I know I'm not a special snowflake. (Though some would disagree and say I have yet to learn this.) I'm not the only twenty-something year old girl that spent her formative years studying Rory and Lorelai Gilmore, willing herself to be them. But when has being exactly like thousands of other people ever stopped me from talking about myself.

It was on ABC Family when I got home from school. I got the first and second seasons on boxset for Christmas. I would watch them when school had let out for summer until the discs wore out and I could hear birds announcing I had made it to 6am. I started a notebook detailing the plot of season one and where songs appeared in certain episodes (there's websites for this now that I would have killed for then). I was firmly in favour of the cookies and love and the Dean and the Rory and the cookies and the love

I wanted to work hard and set my eye on applying to Ivy League schools like Rory. I applied to one in the end. Got as far as a phone interview and blew it by talking nervously to the recruiter about Twilight. Oh, to be eighteen.

I idolised stubborn, sharp-tongued and reference-wielding Lorelai. I hated the way she sucked in her cheeks when she was looking at something or upset. And I pined for my mother to be more like her than an Emily. Which was not fair on my mom, as she was a far cry from either. 

Update: Craftsman Café closed permanently in 2018 :(
📸craftsman_cafe

📸craftsman_cafe

One of my favourite places I've discovered since moving south of the river (the shock, the horror) is Craftsman Café. It moved into the neighbourhood at about the same time I did. To the extent that we saw them hand-painting the trim and stencilling the logo on the front window (below right photo via the geo-tagged Instagram page). And I think for those reasons, though I've gone less in the colder months, this has become of my favourite places in London.
*pears around corner* Ahem, erm, h-h-hello? Am I still allowed here? Yes? *whips white sheets off furniture*
 THE TROUBLE WITH GOATS AND SHEEP  by Joanna Cannon
This little guy is all over the shops this week. I was reading a proof copy last year and now have the luscious debossed hardback by my bedside. The writing of Goats and Sheep is so comforting without being at all dumbed down. It has a dreamy quality to it that at times reminds me of if The Virgin Suicides was set in middle England and concentrated on two ten-year-olds rather than pouting teenage daughters. I'm looking forward to starting it again–it's the kind of read with descriptions so good you want to roll them around in your mouth.

 THE SPORT OF KINGS  by C.E. Morgan
I stole my friend's advanced copy of this because it is so pretty. Look at it, goddammit. That typography. I had to take it home. I have no idea what's it about (that's how I like to go into my books) but I'm going to wager there are some horsies. I have to be honest, I did try to start reading it tonight and am finding it difficult to get past the first couple pages. But to be fair it's 9pm on a Friday after a full on week of work. Progress to be updated on Goodreads.