Who's That Girl? It's...Um, Holly Is It?

Ladies and gentlemen this is my face. Why, I hear you cry, are you blessing cursing us with a selfie, Hope? Well, this is my point. I am invisible. Not literally, at least I don't think. But in general, I go under the radar. MI5 would do well to employ me, 008 anyone?
Anyway, I go about my daily life rather unnoticed, and as someone so quiet*, introvert and happy to tootle about minding my own business, this isn't necessarily a bad thing for myself. But is it all it's cracked up to be? What are, as we've all wondered hundreds of times I'm sure, the perks of being a wallflower? STORY TIME: yesterday, devastatingly poor and hungry, I had to do a food shop at Asda. Off I went, bracing the cold, harsh winds of Hyson Green (Trent students, pray for me), wrapped in layers on layers of hoodies and jackets. At the entrance of HG's finest grocery chain superstore, I leant over to grab the last basket in the basket holder (you know the big silver rack thing that holds the baskets that probably has its own name but for all intents and purposes is a basket holder in layman's terms), and tried to be smooth. It was in this split second that I realised the basket was jammed in the rack, my foot went into the basket itself, I went flying and landed quite literally face first by the automatic doors with my phone, keys and shoes sprawled around me. Red faced - even more so than usual - I stood up and scuttled inside when it dawned on me; "Hey, I don't think anyone noticed that...". I got away with it. Granted, nobody rushed to my aid, sweeping me up and dusting me down - this is Nottingham after all - but I managed to hugely embarrass myself in front of a crowd of people, yet not one of them seemed to see it happen. "WOW" I thought. "What else could I get away with? Not putting makeup on in the morning? Lectures in my pyjamas? CRIME SPREES?!" Okay so that last one was a lie, but you get my point. It even sparked the idea that I could experiment with my newly discovered anonymity and see how long it takes people to notice. 

But as with everything in this life, there's a downside. And invisibility is no exception. In my life, I have experienced and been the reluctant receiver of several cringeworthy moments. Remember girls, in Mizz and Sugar magazines (both of which I had to hide when I bought them because they were very grown up ahem), when they'd have the cringe columns and readers would write in with TOTES EMBARRASSING MOMENTS LOLZ?! Well mine could trump them all. I've been sat on because I've not been noticed, spoken over in conversation because my field mouse-esque voice was simply too weak to contend in a discussion and most awkwardly, been forgotten. I could meet someone several times, have a lengthy chat, share a joke, go on a night out with them and then the next time I see them, be asked if we'd met before.
"Um, yeah I think so? You were out at Bodega last week right? Thought I recognised you" I'll say, cool as a cucumber, nonchalant as anything, when inside, I'm screaming "YES WE SANG AND DANCED ALONG TO MMMBOP BY HANSON AND HAD A JOKE THAT YOU THOUGHT I WAS ONLY EIGHTEEN! YOU BOUGHT US A ROUND OF SHOTS AND NOTICED WE WERE BOTH WEARING THE SAME COLOUR TOP ARGH WHY" because HOW am I that forgettable?! The thought has always been that maybe people do remember me but mistake me for someone else, but with a name like Hope Cassie-Sheward, we're hardly ten a penny, right?

In all honesty, I'm not that offended when someone can't remember meeting me, or when someone sits on me on the bus because apparently I just "blended in", but I don't handle it well. Hell no, I'm too dorky and awkward for that. I'll giggle nervously, sometimes snort, not make eye contact and then put my headphones back in. Maybe being the Invisible Girl isn't that bad after all...

Cheerio,

Hope x

*my housemates and people who have seen me drunk may disagree.

BOOK CLUB - AN EDUCATION

Happy late Valentine's everyone, I hope your Saturday was just as you wanted it to be, whether you're soppy or not and you went to bed sighing contentedly because you just had a good day. Sorry if you didn't, next Saturday will be a bit better. 
ANYWAY...
Remember how I tried to do Wednesday book club a while back over summer and it really didn't work? Yeah, me too. I basically read too fast, so when Wednesday rolled around, I couldn't remember what I'd read and had started like 4 other books, oops. But because I am a right bookworm, I had to start it again! Only this time, it's on a Monday, I'm not going to drag out a book that's only about 200 pages and it'll be a bit better, I think. On y va! 

This week's book, An Education was written by British journalist Lynn Barber, who I think is amazing. A memoir based on her teenage years and relationship with conman Simon Goldman (who also went by the name Simon Prewalski), Barber's book is like a dramatic novel and was made into a movie with Carey Mulligan in the main role in 2006. 

Though several of Barber's stories and anecdotes centre around her many relationships whilst at Oxford "I slept with over 50 men, I was just jamming them in" - possibly my favourite line EVER, she manages to be funny, heartbreaking and thoughtful all at once. You find yourself rooting for Lynn the entire book and her relationship with her husband David, who passed away in 2003. My copy is signed by the lady herself after I met her and totally embarrassed myself whilst fangirling last year at Hay Festival. She signed it "To Hope, good luck, Lynn" and told me that at my age, her memoirs should be a handbook on how, or how not to handle life at university. I was too excited and giggly to think of a witty reply so she didn't ask me to be her journalistic prodigy or anything, but I'm sure she would've. 

It's not a huge book, not even 300 pages, but the feeling and soul crammed into the pages more than make up for it. Honest, brave and really really GOOD, An Education receives 4.5 Hope Stars out of 5. I also love the movie soundtrack for some proper good 60s tunes and one by Duffy. Remember Duffy? Hi, Duffy, if you're reading this.

Cheerio,

Hope x
PS, Hope Stars should be a thing, and I might photoshop some stars with my face on for future book club posts. What do we think?                 

FINAL YEAR: TEN THINGS I DID NOT KNOW

Have you ever been round a university city on a Wednesday afternoon and seen hundreds of students dragging their feet, several books and six or so litres of coffee behind them? If so, you are one of the lucky people experiencing final years. Oh yes, we are moody little creatures at the best of times, sat on the top floor of the library, headphones in, click clacking away at keyboards only to reread what we've just typed, shake our heads and go "No, that's no bloody good is it?"

Final year as you may have guessed, has been harder than I thought. Which is why I thought I'd enlighten you to some new discoveries I have made since being one of those coffee addicted zombie students. I make it sound appealing, don't I?

1. You start to think you should just move into the library. I have been on my game these past few weeks with my library hours, and pretty productive too. But then I notice that six hours have passed since I first arrived and I suddenly wish that Boots library had a nap room.

2. You get too familiar. Here's an story: Last week I was in the library and sat next to this guy, I didn't know him or even speak to him. He was there for about three hours and I became so used to him being sat there, the minute he got up to leave, I asked him to put my Starbucks cup in the bin for me. He kindly obliged, but I probably looked insane so he had no choice. If this was you, I'm sorry, I don't usually make strangers do things for me. Promise.

3. Your housemates are VITAL. I have walked into our living room with mascara down my face from both losing the will to live and a hangover and my housemates have not batted an eyelid. I had a green facemask on and not one took a photo. Last week during my fortnightly breakdown, they were the coolest people ever and let me stay up to watch scary programmes with Kevin Bacon in. They are a salvation. Treasure them. Especially if they rap along to Lose Yourself by Eminem with you.

4. Suddenly, the idea of being in the library on a Sunday isn't "bloody mental" but something you find yourself doing. I mean, it's quiet, I have my pick of the computers on the fourth floor and I feel a little more relaxed about working. Who am I and what have I done with Hope Cassie-Sheward?

5. Work playlists have become my favourite procrastination-hidden as productive pastime. Seriously, I have perfected the meticulous art of the Spotify playlist. I like to think it's helping my productivity, but we all know it's to drown out the sound of the printer and FOURTH FLOOR lift announcement going off every three minutes. Hey, whatever gives me more time to listen to Swedish electro music and Dolly Parton, man.

6. Your lecturers become quite honestly the most valuable people ever. They'll listen, give advice, help, recommendations and if you tear up in front of them, they almost appreciate just how much this year means to you. Then they'll crack a joke, you'll feel better about life and tell your friends just how much you flippin' love your lecturers.

7. Say "YES" to every opportunity outside of uni life. So much of your time becomes devoured by the Harvard referencing system, library loans (maybe just me) and trying to do your best that you forget to relax. So if your friend asks you to a flamenco evening, a few quiet drinks or the pub quiz, take a minute to yourself and go "YES PLEASE WHERE'S THE WINE?". It's important. So's the wine. Go on ya wily fox, get out there once in a while. Or watch Take Me Out. Equally important.

8. Keep it up. For me, it's super motivating to be sat in a library. I'll have my headphones in, coffee and books everywhere and I feel a little bit like a budget Carrie Bradshaw, minus you know, the screwed up love life, designer shoes and smoking habit. It also makes for a cool Instagram photo that people will admire and think "this is a chick/dude who has their life together, wow" and even if you don't, you soon will.

9. I'm really enjoying it. Yes, I've spent this entire post moaning about how DEPRESSING and HORRIFYING my final year is, but the more I think about it, the more I want to handcuff myself to the revolving door of the SU because I am far too young to graduate and too little to go out into the big wide world and try and be a functioning adult. It's going too quick, I am almost 22 and not enough like Taylor Swift for my own liking. 

10. More work means more "I've done a lot, I deserve a treat" time spent in Topshop and record shops. As bad as this is for my bank balance, if you read my Spanish blog about how happy spending money makes me - I sound like I have a problem - you'll know this is a salvation. Hurrah for Rough Trade and student loans. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah.

How are you coping with your final year?
Cheerio,
Hope x