, Mama and Papa) and started drinking sachet lattes when I was 14, in my Drama classroom at lunchtime with my best friends. Since then I have worked in several cafes, dated several baristas, and really honed my coffee snobbery. I will only drink the strongest long blacks, these days. And the odd oat milk flat white (and in this weather I’ll have it on ice, please). 

Books. Another obvious one. I’ve grown up with books. I love bookshops. I love the smell of books. I love writing about books. I love love love reading. It’s awesome, and important, and magical. Anyone who says otherwise is a twit. 

Writing. I remember realising at the age of 10 that I was one of the only kids in my class/friendship group who wrote stories, diaries and even poems in their spare time. I started my blog at 17, and it was the perfect therapy as well as a creative outlet. I studied Creative Writing at uni. Someday, I want to write a book. I mean, I’ve tried many times but never got one ‘done’. Well, who knows? Maybe I’ll have one finished by 28… 

Kindness. It’s the most attractive trait in any person. That famous, Instagrammable passage from The Twits, about being kind and it showing on your face? 100% true. Nastiness makes people ugly. Be kind. It costs nothing. 

Work. I am very fortunate (and bloody privileged) to have only worked in jobs I have truly wanted. I am also blessed to have parents who have never forced me into a job, or criticised what I’ve chosen to do for work. I wanted to learn about coffee, so I became a barista. I love movies, so I worked behind a bar in a bloody bougie small chain cinema. I am obsessed with jewellery, so I’ve worked in a couple of crystal/jewellery shops. I wanted to be in the book world, so I interned (unpaid) for a publisher. I bloody love skincare and baths, so I got a job at LUSH. I’m worryingly experienced in the realm of social media, so I freelance as a social media manager. I want to write, so I blog and pitch and edit and do all sorts of random shit in that wild industry. I haven’t followed one path, ever. 

Crystals and jewellery. As I said before, I’ve always been obsessed. There are photos of me as a teeny one with costume pieces on, or even grabbing relatives’ silver jewellery, and I used to wear the odd ring to school (the only school rule I ever broke, I think!) before starting to wear one on every finger from college age. 

Drama. As in, theatre. Not toxic, shady real life stuff. I used to want to be an actor, and then a week or so into my combined honours Drama degree I realised I wouldn’t stand a chance, and it was okay to just study it because I was good at that, and act in the odd production for fun. What a relief. I miss acting, actually. It was such a lovely break from reality, and there was nothing like the bond you’d form with people when you worked on something together.

Plants. They’ve become my pets in this little one bed flat, throughout lockdown. They also look cool, and make fun projects. 

Podcasts. Most of the time, I prefer listening to podcasts than music. There. I said it. It’s like my own personalised radio. I can have a giggle, learn something, feel seen, get some gossip… it’s magical. (Shall I do a blog post about my favourite podcasts? Would you read that?)

Tattoos. Obvious, again. I never thought I’d get any ink, when I was young. I actually thought sleeve tattoos were ugly and scary, when I was tiny. Please forgive Baby Me! I am now obsessed, and love how getting inked makes me feel; more in control of my body, and like I’m expressing myself for all to see.

Whole Earth Crunchy Peanut Butter. If you like smooth, get out. 

Pooping. And poo talk. It’s a shit (lol) taboo, and it’s so great to talk about openly. As Mama would say, ‘everybody pulls down their pants to poo’ - and you are no better than me, if you don’t talk about it or even straight up deny ever doing it. You weirdo. 

Hugs. Tight, hard hugs, full of emotion. Casual, gentle greeting hugs. Morning cuddles. Evening snuggles. All of ‘em. Love it.

Sex. And sexuality, sensuality, solo stuff, experimenting, literature, photography, intimacy, shops, kinks, all sorts. Much like poo, I wish it was talked about more openly. 

Living by the sea. Like, within 5 mins walking distance. The sea keeps me sane. I have to walk along my seafront every day and absorb it, because sometimes I actively dread moving somewhere else, where there is no fresh sea air, sparkling water, weirdly-shaped pebbles or big ugly honking seagulls. 

The moon. I will frequently text friends simply saying ‘LOOK AT THE MOON’, when it’s looking particularly sexy. I like to think it comes out and shines some nights, just for me. (I know I could not be more wrong or more selfish saying that, but let me have this)

The sun. I forget how much I love the sun until spring comes rolling around - I think it’s a form of protection; part of me deliberately forgets that I am essentially solar powered, to prevent myself from getting properly miserable in the shitty, wet, cold, grey months.

Bourbon biscuits. See my Twitter account for stories, rants, photos and reviews of these delightful biscuits, that have been a huge part of my life since I was very young. No, I’m not joking. It’s a passion. 

Getting emails on my professional account. Because they’re almost always exciting, weird and wonderful. 

Spiritual shit. I love tarot, the moon, crystals, and just the idea that we are all part of this great big magical universe that has its own energy and plans - but we’re not its puppets, by any means. 

Paper diaries. My memory is not what it used to be, and I have never trusted electronic devices with all my information and day to day plans - because, well, what if they die and I’m left without anything!? Eeek. Paper diaries are definitely the way forward. So many friends are shocked when I pull mine out to schedule a coffee date, but then when they try it out themselves, their lives are forever changed. You are welcome, friends. 

Handwriting. I will never take it for granted again. 

Whisky. (yes, this was originally porridge, but I had a rethink and realised this was more important than my breakfast projects)

I've grown up in a family that loves a good scotch (particularly Papa, and Grandad), so I've had that influence from a young age. But I started drinking Jack and Cokes at uni, genuinely just because I fancied a guy in a band who wrote a song that contained the lyrics 'your boyfriend's downstairs drinking Jack and Coke'. I stopped getting Coke mixers a few years later, because they gave me hiccups and tbh I hate Coca Cola (don't @ me). I moved on to ginger ale for a while, and then one night my local didn't have any... so I had it neat. And I've never looked back. I'd marry whisky if I could. It makes me so damn happy. Gin is another fave, but that can go any which way when I drink it (happy, sad, angry, dopey, headachey... it's a lottery). Whisky is always a safe bet.

Having no hair. Folks think when I say ‘I love being bald/buzzed’ I’m talking exclusively about the ease of it. Nope. I mean, yes, there’s that, but it’s something bigger. I have had so much more confidence ever since my lovely barber shaved my head for charity in 2018; I’ve learned how to own my look when people gawp at me in the street, and how to generally dress to express my inner self. 

My body. It should come as no surprise to you, readers, that after everything my body has been through, I am truly in awe of how much it has coped with, and how it fights to go on. I’ll never criticise it like I used to, or see its normal human parts - such as cellulite, stretch marks and, of course, scars, as ‘flaws’. 

My brain. Same as above, really. My own squishy collection of grey matter has been through the worst shit; it’s been delved into, pulled apart in places, examined intimately, and zapped ferociously with radio waves, yet it still keeps on. 

Oh heck, I’ll throw in the NHS here too, because I recently discovered that I’d have had to pay upwards of $250,000 for all the treatment I’ve had on them for the past 6 years alone, and y’know what, y’all may trash them on a daily basis for having long queues or messing up the odd appointment, or not running the right tests, but let me tell you - they are the best of the best, I’ve never ever had a bad experience, and I owe them my life a few times over. 

Myself. Well, obviously. 


posts you've really liked.