March disappeared before my very eyes. Can’t believe I’m sending this out again already. A lot and a little seems to happen in the span of four weeks. Spent a lot of time alone doing simple things and walking down memory lane. Without further ado…
R-eading
There was a common subject amongst the seven books I read in March: half of them were about heartbreak. Two of them had the word in the title.
I’m a huge fan of Jordan Stephens. Have been for a decade. He’s a musician, author, speaker, host, advocate for important things and significant source of inspiration for me. He has a fucking brilliant substack called Screaming Inside. Subscribe to that shit as soon as you finish this.
He wrote a book that I greedily devoured in a single day that I couldn’t recommend enough. It’s called Avoidance, Drugs, Heartbreak & Dogs - a title that is an initialism for ADHD. A memoir, written in short, staccato sentences - reflective of Jordan’s quick and cutting way of thinking - this book has cemented itself as a new all-time favourite.
The reading experience tugged at my heart, in familiar pain and pleasure. I felt moments of ecstatic relief of being seen. I needed to stop and stare at the ceiling multiple times, just to breathe and let the sentence I’d read wash over me. Jordan articulates with niche accuracy, defining moments, thought patterns and tendencies that have governed my life - and in doing so, allowed me to feel less isolated in their rule. He writes of uncanny parallel experiences; especially wild are the similarities when describing how he has reacted to these experiences. Feels like my brain. Feels like an alternate version of reality I’ve inherited through the pages.
I’ll be giving this book to every important man in my life. To every important person. Especially my Dad. Would it be insane to send this to my exes too?
Extending beyond this book - I’d recommend a deep dive into Jordan’s other creative pursuits. He raps witty verses over boppy, genre-blending grooves with singer Harley Sylvester, in a duo called Rizzle Kicks. After a long hiatus, they’ve just released a new, excellent album called Competition is for Losers. Their music is joyfully nostalgic for me - my cousin introduced me to them when I was living in the UK as tween. Their debut album Stereo Typical transports me to days spent running around London, getting up to no good. I’ve included my selects in this month’s playlist (see: T-unes).
Any podcast he’s on (yes I’ve listened to them all) is brilliant. The way he speaks scratches an itch in my brain and demands your attention. If you only listen to one of them though, make it his appearance on this episode of We Need To Talk with Paul C. Brunson.
E-ating
I’ve been feeling low this month. All I want to cook is simple food; meals that are hot and nourishing and don’t require a lot of brain power. I crave the power of food made with heart. My favourite dish was a simple spaghetti pomodoro made from a giant bowl of cherry toms left on my front porch, gifted by my landlord who also happens to be my neighbour with a juicy veggie garden.


P-laying
I’ve been riding a bicycle for the first time in years. My car’s been intermittently fucked and a generous friend loaned me her wheels to get around town. I’m lucky that I live close enough to my various regular spots that a bike is a solid substitute. My city is notoriously spread out and the public transport is abysmal in my neighbourhood.
It’s ironic because my city is also full of people who ride their bikes everywhere - and yet, I don’t even own one. My first jaunt was from my house to the library to return some books. I live on top of a steep hill and the thrill of zooming down the street, my fingers hovering over the brake, completely blanking on which side was for the rear - was nothing short of child-like elation, sprinkled with a glimmer of fear.
I used to ride bikes a lot as a kid. I spent half my childhood growing up in the UK, spending six months of the year here in Australia with my mum and six months of the year in a tiny village in Norfolk, East Anglia with my dad. The full story is one for another time. The relevant anecdote is that there was sweet fuck all to do, I was home schooled and alone a lot with nothing but the smell of cow manure, horses and miles and miles of rolling green hills. Quite bloody beautiful actually.
Once I finished my school work, I’d throw on a wild combination of layers to stave off the uniquely wet British cold, and go for very long bike rides. I’m talking three to four hours. I distinctly remember abusing Lily Allen’s 2008 album It’s Not Me It’s You, scream-singing to Not Fair as mud flicked up my trouser legs, rolling down back country lanes.
After sifting through my emails - I’ve uncovered true fucking gold. Context: the year was 2012. You didn’t really message people on facebook or instagram if it was any longer than a sentence or two. Skype and writing long, silly emails were the primary mode of communication with my friends in Australia whilst I was overseas. I used to email my best friend at the time about my adventures and attach pictures with OG instagram filters on them. It’s lovely that I haven’t mistaken nostalgia for my memories of how I felt at the time, especially re. riding a bicycle:


I was fourteen, with no working phone (god I really miss that), my iPod and absolutely no care or clue where I was. I knew I’d get home if I went back the way I came. I’d mentally record markers of where I turned right or left; punctuated by abandoned country pubs, classic red phone boxes in the middle of nowhere, colourfully painted cottages and quirky street signs. I was so present in my surroundings, deeply free and untethered. My only responsibility was to be home before dark.



O-bsessing
Shopping at the niche little markets and produce stores at my local shops. One of them I’ve come to frequent at least once a week - they sell every type of herb, spice, canned bean, paste, grain and pickle one can imagine. It is a one stop shop for the peculiar ingredients that an Ottolenghi recipe often requires. I love the smell of this store. It transports me elsewhere. I feel more connected to the diversity of the community I live in. I witness people of all backgrounds finding the pantry staples from home that can’t be found in big supermarket chain aisles. I feel good spending my money in here. I leave feeling inspired by legumes in shapes and colours I’ve never encountered before. I never thought the day would come where purchasing a can of giant white runner beans, specifically of the Greek persuasion would put a spring in my step.
I’ve been particularly consumed with trying the copious varieties of tea with labels in slavic languages I don’t understand. Identification of their contents transpires via the charmingly kitsch illustrations and photos on the packaging. Nettle is my current favourite. Coincidentally, its healing properties are precisely what I need. It’s a nutrient and vitamin rich, natural antihistamine whose properties aid in the reduction of different types of inflammation. The best part is that it doesn’t taste like dirt water, which I’ve found is often the case with the shit that’s good for you.




R-ecommending
Substitution as a pathway to novelty and subsequent joy.
Translation: Changing up your routine in the most simple of ways to reinvigorate and inspire. A routine, or formula that really works for me is to spend my Saturday mornings moving my body followed by quality time with my friends (or solo with a book), over coffee. I wrote about it in practicing the virtuous art of patience; I’ve had to swap out a lot of physical activities to allow a few injuries to heal. I pushed on for a while doing the same shit, but after changing it up, my Saturday’s feel more exciting purely because of the novelty of doing something slightly different within my prescribed formula.
Instead of a 5 minute drive to a pilates class full of the same people, I drive 12 minutes down to the lake and do a big walk where I encounter new people each week. Instead of going to the same cafe near pilates with the fairly average coffee but prime people-watching atmosphere and endearing staff, I’m going to a 10/10 coffee dispensing gem that serves delectable diner-inspired food and has not one, but two baristas I’d gladly give my number to.
It makes me feel like I have a whole new lease on life. I’m excited and more engaged with what I’m doing with my time. I feel more like my routine is in service to me, than I am to it. This recommendation comes as a reminder that we are in control of creating an engaging, inspiring life and adapting it to our changing needs, as we see fit.
T-unes
As mentioned, lots of Rizzle Kicks. A bunch of random vibes this month. Influenced by a night at the clurb shaking my pum pum to afrobeats, barking to Glorilla at the gym and singing in the car to sweet RnB tracks. Listen on your morning commute to inject a bit of razzle dazzle into your day.
Fantastic 10/10 I'll take 14 of 'em