Robyn Strachan

I could be the catalyst that sparks the revolution, but I'm stuck waiting for the bus.

Student by day and obsessive bedroom DJ by night, Robyn Strachan lives in a tiny flat decorated with posters liberated from nightclubs and manages to over-think nearly everything, especially about the impact of societal convention on the individual and the objective ranking of seminal Eighties Goth albums. When she’s not struggling in vain to tame her Pre-Raphaelite hair, or embarking on the even more futile quest to force her friends to listen to acid house, she can normally be found pining after the pets that are deprived of her affection under the terms of her lease. If a little pretentious, she’s great fun at parties and knows for certain what colour lipstick you should be wearing.

Robyn was born in Newcastle, lived in Essex and subsequently moved to London; this resulted not only in fond memories of living amongst a plethora of stereotypes but in a voice which, at best, can be described as ‘confusing’. She talks too fast and sleeps too little, and is a nightmare to take on holiday due to her intense paranoia about missing out on anything. She loves summertime nearly as much as she loves early-
Twentieth century literature and has written for the The Joe Strummer Foundation for New Music, as well as for The Tab, student encyclopaedia of the daft things supposedly well-educated people say. A little argumentative, a little angry, don’t be alarmed – deep down, she’s lovely.

“Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.”

- James Joyce, Ulysses, 1922

“Please understand. We don’t want no trouble. We just want the right to be different. That’s all.”

- Pulp, Different Class, 1995