Change My Mind. Distracted Boyfriend. Exit 12. Tide Pods. Doge. Grumpy Cat.
Tinker Tailor Student Spy
Oxford is slowly warming up. The hours of watery sunshine are lengthening day by day, and daffodils are beginning to poke their heads up in the muddy parks and lawns.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of meeting the esteemed journalist, lawyer, former government adviser and fellow Rhodes Scholar Ronan Farrow when he spoke for an evening in Oxford after...
The immortal words of R.E.M were the soundtrack of my teenage years. Instead of a regular teenage rebellion involving sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, I defied my parents by reading feminist literature, blaring AC/DC from my room, and refusing to go to church.
As of today, December 20, 2018, I occupy the most space I ever have in my life.
Despite being 11,660 miles away from sunny Nelson, New Zealand, the ''Maori Santa Claus'' debacle has reached the frozen wastelands of Oxford, England.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: to most children, an exciting, multicoloured kaleidoscope of eccentric characters and intrepid adventures, from anxious, yet well-dressed white rabbits to murderous, ill-tempered queens hellbent on decapitating anything and everyone.
Whenever I am asked where in New Zealand I am from, I do not know how to answer.
It has been exactly one month since I moved to Oxford, ''that sweet city with dreaming spires'', to quote the poet and critic Matthew Arnold.
In the wake of the Kavanaugh-Ford debacle, there have been many ill-thought and frankly disturbing statements being thrown around about the apparent frequency of false rape allegations and the...
For the last two months, I have been living in Leith, a delightfully eccentric and family-oriented portside neighborhood in Edinburgh.
Despite being currently 11,693 miles away from Dunedin, I am still very much invested in the goings-on of Otago University.
Anyone who has read my columns for the Otago Daily Times over the past year will realise that I have the tendency to be very sharp, cynical and sceptical, especially when it comes to religion.
When I was 7 years old, my family bought a tired old piano. I watched as four burly men hauled it up the concrete steps to our farmhouse. Soon, the piano became part of the family.
About a month ago, I was sitting on a bench at the Sydney waterfront, waiting for my friend James. A drunk man in an obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt and a boater hat sat down beside me.
Growing up as the eldest child of a Presbyterian minister, I was spoon-fed politeness and obedience along with my morning porridge.
Today would have been my brother John's twenty second birthday.
I'm in the exceedingly fortunate position of not worrying about my postgraduate education costs; I have a scholarship that pays my fees and accommodation over the next few years.
On Monday night, I received a curious letter. One might say it was a letter from beyond the grave.
A few Saturdays ago I had the immense pleasure of watching the Suitcase Theatre perform Mental Notes as part of the Dunedin Fringe Festival.