I started keeping a diary when I was 15 years and 14 days old. I know this because I wrote it on the first page. Bearing a pink cover dotted with shiny butterfly stickers, it’s a snapshot of what it was like to be in your mid-teens on the cusp of the new millennium. I wrote about the hours spent hanging out at skate ramps; the fallouts with friends and how we made up; all the people I snogged, and what I thought about them. The contents include bad poetry, tattoo designs, a catalogue of potential band names. A list of things I couldn’t live without: eyeliner, the sky, Kirby grips, coffee.
On Keeping A Diary
On Keeping A Diary
On Keeping A Diary
I started keeping a diary when I was 15 years and 14 days old. I know this because I wrote it on the first page. Bearing a pink cover dotted with shiny butterfly stickers, it’s a snapshot of what it was like to be in your mid-teens on the cusp of the new millennium. I wrote about the hours spent hanging out at skate ramps; the fallouts with friends and how we made up; all the people I snogged, and what I thought about them. The contents include bad poetry, tattoo designs, a catalogue of potential band names. A list of things I couldn’t live without: eyeliner, the sky, Kirby grips, coffee.