There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings. Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn't exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It's beautiful and doomed.

hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head’ – Sally Kempton.)

Mohair jumpers, knitted on big needles, so loosely that you can see all the way through them, T-shirts slashed and written on by hand, seams and labels on the outside, showing the construction of the piece; these attitudes are reflected in the music we make. It’s OK not to be perfect, to show the workings of your life and your mind in your songs and your clothes. And everything you do in life is meaningful on a political level.

For those in a hurry … Sex references: here, here, here, here, here, here Drugs references: here, here, here, here Punk rock references: here, here, here, here, here

He’s soaking wet from dancing, all sweaty under his arms. As I lift the hair off the nape of my neck for him to fasten the necklaces, he closes in. Well, this is it, make or break, if I don’t like his smell, this is going nowhere. He smells of good honest sweat, no poncy deodorant for him. He’s a vegetarian so it’s not a meaty, kebabby smell, not overpowering, but strong enough to let me know, here is a man. I like it.