Miss Bladder

Balloons

2012-01-27T23:08:00.003Z

I am sort of obsessed with balloons. [Please see to right and left]. When I allowed Carrie and Lams to sort out the shindig we had in September my one instruction was, "Shitloads of balloons". Which was followed.

I have clothes with pictures of hot air balloons on. But the idea of actually going in one terrifies me. Perhaps I read Enduring Love when I was too young. Or I suspect with age I have come to fear it more [I'm getting worse with heights as time passes. If I don't think about it it's not too bad. If I do it's terrible]. But one day, if a hot air balloon that looks like a strawberry is in the vicinity then I may relent.

2012-01-16T22:17:00.002Z

I like this. I inexplicably have the Gotye album on my desktop. I'm not sure how it made it's way there. I must be cutting edge downloading in the night months in advance and then forgetting about it. I'm so cutting edge. And cool.

Can I be as fit as....

2012-01-13T20:29:00.002Z

Emma Stone please? How much do I love jewel colours - in particular emerald green? A. Lot. How much do I love this Jason Wu dress? A. Lot. Lot.

Or Elizabeth Olsen (I have also always loved her older, twin sisters. Even when Mary Kate was poorly)? I heart this Miu Miu lightning bolt dress. So much. Luckily I have a lightning bolt dress that MonsieurB purchased for my birthday. So I really don't need it. Which is good. Because I have circa £1k to drop on an extremely beautiful dress.

My obsession with EO has spiked dramatically since watching Martha Macey May Marlene. It's an excellent film which tells the story of a girl who runs away from a cult and finds her sister. Problem is, the cult has completely fucked her up. Her spiralling paranoia makes you question whether her fear is justified or if she's just a head case. I implore you to watch it. You won't be sorry (and if she is sl for best actress at the Oscars I am putting a punt on it. For sure).

My own private swamp...

2012-01-11T21:47:00.003Z

I don't know about you but when looking for an abode the first thing on my list is swamp. They're just so versatile. And a talking point. Thank God for this beaut in Kentish Town. It's what home based dreams are made of.

I'm a fucking lady

2012-01-10T21:25:00.002Z

I've always said how much of a lady I am. And now Tatty Devine can allow me the opportunity to say so via the medium of necklace. They have a lovely station set up in Selfridges that I fully intend to check out whilst it's there. Alas, funds deny me the pleasure of buying this beaut but then you can make them then and there at Selfridges so maybe I'll just go nuts when I'm there. And have it made massive. Nice.

Hair Woe

2012-01-10T19:49:00.002Z

Basically I want to have hair like this:

But i do not. I have scraggly arse orangey hair that looks wrong unless I'm constantly schoozing it up and then I just look vain.

In an attempt to combat this I have ordered Fudge Paintbox Goldfinger. I figure if it goes drastically wrong I can wash it out. Or dye it red as opposed to orange. I may do this on a Saturday giving me a one day before work buffer of trying to sort it out. Hoom.

Dunk

2012-01-04T22:14:00.003Z

I saw these a while ago on WeHeartIt.com. Ever since, I have been scouring the internet looking for them in what I feared to be a fruitless mission. And then serendipity plays her hand and whilst I'm browsing a blog they appear in the side bar telling me I should buy them. It's like it knew.

Of course, I didn't buy them. They're going on The List of things for my birthday that will eventually be used in the imaginary house. Hopefully the imaginary house will become a reality this year. Well. It will do so. Because if it doesn't I'll go even more insane than I currently am. I wouldn't even mind having a wreck of an imaginary house and it taking a year to do up. Because then at least there'd be light at the end of the wrecked tunnel. But I digress.

Christmas, new year, blah blah. It was textbook and nice to not have to get out of bed at 05:50 five mornings a week. But now I am getting out of bed at 05:50 every morning. So what do you do on your first day back to work from Christmas holiday? Spend around 2 hours looking at holidays and emailing people with the exact words:

Where is hot, good and cheap in Feb/March?

(As a total aside, I have been unbelievably irked by people wishing me a happy new year at work and clients doing the same. It's an empty pleasantry and really, is it a happy new year? As far as I can make out this is the year Cameron is going to squeeze families [as heard on the radio from his new year speech - I imagine a researcher's head will roll for that] and we're all basically going to die. So no, it's not a happy new year. Hand over your left over Quality Street and keep moving please fellow work colleague)

Maniac

2011-12-19T19:31:00.002Z

MonsieurB calls me a maniac but really the joke is on him because I'm his girlfriend and he has to deal with me. On a daily basis.

It has been an epically long time since August. I'm ready to hibernate. I'm keeping my eyes on the prize til Friday when I have a week off. In the interim, I have a shed load of socialising to do as well as Christmas shopping. Highlight of the Christmas season has been Friends' Christmas (not a re-run of David Schwimmer et al) and receiving a teacup based fascinator. Some people in the pub cussed it. MonsieurB was going to knock them out. I was knocked out on gin so didn't really give a shit about the haters. Who were wearing Jack Wills. I rest my case.

2011-12-05T21:21:00.001Z

Basically I don't think you understand how much I want this. It's totally impractical. Shorts with long sleeves and a high neck. It's a nonsense! But I am determined to get my legs out whilst I can because soon I'll be old and no one wants to see wrinkly thighs.

DISCLAIMER: I will not be buying this because it is £150 and even that is a step too far for me. I will stalk ebay looking for it. After I have been to the shop to try it on to make sure I get the right size.

[As a total aside I made a friend in a make up shop today. She was lovely. And made me look human having been told by a work colleague that I still look sick and I should go home at lunch, or immediately, whichever I preferred. We bonded over a love of Smashbox Primer, Sali Hughes and trying to run our mascaras out to buy the new YSL mascara. I like shop girls who pretend to be your friend. But not too much of a friend. Just enough.]

2011-12-05T19:54:00.001Z

The last week has been hellish. H.E.L.L.I.S.H.

Feeling a bit peaky on Tuesday I went to work commenting on my way through the door first thing how I felt a bit wrong. Fast forward 5 hours later and I was at Conference excusing myself in front of clients to run to the bathroom and barf like a model backstage at Chanel.

Crawling home on the train I thought a good sleep would do me a good. It didn't. Cue 4 days of being unable to keep anything in me at all. ANYTHING. I basically crawled out of bed to the bathroom, emptied my stomach of everything within and then crawled back to bed to sleep. The only time I wasn't asleep was when my stomach cramped so much the pain woke me up and I knew I had to crawl to the bathroom again. For four days. FOUR DAYS. It got so bad my lips were chapped to ras and I couldn't drink enough to keep myself going. You know you're in trouble when you lie down and you feel like you've got a pain in kidneys that's akin to Ryan Gosling kicking you like you've just tried to kill him a lift in Drive.

So the obvious thing to do when you've not kept water in for over 48 hours and you're not even thinking about food is to go to the doctor.

Me: Can I have an emergency appointment please?

Receptionist: Why?

WHY? WHY? Because I fancied coming to your place of disease to pick up disease for giggles. I heart disease.

Me: I've not been able to keep anything down for over 48 hours

Receptionist: Have you tried starving yourself?

Me: *silent* *withering silence* *ongoing silence* *still going*

Receptionist: Er....starving? Yourself? Starving?

Me: *more silence* - Yes. *pause* I've tried starving myself

Receptionist: Oh. You had better come in then

Oh had I? Do you think? Do you fucking think you stupid fucking bitch?

To make this clear. This is the same surgery that wrote me a shitty letter about going for a smear test and the dangers of lady garden cancer and the like. I went along like I should have. Then never got a result. Ringing up I was assured no result was good news. Whilst I appreciate the 'no news is good news' mantra when it comes to, I don't know, the delivery of a parcel by Royal Mail my lady garden is a bit of a different story so I asked for written confirmation anyway. Then the receptionist IN THE SAME CALL actually READ the screen and found out that they had sent me a letter for a test by accident and I'm not due til May next year. I commented that that's fine, surely it'll just start to run from my last one and what's my result. Guess what. Because I wasn't due and only went because of their FUCK UP they didn't bother testing my swab.

For the ones with vaginas here let me say this again:

They. Didn't. Test. My. Swab.

After. Writing. Me. A. Shitty. Letter.

And. I. Went. For. A. Pointless. Test.

I know, I know ladies. Unclench your vaginas now. I felt your sympathy clench. I did. And thanks. It's much appreciated.

Turns out though the doctors aren't much better. Literally crying in the doctor's room because the merest sip of water was exiting me more quickly than it had entered and I had never been this ill before I was calmly told that I would have to be like this for ten days (that's 10. TEN. The number after nine, 9) before they'd worry. Now I'm no doctor. Or a nurse. But on those survival programmes and I don't know, ANY HOSPITAL PROGRAMME ON THE TELEVISION they say that five days without water causes your main organs to start to shut down. So I hazarded a guess and decided that after ten days I'd be dead. My mum, who is an ITU nurse, confirmed this. Whilst standing on helplessly whilst her eldest child cried and writhed in agony in a bed that was beginning to take on a MademoiselleB shaped hole where I'd lay for so long.

Obviously I'm not dead. Slowly, I started to keep things down. I'm still not 100% but at least I'm not so tired I can't even contemplate going downstairs to get a drink. And I can literally eat like a sparrow, little and often and really bland food. But at least I'm not dead. No thanks to my fricking GP.

Good Deeds

2011-11-28T22:00:00.001Z

Whilst Selfridges always has a place in my heart there is no doubt that I am a little bit in love with Liberty. I think it started with their Tea restaurant (that has sadly departed although I got to have a champagne afternoon tea with Maddison before it did. Sick amounts of food, light on the wallet).

It has then continued as they always stock lovely quirk and I love me a bit of quirk. Until the start of this year they stocked the most beautiful wallets from a NZ designer. I was obsessed with them. Every time I went in I'd stand and um and ah over them before deciding £120 was too much for a wallet when I had a perfectly serviceable UO one.

Then I got a fake Marc Jacobs one (all the culture of the Philippines was not lost on me, no Siree). And then it was stolen. I'm quite zen about it now. I still lament the loss of

1: A photograph of me and MonsieurB looking quite, quite Chinese. He always hated it. I wouldn't be surprised if paid someone to nick my wallet he hated it that much

2: A fortune cookie fortune that read, "You are extremely attractive to the opposite sex"

3: My Nandos card that was one stamp away from a whole chicken

The rest is replacable. The above is not.

Whilst surfing ASOS last night I found they are now stocking said beautiful wallets. Still for £120 but reduced to £77 in one of their current and numerous 25% off sales. I decided to check out the main site for myself to see if I could get it any cheaper. Low and behold my favourite (and limited edition) is in the sale. Probably because it was designed in 2006 and she really needs to get rid of them.

I duly added it to my cart for 28 euros and went to pay. But Paypal done a messy and charged me 28 US dollars. Which is much less than 28 euros. I could have mugged off an independent designer whose work I've coveted for 3 years. I could have. But I didn't. I emailed her and asked her if Paypal had fucked up or if she was being extra generous. Guess what Paypal is evil.

She said in her email though, "Thank you so much for your honestly and letting me know about this fault". And that was a nice feeling. So yeah. Then a work colleague gave me a hug for being a good person. Then I walked out of the office and bitched about how much I hate this girl who wants my desk. So much so that she actually comes around to my desk on a daily basis and blatantly asks me to my face when I'm going to be leaving. She is a massive, massive twat. (And the world is right again).

Also. I really want that Bart Simpson bustier. More than life itself. But I reckon I could get Illustration Monkey, I mean MonsieurB, to do a better Bart than that and then I can do some rinky dink attachment to a H&M special and Voila - $40 saved. Which is probably how much it would cost to do it myself. But you know. Let's not dwell on that.

Bon Anniversaire/HOW MUCH?

2011-11-27T21:57:00.001Z

This weekend MonsieurB and I spent a late 30th celebration few days in Shoreditch House and general fancypantsness. Generally it was lovely apart from MonsieurB throwing a very small strop because I am a BadGirlfriend. I'd disagree. Would a BadGirlfriend book The Ivy so he would SHUT UP saying how a good girlfriend would book it for his 30th? No. She would not. So I'm a QuasiBadGirlfriend. Which is fine by me.

And briefly:

-> The staff in Shoreditch House are incredibly rude. And they need to put their cups and saucers in the dishwasher more often

-> I was an actual GLUTTON the whole weekend but it's not every day you get to eat perfect ox cheek or have roast potatoes with burgers of have a three course meal at The Ivy which is amazeballs from start to finish.

-> I was mainly a BadGirlfriend for getting drunk, coming in at 4ish am and insisting I wasn't drunk and then drinking red wine in bed. When MonsieurB had to be up at 8ish am. And not telling him I would be back late. In my defence I assumed he'd be in bed so didn't text him. Yeah. I'm a QuasiBadGirlfriend.

-> Which means the AP knickers that have Love, Honour and Disobey embroidered on the back of them sum up perfectly our relationship.

Bacon Lube

2011-11-20T14:24:00.001Z

For the pork lover in your life - or not in your life as the case may be.

via Jezebel

Update

2011-11-20T12:55:00.001Z

So you can get an idea. I'm sat here in my pretty dress and shoes on. They match perfectly. I have greasy hair and look like someone's mental old aunt.

NOW the sartorial dilemma is to tight or not to tight. I say not tight as if I wear black tights I'll look I'm off to a funeral. If I wear a coloured tight I'll look like The Saturdays. Yeah. Funeral over Saturdays every time. My sister says black tight. But I'm fashion forward. So I'm going to go not tight and realise that

1: It's just one fucking night

2: There will be no photographic evidence of said night

3: No one cares anyway

4: If it was my wedding it would be a different matter entirely

So my meltdown is over. And the more I look at "those fucking boots" as they are now known in Mademoiselle/Monsieur/B land the more they will go with in my wardrobe. I've already put them with a lovely pencil skirt. Perhaps it's time I had one pair of not completely whackjob mental shoes. Just the one.

Savage Beauty

2011-11-19T15:11:00.001Z

How amazing is the cover of this book? Inside is just as good.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

This can't be possible....

2011-11-18T18:25:00.001Z

So that award I was nominated for? It's not long until I get to put in to reality the, "sincere smile, genuine hand clap", thing I've been working on for the last few weeks. Obviously I've had to tone it down from me tipping over a table whilst screaming, "WHAT THE FUCK?", but I think I've got it all sewn up.

What I do not, however, have sewn up is the shoes that I am going to wear. I purchased a beautiful pair of crushed blue velvet ankle boots from Topshop only to be told by my mother they don't really go whilst my sister says she likes them. Fashion quandry. So I decided to scrap the shoes (i.e. not return them just yet as I love them but know that really I don't need another pair of shoes but they might just got at some point) and go back to the drawing board.

I saw the above in Vogue. They're from Reiss which is so far removed from my fashion radar it's basically one of those crazy US helicopters they used to catch Osama. They were online for £150 which is a mammoth amount of money but this is a code red here. Obviously they were sold out in my size so I tracked down the last four pairs in my size in London. Two were at Westfield and two at the flagship store by Selfridges. Seeing as MonsieurB is working on Carnaby Street at the moment (impromptu visits to show how much I love him and NOT to go to AP woooo) I sent him an email with an exciting list of things to buy me (it was the 20% off event and I had a work quiz to go to that I couldn't bail on. Plus I got to say the words, "Sexual chocolate. They play so fine don't you agree?").

Conditions were perfect. He couldn't fuck it up. I left my name with the shoes. He just had to go and get them. At 1832 I had a missed call from him. At 1838 I returned said missed call and this was the call

Him: Well I hope you really wanted those fucking shoes

Me: Why?

Him: They were two hundred cocking pounds and they're non returnable

Me: What? Are they faulty? Why did you pay MORE for faulty shoes?

Him: No. They're the right size, they're new, they're just non returnable.

Me: That can't be right. Statute dictates you can return them. Look I've got to go I'm at a quiz.

And then I had a fucking melt down. I'm not sure if I even like them that much. I only bought them as I assumed I could return them. And my mum said they'd go with my dress. I'm not sure if you've noticed but I'm kind of still having a meltdown.

Ebay it is then.

I also found this lovely bracelet whilst having a melt down. It's the co-ordinates of a town called Love in Barbados. So much lovelier than tacky shit with love written all over it. And pretty too.

And I want this Charlotte Taylor top because it has lobsters all over it. And then I could wear it to work and make loosely linked jokes about having crabs.

Naughty China

2011-11-07T19:52:00.002Z

I'm sort of obsessed with china and tea sets. And I'm sort of obsessed with filth. So when my two of my sort of obsessions collide how excited do I get?

Find it on Etsy.

Hello Winter.

2011-11-06T21:31:00.000Z

I hate shopping for coats. Actually hate it. It's stressful beyond belief. A coat has to be practical. Something I definitely am not. And a lot of my purchases are lovely and colouful but not practical at all.

My mother was compelled to bring me coat shopping on Saturday. I ended up buying the Whistles Barry Belted Coat which I can't be bothered to do a screen shot of and the set up of the Whistles site is such that you can't link it. So if you can be bothered to google it you now have all the information at your fingertips.

But now I'm not sure. It's black. Which isn't very me. But then I do have bright red hair. And a fluro pink scarf. And a teal hat with a massive bobble. Perhaps a bright coat would be a bit mental.

But then I found the above on ASOS. It's Barbour though. I hate people who wear Barbour coats. It's like they took a wrong turning off the M1 and ended up in London and not Somerset. Or something. Oh and it's £269. And I'd probably end up looking a lot like that girl. And she's not too sure is she?

Things that make you go sigh. Or me, more specifically

2011-11-03T00:03:00.005Z

Yesterday

MonsieurB: I flipped out at Stuart Baggs today.

Me: Careful. He has a whole field full of ponies. He might set them on you *cue hilarious laughter. mainly from me*

Today

I log on to Facebook to find that his busy job is a rouse. I know this because there is concrete evidence of him dicking about and comparing his foot size to other people's in the office. What's more terrifying is that this is exactly something my sister would do. And then put on her imaginary blog's imaginary offshoot blog, "Tiny feet, bigger feet". I swear. She's an unstoppable blog juggernaut.

Small hands, big stuff

2011-10-31T21:39:00.001Z

My sister wants to start a blog called, "Small hands, big stuff". I think this is how it would look. She has freakishly small hands.

EDIT: These are all her hands. Just to be clear.

WANT

2011-10-30T22:16:00.002Z

Weekend

2011-10-30T22:11:00.002Z

Things that have amused me this weekend:

1: The above photo as I have painfully realised this is what I want to look like. I've decided lipstick is my new thing as my glasses cover any crazy eyeshadow I wear anyway. And I ordered new glasses yesterday which are alarmingly similar to them. The orange hair is a pipe dream. No one wants legal advice from an oompa loompa (change green skin for whiter than the icecaps skin. Or alabaster as I believe people say when they're being polite.

2: My sister and our conversation

Her: I wonder what people think when they see us together

Me: Why?

Her: Well you're quirkily dressed and skinny and I'm not

Me: Well you say that, I've felt really bloated the last few days

Her: Oh.....piss off

3: My aunt and her use of facebook. She felt the need to comment on my wall about how proud my granddad would be of me and that in Ireland all the top legal jobs are women now. I'm not sure how to break to her that I'm not the Attorney General of the UK. Any suggestions greatly received.

Sleeping Beauty

2011-10-29T11:55:00.000+01:00

I saw this a few weeks ago. I was quite excited by the prospect but by the end I wasn't too sure what to think. I have now come down on, "meh". I definitely won't be buying it when it comes out on DVD. Read my review here though

Drive

2011-10-25T20:36:00.002+01:00

I'm a little obsessed with Ryan Gosling. A lot like the Hello Giggles blog but maybe not quite as much for me to write a blog about it (this isn't going to be about his beautiful, beautiful face. No siree).

Last night I watched Drive. All I've heard in the ether is how great it is so I made the decision to not seek out any further review until I had watched it for myself. This meant only reading El Vez's great review last night at one o'clock in the morning.

I was gripped from around thirty seconds in - and for once that isn't an Irish exaggeration - I remained gripped until the very end. The film is about a Driver. Who drives. As a stuntman, as a racing car driver, as a getaway driver. He gives criminals five minutes to do whatever they have to do and then he drives them away from the scene of the crime. As a day job he's a mechanic but some sort of prodigy mechanic when it comes to cars. The overall feeling is that he and cars are one. He knows what to do to make them work to the best of their ability and he can restore a car to its former glory with a few extra bells and whistles to do things like make it go backwards really, really fast. Which is important in a high speed car chase I imagine.

Taking on a heist as a favour something goes terribly wrong. The rest of the film is spent with him trying to avoid any further casualties but save his own arse as well. Thrown in for good measure is Carey Mulligan who plays his 'love interest' (as one would say if they were Cosmo Landesman. I fucking hate Cosmo Landesman. So much). I've never really rated her much before now but then I've not seen An Education so I can't really talk. She is well able to play the downtrodden single-ish mum opposite my boyfriend - I mean Ryan Gosling. I also like that they never go at it like rabbits and everything between them is implied by looks. It is so much more believable.

Anyway. The point is, go and see it. It's amazing even if you don't fancy Ryan Gosling. Put it this way, 8.3 on IMDB and Mark Kermode sitting in a car reviewing it means it can't be bad.

Work

2011-10-19T22:55:00.003+01:00

This actually happened today:

So we get an email saying our case management system will be down between 13:00 and 14:00. The logical thing to do is take our lunch then. So a couple of us agree as it's a Wednesday we should go to the pub to lessen the monotony of the working day. And have a bitch (I am compelled to point out of three I was the only one with a lady garden).

However, there has to be some super stealth mission as basically you can't invite the whole team. Because the whole team are fucking boring. So everything gets arranged by email and people leave separately and 10 mins apart so we don't all rise up together and face inevitable, awkward questions.

Get to the pub and my ca padre and I are at the bar. The last of our number shuffles in having been to the bank to withdraw money only to find he needs photo ID which he does not have. We order our food and go upstairs with our alcohol.

We're golden. We're in the pub. Safe haven. Until our boss comes upstairs to go to the toilet. We're the only ones upstairs. We're rumbled. He comments on the massive lunches we're having (we had sandwiches. Fuck knows what he eats for lunch). He often comments on other people's eating habits. Whilst stuffing his face with chocolate. And saying it's okay as he cycles to and from work every day (he is lithe. Annoyingly). My response is, "It's okay, we're all cycling home!"

Once the hilarity had died down we continued. Our boss is okay. He wouldn't have wanted to sit with us anyway. Then another round is got in. The schmuck who is nominated to go downstairs and order comes up white faced. We've been rumbled. Again. By someone in our team. Who left BEFORE us to go and have lunch with SOMEONE else. Luckily, he is "so thin that I could hide behind the pillar".

Turns out the whole fucking team is in the pub - just separately - because obviously we hate each other.

THEN we get back to the office and the girl who we left out is in a strop because we left her out. Even though we left AFTER her and she DIDN'T invite us.

We should have just stuck to the plan once we found out we'd been rumbled. One of us jumped out the window, the other zip line back to the office and the final individual stroll back in like nothing had happened.

Ambush/Party

2011-10-18T21:35:00.005+01:00

I think this party photo thing stops here. Otherwise you'll know just what complete degenerates I hang out with. People shouldn't encourage others to down spirits in one. Bottles of spirits. But people should always bring lovely, lovely cakes.

Monday

2011-10-17T22:03:00.003+01:00

I have spent this evening in the following way:

1: Trying to log in remotely to work from home but the gash network is being gash so I can not.

2: Trying not to think about my sore throat and wondering if you can OD on Strepsils

3: Googling how to make a cape as I now have some gold lame knocking around the place

4: Looking at Gordon Joseph Levitt's Tumblr

5: Reading the above and trying not to write FML

Oh Land

2011-10-16T22:40:00.003+01:00

The Oh Land site is amazing. The songs seem quite good too. I shall confirm this once I've given the album a proper listen...

Director's Notes - Tyrannosaur Review

2011-10-12T21:28:00.004+01:00

My review is up at Director's Notes...keep an eye on the site and twitter as MarBelle is at the BFF for the next 2 weeks. Nice.

Tyrannosaur

2011-10-08T11:01:00.003+01:00

Last night I saw this followed by a Q&A with Paddy Considine and Olivia Colman. I won't go off on one as I've written a review for Director's Notes. When it goes up I'll link it.

All I will say is;

1: Go and see it; and

2: Prepare yourself, it is brutal.

From feeling like shit to a day of fun topped off with excitement...

2011-10-02T19:16:00.007+01:00

So you may have noticed from the above photographs that I had a party. It was kind of a joint party as MonsieurB turned 30 the day after I officially became an Adult with an Occupation.

The photos mainly show my sister making a speech and me being embarrassed, various good friends and a really shit boy boy band that turned up half way though to give One Direction a run for their money.

I didn't plan the party. The Two Monicas in my life did all the hard work from planning the colours to making an epic cake (more photos are to follow). I basically turned up to a balloon/sequin/sparkle explosion which couldn't be more what I'm about. Love it.

The only sadface part was that it went too quick and now it's over. For a week I couldn't listen to the playlist that I made as it reminded me too much of how good a time I had and how I wasn't having that good a time right then on the train listening to my iPod.

And with the passing of that weekend was the passing of any weekends that MonsieurB has off until November. Work have been really cool and allowed me to take every Friday off until he has weekends free again. Whilst you can always moan about your employer I am a firm believer of what you put in is what you get out. And if you don't get out then leave.

And so Friday was a day of fun (save for a glasses frame wobble that culminated in me sat in the gayest restaurant in London [I mean actually gay not a derogatory use of the word to mean rubbish] drinking Passionfruit Daiquiris nearly crying about not being able to make a decision). I'm not sure how fun it was for him indoors but I had fun.

And then I came in and checked my work email. Turns out my email had had a melt down around midday and all the partners were going fucking bananas. About me. I've been shortlisted for Young Achiever of the Year in our industry awards. Well I say I have. I've not yet seen the official email so until then I'm not getting too excited. But then here I am blogging about it so I must be a little bit excited. I'm more excited for my family. They are finally seeing some return on the money pit that has been their daughter. And I'm excited because it's always nice to be recognised for working hard. What I am not excited about is buying a new dress. It is black tie and looking at last year's ceremony photos the Oscars ain't got nothing on these ladies. I am seriously talking sequin maxi dresses, up do's, sequin shoes to go with the maxi dresses and so many false eyelashes that people are finding it hard to keep their eyes open. My good friend Maddison has come up with a solution to this problem though - "Just be shit at your job". That is why I love her.

And as if there wasn't enough good fortune in my life MonsieurB has been shortlisted for a job at a really big TV company that you probably watch a lot. Basically he is very clever. And modest.

Boo You Whore

2011-09-26T21:14:00.004+01:00

Today I have felt like shit in every way. Which means I'm off to bed once I've uploaded all my photos to Truprint for prints.

Here is a pretty picture. Pretty pictures make everything okay.

I don't like Girls Aloud

2011-09-24T16:49:00.003+01:00

But I do like Nicola Roberts' hair. And her track that is basically Diplo with her warbling all over the top. And it is viewing that video that brought me to this

Obviously I've never directed a music video in my life. And nor have I starred in one. But there is something that I suspect to be true and that is when you are making a video for a band it's probably a good idea to have the whole band in the video. At the very least they should get them all in together when it's a group shot.

The advent of Girls Aloud pretty much passed me by but every time 'Sound of the Underground' comes on television MonsieurB always comments how cruel they've been to give Nicola no time at all as she's not conventionally pretty and she was quite, quite ginger at the outset.

I assumed as they got bigger this would change. But no. Now. This is the first and last time I will ask you to do this but please watch the above Girls Aloud video.

Done? Sorry. I'll buy you a drink the next time I see you to apologise. Now. Did you notice how Nicola was BARELY in the video? How when it was a group shot the MOST you saw of her was a bit of her dress or an arm? I swear down and I will stand by this - the LIGHT or CANDLESTICK on the left hand side of the shot gets more time than she does. Seriously. It really fucking does. What sort of shoddy fucking video is that? If I was Nicola I'd be s-c-r-e-w-i-n-g. Hard.

I can only assume this is because either;

1: She can't keep time with the other so let's just bung her on the end and show an arm every now and then; and/or

2: Her 'At Rest' face is actually 'Screwface' and no tweenie wants to see a screwface.

I reckon it's probably a bit of both. Thankfully this problem has been rectified in the video for the Diplo track. I guess they decided they couldn't have an early single from her album without her in it and as it's such a banger they kinda HAVE to release it to get any sales.

So what they do? Use cutaways to ras, get in a load of decent dancers and only have the camera on her for a maximum of 2 seconds. Apart from when she's putting her arse in the air and wiggling it around. That can stay like that for as long as they see fit. Yes it can.

(And to prove my point about the dancing and it being a banger please see below)

Things I Read

2011-09-22T22:02:00.002+01:00

It's probably quite hard to believe but I have friends. Oh yes. And some of them have mighty fine blogs that keep me amused. I highly recommend

MissDx - A yummy mummy in the process of becoming yummier with a 3rd. Obviously when I say yummy I mean it in a batshitcrazytotallyfunandlovely way. Not in a Cath Kidston way. Because then she would be my mother.

MoneyBen - He's a moody bastard. Not to be confused with MonsieurB who is a moody old bastard. A subtle but distinct difference I think you'll agree. He also likes films. And girls. And girls in films. You get the idea.

Director's Notes - I contribute now! But I used to read the site before that. Podcasts come highly recommended.

A Beautiful Mess - Not a friend but a lot of fun to read.

MashUpCarnvial

2011-09-17T09:44:00.003+01:00

I love this photo. It's a rag tag bunch of people who have been drinking free booze for 7 hours who are now confused by the streets of Notting Hill.

I imagine there will be a similar one later. I'm having a party. I've been doing the playlist. I'm cacking myself. Literally. Twice I've been this morning. And it's only 09:45.

Reading

2011-09-13T19:48:00.006+01:00

Reading was messy as usual. Word had it that the torrential rain prior to Sunday had made for a muddy arena. Cue MoneyBen doing what he does every year - running around trying to find wellington boots on Saturday at 19:00 when we're meant to be departing the next day at 10:00. Such is this ritual that even his siblings now say, "Didn't you ring asking the same question around the same time last year?".

NEVER FEAR! COWBOY BOOTS ARE HERE!

The first photograph is MoneyBen in all his Kangarooskinshodglory. Yes. It's pretty special. Here's a tip - if you want to look NOTHING like anyone else at a festival wear kangaroo skin boots.

We arrived at the festival having left 2 hours behind schedule. Which was pretty much expected by all concerned safe in the knowledge that the next day we'd be working to an almost Germanic timetable courtesy of MonsieurB.

The day was filled with the following:

Tuborg

Lots of it. I indadvertedly got absolutely fucking drunk out of my face. A friend tried to jump me from behind in the dark. I was zen about it cos I was drunk and thought, "If this person is going to kill me just go with it." He didn't kill me obviously. He's my friend. So much so his first comment when I turned around was: Oh my God Subway I have never seen you so drunk.

Bands

Lots of them. We saw Warpaint and Friendly Fires (both pictured). I've seen Warpaint 3 times now and they definitely are improving. I guess it's a bit nerve wracking playing Shepherds Bush when you're not sure what you're doing. But they have the ropes now.

FF were okay. I think the stage was a bit too big for them. Maybe they knew that too as they brought out a welcome distraction of hula girls for their song Jump In The Pool. No, no. I jest. It was for the song Hawaiian Air. Do you see what they did there?

Rumour had it it was the last Streets gig for a while so we made our way to a RAM UP tent to have a look. One may say it was the Tuborg, I would disagree, but I went totally mental for them. I'm not sure where it even came from because they're generally not my bag. The atmosphere in the tent was amazing and somehow Mike Skinner managed to get everyone in the tent to crouch on the floor waiting for the sign to all jump up together. I did it. I enjoyed it. I was sad when it ended.

Muse were as epic as one would expect. By this time I was quite tired. Not drunk. Tired. And I got a bit restless and told my friends that I was bored. Or maybe tired. Or maybe drunk. Then I jumped on MonsieurB's back to see a bit better then someone touched my bum and then my feminist side came out and I clambered off his back (feminists are allowed to use their boyfriends for gig use. It's in the index of the Female Eunuch. Honest) and tried to find the culprit. It was a girl so it was fine for her to touch my bum because she was just trying to help me climb up MonsieurB's back. It was especially fine because she thought I was 8 years younger than what I actually am.

Then I took charge and said we should leave just prior to Muse's closing so we'd beat the traffic (immediately showing my age). As we walked away they started playing Super Massive Black Hole. So then I stopped and started dancing. On my own. Whilst people tried to avoid me. And I tried to dance with them.

Then we FINALLY left. And I fell asleep. And then I woke up. And I was grouchy. And demanded everyone went to bed. Man I was drunk.

We also watched

Interpol - fairly lacklustre and disappointing.

Elbow - good banter, good songs, sun setting, nice.

Death from Above 1979 - Noise.

2011-09-12T21:33:00.002+01:00

Do you think all girls called Jolene dye their hair auburn, bleach their skin and wear green contacts? It's a big commitment but I would.

Weddings

2011-09-10T21:35:00.002+01:00

are good and that generally because you get legless drunk right? Just me? Oh. Well if you're going to be like that I may as well brag that I fell down some stairs at the last wedding I went to. No, that's not what's impressive. It's the fact I didn't spill a drop of red wine out of a 3/4 full glass. Once I had come to a clattering end I held the glass aloft like an Olympian (I imagine. I don't remember) and announced that I was fine and I hadn't spilt any wine. Yes. I'm a drunk poet.

Anyway, the point is that weddings are good but this one looks a-w-e-s-o-m-e. So much so I commented. Day of the Dead Rooftop American Wedding - ARGH.

WANT

2011-09-10T18:22:00.003+01:00

New AP - obviously.

The sensible part of me wonders if I could *actually* wear it as when I wear frilly knickers I have to ensure I don't wear anything too tight as they show through and look like I've got wavy fat around my arse. (Hilarious in Topshop earlier with uber tight pencil skirt that will be purchased with new pay cheque for take me seriously work promotion. I say take me seriously...it's bottle green with black polka dots).

The reckless part of me says fuck it and if people stare at my boobs then surely the work is done? Apart from I don't really like strangers staring at my boobs. Friends? Work away.

House of Holland Resort 2012

Who the frick knew that Henry Holland could actually design some nice clothes. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say his tights and slogan t shirts were good but the rest is gash, gash, gash. And then out this comes. Day of the dead and bones. I want it all. It'll blatantly go in the ASOS sale. Sorry Henry but I am the TruthSpeaker.

Like Crazy

2011-09-08T22:10:00.003+01:00

I had a long distance relationship. Ultimately it wasn't worth it. And when I thought it was worth it, it was awful. I spent a lot of time in a phone box spending money on international calling cards. And trying to pretend I wasn't having the time of my life. And then coming off the phone feeling like the worst girlfriend ever because I dared to have fun. And then when something massively shit did happen he laughed. And I cried.

Lesson learned: Only do it for someone who has proved their worth...Because if they haven't by the time you go they definitely won't whilst you're away.

Thrifty As...

2011-08-31T19:58:00.002+01:00

I own this mirror now. The story goes I've been scoping it for a long time in Habitat but it's been stuck on £80 (from 160 admittedly). Today the last one was in store. I shamelessly offered the man £30 for it. We did a deal at £32.

It's made out of perspex (my favourite thing - Tatty Devine eat your heart out) and tells the story of Jane Eyre. Can you spot Mr Rochester and the attic? Love, love.

Obviously Bank Holiday was a messy, messy affair. Photos to follow. Probably without explanation because I was so mangled I can't remember anything.

I want:

2011-08-24T22:01:00.002+01:00

New glasses (on it - trying to decide between plastic or glass lenses. Plastic won't break when I fall over drunk but might scratch)

New tattoo (not on it - don't know where, have an idea of what)

A laundrette close by (I'm mildly obsessed at the moment, I do not know why)

A FREAKING HAIRCUT (So bad)

I have:

A shiny new Oral B by Braun 5000A electric toothbrush. It is the shit. Half price in Boots and I was sceptical at first but my dentist told me my sonic one is the shittest one on the market and when I could afford it I should get this one. Half price was a sign. And he was right. My old one was the shittest one on the market.

Kisses (clean, shiny, minty kisses)

Bumble & Bumble

2011-08-22T19:33:00.001+01:00

Should I be worried that I bang on about my hair care of choice (Bumble & Bumble - Godlike - Fact) to such an extent that my mother rings from a different country to tell me it's half price over there and asking me what I want.

Let's Dance

2011-08-21T08:26:00.003+01:00

I really, really, really want these shoes. But as they did not fit the 'High but comfortable (that is correct - they fit that) neutral (hmmm) Winter (hmmm ice?) shoe' I had to leave them behind. So sadface.

Maybe it's cos I'm (not) a Londoner

2011-08-20T16:30:00.003+01:00

Alas I do not live in London (it would be nice if this could be remedied by early next year) but I may as well as I do commute through every day and do 80% of my socialising there. So this is pretty much what I moan about *every day* when I get to work:

http://londonist.com/2011/08/top-10-london-annoyances.php

How very strange...

2011-08-18T23:36:00.001+01:00

...to watch a TV programme that brings you around the set so basically you know exactly what your boyfriend's workplace looks like without having actually ever been there. It's very strange. Fact.

[In other news the leopard print wedge that was meant to take me through AW11 has sold out in store and online. The only way forward is to dress like Bowie instead - pictures to follow]

Broken

2011-08-14T21:36:00.001+01:00

Unless you don't have eyes I guess you can see that yesterday was a very messy affair culminating in climbing out of bed at midday only to return for a 2 hour power nap followed by eating enough chocolate and Chinese to sink a battle ship.

But what you can also see if you have eyes is how lucky I am to have the best and messiest messheads for friends (and boyfriend). And that's what counts.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then

2011-08-01T21:52:00.005+01:00

On the 27th July I made my way to Black Rat Gallery to see Brent Green's 'Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then'.

The event was hosted by Branchange Film Festival.

I had only heard of Brent from (oft mentioned of late) MarBelle and having checked out some animation I took him up on his offer of going to see a screening of Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then.

It's always lovely to go to screenings. It's also always lovely to get to meet the film maker. This time around Brent went on a little Shoreditch walkaround before entering the gallery to commence the screening.

Whilst I had expectations I wasn't ready for a full on band in the corner of the gallery. The projection started and the sound wasn't coming from the projector but from Brent sat in the corner. For over an hour he spoke whilst the band swelled with accompanying music.

The film is about a man who meets the love of his life and marries her. But, like life does, it throws a spanner in the works and she becomes terminally ill. He decides to heal her. To heal her is to build a house. The house will continue to be built until she gets better.

The film is heartbreaking and impressive in its breath and scale. The house itself was actually built in Trent's back yard and sprawls around the plot it rests on. To make cash Brent sells the props to galleries all around the world and then travels the world screening his film. (Any gallery owners reading wanting to bring him back to England? Any?)

Words can't describe how impressive it is that a film can be so amazing with such a small budget. But most importantly, when it finished and I told Brent how moved I had been by it he seemed genuinely shocked at my reaction and humbled by it. A person like that can't make a bad film. It's not in their genetic make up.

I'll Be Your Mirror

2011-07-25T21:57:00.004+01:00

Sometimes the best times you have are the ones that you don't plan. Whilst I toyed with the idea of going to I'll Be Your Mirror as MarBelle and MissDx would be there MonsieurB kindly reminded me that I am permabroke and that perhaps spunking my money up the wall on ridiculously good ATP events would be a bad idea.

Luckily a spare ticket was going around 2 weeks before which meant;

1: I got to go when I wasn't expecting to; and

2: I didn't have a really long wait til it arrived. Yay!

I am a knobber and didn't bring my camera as I couldn't find its case and I know if I brought it without one I'd end up breaking it. I. Just. Knew. So I'm afraid the best I could do is above.

We caught all of the Great Hall (standard). PJ Harvey and Portishead were amazing which is no surprise. It was the third time I've seen PJ and I think the first time I saw her remains the best. What's not to love about fluro pink stilettos and a Spice Girls t shirt (circa 5 years after their demise so no comeback tour here thank you).

Portishead were as epic as I imagined they would be. And whilst I always turned my nose up at Alexandra Palace as being massive it's not actually as big as I thought it would be.

Doom was mainly us spent saying, "Do you think it's really him under there or his mate cos he can't be bothered?". It was also before Doom that one of our number (a new person! I love new people! All the more so if they're cool as fuck which this lady was) got a text asking if Amy Winehouse was dead. Twitter and BBC News confirmed something we all immediately said, "Noooooo", to when Cat read out the text to us. This meant I also spent Doom in a semi state of disbelief.

Other highlights were BEAK> and The Books as well as Helen Money. All in all there were a lot of stringed instruments gwanning. And drunkenness. I didn't realise how drunk I was until I wolfed a chip butty (I never eat chips. Ever. Unless bollocksed) in about 7 seconds flat and when I took a step back from the shambles that was us telling a poor lady with a flip cam what we had enjoyed most about ATP. I can't even remember what I said to her. But what I would say now would be - hanging out with like minded people, having japes and slowly getting smashed set against a backdrop of brilliant music.

And tomorrow I'm off to an exhibition of animation - which isn't a very good description. You'll get a better one later in the week. Once I've been.

I know, I know, it sounds like I'm quite the girl about town with not a care in the world. It's not true though. I've spent most of today FREAKING THE FUCK OUT because I am going to a wedding on Saturday and decided to change my outfit yesterday. Then today everyone at work told me I can't wear a jumpsuit to a wedding. So basically I'm going naked. With a fascinator in my hair. And maybe some shoes. If I'm allowed to wear them and not breaking some UNWRITTEN WEDDING LAW that I have not even HEARD OF which means the girls at work scare THE SHIT out of me.

But I'm fine now. Really. No. Really.

*Freaks out - breathes heavily - hyperventilates - passes out*

2011-07-20T22:58:00.002+01:00

Argh how much do I want these??!!! £17.00 though. Youch. They would look so pretty though. So very, very pretty.

In other news do you ever have one of those Saturdays that start out all polite and lovely and end in extreme drunkeness, fucktardedness that wasn't foreseen, bruises, falling over and knickers in your handbag? It was one of those Saturdays. Don't worry though - I'm not reclaiming the word slut. I have a boyfriend so I can be as badly behaved as I like right? Right?

Music Video of the Year? Probably Warpaint, probably

2011-07-16T07:51:00.002+01:00

If you know me you'll know that I have mild obsessions with things that most people have a passing interest in (in no particular order):

Owls

Keys

Tea (and all tea related paraphernalia)

Water

Swimming

The sea.

I also really like Warpaint. Whilst I saw them live a few months ago and was a but underwhelmed it hasn't detracted from my love of their music. To be fair, the only accusation I could level at them was that they didn't interact with the audience enough. Whilst that's a major fault I couldn't say they weren't great musically live.

Then this beautiful video appears on my Twitter feed from Warpaint. I'm going out there. I'm putting it on a limb. It's blatantly music video of the year.

iMac WOOOOOOT!

2011-07-15T21:22:00.002+01:00

So the title *and* the picture may suggest to Inspector Morses amongst you that I have a new iMac. Basically what happened was this:

My old iMac was a thing of wonder and beauty. A design classic. No doubt about it. iMac Anglepoise G4. You gotta love it. But then it went a bit sadface and was too old to upgrade to shiny new iTunes. So I got on with an old OS on my iPhone and trundled along with my iPod 80gig classic and when work gave me an iPad I just synced it on my Dad's Vaio and it was a bit of a pain in the arse but it could be worse.

Then a terrible thing happened. A thing so terrible that I have just got over it. My iPod dropped out of my pocket on a train (all my fault. Kind of. Sort of work's fault but let's not apportion blame. But it definitely was work's fault. They rushed me. Those rushers. Not in a rushing on pills way. Just rushing me).

So a 4 hour commute with no music is no fun. I looked at the 'new' classics on the apple site and sure enough they needed shiny new iTunes to do anything. Despite several calls to all manner of train operators and stations my beautiful iPod was lost. Gone forever to some fucking bastard who will never appreciate the immaculate taste in music and who SURELY won't appreciate the vintage Woman's Hour podcasts. Inconsiderate bastard.

So how do I remedy this? I do the logical thing and buy a brand new iMac and a new iPod classic. And it's all shiny and new. But I have Catholic guilt about the fact my iMac works still it's just a bit old. And to add insult to injury I threw away my TV/VCR combi this week as well. It's not got signal since they turned off the analogue in March. I'm blatantly not getting cable. What am I? Made of money?

I am currently in the process of transferring about 250 gig worth of music to iTunes. Then the sync of the i's. And the sad thing is I'm most excited about my iPad calendar and my iPhone calendar syncing with my iMac calendar. I take the piss out of a friend who swears by a filofax but I am no better. I'm just battery operated. Sadface.

Save Japan

2011-06-23T22:25:00.001+01:00

I know what people say. Haters gonna hate but seriously.....uniqlo celeb colab t shirts to save Japan that are all fucking hideous save for Alber Elbaz's (and rightly so)? What's the point? Uniqlo normally do great t shirts. This makes me sadface. It does not make my bank balance sadface.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

This came along at just the right time...

2011-06-22T20:58:00.004+01:00

Found at mayorettes.com

Bad Fever

2011-06-20T19:29:00.002+01:00

Long ago, in a distant land I used to make time for myself to watch films. It was a good time. A time filled with interest and chat. I miss that time. So I am ensuring that I deliberately hark back to that time and try and re-find my love of film (and reading, but that's a whole other blog post).

My first film in to rediscovering that mythical time was Bad Fever . MarBelle kindly gave me the heads up having heard about it at SXSW (Yes. He goes there. And actually interviews people for his website. Yes. You're allowed to be jealous).

Bad Fever is directed by Dustin Guy Defa. It is the story of Eddie, a guy who lives with his mum and just wants to make friends. He wafts around town with his cassette recorder constantly mumbling in to it and comes across Irene. Irene is also alone but it appears that she chooses to be this way as opposed to Eddie who desperately wants to speak to someone other than his mother. His mother sits in a chair and reminded me of someone in an almost semi-catatonic state.

Not only does Eddie come across Irene but he also comes cross the town's comedy club. Here he witnesses something that he obviously hasn't been exposed to - acceptance, warmth and laughter. The film tracks Eddie's attempts to get the girl, perform at the comedy club and make his mum proud. All three aims fail. Spectacularly.

I remember having watched the film I tweeted wondering whether Irene was a massive bitch or a feminist genius. I came down on the side of massive bitch. Irene lives in a disused classroom and ensures Eddie's insecurities remain by humiliating him at every turn. From filming him having a bash at trying to have sex with her to dumping him for "some guy in Iowa" she ensures that the ball is always firmly in her court. In fact, her behaviour is atypical of a macho, arsehole man that is normally exhibited in the Hollywood chick flicks who is a Bad Man and turns out to regret his behaviour when he realises the girl he coulda had and shoulda had has ended up with the handsome nice guy. Just because the atypical Bad Man has been given a vagina did not endear the character to me any more.

Eddie isn't funny. He knows he isn't funny. I'm not even sure he tries to be funny. His jokes that he records are devoid of humour although he ensures they always have a punch line. His debut at the comedy club is more a showcasing of his girlfriend Irene (or so he thinks she is her girlfriend) than any comedic talent. The length of the scene whilst he dies onstage means that when he finally exits the stage the viewer is relieved that they don't have to continue to sit through the most excruciating ten minutes.

His mum witnesses said ten minutes. From near silence she blossoms in to a banshee that reminds Eddie how she isn't proud of him whatsoever. The film has gone full circle - he doesn't have the girl, he doesn't have a successful comedy stint and he doesn't have a meaningful relationship with his mum. It is the saddest thing I have watched since Julian Donkey-Boy. Whether due to budgetary reasons or a genuine love of Dogme '95 the way Bad Fever was filmed also reminded me a lot of Harmony Korine's film. I'd highly recommend it but I don't think it has any distribution in the UK yet. Sadface.

Object of Desire

2011-06-05T21:51:00.004+01:00

Everyone who knows me knows I like a heel. I live in them at work and generally I'm the last one standing in them at the end of the night (or being picked up off the floor in them in a drunken stupor as the case may be).

I have been coveting Charlotte Olympia fruit heels since I first spied them in a magazine. Alas, this fruity phenomena has filtered down to the high street on Zara tops and fruity jewellery all over the place but I still can't find cheap fruity shoes that are as beautiful as them.

But I did find these piano heels in my size on ebay for literally a fifth of what the going rate is for a pair of her shoes are. I'm thinking I could buy them to celebrate qualifying and then put them in a glass cabinet and adore them for the rest of my life. Or what would probably happen is I wear them to dive pubs, dance around in them, scuff them on the pavement at the end of the night on my way to the kebab shop but think, "Damn I've got some nice shoes".

Tatty Devine - I heart you

2011-06-03T22:30:00.003+01:00

So MonsieurB has been working away for the last week and a half....which meant I had the whole of the bank holiday weekend to myself. "What shall I do?", I wondered. I came up with an array of ideas - I could sit in my pants and watch every Game of Thrones thus far (because it's actually brilliant), I could eat a tub of Ben & Jerry's out of the tub and not have to pass it backwards and forwards between me and the manfriend or I could do a Bored to Death marathon. I think you'll agree that not only was I thinking big but the world was my oyster as well.

Something I knew I would be doing though was checking out Tatty Devine's mega bank holiday sale. I went to their Brick Lane Christmas sale and basically picked up everyone's present for under £50. Happy people with lovely presents - more booze money for me. It was a win win.

But it's not Christmas so I decided it was time for me to shine. By buying myself more Tatty stuff. Because I don't have enough (I do, I really do. Even Lamptity tweeted I should exhibit more restraint). Logging on to Twitter I saw how this was going. Basically Tatty were ALL OVER social networking.

Have you ever left something behind in a shop only to regret it for ever after and whist you scour ebay like a mofo hoping it'll come up it never does. And you sigh over the one that got away? That was me with a massive zip necklace I found in the Christmas sale. It was a toss up between that and a necklace that looks like some teeth. I um-ed and ah-ed and even considered buying them both but Christmas is a season for giving and I just couldn't justify it. I plumped for the teeth (compliments constantly) but thought of the zip necklace every time I saw a zip (ie every day).

So I thought I'd hit Tatty up on Twitter and see if they still had one. Those cads weren't coming up with the goods immediately though. They had to have a look. Five mins after my request they tweeted they'd found one and it was up on the site for purchase. To say I had a mini fit is an understatement. In fact, I think you can see from the screenshot my delight at a massive piece of plastic being mine. My favourite bit though? Their reply. "Get in".

And it arrived yesterday and you can see what all the fuss was about right? Right? And like the good lady that I am it's only polite to tweet them to thank them. And what did those lovely ladies do? They followed me back on Twitter and then Follow Friday-ed me. It made my week. Because this week has been a shitty, shitty week. Nurofen Tension Headache tablets are my friend. But not this morning. Because stuff like that makes writing on the interwebs to maybe no one all worthwhile.

NuRave

2011-05-17T21:19:00.002+01:00

Hi! We're the Klaxons! Remember us? We managed to fool everyone that we were quite good when really we actually only had one good song. Although you've got to give us props for accepting our Mercury Music Prize whilst chewing our fucking faces off, conforming to the rave stereotype of being total mash potato heads (and proving that sometimes the Mercury judges have off years as well).

It would be nice

2011-05-17T20:08:00.000+01:00

If I had found this outside my workplace. But alas I did not.

Comments

2011-05-10T21:01:00.002+01:00

Without doubt the best comments I've ever had are the ones that commented on my NoTwist post. I mean it. Pointless babble is right up my street (they must have really paid attention to this blog).

Where do you go...my lovely

2011-05-09T20:45:00.005+01:00

So you may have noticed that I've been even quieter than usual. For once my excuse is not, "I'm an awful human being that should not be allowed a blog". As you may have guessed from the photos I've been away to the Philippines.

I can categorically state that the Philippines is brilliant. I think the thing I liked best about it though wasn't the country itself (although it is totally beautiful) but the fact that the people are actually mental. Even more mental than Irish people. No, I didn't think that was possible either.

Firstly, they have no stop button for social situations. They just say what's on their mind and even if it's offensive word vomit it's out there. And if they've offended you? Well, they just don't give a fuck. I like that. In fact, I find it massively amusing. Two brilliant examples are:

1: A man telling me he felt sorry for me because my boyfriend hadn't married me. When I reassured him that I don't really want to get married and I was happy he just reiterated how sorry he felt for me. It's nice to know he cares.

2: Basically I had massages pretty much every day because it was so fricking cheap it was rude not to. Five English pounds for a fully body massage. Don't mind if I do. (Ditto drinking and smoking. I did both in excess even though I don't smoke any more because it was so cheap I'd have been cheating the Philippino economy not to) Whilst I was having one of my massages the lady said, "Maam, you want foot scrub? You're feet need it. And also hot oil hair treatment. Your hair - so dry". Yeah. It was true but you know sometimes you gotta have a bit of tact. Not these ladies. Oh no. But they were l-o-v-e-l-y. We had some nice chats about the state of the coral around the island and global warming affecting their seasons and fucking up tourism (pretty much their only source of income).

Add on top of that snorkeling, island hopping and glass bottom boats and it was fantastico. The island is bizarre though. It's only had electricity for 20 years and is really touristy but it's kind of overshot itself and mushroomed more than it can cope with. We had a few brown outs, mainly when there was a tropical storm and the Heavens opened with such force that all the sand was washed off the very sandy path.

They are also bananas Catholic and there's a grotto shrine to Mary just in the middle of the sea. When the tide is up you have to wade out. Once you get there it's like a party in a rock. Neon light? Check. Tacky statue? Check. People taking photos with the statue, neon light and beach type accessories like giant inflatable flip flops? Check.

Manila was just as fun but in a grimy OH MY FUCKING GOD I'M GOING TO DIE IN THIS FUCKING TAXI RIGHT NOW BECAUSE EVERYONE DRIVES LIKE MENTALISTS ARGH kind of way. Once you had got over the fact that you could go up to the big man in the sky at any kind it became exhilarating and fun. I won't lie - some of our number never quite got over that fact and spent most of their time in the hotel. One word. B-O-R-I-N-G. Taking our lives in our hands meant MonsieurB and I got to see all sorts of excitement like mueseums, crazy indoor markets that are silly hot and proper ghettos that make you thankful for what you have. Which also made me feel a bit guilty for seeing proper poverty and then going back to our five star hotel with air conditioning and free booze every night (DISCLAIMER: We could only afford this as my best mate from uni's boyfriend works for the hotel group and sorted us out a silly discount. The Sofitel was amazing and plush and all you could hope for from a lovely hotel).

And so I'm back. And zen. People from work are eyeing me suspiciously and I think they suspect I purchased hooky Valium as I'm so serene since my holiday. Alas I did not purchase hooky Valium but I did realise that there's a lot more to life than busting a gut for The Man so when something annoys me at work now instead of blowing up, swearing like a sailor and stomping off to make tea I just go, "Oooooh", and carry on with what I was doing. I think my colleague's shock at this new attitude actually stems from disappointment. I am no longer their performing, angry, entertaining monkey. HAHA to them.

This is very old (but I like it a lot)

2011-04-05T22:08:00.000+01:00

Information Guzzler

2011-04-05T21:13:00.003+01:00

I was once called an information guzzler by a friend (in a lovely way - if that's possible). I didn't argue because it was true. I have a voracious appetite for weekend papers (Guardian on a Saturday, Times on a Sunday and if I'm feeling really decadent I'll buy the Observer too) and I'm constantly on my Guardian app as well as picking up all sorts of free magazines (and sometimes expensive ones) during the week. It seems only fitting that at some point I purchase the above. But not now. Mainly because I'm saving pennies to go to the Philippines next week. *cough* and I already purchased the girl going to work in an office t shirt despite my economic drive *cough*

But yes, Philippines. Hot, lovely, exciting NO WORK NO FRICKING WORK

FRONT

2011-04-03T12:03:00.002+01:00

So as previously documented I surreptitiously read Front magazine over MonsieurB's shoulder. Every month. Sometimes the duplicitous behaviour takes place on a train. And sometimes I am so low key, so army commando SAS style that other passengers notice. They must all be spies because let me tell you I am so camouflage I am green.

Anyway, I don't think Front is that bad in the grand scheme of lads mags. Firstly, they do put all their girls upon a pedestal and treat them like princesses (well, that's the impression I get, I'd be interested to see what pay packet they get at the end of the day). Something that has been bothering me though is the fact that the girls are marketed as being 'alt'. Now. The girl of this month looks about as alternative as my boss. Who is 50. And balding. And a man. Basically, if you're gonna take your clothes off the only thing to mark you out as alternative is your tattoos and piercings. Now bear in mind I've had to get rid of visible piercings because of my job and my tattoos have to be hidden I'm STILL more alt than this girl who they're all jizzing in their pants over.

So affronted was I (see what I did there?) that I decided to read the accompanying Q&A to see if her alt credentials increased somewhat. I won't make you read the whole interview but basically the answer is no. They did not. So I'm gonna show her sample, genuine alt answers and perhaps Front can sort it out and get girls in with slightly saggier mammary glands but their favourite film isn't "There's no way I can pin one as a favourite but I lvoe that whole Michael Cera/Jonah Hill partnership". I'll be honest, I IMDB'ed it. IT DOESN'T EXIST.

What are you doing right now?

Er, writing this blog (obviously the answer for Front in reality would be a filthy lie)

Day job

If I told you I'd have to kill you

Dream job

Working in Liberty helping rich people spend their money on shit they don't need and convincing them that a piss pot with Manalo Blahnick illustrations on it is an 'investment piece'

Best thing about being a Front Alt Girl

Obviously I'm not one but if I was I'd probably say - The adoration from boys who pay £4 to buy this magazine to see my tits as opposed to going out and actually finding a pair of tits they can manhandle in real life. Oh and I like free stuff! Hi mum!

Turn ons

Everything. My flaps are wobbling just writing this. Although I do quite like gin. And Sailor Jerry

Turn offs

Cheese. I hate it. Oh you mean man wise. Um, men holding axes?

Who do you have a crush on?

There are too many to list but I'd definitely friend Gordon Joseph Levitt. And Travis from Gym Class Heroes. If he promised to never, ever, EVER rap in my presence.

Favourite Film

Have you heard of Werner Herzog? No? Oh he's a bit too leftfield for you eh? Hmm, right. Have you heard of Lars von Trier? Yeah, that's right the one who did that film where she took a pair of rusty scissors to her lady garden. No, that wasn't his first ever film but I reckon that his body of work is probably right up the street of Front readers. He loves women. No really, he does. He really, really does.

Favourite album

As this is Front it's only right to say Tool - Lateralus

Booze drink of choice

Anything that isn't wine. Wine fucks me up so bad I end up falling over in the street and possibly breaking my elbow (true story from Friday night)

First gig

For someone famous I think it was Skunk Anansie but I'm so old that I could be wrong. Obviously before that I went to lots of gigs at The Pioneer Youth Club in order to try and prey upon nubile young boys to offer my perky self too. They loved it.

Last gig

Warpaint. They didn't talk enough and the merch was rubbish. But the actual music was very good.

Perfect night out

My last 2 birthday nights out went pretty well. They were pretty perfect til about 04:00 when it all went a bit darkside but I was right as rain by midday the next day.

High heels or trainers?

I actually don't own a pair of trainers. They offend me. Mash up feet over comfortable every time (I am an idiot)

Who gets what in your Will?

Well, the Government can have their debt back. I leave my art to MonsieurB because the thought of him exploding with rage over being lumbered with 'shit art' that he hates but can't throw away because I'd haunt him forever would bring me no end of pleasure and hilarity. The girldem can lay claim to my vast wardrobe and my death in service work pay out can be put to a week long bender for my actual friends please.

Claim to fame

I have fondled the lead singer of !!! mid gig. Oh and my arse was on MTV and Alex Zane said I was hot (for the record the real alt girl said she was an extra in Harry Potter. I piss all over that answer)

Sexy/Mind blowing fact about you

I can fit a pint glass in my mouth

I secretly have a passion for

ping pong balls

Wedding Envy

2011-03-25T08:19:00.001Z

You have no idea how much this brightened my day at 08:00 as I went to work.

-- Posted from my iPhone

New Shop Alert

2011-03-16T22:47:00.003Z

But I do pretty much already own most of the stuff in their tea section courtesy of my Nana. Including this beauty....Yes, it's coming to the Imaginary House and there's nothing you can do about it MonsieurB because it was a wedding present for my Nana and Grandad. Fuck you.

The Kooples

2011-03-14T21:46:00.002Z

I am completely obsessed with The Kooples clothing. I went to Selfridges after seeing all the hoo haa advertisements (strangely, no magazine endorsements) and fell in love. Pretty, girly lace with skulls on - what's not to love? Followed by soft leather bag with leopard print pony skin inserts? Slap my name on it I'm up for it. When I win the lottery. Basically.

Submarine

2011-03-14T20:40:00.003Z

It just goes to show that if you piss and moan about wanting to see something enough (i.e. stating to whoever will listen every time I walked past the poster on the tube that I wanted to see that. Even if I was alone. To strangers. And the tube is pretty saturated with said posters a the moment. Imagine that. Yes. Quite.) the Gods of film and ponce will smile down upon you and say, "Ah underling of very boring job - today I shall put you in the way of a screening with 10 other people in very comfortable arm chairs." And so it was I was that I settled myself for 90 minutes of loveliness.

Submarine is the new film from Richard Ayoade (him from that there IT Crowd, Nathan Barley and Garth Marenghi's Dark Place as well as director of Arctic Monkeys and YYY's videos) in conjunction with Film4 and Warp. Warp Films have a pretty much flawless record in my opinion and so I had high hopes for Submarine.

Briefly, it is the story of Oliver Tate, a 15 year old in a nameless Welsh town in an unspecified time. The films follow his attempts to lose his virginity and stop his mum (Sally Hawkins) having an affair with a mystic ninja (Paddy Considine complete with epic, epic hair and some very squeaky trousers).

I loved this film from start to finish. When asked what my favourite part of the film was I replied the colours - more precisely the colour saturation. It seemed almost like it had been filmed on really old film and (not surprisingly) the Arctic Monkeys' video for Fluorescent Adolescent sprang to mind.

All the actors are excellent but that's no surprise as the calibre is pretty high. Paddy Considine is just hammy enough to be funny without rendering his performance farcical. Noah Taylor and Sally Hawkins are ace as two people who have accepted their fate as a married couple who don't really have much in common anymore. The actor who plays Oliver, Craig Roberts, and his girlfriend, Yasmin Paige, are as good as the established adult actors and hold their own.

The film has been described as a coming of age film and I guess that it is. I tend to associate coming of age films as when the main character learns something about himself that changes him completely. I don't think Oliver does do this in the film. He just learns to be less of a twat. After behaving like a massive twat. Even when he did something supremely stupid I wasn't rooting for him to right his wrongs for himself but for the sake of the others around him. But then all 15 year old boys are twats and for that reason there is no doubt in my mind that this is hilariously well written.

And for something completely different - a 3 word review:

Ayoade dunna good

Hibou

2011-03-07T20:02:00.000Z

I wish I had invented this:

http://hungoverowls.tumblr.com/

Vingt-Um...

2011-03-07T19:15:00.002Z

And so another debauched birthday has drawn to a close. I nearly didn't write this post because then it really is all over, which makes me so sadface. A brief overview of the shenanigans would go something like this:

Going for a meal with work colleagues when a man (more of a tramp) rushes in and starts to serenade me with a guitar he happens to have strapped to his back having rallied all the staff of the restaurant including the chef to come out and surround me whilst he sings the worst rendition of Happy Birthday known to man. I was mortified and no one was owning up to organising this disgusting piece of embarrassment. I was mollified by being given free Liminchello. Mmm, alcoholic lemon cheesecake.

Having a lovely lunch with MonsieurB even though I was ever so slightly hungover owing to starting to 'rip the arse out of this birthday' a night early. Then wandering around until my appointment to get my nails did which I love, love, love.

Having entered the evening I then hooked up with MonsieurB again to go shopping. As it was my birthday I was allowed anything I liked. So I had 2 bottles of nail polish which came to £19.90. Put it this way - women pay good money to have a face as tight as MonsieurB when he handed over the cash. But he refrained from his usual, "TWENTY COCKING QUID FOR NAIL POLISH", because it was my birthday. And I could have bought that Kooples T Shirt that I have fallen in love with which is triple the price.

Then because it was my birthday I did something totally decadent and went back, ordered room service and drank Sailor Jerry whilst watching Friday night comedy and playing on the Macbook Pro. Yup. That's how my birthdays roll when I'm hungover, saving myself for the next evening and enjoying good company.

Following being decadent I thought I may as well go all out and continue the theme the next morning and I basically ordered the best omelette I've ever had. To the room. Again. Whilst I sat and ate it in my pants watching T4.

Rousing myself from an egg based stupor we wandered to afternoon tea which was all very lovely and followed by a cabaret/burlesque type thing. Basically, this girl was a contortionist. Until she came on MonsieurB was having none of this turning around in his chair to watch the show malarkey. He's just too cool people. He likes to watching things the wrong way around in mirrors. That's what cool people do. Until some woman comes out and does things that (and please excuse me, I am about to be crass) made my lady garden actually water. And not good water. Like tears water. But from the garden of lady's. Then MonsieurB was interested. Ooooooh yes. And as a finale some girl came out and set herself on fire to this. Which was pretty impressive. It also reminded me a lot of a club I used to go to when I was underage. The song, not the fire bit. Although I did once set my hair on fire in a hairspray/cigarette based incident. I can't say for sure but I imagine that episode wasn't quite as sexy as the girl who set herself on fire. But then I could be wrong. Some people might like drunk teenagers running around screaming with their hair on fire. In a nightclub (remember when you could smoke indoors. Ah the memories).

Obviously the best part of the tea wasn't any of the above but the 65 year old woman who insisted on speaking to me for the whole (and I mean WHOLE) experience. I loved it. She is basically me but in the future. MonsieurB didn't love it quite so much. I know this because he remained totally silent whenever she was talking. Totally. My favourite bit of our lovely conversation was when she asked me if I'd seen the film Burlesque. Alas, I had not. She had though. She spoke to me at length about it. I love old people.

Preparations then began in earnest for the night ahead. I got mash up whilst I got ready. I put my outfit on and decided that I was just the right side of slutty for my age and continued to get mash up. The night is a blur but I do remember lots of drunken dancing, me breaking a ring to try and get rid of a man who just wanted to have sex (with anyone. Anyone at all), dancing to S&M like I was in the video, crying girlfriends (not me, for once), massively strong drinks, queuing for drinks that was akin to a Nam experience, holding a very drunk girl up who wasn't me and then the next thing I know she's been given a vodka red bull because "it'll wake her up" then being told that even if I "get rid of MonsieurB I'm still party of the fam because I have the tramp stamp now" and then not going to bed until about 6 because I was afraid if I went to bed I would die and no amount of stroking of my arm by MonsieurB would placate me. So I stayed up and watched a documentary about terrorism in Yemin on BBC3.

Refreshed by my Yemin based knowledge I woke up the next morning slightly tired but in a better way than I should have been in all fairness. Obviously I didn't wear any make up and I kept having 5 minute power naps but it could have been a lot worse. I could have been dead. I spent Sunday in a lovely fog of loveliness which was only sullied by the fact that I wasn't allowed a plate of roast potatoes. Then I fell asleep in the car on the way home.

Things I Hate

2011-02-22T17:53:00.001Z

Me finding a purse with an anatomically correct heart etched on it an being told it's too expensive. And it's the truth. Hate.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Things That Have Happened This Week

2011-02-11T23:25:00.001Z

Friend: Oooh that's a nice front door

Me: Yeah, it is although MonsieurB wasn't happy about me coming here on my own. It's quite rough.

Just as those words left my mouth a mini drove past with every person in said mini hanging out the windows. As they passed they chorused: FUCK YOU. No. I couldn't have timed it better myself.

Later on I then walked in to a blind person as I was too busy checking out my doppelgänger. VW bag? Check. HoH tights? Check. Stupid hat? Check. Kitsch Wills and Kate tote? She had it. I want one! More than life itself. H. I. L. A. R. I. O. U. S.

-- Posted from my iPhone

I Would Friend This Man On Facebook

2011-02-07T21:50:00.001Z

Yes, I would.

Dictionnaire

2011-02-07T20:50:00.001Z

am·o·rous/ˈamərəs/

Adjective: Fancy speak for drunk and horny

Emperor's New Clothes

2011-02-02T08:03:00.001Z

I note Clinique are marketing mascara especially for bottom lashes. For a tenner. Seriously, if you can't do your bottom lashes with a normal wand stop wearing mascara. I manage it every morning. On a moving train. Whoever buys this is a fucking moron. And they'll probably invest I'm what I hear is Clinique's next venture - unisex pube comb.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Another not proper update yawn

2011-02-01T22:29:00.004Z

A non stop social life coupled with intense cover of the busiest lady in the world at work means you get the edited highlights:

I would very much like another tattoo. I'm thinking frilly knickers but I worry I may end up looking like a quirky clipart catalogue;
Once again, I am lamenting my choice of career and wishing I did something more creative. This will pass. Because it has to. Or I will cry/go mental;
I nearly applied for the paid Elle internship starting in Spring. Hoom. I did not;
The weekend of the 19th March will be filled with nothingness. I know this because every weekend up til then is full. The thought of this fills me with equal parts pleasure and dread;
I need to go to bed so I continue on with my 07:50 starts sat at my desk which is a 2 hour commute away. And yes. I'm leaving at 17:00 and if anyone questions me I look at them and say, "I was here at ten to eight. You hadn't left your house at that time". And that is actually true; and
On a lighter note my Candybird print arrives tomorrow. I may send Ma out to Habitat to pick me up a beautiful frame. I can not wait to unwrap it and look at it. I have coveted it for around 12 months now. Beautiful pictures on my walls make me happy. Very happy.

I'm no scholar love...

2011-01-25T18:37:00.001Z

Just witnessed a massive group of illiterate pikey kids standing around a Northern line map trying to work out where they were going and how to get there. Lesson: go to school kids!

Now I'm off to see M and P. The day has mainly been emails about how excited we are to see each other. Apart from mine which mainly said, "When will this shitty day end???" There's love right there

-- Posted from my iPhone

Sweet Charity

2011-01-05T21:00:00.003Z

Whilst I haven't set myself resolutions per se I have decided that 2011 is going to be the year that I don't get angry about things I can't change. Mainly because I can't change them so it's really a waste of energy and makes me angry. And then I'm angry about something I can't change and the whole thing is pointless. Thus far things that I have not got angry about is the man who would have been in my lap had he moved 2mm to his left on the train this evening, the sudden change of desk at work that was announced at 10:00 on the first day back to work and the fact that my new colleague's existence seems to be there solely to wind me up. No I didn't get angry about them. I had a cup of tea and felt much, much better.

Something I noticed today was charity. This morning I got a train that takes me pretty much all the way to work without having to use the tube and affords me an extra 40 minutes shut eye. Result. As I alighted at my change about station (6 minutes between arrival and connecting train) and waited with the other sardines to ascend the stairs I spied a man collecting for a charity for the blind. He was pretty old with his bag between his feet, presumably because his hands were tied up holding his collection box. As I hurried past I noticed that I wasn't the only one hurrying past. Everyone was. He was surrounded by shedloads, and I mean shedloads, of people and not one was chipping him a bit of change. And as he stood there I noticed his smile. The word which immediately sprung to mind was beatific. And it was. He was the most serene man in the station. And shamefully I walked past, not even checking for change because I didn't want to miss my train. Never mind the fact that there is another train 15 minutes after that one.

Then this evening I was walking through a different train station and there was another man collecting and he was actually blind. This time around I have 20 minutes between connecting trains and again I noticed that no one was donating. And he was just stood there, mute, with his donation box. This time I walked past thinking that I had no change (I am broke as a joke because I spend too much money on fancy pants. But on the upside my tits when I have a bra on look like I'm a bouncy 17 year old - we'll move swiftly on from when said help is removed). I got a few steps away and decided that my assumption was a cop out and that it wouldn't hurt me to have a look for some change. I was genuinely surprised to find a couple of quid languishing in the corner of my purse begging not to be spent on an M&S meal for lunch when I could have brought something from home had I not been so lazy. And so I granted my money's wish and put it in the box and walked off. I have now added, 'make lunch at home and give what I would have spent one day a week on lunch to a charity box'.

Then I came home, had a bath, read my new Elle magazine that came in today whilst drinking tea and splish splashing. And now I'm listening to French music. My favourite things to do. Because like it says in Zombieland (how embarrassing that I have only watched this in the last week) - Enjoy the little things [Kind of resolution no. 3 for 2011]

Arrrrrggggghhhhh

2011-01-04T21:31:00.000Z

I love this. Bound by restraint. Sadface.

Noel

2010-12-27T16:24:00.003Z

And just like that I say that a dinosaur on a bike reminds me of my boyfriend and he purchases me a dinosaur kigu. I would say that I heart it more than anything in the world (comfortable? Yes. Worn all Christmas? Yes? Room for a thousand mince pies? Definitely) but that would be crass.

Christmas was textbook so I won't bore you with the details, ate a lot, opened presents, watched the Royle Family Christmas Special, yawn, yawn etc etc.

Christmas does make everyone go a teeny bit mental though doesn't it? For example, on Christmas Eve I went in to town with my mum for some "quality time" (or ideas on what to get family we don't really like and only see once a year as well as the neighbours who are lovely but seem to think we don't eat as they constantly bring their leftovers around - which is just strange quite frankly). Having decided to purchase a fancy vase for the neighbours mum decided we had to buy flowers to go in said vase. Fair enough, I can see the logic in that. Off we went to M&S that fine purveyor of flowers. Now my mum loves lilies. Loves them. Even if they are a sign of death and their pollen stench actually puts my dad and sister off their food she persists in buying them. And I'm not sure if you know this but they're also a flower signifying death. I murmered this as she headed towards them for the neighbours. One of whom nearly DIED of Cancer this year (and for once I'm not even exaggerating for the sake of hilarity). No, no. I was not to be listened to. Only the finest white lilies for the neighbours, one of whom nearly died (did I mention that?). It is also important to mention that the flowers have a 10 day guarantee. They are M&S after all.

We get to the counter and she plonks them down. So far, so textbook. The nice lady scans them through and before Mum puts her card in to the magic machine she asks, "What happens if they die before the 10 days is up?". Do you think this woman has EVER been asked this question before? Ever? Well I can tell you the answer is probably NO. As I fell through the floor with embarrassment she did this, "Er, er. Well.". ER ER WELL was her answer. However, she recovered well from the initial answer and said, "Well I suppose you'd keep the receipt and then keep the plastic and then if they died bring them both back?". See my insertion of a question mark there? It wasn't an answer, it was a query to someone who wasn't there. Sensing trouble, a colleague bounded over to come to assistance but she was as useless as the first. Having managed to pick myself up off the floor and embarrassment beginning to abate in to wheezy laughing I felt it my Christmas duty to help a sister out. "Mum", I said, "If they die you say, oh dear those lovely flowers died although I am not ultimately shocked by this as ALL FLOWERS DIE WHICH IS THE POINT OF THEM". The woman looked at me gratefully. My mother, she did not. She punched me in the arm. The fleshy bit. At the top. Hard. In front of the M&S ladies. It must truly have been Christmas for the violence to begin. But the grateful look meant I continued. Because I was bringing Christmas Cheer. "Anyway, we're giving them to the neighbours. What are you going to do? On the 10th day of Christmas you're going to knock on the door and ask them if the flowers are still alive because if they're not you have the receipt and you can get some more? You. Are. Mental. So much so these nice ladies are going to go home tonight and tell their family about the mental lady asking what she should do when flowers die". The grateful lady piped up, "Oh no, we won't. It's a good question". But you could see on her face that she was totally going to tell her family. And I bet she totally did.

petitami

2010-12-20T20:58:00.002Z

This reminds me of my boyfriend. I don't know why. He doesn't even ride a bike.

Just finished watching A Single Man. I cried. I loved it.

2010-12-20T20:36:00.001Z

This is what I should do...

2010-12-04T22:28:00.001Z

Jeudi

2010-11-30T20:18:00.004Z

From time to time a day comes along that you expect to be standard and then it is all loveliness.

The other Tuesday I realised that the voucher I had for for a teapot of cocktails at a South London speakeasy ran out on the Sunday. And there was no way I was traipsing in to to Town on a Sunday. As if the Gods were smiling on me MonsieurB was venturing to the Smoke on the Thursday. It was decided. He would come with me for cocktails out of teapots and he'd enjoy it. God damn it.

Upon arriving at Waterloo MonsieurB had arranged a brass band in my honour. It seemed rude not to dance through the concourse in appreciation of his efforts. (The first sentence is a lie. The second sentence is not). Having tangoed to the underground we made our way to South Kensington. We hit Lamborghini but none of the cars took our fancy so we made our way to Sloane Street for secret speakeasy shenanigans. As we made our way down the road we passed The Conran Shop. In the window was a full on Swan Lake type ballerina who was dancing around. As soon as she saw us she did a wave. And then I did a wave. And then the posh lady opened the door for us to come in. And we continued walking because we are very, very poor.

We went in to an innocuous apartment block and found a black door with a large lantern outside. In we slid and rang the bell. A pair of eyes looked through the door. Saying the magic words ("We have a reservation") in we went.

Once we had our fricking massive teapot of cocktails it was present time. I love presents for no reason. Whilst wasting time MonsieurB had gone to Lucy In Disguise. I love Lily Allen. I think if we met in real life we'd be best friends. But we have never met in real life. And so we are not. But what I do have is the most beautifulest top from Lucy In Disguise in the most beautifulest bag ever. As if that wasn't enough the teapot cocktail came with teacups to drink out of. As if that wasn't enough they were HENDRICKS FRICKING GIN TEACUPS! Alas, I can not find them on the internets to buy and insist that everything I drink from now on comes out of them. Perhaps it's for the best. People may not appreciate Fosters out of teacups.

And then we went home. And I went to work the next day. Ah well. It was nice whilst it lasted.

What's my name again? I mean, date again?

2010-11-23T22:19:00.002Z

I actually walked around with this in my hand for 20 minutes today. Then I decided an art postcard based calendar may be a bit too much for my office. They think I'm quirky because I drink tea out of a teacup and saucer. Whatever would culture and art do to them?

Stars

2010-11-21T22:40:00.002Z

This is the illustration for my star sign in this month's Vogue magazine. It is a scarily accurate depiction of a night out for me. I have actually ended up in a bin before. Ridiculous tights and clashing shoes? Standard.

Still to come: A story about teapots, gin teacups, surprise brilliant presents and getting a bit overexcited on a school night.

Hmm. I wonder if I can put blind people's lens...

2010-11-17T22:17:00.001Z

...in to these. Because I really, really want them for Phili. Although I'll be piss poor when I arrive if I pur-chase them.

Rules of Attraction

2010-11-17T20:36:00.001Z

It went something like this:

I saw this film at the cinema and it remains one of my favourite films. I purchased it and someone stole it. Alas, I can not remember who they are or I'd have hunted them down and killed them slowly, I mean asked for it back, by now. Anyway, I have now borrowed it from MoneyB. Yay. This is my favourite scene (I can't embed - how sad). I'm not sure why.

Oh Comely

2010-11-16T20:33:00.003Z

I commute. A lot. I commute A. LOT. This means that I spend a lot of time doing one of these things;

Listening to a vast array of podcasts from all sorts of different sources which I have amassed over the last 3 years;
Listening to music (at the moment Warpaint is being listened to at least once a day);
Reading books I buy from charity shops or cheaply at the supermarché; and/or
Reading magazines because sometimes my brain needs to go, "bleugh", all over tat.

Around a month ago I came across Oh Comely magazine in the station Smiths. It had nice paper pages and wasn't filled with total tat so I thought I'd give it a whirl seeing as it was 2 weeks before the new Elle hit my doormat. I heart it so much that I hearted it on FB. And now I have purchased the 2 issues I have missed direct from the website. One issue arrived today. With free stickers of teacups. I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it too. IT'S MEANT TO BE!

In other news: I have started working at a different department. Hopefully this means I won't be on the brink of insanity for the next 6 months like I was for the last 8. Hopefully this also means I'll be more inclined to blog again. Being on the brink of insanity means you can't really draw that much humour from day to day happenings. You just mentally scream FML. But no more! Normal service to resume. w00t w00t. Kisses.

17:49 at work...

2010-10-14T17:27:00.001+01:00

How's your capacity for this week?

Well, seeing as it's ten to five on a Thursday and I'm at an infant approval hearing in the morning, not great.

*sniggers actually go around the office mexican wave style*

That's really rude

Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I was just answering your question.

That's really rude.

Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I was just answering your question (no, I've not accidentally typed the same thing twice. That happened)

I mean't next week.

Oh. You said this week

And so on and so forth until we get to the crux of the matter. Can I do some instructions to counsel. Yes. I can. Then she tells me the file. The file has 6 lever arches. And I have 4 days to do it. I didn't think it was possible to have any less respect for her. Oh! It is.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Lookalike

2010-10-08T09:06:00.001+01:00

A Jarrod from Eagle v Shark lookalike has just got on the train. I might throw shoes at his head.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Doggies/Ikea

2010-10-07T21:20:00.002+01:00

Yesterday a very surreal thing happened to me. I was lurking in WH Smith by the ruinously expensive magazines. Obviously I had no intention of buying any of them because they are ruinously expensive. And a guilt free flick means that I can basically read them in 10 minutes anyway.

Somewhere around abouts Britney dressing like a harajuku nightmare I heard the phrase, "I love doggies." I'll be honest. I was a bit offended. It seemed hideously close to my ear and I hoped that I wouldn't have to defend my own honour. I turned around to find that the pets magazines (no, I didn't know they existed either) are directly opposite hideously expensive in the Smith's aisles. I was then confronted with an extremely, extremely, terrifyingly, tall man with his back to me. "Who is this giant?" I asked myself. I moved to the side a little (a lot actually. I moved a fricking lot to see the giant) to gain better perspective on this freakishly tall man. When I got to a good view it was immediately obvious he was blind. And I mean that. If one wears sunglasses and has a white stick they are blind yes? Stood beside him was a Smith's employee. I'll give him this - he may be blind but he picked the best out of a bad bunch in the magazine aisle. He chose a normal looking young lady leaving behind a man who looked older than Father Time himself and a lady who looked like she could have been married to Father Time and the two of them were stone deaf. I know this because they were shouting at each other about where Glamour magazine should go. But I digress. Yes. For a blind man he sure has a 6th sense for helpful employees.

I won't lie. I should have moved off and not stared at the blind man in the magazine aisle but I was mesmerised by him. Perhaps it's my insane fear that one day my sight will deteriorate 0.5 more and I'll end up like that. The conversation went a bit like this:

Him: What doggie is it on the page?

Her: Er, it looks like a Poodle

Him: Is it big?

Her: Quite big

Him: How much of the page? How much of the page does it take up?

Her: Um, half?

Him: Ooooooh *gush, bleugh, gush, spurt* (I inserted the astericks I'm not sure if he actually was thinking that but it looked like it)

Him: Are there any German Shepherds? I love German Shepherds.

It was about now that I snapped out of my car crash rubbernecking like behaviour and decided I had better go and do the lottery in a genuinely futile (WHEN WILL I WIN? WHEN?) attempt to be able to afford a house, any house. A shack even. I found my friends hovering around the dailies stand. Checking up on the latest developments on X Factor no doubt (as an aside, does anyone else think that the people who are saying Gamu should stay in are probably the people who post on the Daily Mail website constantly about how immigrants should go home?). I breezed over clutching my (no doubt) winning lottery ticket and announced very loudly, "I think I just saw some sort of dog porn type behaviour," and recounted the above to them. I think their reaction was actually more shocking than the whole encounter. Instead of being shocked and disgusted by descriptions of dogs being read out to an excited young man they merely said, "If he's blind how does he know what a German Shepherd looks like?" I despair.

This evening I went to Ikea for the first time ever in the UK (I went once in Paris but it truly was a paltry size). I've been hankering after such an outing for quite a long time. When people speak of Ikea to me their eyes mist over and they clutch their breasts and talk of travel to a far away, hallowed land. Finally I arrived tonight. My first impression was that it was quite large. Massive in fact. In we walked. "I'm here!" I thought, "I can buy all sorts of useful plain shit!" I wandered around looking at lights ("You don't have enough room for lamps. And anyway, you've just bought a poodle light" - Thank you mother, crusher of light based dreams), I investigated sofa beds with an extra bit at the end making it a poor man's chaise longue ("That is nice but it'll probably be gone by the time you qualify and move out" - Thank you mother, bringer of brutal reality) and so on and so forth until we found the thing that we actually came for. And then it all went downhill.

I had to fill out some form that asked what aisle it was in and what location. But I wasn't in an aisle. The showroom is one LONG AISLE. So I wandered over to a nice looking lady with pink hair and asked her what aisle this was. She looked at me quizzically. I looked at her quizzically back thinking, "Ahh this must be some sort of Swedish based brow furrowing exercise." Those crazy Swedes. And I also thought, "Why is she looking at me quizzically? She fucking works here." She went to a computer and told me the aisle and location. I'll be honest. I was a bit confused. We were standing in the aisle. And the location. Why did she have to look up where we were standing on a computer. That's like me being at work and someone wandering in to the office and asking me where I'm based and me pulling out my iPhone to find out. But I said nothing. Because she worked there. And she knew best.

Onwards we went. And I got a bit tired and cranky. Mainly because I was hungry. I started to hate Ikea. It was a home based nightmare. I just wanted to get to the end. I'd got what I had come for. But I had to go through office, bedroom, quilts, home organisation (an oxymoron to a person like me), vases and general shit and plants before we got to the check outs. But we didn't get to the check outs. We got to a travelator. "Where are we going now?" I asked my mother, who had continued to brutalise me as we went around the shop metaphorically ripping out each and every hope I have for having a nice house by the way. "To get the stuff," she replied. "But we haven't give the sheet to the man," I said. "What man?" - "The man who gets our stuff for us and then leaves it at the checkout for us so we can pick it up, " I patiently explained to the old dear. And then she laughed. She laughed harder than I have seen her laugh in at least a week because she has been angry with my dad and she carries anger around with her like a handbag, never leaving her side. "There is no man, we go and get it ourselves," she said. My reply, "WHAT??!!!! I can't collect this stuff. It's heavy! And I am only little!" I think it was the, "I'm only little," that did it. She laughed for 5 minutes solidly. I know this because it took me that long to go BACK ON MYSELF and back in to the PRETEND HOUSE OF NIGHTMARES and find a trolley that would take our stuff. A trolley she told me to get I might add. Then when we finally got to the biggest, most epic box in the whole wide world it didn't fit in to the trolley. Like I said it wouldn't when I went to get the trolley in the first place and she shouted me down and told me to get a 'normal' trolley. And I did. You know why I did? Because, reader, I trusted her. Not only is she my mother. She has also been to Ikea TWO MORE TIMES THAN ME. We attempted to get the flat back in but it was like trying to get a life size replica of the Titanic on to the 4th plinth. It just wouldn't happen. So I was sent (even though it was not MY stupidity, sorry I mean, miscalculation) BACK THROUGH THE PRETEND HOUSE OF NOW NON STOP NIGHTMARES FOR A SECOND TIME. By the time we finally got to the checkout I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I didn't have time to hang around by this point. We were going to self checkout and I was going to check the shit out of this stuff. Ma handed me up a storage box and said, "Scan this 3 times". I did. Off we went to the car. And we unpacked the massive trolley in to the car. And it was then that we realised my mum really doesn't know how to count. "Oh," she said, "shit". Upon pressing it turns out she has put 6 boxes in the trolley not 3. So basically I am an accessory to a crime. I'm a burglar of a fake house. And guess what. *I* WENT BACK IN AND PAID FOR THE OTHER THREE. I'm never going to Ikea again. Ever.

Appareil Photo

2010-10-04T21:36:00.002+01:00

Today I realised I haven't taken any pretty photos in a very long time. Sadface. I'm hoping once the 1st November passes I'll be more like myself as opposed to a cranky, tired version who either turns up to things late and leaves early or doesn't turn up at all. Alternatively you could put a key in my back and I'll be able to function like a little dolly.

Soutien-Gorge

2010-09-25T22:24:00.002+01:00

I would very much like this so that I can ask people to check out my guns and it actually mean something.

Je Veux: Part Deux (II)

2010-09-16T21:11:00.005+01:00

I have a thing for anatomically correct hearts. Sterling silver and £40 including p&p. I think I have found my 1 thing I am allowed to purchase per month for next month. w00t.

Coup de Foudre

2010-09-04T15:50:00.003+01:00

I love Pat Butcher therefore I love these earrings. £25 though. Ouch.

Nouveau Amour

2010-09-03T20:41:00.007+01:00

Don't get me wrong, I still very much heart Tara McPherson (in fact I was only looking at her book but 10 minutes ago) but you have to spread the love too right?

A Bank Holiday post will follow but summed up:

ReadingFreeStuffCarnivalWreckUpSailorJerryRedStripeVariousBandsTuborgScottPilgrimComingHomeToFindMessagesThatMakeYouFeelSlightlyLessSadAboutTheEndOfTheWeekend

Whitstable Wedding

2010-08-23T19:42:00.003+01:00

❤ We went to a wedding in Whitstable and when we got there it was not very sunny but very windy. And I sat on the beach all day drinking beer whilst the boys painted a wall. Then we got in and realised that we looked like Rudolph the Red Faced Reindeer. Luckily I had foundation. Unluckily MonsieurB did not.

❤ Then it was the wedding and we sat on the beach with ghetto-blasters, cham-pag-ne, shot glasses, pretend blowjobs, stones, tears, cake tables, buffets, beach huts and dance offs. Then we all danced to on a ragga tip in our pretty dresses. Then Right Said Fred turned up and took all the glory. Those too sexy bastards.

❤ Then we sat at the beach hut all day drinking bucks fizz. Then we buried a man. Then someone put their bum on the man's head. Then we locked the man under the beach hut. And then the man kicked his way out. It sounds like we don't love the man but I think everyone loves the man. Then everyone went for food and we carried on drinking. Then we stopped for an oyster. Then we went to the pub and had lots of shots whilst all the girls screamed about horses and all the boys shook their heads in horror and admiration. Then MonsieurB made us all drink rum. I hate rum apart from the bit where I pretend I'm a pirate. Then I remember I'm not a pirate and fear I'm going to puke. And I could only be placated by a snickers. And maybe a punch in the head

❤ Then we had more beach hut fun but with fish and chip based fun. And then we went home. And I was sad. So I flew the Flag of Fun. Using a pair of expensive tights out of a car door.

❤ (I smoked *gasp*)

Je Veux

2010-08-19T21:09:00.000+01:00

Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux Je Veux

Travail

2010-08-19T18:43:00.000+01:00

Sometimes work is hard. Sometimes it's made more difficult by people belittling you because the only way they can assert their authority is by way of rampant misogyny. And it makes me angry. But then I think of trifle with 100s and 1000s on and remember that speaking to people like they're shit doesn't make you a bigger, cleverer person. It makes you a total wanker.

Miss Bladder

Balloons

Can I be as fit as....

My own private swamp...

I'm a fucking lady

Hair Woe

Dunk

Maniac

Good Deeds

Bon Anniversaire/HOW MUCH?

Bacon Lube

Update

Savage Beauty

This can't be possible....

Naughty China

Hello Winter.

Things that make you go *sigh*. Or me, more specifically

Small hands, big stuff

WANT

Weekend

Sleeping Beauty

Drive

Work

Ambush/Party

Monday

Oh Land

Director's Notes - Tyrannosaur Review

Tyrannosaur

From feeling like shit to a day of fun topped off with excitement...

Boo You Whore

I don't like Girls Aloud

Things I Read

MashUpCarnvial

Reading

Weddings

WANT

Like Crazy

Thrifty As...

I want:

Bumble & Bumble

Let's Dance

Maybe it's cos I'm (not) a Londoner

How very strange...

Broken

Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then

I'll Be Your Mirror

Music Video of the Year? Probably Warpaint, probably

iMac WOOOOOOT!

Save Japan

This came along at just the right time...

Bad Fever

Object of Desire

Tatty Devine - I heart you

NuRave

It would be nice

Comments

Where do you go...my lovely

This is very old (but I like it a lot)

Information Guzzler

FRONT

Wedding Envy

New Shop Alert

The Kooples

Submarine

Hibou

Vingt-Um...

Things I Hate

Things That Have Happened This Week

I Would Friend This Man On Facebook

Dictionnaire

Emperor's New Clothes

Another not proper update *yawn*

I'm no scholar love...

Sweet Charity

Arrrrrggggghhhhh

Noel

petitami

This is what I should do...

Jeudi

What's my name again? I mean, date again?

Things that make you go sigh. Or me, more specifically

Another not proper update yawn