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Sir, a report of a stone, Sir, I found down at the creek, brushed with water like egg brushes pastry, dotted and spotted in drips and drabs, half-dry, half-cold. Sir, the stone was pebble-grey, warm, light -- rolled sweet fondant, speckling like a robin's egg, freckled ochre by the sun, with darker spots where the light fails to catch, Sir. Forgive me, Sir, I was enraptured, captured; the stone was bedding an eighth into the creek-sand, sat promptly, pertly, rightly, shaded i

To take us to the sky, We study the celluloid film, The oscillograph paper enfolded in our hands, The numbers are reduced again. Reels of paper pool at our feet, It requires careful observation, All that we are is a computer of women. We weave the punch cards, Gentle copper threads dance around towers of circles, Dancing in, And out, Forming a structure of strength, Of memory, Of information. We were weavers and spinners, Delicate thread between index and thumb, This copper,

Castello Cavalcanti (2013) is a seven-minute short film directed by Wes Anderson in production partnership with Prada. Jason Schwartzman stars as Jed Cavalcanti, a 1950s Formula One driver who is partaking in a race resulting in an implicitly fatal crash into a statue of Jesus in a small Italian village. What follows divides audiences and evokes questions about death, the afterlife, and fate. This short is a personal favourite of mine. I think it truly alters and encourages

On 21st February 2026, in the skinniest jeans I own, surrounded by heavily foundationed second-years dancing to Calvin Harris, I realised I, too, was gripped by the desire to return to simpler times. A disco ball wasn’t needed with the amount of highlighter I had swatched on my cheeks. 2016 was back. From the renaissance of Frutiger Aero – the futuristic design aesthetic prevalent in early 2000s tech – to the idealisation of drawn-on-finger moustaches and galaxy leggings, it