Yesterday I befell an inevitable ageing that, as always, provides me with the troubling realisation I am getting old. Yet, as my optimistic flatmate and dear friend consoled me on several occasions, I am no longer an ‘old’ teenager but, rather, a ‘young’ adult. But  perhaps that is just an unconvincing attempt of a girl who is half way to forty clinging onto youth like a squirrel to a shining acorn.

But a change in age seems only  fitting in my world that, in the past few months, has changed entirely; it seems almost crazy that I am nearing the final few weeks of my first semester at the University of East Anglia.

I awoke on my birthday to a shower of felt-tipped confetti, a bundle of flowers and a room of friends. With a mouthful of cheesecake, an armful of hugs and earful of The Beatles on blast, turning twenty was, in a most shocking turn of events, a most blissful of occasion.


University, thus far, has been a dazzle of successes and failures and the shortness of this post can not reflect the abundance of adventure and the exquisite moments I have had  here. In finding friends who are impossibly amazing writers and poets, I am in a sea of  limitless inspiration and encouragement. Though living in Norwich still proves to overwhelm me, it is a place I am most glad to have found myself entirely lost in.




Above photographed is my room’s door! How is it that I might have been so lucky as to twirl my fingers around its creators hand?