Maniac

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. 

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.]

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

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?

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

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

 via Jezebel

Update

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

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

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

This can't be possible....

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

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.

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

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

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

Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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...

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:

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

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

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.