2024: A Year in Review

On the Friday before Christmas, not wanting to waste an early finish from work and with a whole afternoon ahead of me, I decided to head off to Covent Garden. I made a quick stop home first, needing to change out of my dull uniform and instead into something that is far more fitting for an evening spent up West End (I like to make an occasion out of things). I wore black high waisted tailored trousers with contrast stitching on the waist, my vintage monogram print Iceberg shirt in Black and silver, my black Afghan coat and finished it off with my white (though they have seen much better days) Nike Shox TLs. Accented of course with various gold jewellery, as I find myself leaning into more maximalist expressions when it comes to accessorising these days.

There’s a chill in the air, but it doesn’t matter much as I’m busying myself with walking and so only feel it when I first step off the bus at Savoy street. Not quite remembering the various back roads that take you to Covent Garden I stand awkwardly as I figure out the maps on my phone, trying not to look too tourist-y, particularly because I am a born and bred Londoner, so it is actually quite embarrassing that I don’t know my way around.

Arriving, I take in the opulent Christmas tree dressed in red, twinkly lights parked on the cobbled streets of frozen-in-time Covent Garden. I get out my film camera and take photos, trying not to accidentally be in the background of a group selfie, or walk in front of a humble tourist getting their picture taken in front of the titan of a tree. After glances at the windows of a few boutiques, inhaling the scented air that blows from Penhaligon’s and watching women flock to the queue of the Creed store, I queue for churros at a faux-Scandi ski chalet type food stall. It seems alarming out of place against the Old English architecture its situated in front of.

Whilst in the queue I listen to minutes long voice notes from my cousin and receive three pictures of us from the short film we were extras in last month. Two include me and they’re both ghastly, I must learn to be more still, particularly when there are cameras in the room. Hopefully it translates better on video, though I’m pretty sure it will just be the back of my head that features in the final product, a sentiment shared by my cousin as we joke about our three seconds of fame from the upcoming screening. I laugh and walk along with my large churros in hand, realising six is far too many for one person and wishing I could get my cousin to leave work and finish the rest with me.

Last minute Christmas shopping done, and far too much time spent in Space NK (Phlur Vanilla Skin, I need you) I decide to walk, somewhat aimlessly through the Strand and its surrounding environs, knowing eventually I will get to Waterloo and wait for my bus home from there. I cut through backroads that seem vaguely familiar and prompt various memories. Passing another big and unidentifiable building, I am reminded of a summer evening trying to make it home with two friends from the Euro finals. We decided the surge-priced Uber home was not worth it, and we were better off trying to make it to London Bridge in time for the last train. Hastily we walked, the evening summer wind blowing through us and against our bare legs, all dressed in miniskirts.  I pass Temple station and think of all the times I exited the somewhat discreet tube station when working as a waitress in my teens for a catering company I loathed. I also thought about how the fact there’s a station called ‘Temple’ amuses me.

Finally, I get to the most familiar landmark, the River Thames, seeing distant, glittering Southbank on the opposite side of the bank to me. I pause and lean on the wall that separates the street from the river, my audiobook playing in my ear as my eyes try to focus on strings of LED lights fashioned onto various party boats. I think of the countless memories I’ve had along that stretch of bank. Gleefully watching skaters and admiring their coolness as a teen, having my first kiss on the small patch of grass just further down, feeling the foreign sensation of a wriggling tongue in my mouth and subsequently telling my best friend all about it in the McDonalds afterwards. I think about a date I had there that I could have had last forever, a funny birthday brunch of a friend’s that left me stomping through the busy bank laughing far too loudly, fuelled by bottomless prosecco.

I also think back to the most awkward evening spent sitting on the stimulated beach that rested by the far end of South Bank towards Blackfriars station. I think about how uncomfortable I felt, and how I wished the day was over. I reminisce on countless conversations had at the Wahaca restaurant there, a regular meeting spot for me and my friends since I was about 17. In fact, most people I meet I end up bringing there. I think about how many churros and hibiscus juices I’ve consumed over the years. Slowly, I walk down and climb the stairs that take me across the bridge to South Bank, thinking that this might be the first time since I was a child that I have crossed the bridge from this end.

Reaching the familiar back roads of Waterloo I’m once again hit with a wave of immense nostalgia, this time of year especially does it to me. Of drunken dawdling, hugs and kisses given as farewell gestures at various points outside the station. A vivid memory of my friend comes to mind: her, who, after trying to impress two Australian travellers she struck up a conversation with then trips onto the ground with such sheer force that her shoe was left what felt like a meter behind her. I have to stop myself from erupting with laughter as the image of her lonesome shoe left behind takes centre stage in my mind.

This memory, which happened as we made our way home from a comedy club during midsummer made me reflect on other memories throughout the year. Now, with 2025 making its impending arrival ever so apparent, it is almost a disservice to not reflect. Taking stock during these days is something I would argue is compulsory for going into the New Year with clear intentions.

Cream fur, Boohoo, rings, vintage, bracelet, my grans, striped shirt, ASOS, tights ASOS (they laddered before the day even ended… in part due to my nails, but still!)

Much of this year was filled with new experiences and moments of immense optimism, which sometimes (and more often then I’d like) were met with sobering let downs. There were job applications and interviews that didn’t lead anywhere (free me from the shackles of retail), romances that didn’t quite turn out the way you’d like, and far too many clothes sold out in my size and that were never restocked. These are the things that mark a year!

Of course, these are small, bitter details in comparison to the joy I experienced throughout so much of this year. I don’t think I have laughed as much as I have this year and there is an abundance of memories I look back on with fondness. Of dinners shared, drinks spilled, tears cried, and hugs held. I saw a screenshot of a Tumblr post that read “do you ever laugh with your friends and think oh this is the point. This is the point of everything”. Platonic love wins.

Springtime, as it always does, surprised me with its beauty and the promise of longer days. I read lots, tried new food and admired budding flowers. My summer was mostly carefree. I sunbathed in the day and went on various adventures in the long evenings and breezy nights. My autumn however was defined by loss and its effects have trickled into winter, leaving its stain on my memory of the year. September through to October particularly drained, November, things felt momentarily fun and flirty again. December oscillated between euphoria and treachery.

Beyond the Bassline: 500 years of Black British Music Exhibit at The British Library, August 2024.

I am grateful for the year of 2024, and I have in my pocket seemingly endless memories of delighted times had and love shared. Though the last quarter proved itself to be tough, it reminded me of my emotional resilience, and there is gratitude to be had even in that. Of course, a highlight of 2024 is falling back in love with writing. In all honestly the love never dissipated, I just wasn’t putting it to practice. Through regular journaling, both on my phone and with pen and paper, returning to blogging, that is, letting my words have an audience, just felt right. Thank you for reading, thank you for being here, and thank you to each of my friends and readers for the personal kind words. It means the most to me.

2025 looms and it feels exceedingly serious. Adulthood is coming in full force as I am reminded this is the year I turn 25. Of course, I know 25 is still young, but it feels a little scary. This is the age most of us thought we’d be married with a child, a home, and our dream job. How dumb we were. Not that I feel inadequate without these, I don’t think I even want a child until I’m 30, anything before that would feel like a premature arrival to motherhood. However, a home would be nice! A cheeky career. Still, it puts it into perspective. Or maybe it doesn’t and I’m thinking far too much into it, my Dad says my generation seem to have a penchant for existential crises.

Below are my top 3 favourite consumptions of the year, because in each category I couldn’t just pick one.

Ins for the year: love, more reading, more time for artistic pursuits, laughing until cheeks aches, prosperity.

Out: people being mean! Anti-intellectualism, shoes being sold out in my size.

Happy New Year!

Noel❤️ Red fluffy cardigan, Primark, bow top, vintage, skirt, Stradivarius, the best accessory and my favourite lip of 2024, Armani Lip Maestro shade 206 (Cedar)

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