Blog: Personal

A friend recently saw an old photo of me and said: “I enjoyed your performance in that Calvin Harris video”. This was not the first time I have heard that comment. One photo is me, one is the girl from the video. Spot the difference! I can’t even claim that as a celebrity lookalike, really. Although I do enjoy dancing around with stuffed otters. (If that doesn’t make sense, you can watch the whole video here).

Did I mention that my brother, Ross Logan, is a cinematographer/producer/general all-round awesome guy? Here’s his latest project: I love this video. It makes me homesick.

I’m trying to write a review of Angela Readman’s poetry collection, Strip. It’s all about girls in the porn industry and it’s so fucking amazing that I just don’t know what to say about it. The more I like something, the harder it is to review. I have an opinion piece in the Sunday Herald today. It’s the first bit of newspaper journalism I’ve ever written and I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get any angry hatemail or letter-bombs or…

I have spent six years studying literature at university, and sometimes I think all I learned is how to translate. That is, how to read overlong, archaic, olde-worlde language and translate it into words that can filter properly into my little pea-brain. A different Pamela, a different cupboard An example, from Samuel Richardson’s Pamela: Now in this green-room is a closet, with a sash-door and a curtain before it; for there she puts her sweet-meats and such things; and into…

A few weeks ago I was in the university library reading a big dusty stack of Paris Review interviews, which I could fool myself was work although it wasn’t really because I should have been editing my novel, like so: I was there for hours and it was lovely, with the rain tapping the windows and the air conditioning hum. I wish I’d had a cup of coffee, though in the grand scheme of things it could not be classed…

Last year I moved in with my girlfriend, which involved sorting through many boxes of old and forgotten things. Here is one of the old things I had forgotten: I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA who Pedro is. I’ve never met anyone called Pedro in my life. Who is this man? Why do I have his photo? Why does he say he loves me? Was I at some point a mail-order bride, and I have now forgotten? Not only has this…