A few years ago, driven by boredom and a desperate need to pay my rent, I applied for a waitressing job at a newly established American diner in a dusty corner of Edinburgh.
Tinker Tailor Student Spy
Jokes about topping yourself, about walking in front of a bus or borrowing your dad's handgun are horrifically commonplace. They're a quick and effective way to dramatise the situation. I know I've made suicide jokes, unthinkingly.
It seems however, that my childhood is an anomaly in today’s world. Work and Safety guidelines combined with ‘‘responsible’’ parents worried about little Jimmy’s bruised knee have immobilised childhood, rendering it risk-free, bland and boring.
Browse Facebook or Twitter and you'll immediately be presented with a deluge of thrilling ''new scientific discoveries''.
Being born into a bigger family has its merits, but wasn't always easy, writes Jean Balchin.
Growing up as a minister’s daughter, I was regularly taught to cover my body as a mark of spiritual integrity. But purity culture is anything but pure. It is inextricably intertwined with oppression, lies, fear and mistrust.
The internet is truly redefining the grief process. Our profiles might not have the same crumbling grandeur of Dunedin’s Southern Cemetery, but our old statuses and selfies will preserve us indefinitely.
Every so often, well-meaning relatives and family friends ask me where I study. ‘‘Oh, you’re from Dunedin?’’ they cry with fascinated delight, ‘‘how are the toga parties going down there? Do you actually get any study done?’’