My week, reviewed: ranking this week's yums and yucks

You didn't ask for it, so here are the yums and yucks of my week... 

because who put 10p in me?!

One thing about weeks, is that they just keep on coming. Try as you might, you just can't shake off those mystical magical 7 days, no matter how hard you try. Again and again, Sunday meets Monday in a sick Gregorian Calendar twist of fate. Born to be free of the concept of time, forced to own an Apple Watch.

What sets this week apart from the others however, is that I decided to rate it (but on the scale of how tongue waggingly good it was). Because it's my week and therefore, it’s mine to rate. #likeforrates

Small plates, huge vibes @ Bambi

One of the perks of modern dating is that you can cherry pick potential dates based purely on their postcode. It’s my preferred method of shortlisting the location of my future inhabitance. With this school of thought dominating my prefrontal cortex, it was time to explore Hackney Central. On Saturday night, pints and small plates were shared with the latest victim of my Hinge Binge. Not only did my recent excursion confirm that my flirtation with E8 was more than a feeling, more than just a crush, but I also discovered a gorgeous lil bar/restaurant/ that made my week YUMmy in many ways. 

Bambi is Hackney's wet dream. An intimate, warmly lit box room bustling with attractive dishes and even hotter wait-staff (including a famous influencer’s boyfriend whom our table neighbour wanted to devour even than her sea bass cerviche). It’s an instantly cool yet romantic, unpretentious yet sophisticated place, characterised by carafes of chilled red, juicy peri king prawns, succulent steaks, doorstops of sourdough, experimental splodges of sauces and a vinyl-smothered wall that tempts diners to stay on for their post dinner DJ sets. It's Hackney ofc! Bambi was scrumptious all round- from experimental yet delish small (and large) plates to the vibey bathrooms decked out with incense and a mirrors bigger than my fist.

Get yerself to Bambi for a small plate and a big vibe. Next time, I'm trying the martini with the massive olive. 

👅👅👅👅/5 tongues 

The ultimate small plate fantasy

I'm moving into a HMO (car parking space)

After my lovely dirty weekend in Hackney, I decided that I should probably move out of my SW London family home within the next 3-5 working days. Part of my self-harm regime is going on Rightmove and looking at rental properties of which I'll never afford. The self-harm fantasy only gets worse when I type in my price range and see the meagre offering of properties (shoeboxes) that my wages could justtt about afford. Trainspotting meets Bethnal Green.

My most recent search for a house-share in Hackney, (on a graduate salary) informed me that a garage or a parking space are my most realistic housing options. So I'll be cooking a meal for one whilst the teens have band practise. Sweetest one <3

Home decor inspo would be one of those naff handcrafted wooden signs: Ingredients for a happy home <3: 1 dollop of laughter, 7 sprinkles of teamwork, 2 spoons of patience, 3 ladles of friendship,  and one bag of Charlie x

Big yuck. 👅👅/5 tongues, purely so I could say i've moved out.. but at what price?! (A spenny one apparently).

these stompers

My commute took a disturbing yet intriguing turn when this pair of shoes flees from their factory, and walked onto the District Line. An Asic style trainer meets heeled brogue all stuffed together; akin to stuffin sausage meat into its case. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. Regardless, my eyes were doing overtime. But somewhere between Earls Court and Embankment, something clicked. I stopped looking, and suddenly began seeing that these rubber nightmares, were indeed, very high fashion. Evocative of this Adidas collab:

unfortunately, a yuck turned yum. If I’d been even just a couple more stops down the East Ham end of the District Line, God knows I would’ve wrestled them off her, sock and all.

👅👅👅/5 tongue. For the enemies to lovers pipeline

I've been vape clean for 3* days

It's been a long time coming, but last week signified the beginning of the end of mine and vapes' tempestuous love affair. Since 2021, I have had more sweet-smelling puff clouds streaming out of me than I've had hot dinners. This puff stick has watched on smugly as I’ve attempted stretches of quitting, waiting for me to run back to her, as she knows I always do. 🩷And whilst I love the routine of meal-prepping my vapes (one week, it's the tropical fruit diet, the next week, the razz variety), I began to realise that I was actually addicted. And as a woman who is medically adverse to cringe (ironic, I know), I had to put an end to the ultimate manifestation of cringe that is sucking on a plastic tube. I binned the straggler vapes that have lived in the depths of my handbags and have cluttered my bedroom drawers for the last year, and made myself a daily progress tally chart. Posi-reinforcement.

Plus, I’m pretty sure my gums have gone translucent due to wearing them down with chemical, blue razz blow. So I'm packing vaping in.. for a lifetime of cigs (she's plant based xx)

👅/5 tongues. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss her. Those plastic flavour sticks were my vessel to flee to the office bathroom 9 times a day xxx

90s brow tutorial

I decided I wanted those thin 90s brows because I rewatched Educating Yorkshire and was inspired by the Year 10 girl who shaved hers off. Plus, it’s the ultimate menthol breakdown indicator innit. So to get a flavour of what this commitment would actually look like, I CAKED concealer onto my brows and only left  0.3mm of the girls left. It was reminiscent of drag queens gluing their brows down, but without any of the cyanexttuesday glam to follow. Seeing the scary, alien-like brows stare back at me, I realised that sometimes it’s better to leave the vision in the filing cabinet of my mind.

👅/5 tongues. No tongues r wagging here. (But for some reason, I still want to get it done)

Live action photo of me, with my two scrags of eyebrows (colourised, 2025)

Infernos Instagram

I spend more time on the Infernos official Instagram page than I do in the actual club. A club Instagram that actually has charisma, as opposed to the typical reels promoting organised fun and unsavoury characters posing in official club photos?! Unheard of until now. Instead, Infernos make their carpeted-club veterans the star of the show as they put them in the spotlight for 1on1 interviews with ultimate posh man, Freddie Browne (you might recognise him from Made in Chelsea, of which he rah rah'd his way onto 3 episodes of).

These punchy little videos are the antidote to the hangxious pit of self-loathing where you need a quick-fix that says, it could always be worse. But its especially fun to point out all the familiar faces you spot- evocative of a SW London, poor man's Where's Wally. From smoking-area love affairs of Saturdays of yore, to uni BNOCs you haven't seen for YEARS- they all end up in Clapham eventually. And then eventually, on the Infernos insta grid. Whether they're being filmed shedding dignity on the dance podium, or getting quizzed about their icks by the Jamie Laing Lite man, its definitely racking up my screen time. 

Those carpeted floors really have made me a kept woman.

I love content creation.

👅👅👅 and a tooth/5 tongues.

Pretty good week for a girl with no class. Until next time, Mon-Sun xxxx

Returning to Selly Oak's most iconic student bar, 'Circo' as a graduate

A graduate and another graduate walk into a student bar... ouch!

Not a punchline, just an embarrassing mental image of what we put ourselves through, two years after graduating xx #notajokejustafact

If you are University of Birmingham alum, there's a high chance that your body consists of:

• 70% VK (the correct flavour, nonetheless)
• 20% Rooster's Chicken (Number 7 Greg's Meal to be precise)
• And, crucially, 10% Circo club

Nestled in-between Selly Oak's fistfuls of fried chicken eateries and bubble tea shops, there lies a special sweatbox that has the Birmingham student population in a chokehold. Circo. 

Circo is Selly Oak's most iconic student bar. It offers everything that a student bar should: the drinks are dirt cheap (Pounded Mondays didn't get its title from nowhere) and there's always a drinks deal knocking about, the toilets are a battlefield and the queue full of crop tops and Adidas Sambas goes on and on... and on.

I would say Selly Oak residents have an even larger chunk than 10% Circo real estate in them, as if you've ever had the (dis)pleasure of attending Circo, you know that half of your soul gets left behind on the sweat-drenched walls and ceilings- my DNA in Circo's infrastructure <3. Before returning to Circo, I asked some alum to sum-up Circo and the overwhelming responses were variations of, 'wet walls' and 'SWEAT'. 

Memories of Circo

For the majority of us who turned 18 during the pits of lockdown, this local student bar would be our first taste of clubbing. It was 2021, bars had slowly started re-opening for sit-down only events, and Circo was first on our hit list.  We guzzled slushy cocktails and shots of tequila rose, shouted conversation across both ours and neighbouring tables over booming music. It was a taste of the future. But inside the actual building lay the vacant wooden bar, a decaying pool table and a cramped dancefloor, all barren in a a vegetative state- it was screaming for the pounding of hundreds of Nike Air Forces to hit it once more. But not for another year, my sweet Circo. 

Older students' stories of £1 drinks at Pounded Mondays, DJ Joe Jaxon, the winding queue that reached Jhoots pharmacy and the militant toilet ladies all felt more like folklore than reality to me. But I was ready to experience it one day. And by second year, that day (and every Monday and Friday night for the rest of term) had come.

2022

2025

We frequented Circo every Monday and Friday. It was love's young dream. Circo nights were full of possibility and a whole lot of hair gel- the ammunition needed to prepare for the sweatiest night out of the week. I'd bump into old friends, drink countless VKs and dance my socks off until the lights came on. We set alarms for 9pm, halted the pres and sprinted down Tiverton Road, praying that the queue had not yet reached ChickKing- a sign that they were about to start longing out the line and charging for post 10pm entry. We were prepared with our 'queue juice'- a toxic mix of squadka in a Tesco bottle which would typically end up being glugged in a panic when we reached the Bristol Road bus stop. And down the line, hundreds of students were pulling the same routine.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules, the Circo toilet door remix 

Walking into Circo was always a powerful experience. The boys taking turns on the outdoor punching machine, the intense wave of instant heat that blasted you upon arrival and the gaggles sat in booths waiting for the dance floor to busy up. We were always the first instigators and the last stragglers on the danzflur - not only did it give us a chance to pre-request songs to the DJ,  but it also guaranteed a space on the stage. The stage was a raised platform off the dancefloor where you had a birds eye view of everyone, and crucially, provided a respite from the intense meat market of closely-packed heated bodies below.  

Circo truly was the everyman club. Come rain or shine, big event or last-ditch attempt at a spontaneous night out, some of our best uni nights happened at Circo.

Vks are Circo's ultimate sex symbol xxxx

A devastating mark on my digital footprint x

Dream home must include!

Who knew that VKs were to become second nature once I hit uni. Sure, VKs were the go-to drink at UoB's Fab and Fresh nights and the star of Bristol Road's Uni Superstore, but this fruity alcopop only truly came alive whilst quenching your thirst in the blistering pits of Circo. It's a drink that both bonds, and breaks- I remember one of my friends getting lobbed smack bang on the head with a (glass) bottle of VK and having to go to A&E. I think they only serve plastic bottles now..

A little something to take the VK edge off x

Now, two years knee deep in the passenger seat of graduate life, ordering VKs without a blink of an eye, or a flash of an ID would feel seminal for my teeny-bopper self. And if anything, slightly disappointing- I thought graduates were meant to get sloshed on something classy and mature like martinis- not essentially vodka infused J20). But stood in the pits of Circo as a 23 year old, surrounded by uni students who were born in 2007, you have to be seen with a VK in hand-it's the ultimate Circo accessory. Blend in like the sheep you are, make yourself as unassuming as possible.

Drinking a VK in any other bar might be considered infantile and naff, but when becoming a UoB student, John Lewis should add it to their 'Uni Essentials Shopping List'. Being a graduate is synonymous with being a sophisticated individual with a mature flavour pallet..so I ordered a black cherry VK (as well as my classic 'green flavour'). True decadence.However, we all agreed that after 2 VKs, we felt like our teeth were going to fall out. Back to the pints it was. We still enjoyed the easy-drinking, upper of a VK, but concluded that the glucose novelty had worn off. We would all rather dance with a pint or a vodka cran in hand-it was a quicker, more delicious way to produce the same effect (just without the 6am shakes and sugar coated teeth). Omds... had we grown up? 

VK rating: 3/5

A delicious taste of nostalgia, but too sweet for our mature palette. Don't know how we graduated with any teeth left?! 

You, me and VK 🩷

Orange VK tastes like sin. If the sweaty walls of Circo were liquidised and bottled, this would be the horror show result.

Music maketh the Circo 

One sure-fire thing about Circo is that the music will be reliable, silly fun. Not as infuriating as the wedding-DJ songs that my post-uni London haunt, Infernos plays every Saturday, and nowhere near the intense house playing in the East-London bars that I dream of making my local. Just good, reliable, (somewhat predictable) floor-filling songs. In our days of Circo, resident DJ, Joe Jaxon was an integral part of the furniture. Whilst spinning some absolute bangers, there was also quite a lot of mash... Jaxon had a tendency to repeat the same roster of songs every night- it got somewhat fatiguing. UoB's national anthems Feed them to the Lions and that Big City Life remix were as certain as chaining cigs in the Circo beer garden- inevitable. However, he was partial to a song request, acting as the voice for the student generation, and the face of Selly Oak nightlife. Gorra respect it.

 

Only this time, there was no sign of Joe Jaxon, but one of our very own!

The uni DJ-to-professional DJ pipeline hates to see DJ RD coming. From buying a cheap set of decks during third year, to carting a massive speaker down Bristol Road after buying it off Facebook and DJing at all of our uni pres, our pal Rosie had come full circle, and was spinning at the very club that we used to dance at weekly. 

Seeing our uni pal DJ in a professional setting and play to a crowd that feasted off of every mix was sensational. I almost felt jealous that this fresh batch of students got to experience this as their default Circo experience. 

Not only was it a full-circle moment to see our talented pal playing for the same students that we once were, but it signified changing times. During uni, we had always vetted for more student DJs to play at student nights. Now Circo has been given the new lease of life that it deserved, and it sounds so good for it. It can be the face and ears of students. Plus, being friends of the DJ had its perks that we only dreamed of as students: we got in straight away, smugly walking past the already chockabloka line that had formed before 9pm, our song requests were played and we got to put our jackets behind the decks- these things matter when you no longer live 2 mins away.

Circo DJ rating: 5000/5

DJ Joe Jax was my ride or die. But DJ RD is the people's princess!!!

Outsider, looking in

Whilst knowing the DJ certainly had its perks, it did heighten the detached feeling that came over me. From being allowed access to the back room, to skipping the queue-it was signifying that I wasn't part of it anymore. We were officially the outsiders, looking in. No more stampedes from the queue surge squishing you against fellow students and no more panic drinking your Tesco-bottled journey juice in the line. All the things that make a Circo veteran. 

We were separate now. 

Adding to this sense of detachment, was the fact that the only people we only knew there, were each other. Part of the joy of student-only nights is the bumping into people you know; the neighbours and old flatmates to the situationships and campus crushes- it was always at the core of a Circo experience. Only this time, we faced a crowd of unfamiliar (baby) faces. It's mad that a 18 year old can look that much younger than a 23 year old, but it didn't do any favours for the hag narrative. This wasn't helped by my dear friend asking every boy we encountered, 'are yOU alSO a FrEshER', in a bid of trickery and tomfoolery. She stopped when a doe-eyed boy told her that nobody says ‘fresher’ anymore and her fresher roleplay cover was blown. 

The stage has been replaced with a glorified Gogglebox set up. Rest in power sweet laminate x

And to make matters worse, the stage was no longer! But we soon discovered that the need for this viewing platform disspears when there are only four of you to look out for, and no campus crush to try and locate.

Closure or close-ughhhh?

If I had gone back to Circo the Autumn after graduating, this outsider-looking-in feeling would've upset me much more than it did now. For such an unassuming place to make core memories, a lot of heightened uni memories certainly unfolded in those 4 dripping walls.  I took a long time to get over the fact that I no longer belonged to UoB. UoB belonged to me and that chapter of my life, but I, not to it. Call it nostalgia, call it lack of closure- I was not ready. 

But two years on, I realised that I was actually ok with it. 

The nostalgia had evolved into an exciting variant and there was a new-found liberation in being an outsider now. I didn't have to worry about certain people being there and ruining the night and we could be as stupid as we wanted- dancing revoltingly and chatting smack to strangers, all encouraged by this new sense of anonymity. Ultimately, we had outgrown it. You can't stay a student forever. And thank God. We had all moved on. 

Now being working girls, with increased independence and funds, our friendship group of 4 (that spans London and Birmingham) have a whole new pot to piss in when it comes to new nights out. This means that every other weekend of shared custody (between London and Birmingham), we explore new, fun places to go in our cities. Stuck in the Selly bubble as students, we never properly explored the Birmingham scene, but now the likes of the Gay Village's Village Underground and the Jewellery Quarter's Button Factory and Actress and Bishop are new found faves.

POV: you take ur vein out for 3 for 10 drinks xx

Once you leave the student bubble, you start to seeing it for what it is- an intimate, yet isolated subculture characterised by an incestuous, village-mentality bubble, that exclusively houses 18-22 year olds. But when you’re out of the bubble, and you’re a few years older, you start to feel like the old man at the bar, ordering shots for young girls. Being a student is a little like playing mums and dads- a dress rehearsal for young adulthood. 

It’s only once you leave the bubble, do you truly get to experience your 20s in the real world.  

Honourable standouts:

Events: Circo has done a real number in terms of monopolizing the best spot in Selly Oak. They don't just do student club nights anymore, but host a variety of other events like the Sip and Paint nights that were advertised all over the shop. You really could organise your calendar around Circo.

Giveaways: They've also become hype-beasts and have made Circo merchandise. Who would buy that? you might ask. Well turns out nobody needs to buy them, they're giving them out as part of the Friday night routine. There was a count down to the 't-shirt drop', confetti cannons flew and an employee stood chucking out a job lot of Circo t-shirts. The people were going crazy for them. Inflatable microphones and novelty glasses were also being thrust into our hands, which only added to the school disco allegations.

Spin the Wheel: My favourite new addition, was the introduction of their 'Spin the Wheel' game. All my uni pals know how much I love making a game for our night out pres, and as it turns out, as does Circo. A huge, multi-coloured Wheel greeted us at the door, scribbled with several dares and drink forefits. We cordially queued up, and each won a Fireball shot, as well as a dare to text your ex. Not today Circo. But we did enjoy the free shots!!!

Over all, returning to Circo was an absolute treat for the sentiment in me. A time was had! But once you have two feet firmly out of the student door, and realise that tectonic plates won't move and shake upon your return, it's a treat best left in the past. Let the new generation enjoy their rightful sweatbox and we'll stick to ventures new. Circo 4ever and always in our hearts xxxx

An ode to Spoons: Wetherspoons Bingo

Home <3 

Spoons isn't just an establishment synonymous with cheap booze and an audaciously long menu- it is an institution. Wetherspoons is the great British equaliser. The British boozer that is fun for all the family, welcoming pre-borns, new borns, baby re-borns, teens, Millennials, mid-life crisis dons, pensioners, and all those in between with open arms. 

It's cheap, cheerful (in a butter-face kinda way) and by God is she comforting. There's something in the familiarity of the extensive yet consistent drinks list, the budget prices and funny knock-off alcohol brand names, right down to the carbon copied, archetypal personalities that inhabit every Spoons across the cuntry, no matter the postcode. Everyone has their favourite Spoons, and locals will claim that theirs is the best- but they're all cut from the same cloth. I've acquired a tic that sees me point and exclaim 'aw it's a Spoons' everytime I walk past one. Real recognises real and the heart wants wot the heart wants.. And what it wants is a Strikabomb followed by the 3 for £12 small plates, followed by greasy fingers, followed by a Poretti. I'm just a fifty-year old bloke in a 23 year old's bod.

THIS Corky's propaganda
was taken in V-Shed, Bristol's finest establishment

Spoons plays a big role in British culture. It IS British culture: selective multiculturalism (because Spoons Tuesday curry club is safe, but serving EU-sourced alcohol is tooo much of a cultural exchange!!), lone men day-drink as an act of patriotism, and when brought together inside those 4 sticky walls, even the coldest of Brits defrost and are up for nattering with a stranger. Plus, the booze is cheap as tits!! It's pub culture yassified. No matter what corner of the UK you're in, when you're in Spoons, you know you're in safe hands- they don't have Ask for Angela posters plastered on the bathroom walls for nuffin!!!! xxxx

My first taste of the high life began in the Putney Spoons, The Rocket and it tasted like the dishwater-brown notes of Green King Abbot Ale. I was 18 and dizzied by the novelty of it all- this unassuming green, bitta-plastic ID card opened doors to a world of possibilities, incited by the purchase of my first legal pint. The cost? £1.29 The product? My debut into adulthood. Spoons is there for you when the Fullers pubs are full and Youngs is ageist. Spoons will have ya gladly, get in. Milestone life events? Birthday? Bought a good top on Vinted? Degraded yourself for an ex? Celebrate it in Spoons. Mental breakdown? Spoons. Post-work slosh up? Spoon it in my gob. Multi-faceted till its dying day.

Three girls in spoons, colourised, 2023 

And even if Angela is being asked for one too many times (which when in Spoons, it's highly likely), you know the people watching will provide the most impeccable in-house entertainment. Spoons (which are typically huge gapping rooms with sticky carpets and gauche lampshades) are bursting with lone drinkers, stag dos, sloshed up mums and doe-eyed tourists from dawn 2 dusk. It's the filthy-rich tapestry of Bri'ish society. Fill your boots with a plate of chunky chips, an ambiguous slab of meat, poppadums' and a pint for the price of less than a meal deal, and take a front row seat as you watch life unfold. You could spend a full day in Spoons without anyone blinking an eyelid or making you feel as though you've overstayed your welcome. As Molleh-Mae said, we do all have the same 24 hours guys.... so let's just spend them sat in Spoons. Come on Bam Bam. Whether you're feeling voyeuristic, or you want to throw yourself into the socialite opportunities, and get involved in the action, Spoons are gapping vats of anonymity, drizzled with possibility. 

the people's prinny xx 

For us veterans of the best Spoons on the planet, (Hammersmith's William Morris), a trip to WillMo could end in multiple possibilities: a quick in-n-out pint, ending up peeling your shoes from the sticky Belushi's dancefloor next door, a chat with the local crooner, an extensive family reunion, or finding yourself posting your table number on your Snapchat story, receiving shit-mix orders to your table and then trotting off to an afters in a semi-detached in Barons Court. The paths are endless, but there's one thing guaranteed: it starts at Spoons.

If I ever had the pleasure of starring on '60 Minute Makeover', I would ask for THIS palace to be the blueprint.

Thanks to the Wetherspoon franchise's generous helpings of so much visual stimuli and entertaining scenes, my pal and I decided to milk it. We did what all greats do after lacing our throats with 3 Bells and Diet Cokes, and turned Spoons culture into a drinking game. A poor man's Spoons Bingo, if you will. And will you? You probs should.. 

Let's play Spoons Bingo:

The rules are extensive. Drink for everything you encounter on the list. Personalise her, make her your own. And most crucially, it's not about what Spoons can do for you, but what you can do for Spoons. 

Ultimate Spoons Bingo 

• A regular is at the bar

At WillMo, our go-to regular is an old fella whom we call 'Lips'. He has the biggest lips in Britain and its all his own work

• Get chatted up by someone 40+

You'll know it's happening because they've been looking at your table for the last 5-10 minutes

• Bump into a primary school classmate 

The novelty wears off very quickly after the initial thrill of seeing someone who was 3 apples high when you last saw them goes. You'll spend the next two hours trying to avoid eye contact.

• Bartenders are 2 busy flirting to take your order

It's like Primark staff flirting but more aggressive

• Someone’s reading the Spoons magazine like its hard hitting news

Carrie Bradshaw would rather buy the Spoons News mag over dinner, because it feeds her more x

• Tourist tries to order via table service 

They're confused, gormless but they're getting the full British experience.

• Spoons Roulette gets played

The staff must be SICK to the back teef of delivering their fifth tray of a glass of milk, a shot of tequila rose and one singular egg of the night and still pretending its funny

• Bells gets sold out

I swear the minute I told people that Bells is the cheapest liquor, it started becoming sold out. Let's gatekeep Britain's worst-kept secret.

• Approached in smokers 

For a light, a chirpse, some spare change- anything goes in the smokers pits of hell

• Compliment from a girl in the bathroom  

Thank you diva, but its the Stella talking

• Girl crying in the toilet

The point remains.. its the Stella talking.

• +1 point if a gaggle of girls ascend to console her and tell her she's beautiful 

I heart feminism.

• Vape cloud coming out of a toilet cubicle

Nothing says Spoons couture like hot boxing the cubicle with triple razmadaz melon. I would bet my bottom dollar, there will be Adidas sambas, dolly pumps or cowboy boots sticking out from under the door.

• Sit on the chosen table #bestseatinthehouse

The stage, or the booth ONLY, with the panopticon view. I will not be silenced to sit in the cheapseats by the fire exit.

• Find a Lost Mary and play TEN inside

She was lost, but now she is found. (if you have never played TEN, the rules kinda do what it says on the tin).

• See a shared mutual

Because where else will worlds collide but Spoons!?

• Strika Bombs

Sickened but I shall not grace my lips  with the alternatives- skittle bombs or fireballz. Ughhhhh.

• Someone buys you a drink

Admittedly, would hit more in a pub where it costs an arm and your third leg for a drink but I'll take it!!

• Panic searching ‘clubs open near me’

Remember that Strika Bomb from a few mins ago.. blame her.

• Panic booking Uber to the ‘club near me’

Won't waste a minute of drunkenness on 7 night buses thank you xxx

• Intense Eye contact with someone

A look of fear, love, lust? All three.

• See someone getting kicked out

If its not debauchery, its not Spoons!!!

• Lone drinkers strike up convo with each other <3

Spoons, bringing people together since 1979. 

Love u spoons!!!  u  r my dream girl

Nostalgia: exploring the mini heartbreaks that follow a breakup

Chronic nostalgia, and its role in the fallout of heartbreak.

As far as incredibly sentimental creatures go, human beings are pretty high up there. 

We are a chronically sentimental race. If you slice us open, we bleed nostalgia and melancholy (followed by a cloud of semi-crystallised triple melon vape smoke). The state of the human condition is deeply nostalgic; an (un)fortunate side-effect of exposing oneself to love and loss. 

I'm so chronically nostalgic that whenever I bite into a jellybean, I start mourning my childhood because the taste reminds me of the jellybeans included in a 2008 Puppy in my Pocket blind bag.ifykyk

And what's nostalgia's favourite coattails to ride on? Heartbreak. Even our earliest ancestors would've experienced a sense of heartbreak, given that social bonds were fostered as a means of survival. Thus, losing these bonds would cause disruption and heartbreak served as a mechanism to strengthen relationships (Moser, 2023). And as humanity progressed, as did heartbreak and the meanings we attach to it.

The mess that we call dating, in 2025:

As modernity continues to evolve, as does love and heartbreak. We are a generation both doomed and determined by dating apps, disillusioned by the grey areas of situationships and talking stages and constantly juggling the ever-changing sexual politics of today. These perils that mark 2025's dating landscape are driven by 'me culture' (Ashley, 2024) where love-seekers are encouraged to date with a vengeance, dropping and blocking anyone who doesn't maximise our romantic potential, before quickly moving onto the next. Whilst the millennium promised an exciting new future of hope and possibility, we pine for the ‘good old days’ more than ever, as we romanticise the old-fashioned ways of dating that our parents and grandparents enjoyed. 

On the other side of the coin, there are those of us who still pin our hopes on modern romance. These are the sillies of us who create internal mental scripts of future dates based on one or two (very mid) Hinge chats. Or those of us who after two years of being ghosted, still pine over that one situationship and fantasise about shacking up together in an E1 postcode.

And worse of all, there are those of us who have actually braved a relationship... and consequentially suffered the fallout. We mope and mourn a love lost, feasting on the only piece of the relationship that we have left: memories and nostalgia.

The gilet-donning brains and Brians of Capitalism have monetised our heartbreak. We nurture this booming industry by buying into breakup self-help manuals, life coaches (Standley Allard, 2025) 'revenge body' workout plans, which are up-sold by the 'get under someone to get over someone' promise of dating apps. The breakup industry capitalizes upon the promise that, as soon as the breakup is 'solved', you are the curated, maximised, ultimate, money can't buy product. 

Respectfully, I just don't think these little divas can coach me into winning the breakup xx

Micro-nostalgias and the mundane reminders:

The aforementioned sells us a dream that sounds great, but the reality is a little different. Yes, you might have blocked the ex, adopted a life coach and undertaken a fitness regime that would make Dr Christian from Channel 4's Supersize vs Superskinny proud, but these solutions fail to target the true demon of the breakup... The insidious, little splinters that remain untouched and exposed in the broad daylight of day. The everyday mundane things, splintering into micro aggressions that serve to remind you of your broken heart. It might not be your ex themselves, but its everything that was once attached to them. The songs you listened to together, your comfort TV show, the country of your fist holiday together. After all, when you commit to sharing a life with someone you don't just co-exist as two separate entities but share all the titbits in-between: the places, the songs, the friends... the memories.

It can drive you insane trying to avoid everything that instantly transports you back in time; both to the good and the bad times. My mum still can't listen to 10CC's I'm Not in Love, without talking about her devilish Italian ex. Arrivederci babes. Even ar' Chappell Roan is a victim of these micro-nostalgias. In her new song The Subway she sings, 'A few weeks later, somebody wore your perfume, it almost killed me, I had to leave the room'; a relatable lyric about the overwhelming emotional response that arises after smelling a scent that reminds you of someone you once loved.

Nostalgia is a psychological phenomenon used to create emotional buffers against trauma and unpleasant feelings (Mars, 2024). Perhaps this is why post breakup, we become astutely aware of all the small thing that reminds us of an ex. And when you reflect on these things, they can be so subtle and honestly, pathetic- whether its a piece of lettuce dangling from someone's sandwich (the only vegetable he would eat <3) or that one horror-show David Guetta song (played when we both threw up on our first night out together). 

Nostalgia and its rose-tinted clout goggles:

Nostalgia becomes a twisted comfort blanket, making it easier to cope as we grip onto comforting memories. Whilst they can offer fleeting comfort, they can also lead to a slippery slope of reminiscing that leads to sadness and grief (Raypole, 2021). Because of this, we can be tempted to avoid any exposure to the myriad of nostalgic reminders. It's unfair. Not only are we meant to navigate and cope with an earth-shattering heartbreak, but it also prohibits us from indulging in some of our favourite things, simply because it was once shared with someone who now, you would would really rather not think about...

Nostalgia is also DRENCHED in selective memory. Yes, maybe a certain pub reminds you of happier times shared together, but I bet you don't ruminate on the other pub next door, where several nights ended in rabid arguments, and hostile walks back home... Nostalgia is our way of cherry-picking all the good memories and throwing them into romanticised montages, whilst the other bits are discarded to the cutting floor. Because, cathartic and emosh as nostalgic deep-dives can be, they are often viewed through rose tinted spectacles. 

Nostalgia reminds us of the lives we have lived, and those yet to come...

The reality is that these splinters (i.e, the songs and artists, foods, places, perfumes) may remain your favourites, but your relationship with them will change. It's rubbish...until its ok. Overtime, your nostalgia response will likely evolve, and these splinters become markers of the new chapters of your life.  You'll hear a song that once was removed from all playlists, and realise that you can listen to it without inducing a small breakdown. These moments allow us to reflect on how much we've grown, whilst simultaneously rejoicing that we are not in the same place as we once were.

At some point (and a lot of healing time), we might see that these micro-nostalgias symbolise new corners of the world and experiences that you have unlocked; a sort of parting gift from your relationship. Imagine going through life, utilizing all five senses: you smell all the scents, you hear all the songs, you see all the sights, taste all the flavours and hear every sound, but they all just blend into one. Imagine that the culmination of all your lived experiences were to never spark a emotional response. Imagine a life where every song sounds the same, and every meal remains bland. How dull. Emotion, and nostalgia-responses are there to remind us that we are alive. They remind us of all the stories that we collate along the way. They remind us that we have lived and we have loved.

Once we embrace the fact that accepting love means risking loss, only then are we able to fully start living.

Deep innit! Nostalgia doesn't have to be a demon robbing you of happiness, but another notch added to the belt worn by someone who has lived a colourful life, well-lived.

Echo by Christina Rosetti, 1862

                Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
                As sunlight on a stream;
                Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

References used:

Key Moser (2023) The Evolution of Heartbreak: From Ancient Defense to Modern Healing https://medium.com/@akr225a24/the-evolution-of-heartbreak-from-ancient-defense-to-modern-healing-bf4ffb91a17d 

• Crystal Raypole (2021) Those Happy Golden Years: Coping with Memories That Bring More Pain Than Peace: 

https://www.healthline.com/health/depression/nostalgic-depression  

• Emily Standley Allard (2025) The Business of Breaking Up: How Heartbreak Is Fueling a Booming Industry:

https://www.msn.com/en-us/lifestyle/lifestyle-buzz/the-business-of-breaking-up-how-heartbreak-is-fueling-a-booming-industry/ar-AA1vydzB

• Elena Mars (2024) Why Do We Feel Nostalgia? Exploring the Emotional and Cognitive Mechanisms Behind Nostalgic Feelings:

https://scientificorigin.com/why-do-we-feel-nostalgia-exploring-the-emotional-and-cognitive-mechanisms-behind-nostalgic-feelings

• Beth Ashley (2024) Dating culture has become selfish. How do we fix it?

https://mashable.com/article/selfish-dating-app-culture?test_uuid=003aGE6xTMbhuvdzpnH5X4Q&test_variant=b