The Fault Is Not Mine

"Never let anyone make you feel ordinary."

Big words, right? But here’s the thing—what even is ordinary? Beige? Quiet? Acceptable to strangers in a Tesco queue? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been good at fitting in a box, especially not one with such drab wallpaper.

From the moment we can walk, we’re handed this invisible rulebook that says: blend in, don’t rock the boat, keep it neat. Honestly? Boring.

Ordinary isn’t real—it’s just a tidy little box that makes everyone else feel comfortable. And you? You weren’t made for a box.

The world is full of people who’ll try to iron out your edges. “Too loud.” “Too much.” “Not like the others.” You know what I hear in that? Fear. Fear of anyone who dares to be bold, or weird, or passionate about the stuff they love—whether that’s obscure novels, your borderline romantic feelings for Centre Court, or the way you refuse to pretend you don’t still listen to early Madonna on full volume.

I used to worry about that, once upon a time. Thought maybe it would be easier if I just toned it all down—talked a little less about my latest book crush, pretended I wasn’t that into the way Darren Cahill stands at the back of the box with his arms folded and that expression like he knows your secrets. But here's the plot twist: being ordinary is exhausting when you’re not built that way.

I’m not here for it.

And I don’t think you are either.

So wear the jacket that makes you feel like a badass. Say the thing. Read the vampire book and the sapphic romance and the slightly weird sci-fi novella about tea monks and sentient robots. Take up space—on the page, on the court, in the room. Laugh loudly. Be seen.

Because the truth is, the people who matter? They're not looking for someone who fits neatly into “ordinary.” They're drawn to your fire, your mess, your sparkle, your depth. They want you, just as you are.

✨ So tell me—what’s something about you that’s gloriously, unapologetically not-ordinary? I want to hear it. Let’s celebrate the beautiful weirdness together.

But now that I’ve drawn breath (and finally unpacked), it’s time for a proper reboot.

Back When I Was Much Younger

Back in the mid-late ’90s and into the early 2000s, I followed the tour properly. I’d jet off to Australia, swing by the US Open—it was easier back then, and frankly, far less ruinous on the purse. Was I a tennis groupie? A lady never kisses and tells.

Post-COVID, with travel feeling heavier and—if we’re being candid—the years creeping in, I’ve mostly stuck to a handful of clay court tournaments in Europe. But this year? I’ve not gallivanted quite like this in decades, and it’s been glorious fun.

Life on Tour: The Real, Beautiful Chaos

Monte Carlo was the start, planned down to the last detail. Then life threw me a delightful curveball: I met the loveliest Spanish couple, David and Miriam. One moment we were chatting over coffee, and the next I was in their car, road-tripping back to Spain. That turned into an unplanned escapade through Barcelona and Madrid—two cities, two entirely different rhythms, and frankly, more tapas than is respectable.

Rome was always on the agenda, though I had to tear up my flights and start again thanks to my newly altered route. It was the sort of last-minute scramble that used to send me into hysterics; these days, I simply shrug and order another espresso.

Then a quick interlude at home for laundry (and perhaps a decent cup of tea) before Paris called for Roland Garros. After that, back to London for Queen’s and Wimbledon—with David and Miriam making a surprise appearance, which was the perfect punctuation mark on an already mad summer.

At this point, my suitcase and I are on first-name terms. Plans shifted at the eleventh hour, flights got rerouted, and my main concern was not leaving my favourite tennis hat in some forgotten corner of Madrid.

And you know what? That unpredictability—that joyful chaos—is what makes this whole thing magic. It’s why I fell in love with tennis in the first place: the drama, the brilliance, the constant sense that anything could happen. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Why the Reboot?

After months of gallivanting and tennis-induced adrenaline, I wanted this space to feel like me again: books, tennis, and a little slice of life. Think vintage tenniscore meets literary dark academia—because my heart belongs equally to manicured grass courts and a well-worn novel.

What’s coming:

• Weekly round-ups (Kitty’s Weekly Serve) mixing books, matches, and musings.
• TBR check-ins, book lists, and a few strong opinions.
• Tennis reflections and some inevitable US Open chatter.
• Moodboards, playlists, and the occasional aesthetic indulgence.
•  

So, What’s Next?

Today kicks off a new posting schedule - 4 to 5 posts a week through August. Tomorrow, we’re diving into my Current TBR.

In the meantime, tell me:
What’s been the highlight of your summer—books, tennis, or something entirely different?

Drop a comment and let’s catch up. 💬

So... Fourth Wing. Not my usual genre (fantasy + dragons??), but here I am, giving in to the hype like the rest of Bookstagram.

If you know me, you know I usually stick to contemporary romance, horror, and the occasional brooding vampire—but Fourth Wing promises enemies-to-lovers tension, dramatic stakes, and something called “war college,” so… I’m intrigued. Possibly scared. Definitely curious.

I’ve seen Lord of the Rings, I loved Beach Read, and I yell “JUST KISS” at fictional characters often enough to feel emotionally prepared.

Will I fall in love with a dragon? DNF after 40 pages? Stay tuned. 🐉📖

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ – Witty, wistful, and a little sunburned in the best way

📚 Quick Take:

A fizzy friends-to-lovers romance told through snapshots of summer trips past and present—equal parts hilarious, heartfelt, and oh-so-human. Poppy and Alex are a study in chemistry, missed timing, and emotional slow burns.

✍️ My Thoughts:

You know that feeling when you’re sitting on a balcony at golden hour, sipping something cold, and laughing with someone who just gets you? That’s the energy of this book.

Emily Henry does such a brilliant job with voice—Poppy is funny and chaotic and deeply lovable, while Alex is her quiet, repressed, khaki-wearing match. Their banter snaps, but there’s so much underneath it: yearning, vulnerability, and the ache of not quite being ready for each other… until maybe, just maybe, they are.

The timeline structure—bouncing between past summer holidays and their current attempt to reconnect—works beautifully to build tension. You know something went wrong, but you’re not sure what, and you’re too invested in their goofy little adventures to stop reading.

Why not five stars? A few pacing dips and the will-they-won’t-they dragged just a touch too long for me. But emotionally? It lands. And I love that Henry doesn’t shy away from exploring the messy parts of relationships: the fear, the timing, the inner stuff we have to figure out before we can show up fully for someone else.

✨ Vibe Check:

• 🧳 Friends to Lovers
• ⏳ Slow Burn, Slow Yearning
• 💬 Witty Banter Goals
• 😬 Emotional Avoidance Experts
• 🥲 Summer Nostalgia + Sadness
• 🧠 Therapy But Make It Sexy
• 🍕 Eating your feelings in different cities

💬 Favorite Quote:

“You couldn’t have held my hand. I was using it to hold yours.”
(Insert a little scream here.)

⭐️ Final Rating:

4 stars. Funny, messy, romantic, and real. It’s a beach read for people who cry under their sunglasses.

(a.k.a. I Said What I Said—Don’t @ Me)

This week’s Top Ten Tuesday prompt is “My Unpopular Bookish Opinions,” and I am absolutely leaning into it. These are the little hills I’m willing to die on—whether it’s about reading habits, hyped books I side-eye, or just the quiet rebellions I’ve embraced as a lifelong bookworm. Grab a snack, take a deep breath, and let’s dive in.

1. I don’t care if the main character is “likable.”
Give me messy. Give me selfish. Give me someone who makes terrible life choices and doesn’t learn their lesson until the last five pages—or never at all. I don’t need to want to be friends with them. I just need to believe they’re real.

2. Romance novels are some of the smartest books out there.
Yes, I said it. People love to sneer at romance like it’s all fluff and fantasy, but crafting a truly compelling love story takes emotional insight, great pacing, and dialogue that snaps. Some of the sharpest writing I’ve read lately came from romance authors. (Looking at you, Emily Henry and Talia Hibbert.)

3. I’d rather reread an old favorite than chase the next big thing.
New releases are exciting, sure—but you know what’s really exciting? That one chapter in a book I’ve read twelve times that still hits like a truck.

4. I didn’t like The Midnight Library by Matt Haig.
I wanted to! The premise had so much promise! But it felt too neat, too moralizing, and honestly… kind of shallow? I know it helped a lot of people feel seen, which is lovely—but it just didn’t land for me.

5. Audiobooks absolutely count as reading.
Your eyes don't have to be involved for your brain to be. Anyone who tries to gatekeep this is just being a snob with too much time on their hands.

6. I love a good spoiler.
Seriously. Sometimes I want to know who dies or who ends up together before I commit. I read for the journey, not just the surprise.

7. I don’t need a map in every fantasy book.
Unless the geography really matters to the story, I’m not flipping back to trace your protagonist’s route through the Hill of Dust and the Forest of Shadows. Just tell me who’s stabbing who and why.

8. Annotating books isn’t sacrilege—it’s love.
Dog-eared pages, underlined quotes, little scribbles in the margins—yes, even in pen. Books are meant to be lived in. Pristine pages are nice, but give me a copy that’s been dragged around in a tote bag and cried on during a layover.

9. I don’t always need a twist.
Plot twists are great when they’re earned, but not every book needs a gotcha moment. Sometimes I just want to watch characters grow and stumble and fall in love without a sudden “and then they were siblings” moment. You know?

10. I don’t feel guilty about DNFing a book.
If I’m not into it by page 50, I’m out. Life’s too short and my bookshelf is too full to push through out of obligation. (Apologies to the unread literary masterpieces gathering dust.)

Hosted by Caffeinated Reviewer

Hey everyone! I didn’t manage to post anything on the blog this week because, well… I’ve been in Monte Carlo soaking up sunshine, sea air, and seriously good tennis. It’s been a blur of match days, long walks back to the hotel, and collapsing into bed too exhausted to even think about writing. But I’ve started using my Instagram again a little (baby steps!), so that’s something!

✨ Last Week on the Blog
Let’s be honest: not a lot happened blog-wise. But I’ve got a backlog of thoughts percolating and some posts lined up for next week (fingers crossed the Barcelona sun lets me sit still long enough to write them).

📚 What I’m Reading
✅ Finished: Interview with the Vampire — moody, brooding, and yes, a little theatrical in all the best ways
📘 Almost done: You and Me on Vacation — soft and sweet and hitting all the right romcom notes
🧛 Next up: The Vampire Lestat — because clearly I’m having a bit of a moment with long-haired immortals right now

📆 Coming Up This Week (…maybe)
A review of Interview With the Vampire
A review of You and Me on Vacation
Maybe a little “Meet the Blogger” post
And possibly: My Unpopular Bookish Opinions – which is bound to ruffle a few covers!

🎾 Tennis Talk
Monte Carlo has been everything. Nothing compares to watching live tennis—the atmosphere, the tension, the ridiculous beauty of that centre court against the sea.

There were a few upsets this week that properly got to me (Dimitrov’s quarterfinal still stings), but it’s all part of the thrill. And—this was unexpected—I ran into Darren Cahill. I’ve met him a handful of times over the years, but I wasn’t expecting to see him in Monte Carlo, so it felt like such a lovely surprise. He’s always exactly what I need him to be: steady, kind, and so much more real than you’d ever guess from the commentary box. That moment will be tucked away in the highlight reel for sure.

💬 Life Lately
Life has mostly been sunshine, good food, and beautiful backhands. I made friends with a lovely Spanish couple while watching a match and—because life sometimes writes a better story than I can—I’ll be heading with them to Spain after today’s final for an unexpected little adventure to the Barcelona Open.

Sometimes, you just have to say yes.

My lockscreen? It’s a photo I snapped at sunset on a clay court in Barcelona. Not even during a tournament—just a quiet, golden evening when the lines were still a bit scuffed from the last match, and the court was empty except for a single ball nestled against the fence. The sky had that dreamy pink-orange blend that only lasts for about three minutes before it slips into blue. There’s something about it that just settles me.

It’s not just about the aesthetics, though it is a pretty picture. That court, that moment, reminds me why I love tennis—not just the matches, the drama, the sweat and strategy—but the quiet parts. The in-betweens. The way the game lingers even after the players leave.

And sure, sometimes I’ll swap it out for a picture of someone I’m low-key obsessed with (no names, but you know who you are, Aussie legend with the best coaching brain in the business). Or something chaotic and silly, like the time I briefly had a meme of a cat wearing a headband and holding a racquet. But I always come back to that clay court at sunset. It’s my anchor.

So what about you? What’s the first thing you see when you pick up your phone? A loved one’s face? A mantra? Something goofy that makes you smile?

There’s no wrong answer—just stories waiting to be told.

Look, I love a good story. I’ll fall for morally gray antiheroes, cry over reformed villains, and happily let fictional chaos reign—as long as it stays between the pages. But every so often, a character struts into a book and makes me think: Oh no, you and I could never be in the same room. One of us would not survive—and it wouldn’t be you.

So here’s my official, lovingly curated list of characters I never want to meet. Not even for brunch. Not even if they’re bringing mimosas.

1. Christian Grey from Fifty Shades of Grey

I don’t care how rich you are or how many gliders you own—if you try to buy me a car without asking and then gaslight me into signing a contract about my own body, we’re going to have words. You can’t seduce your way out of controlling behavior, sir. You just can’t.

Why I’d Avoid Him IRL: Because I’d end up arrested for throwing a copy of his NDA at his face in a Starbucks.

2. Lestat de Lioncourt from The Vampire Chronicles

Yes, he’s charming. Yes, he’s pretty. But the man is chaos incarnate. He causes problems on purpose and then acts surprised when the world catches fire around him. You just know he’d show up at your funeral, dramatically sobbing at your casket, somehow turning it into his moment.

Why I’d Avoid Him IRL: Because I like being alive, and I like my drama fictional, not immortal and constantly monologuing.

3. Every Toxic Ex in a Rom-Com Who Comes Back “Changed”

You know the one. The manipulative ex who shows up halfway through the book and tries to derail the plot with a heartfelt confession and a slightly new haircut. Suddenly they’re “reformed” because they learned how to make sourdough or do yoga. Sir, no. We remember you.

Why I’d Avoid Them IRL: Because people don’t magically become less emotionally unavailable because they bought a plant.

4. Professor Who Doesn’t Understand Boundaries™ (a.k.a. the Bad Academic Love Interest)

Ali Hazelwood writes great scientists. This is not about them. This is about the creepy ones lurking in dark academia novels, quoting Nietzsche while emotionally manipulating their students. They wear tweed and have too many opinions about Wuthering Heights.

Why I’d Avoid Him IRL: Because I’d spend the whole conversation asking, “Is this therapy, or are you hitting on me?”

5. The “I’m Not Like Other Girls” Girl

I used to be her. Then I grew up and discovered feminism, moisturiser, and the joy of group chats. The Not-Like-Other-Girls Girl doesn’t like women who wear makeup, reads only 19th-century male authors, and thinks she’s the blueprint.

Why I’d Avoid Her IRL: Because she’d judge my romance novel collection and then borrow my mascara when no one’s looking.

6. Victor Frankenstein from Frankenstein

A classic, yes. A genius, sure. But let’s be real: the man had one bad lab day and abandoned his child/creation/trauma monster like it was an Amazon return. And then he just… kept making bad decisions. Over and over.

Why I’d Avoid Him IRL: Because he’s the kind of guy who ruins your group project and then blames “fate.”

7. Any Demon Who Offers Me a Deal in a Gothic Cathedral

Tempting? Absolutely. Do I want to flirt with them a little? Maybe. But I know better. If the lighting is moody, there’s Gregorian chanting in the background, and someone with glowing eyes asks for my soul in exchange for eternal youth—I’m running.

Why I’d Avoid Them IRL: Because I read Anne Rice. I know how this ends.

Honorable Mentions:

• The brooding love interest who refuses to communicate like a functioning adult.
• Any character who says, “I’m doing this for your own good,” before making a life-altering decision without consulting you.
• That one best friend who disappears for 15 chapters and then shows up to give terrible advice.

Final Thoughts:

Books let us walk alongside people we’d never tolerate in real life—and thank goodness for that. I’ll happily devour their stories, analyze their flaws, maybe even swoon a little… but would I invite them over for tea? Absolutely not.

Now you tell me—who’s on your list of characters you never want to meet?