The Sartorial Voice of Reason

Miss Lacy and her Coco Ribbon Stockings

2012-01-22T07:52:00.000-08:00

Jack Dimachio’s body was found face down in his New York penthouse suite. A Playtex stocking, the dowdy kind so thick my Sergeant used them to wash his car, wrapped tightly round his neck. As Sergeant Jones rolled him over, his blue eyes bulged out of his sockets, glazed with death.
Sergeant Jones whimpered. “Not a pleasant way to go that… Nice suit though.”
Jack Dimachio was the highest paid and best looking divorce lawyer in town, every rich dame looking for a good settlement and a rebound always fled to Jack. With his movie star smile and dark eyes, he’d made a killing with the ladies since he was just 21. Now, twenty years later, it looked like one of the ladies made a killing with him.
“You think he dumped some divorcee and she got her revenge Sir?” Sergeant Jones asked thoughtfully.
“Could be,” I replied, “it’s worth looking at all his previous clients, and a chat with Mrs Dimachio… who found him?”
“His last client Sir, Miss Stoke Lacy.”
“Miss? Why would a miss hire a divorce lawyer?”
“Take a wild guess.” came a husky drawl from behind me.
Stoke Lacy was no innocent. You could see from the look in her eyes, the wavy blonde hair and the perfect curves of her body. This woman was a danger to any man with a pulse.
“We were having an affair.” Stoke smiled, watching my eyes take her in as she took a drag from her cigarette, “It has to be his awful wife, she found out about us, forced him to end it.”
As my eyes reached her legs her smile grew wider.
“I never wear Playtex stockings… What do you think I am, a housewife? I only ever wear Coco Ribbon. You can check.” She held out a shapely leg, her face mocking.
“No need Miss, you may go.” I said. Every man’s eyes following her as she sashayed out of the room.
“We need a talk with Mrs Dimachio, call her in Jones.”
“Of course sir.”

Two hours later, Mrs Dimachio peeped red rimmed eyes over her auburn fox furs, a frail slip of a thing. With her dark curls she must have been beautiful once, but now all remained was the strain of anorexia and a philandering husband.
“I never knew Miss Lacy” she sobbed bitterly, “But I know her reputation. She was poison, always carrying on with other women’s husbands and taking all their money. My Jackie, dead… it must have been her.”
“Please have a tissue Madam” I offered her a box of paper hankies as she collapsed into sobs.
This dame could barely hold up her own arm, let alone strangle a man with a stocking but I had to ask.
“What brand of stockings do you wear Mrs Dimachio?”
“What does that matter?” her voice squeaked, “Am I suspect?”
“We need to rule it out Mrs Dimachio.”
“Playtex, as does virtually every woman in New York. You’ll be a long time finding your murderer if all you do is check their stockings.” She simpered.
“That’ll do for today Mrs Dimachio.” I sighed.
As she left Jones came bustling in. “Sir, Lacy checks out, only ever buys stockings from Coco Ribbon. Here’s a list of Dimachio’s previous clients.”
“Good Jones, now get back to work.” I said gruffly, waving him away.
I slowly scanned the list, a sea of desperate, fed up housewives. Dowdy Playtex stocking after dowdy Playtex stocking. It could be any dame on here, but this wasn’t a crime of passion, this wasn’t some woman scorned, or even a vengeful ex-husband. Tests results showed not a single imprint on the stocking. Whoever did this, planned it. I scanned down to the bottom of the client list… Miss Stoke Lacy. The woman needed another visit.

Turning into the darkened driveway I clasped my gun, I didn’t trust this dame one bit. Striding up to black door I slammed on the enormous brass Lionhead doorknocker.
“Police! I need to speak with Miss Lacy.” I barked.
“Why come in,” came a familiar husky drawl as the door opened
She looked ravishing, in a long black figure hugging dress. Her chest dripping with diamonds. “Do you like them” she smiled, her rich red talons fingering the jewels, “a goodbye present from Dimachio.”
“Where are you going?” I demanded.
“A gala opening.” She smiled.
“Seeming to be holding up without your lover aren’t you.”
She sighed. “I didn’t kill Dimachio.”
“You found him,” I hissed, “he dumped you for his wife, Did you use a Playtex stocking to frame her?”
“Listen, there are things about Dimachio’s missus you don’t know.” Stoke snapped, “Maybe it’s worth checking her bastard child.”
She stared at me, eyebrows raised. A black Saab pulled in the driveway. Stalking away, she called “Now, if you excuse me, I have a gala opening, some of us have lives you know.”

Staring at the office ceiling, the clock ticked past 9pm. I thought of my ex-wife Jo sitting at home with her new husband.
According to the records Jones’ checked, Mrs Dimachio didn’t have an illegitimate child. I had zip. Nothing concrete on the mistress. Nothing on the wife. They both had motive. Lacy had just been dumped, she certainly had the nerve. The wife had been humiliated by his affairs for years, she wore the right stockings – but not the strength to hold them.
Throwing my pen down I saw Jones slumped at his desk.
“Come on” I grabbed his shoulder, “time to head home.”
Then I saw it crumbled in the bin, Mrs Dimachio’s family tree… she had an illegitimate child alright. Someone who certainly used Playtex stockings.

As the door creaked open, I grimaced at Mrs Dimachio.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“How is the case?” she asked, her lips pursed.
“Couldn’t stand the affairs? Didn’t have the strength to strangle him yourself so you got your son to do it?” I growled.
Suddenly I felt the tip of a steel barrel pushed into my skull. “Not quite,” laughed Sergeant Jones.
Slowly I turned my head to see Jones staring at me, his eyes menacing. Reaching for my gun I flinched, it wasn’t in my holster, it was already in Jones’ hands.
“I never introduced you to my mum did I sir?” he smiled.
I turned to see Mrs Dimachio, tears falling down her cheeks.
“Jones, what have you done?” I asked.
Jones grinned, his eyes bulging, “Dimachio was my step father – not that he accepted me, but I was still in the Will, mum begged you see.”
He twisted the gun further into my temple. “I figured I could wait it out, he drank too much, surely living so fast would kill him off. But when Stoke Lacy came along,” he sighed, anger furrowed his brow, “he made a fool of himself for her. It was hell having to watch that whore writhe her way into his will. He wanted to divorce mum and marry Lacy, leave her my entire inheritance.”
“But Dimachio dumped Lacy.” I said.
Jones sighed, “Lacy dumped Dimachio. He gave her mum’s diamonds to wear to the gala in a bid to get her back. It was only a matter of time before my five million would be lining her pockets.” He laughed, “My years on the force weren’t wasted, I knew a printless stocking would make you think it was some anonymous dame.”
Calmly, he pulled back the safety. I squared my shoulders, waiting for the moment to strike.
Out of nowhere a shot fired into the air, whipping his hand away, in one movement I grabbed his shoulder, barging him roughly to the floor.
“Darling!” Mrs Dimachio screamed, rushing over to her bleeding son.
Whirling round I saw her, a swirl of blonde hair emerging from the shadows.
“Good work.” She drawled, her eyes triumphant, “Well, better get on doing your job, arrest the criminals.”
I nodded and pulled out my handcuffs.
“Dimachio didn’t just give me diamonds you know,” she continued. “He was so desperate to get me back he had already changed his Will.”
Moments later she was gone. After scoring five million, Stoke Lacy and her Coco Ribbon stockings sashayed into the night.

Chicken Shit

2012-01-22T07:45:00.000-08:00

I’m a chicken shit.

Forgive the American turn of phrase but I feel it best explains what I am. Frightened of my own fucking shadow.

I don’t blame you if you put this down right now, just stop reading out of lack of interest. Christ, I would. Who wants to read about a woman with no life. A woman who has done nothing. Who has no coherent line of narrative whatsoever.
I almost wish I was Bridget Jones, a whimsical mess she may be but at least she put herself out there, and she got a nice flat in London, her very own Mr Darcy and some top notch media job even though she seems to possess only a mediocre talent for the trade.
I’m a librarian. A 35-year-old single and quite simply bored-out-of-her-brain librarian. There are no kids. There isn’t even any romantic baggage to speak of.
When I was a teenager I had fantasisies of being some dominatrix French secretary style librarian. Prowling the book halls in spiky court shoes, a tight shift dress and leather whips aplenty. I certainly did that a lot in my twenties (minus the whip, well most of the time) and it certainly scared the crap out of Ms ‘High Priestess chartered librarian in charge’ Jones.
So I drabbed down. To be honest the fight went out of me, shift dresses don’t look so pleasant after a bacon and chicken marks & sparks sarnie and you have a bit of a bloat on. And the effect of those heels? My crusted, scarred feet still have yet to recover.
So out came the old woollies, the slippers, the yellow stained blouses, I even got myself a bike to ride to and from the library in. It has a sweet little bell and a basket, all very rustic and could be tres chic… if I lived in a cute country house next to the coast and not in the middle of a busy traffic infested city.
In my drab attire I was much safer, a much more trustworthy and viable option for a promotion which never happened. They thought I would rot happily away with the musty yellowed family sagas.
Which I, of course, am doing. Thirteen years has melted away. Thirteen long years where I have lived vicariously through my beloved books, Where I get lost in the pages, the stories, I became the princess heroine, the femme fatale, the hot shot city lawyer with a penchant for Christian Laboutins.
All the time this voice inside my head screaming the same thing over and over and over. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here. Do something different, something, something frightening.

My flat echoes all previous descriptions of myself. It’s small, it’s clean, it’s mostly white and it’s full of books.
I often sit at my bed and I wonder, what it would be like to take to the high seas, to feel the wind in my hair, the nausea in my stomach. What would it be like to walk into Prada and buy everything on credit, not a worry in the world about the bill. What would it be like to eat blowfish by the forkful, not caring if you survived or if it finished you off.
I always wonder in threes. Three scenarios, three daydreams. Everything happens in threes. I read in Aspects of Interior design that three is the magic number. All decorative ornaments, be they vases or candles, should be placed in threes. It is the number of beauty, of good taste. Then there is the triangle of the lord - the father, the son and the holy spirit or the three sixes stamped on little Damien’s head. The superego, the id, the ego. Even Freud thought in threes. That comforts me on some level. Are you finding me creepy yet? I find me creepy on occasion. It’s the ultimate horror movie jibe, the woman scorned, the woman ignored, she seems so meek, so mild yet here she is going on the rampage with her menstrual blood. I assure you I am not creepy. That if you journeyed into the inner recesses of anybodies mind your findings would not be altogether sane or comfortable. Especially the mind of a woman who hasn’t had any form of sexual contact in three years. That kind of frustration is enough to send anyone a little off kilter. The last man was a blind date who forcefully shoved his hand up my skirt. In my shock I said nothing until he muttered something about the quiet ones being the wettest. I came to my senses then and legged it, sobbing all the way to my front door. How humiliating, 32 and being treated like a teenager by some pervert with his hand in my pants. Men are not pleasant creatures.
And so I am a near on recluse. No dates, a very small amount of friends, no family to speak of since my mother died last year. I am alone. In my flat, with no money and no reason to go on. Do I have choices? Could I just quit, just leave and spend my days roaming the red light district in Amsterdam. Should I run to New York and sing like Sting. Should I apply for a makeover show and watch my confidence blossom as pushy presenters shove me into wrap dresses. No, I know what I will do, I will hide in books and watch as life slowly filters by.

My shoe has a hole in it. I was standing behind the counter, smiling inanely at a customer when I felt it. The edge of my little toe was creeping for freedom, escaping from the leather insoles. I can’t afford new shoes. Flustered I pull out some superglue, whisps of fuzzy brown hair drop into my face. Is it the light or are they streaked with grey? Pulling off my shoes I dap the glue at the split sole, praying again this will work. Then he appears… he is all radiance and smiles with his perfect lock of dark hair dropping on his forehead. He cocks his head to the side when he sees me, like he’s a bird, like I’m his prey. He’s sizing me up and is deciding when is best to strike, when to go for the gullet.
“What are you doing Kate?” he drawls, loudly, so every customer in the library spins round. It’s Kathy, but I don’t bother correcting him.
“Hole in my shoe.” I mutter, desperately looking for a file to bury my head in.
“Buy some new ones for god sake woman.” He tuts, before focusing his broad grin at a quibbling teenage girl who looks like she might orgasm at the very sight of my beautiful but very bossy superior. It makes me sick that at just 26 he is already a chartered librarian. One more step and he’ll run the whole library. It makes me dread the day Ms Jones leaves.
Well, almost.
“Kathy! I need you to recatalog the entire Mills & Boon section. That old lady Janice Dickenson has run amok with them again.” Comes her booming voice, she strides past me, hair in a tight severe bun, lips pursed. Who knew such a short skinny woman would inspire such distaste in me.
“Peter, darling” she coos, clasping his muscular and veiny hand as he leans against the counter. I should have known they would be in it together.
I nod and run to the Mills & Boons, aghast at the mess. Mrs Dickenson has started ripping the raunchy sections out for her own personal collection. I know I should charge her, but since her husband Fred died I can see how lonely she is.
“I just want to remember what it feels like to be touched” she whimpers at me every time.

You and me both sister.

Later, Peter announces loudly that he has a date. He smirks at me. No idea why he feels the need to do this. It’s quite obvious for anyone who happens to look upon us that he, as some Adonis of the librarian world would have a date with some elegant blonde, whereas I, the greying spinster in the long brown cardigan would not. Why he feels the need to show off and rub it in is truly beyond me. Self-esteem is a funny thing. I trundle off home on my bike. The wind is cold against my face and I wish I had worn gloves. I start to think about death. It comes as if from nowhere and gives me a bizarre sense of pleasure. Wouldn’t it be so dramatic if I lay on my red carpet and slit my throat. If the blood intermingled with the carpet and by the time anybody found me they wouldn’t be able to see any blood at all. They would think I was merely sleeping. That would certainly get some attention. The thought consumes me so much I almost don’t see the cab coming toward me. I almost don’t see it as it crashes into my bike, crunching the front wheel. But as I come flying over the handle bars I see the big black cab then. I see the headlights, I hear the screech of the tires. I feel the smooth hard cold bonnet as my body crashes against it. I hear the crack in my neck. Slowly I roll off the car and crash onto the pavement. Real blood rising into my mouth. And I think, this is it. This is the change, the something different I had been waiting for. My heart slows. All goes black around me and I wish to god I had stuck with my spiky court heels. Who rides a bike in spiky heels.

Yogi the Orangutan vs. Pedro the Tiger

2012-01-22T04:26:00.000-08:00

What a day in the wrestling world! The two arch rivals Yogi the Orangutan - a German reared in Berlin and famed for his flexibility and endurance - and Spanish Pedro, with his handsome demeanour, smooth talking style with the ladies and claws tougher than steel nails, are going to clash once more.
For many months Yogi has been consigned to second place, he has cowered beneath the bed but he hasn't been lazy, he has trained hard, refined his technique - the crowd all have eyes for the underdog today as he makes his way to the mattress soft training ring. You would think the soft ground makes it easier for our dogged contestants, but in fact, it just makes balance and core strength a very key component to this fight.
With his many years of yoga training, you would think Yogi a shoe in for winner every time. But his long limbs fail him. The flail around and Pedro's stouter body has always fared him well in previous fights.
They're waiting for the ref, pumped and eager to begin the first round.
She arrives, her red fair falling about her shoulders, they both draw a breath as she enters the ring.
Round one has begun!
The pair stalk around each other, Yogi on his knuckles, Pedro's lean powerful shoulder muscles working. Yogi makes the first blow, tossing Pedro towards the wall of the ring. Here he collapses with a thud. But he's up again, takes another blow from Yogi. This is not a good start for Pedro, has he become cocky with his previous wins? And Yogi has him round the waist, but Pedro is fighting back, he has Yogi off him, has whacked him hard in the face with a claw - that must've hurrrrt. And another whack from Pedro, throwing Yogi almost clear out of the ring! After a great start Yogi is suffering now. Can he hold on for round two?
The ref signals the end of the round by rolling into position for round two. The pair retire to their seperate ends of the ring. Yogi can barely hide his frustration for coming in too fast. Pedro is worried, he shouldn't have allowed his opponent such an open hit straight away.
Round two has begun!
The two storm towards each other with such ferocity! There's no hesitation this time, no sizing each other up - oh look at that blow from Yogi straight to Pedro's chest. Pedro wastes no time in retaliation. Oh, this is a close match! Pedro's stout body is once again faring him well but the strength in the long limbs from Yogi is incredible - how can Pedro fight when Yogi has him all wrapped up in his arms and legs? Just one playful smack from Yogi's giant hand would kill a human man. But don't underestimate the strength of Pedro's teeth and claws, he could rip Yogi's chest apart if Yogi drops his defence for just one second...
And there's the end of round two!
This is a match that could go on all night. Actually, it does. Every night.
For Yogi and Pedro are teddys that sit on the bed pillow of a woman in her 20's. (Apart from when the boy stays, they they are safely tucked away under the bed.)
Every night they battle to retain pole position on her bed. If the woman had any idea this was occuring next to her flame haired head while she slept she would be outraged. But she has no clue, she sleeps soundly as they wrestle away. The one or two times she has awoken and seen them, she has put it down to yet another odd dream.

The life and times of Mark vs. George.

2011-09-19T09:51:00.000-07:00

At 11.45pm Mark closed his eyes. He pulled up his duvet close to his chin and revelled in the warmth of it.
He had a little daydream about winning the men's final at Wimbledon, Nadal being putty in his serve before sleep drifted him away.
At 9.15 Mark woke with a start. DAMN! He'd missed his alarm, overslept! Bleary eyed he started to stagger to the bathroom and crashed into a marble wall. Rubbing his head he gazed at the marble wall in a confused fashion. He didn't have any marble walls in his house. This made no sense. What sort of a person has marble walls in his bedroom? Who the hell could afford such a thing anyway? Perhaps he was having a weird dream, sometimes his dreams felt this vivid. They didn't usually hurt his head quite so much though...
'George sir?' came a quiet voice. He turned to see a small ginger woman in a maids outfit. She looked young, 19 maybe, timid in her demeanor. 'Are you alright?' she asked.
"I am" Mark replied, "but who's George?"
The maid looked perplexed. "You sir" she ventured.
This really was one freaky dream for Mark. He gazed in the mirror on the wall, it was certainly his reflection. Why did this strange girl think he was called George. Where the hell was he?!
As he looked round the room he had never seen a bedroom so lavish. As well as the marble walls, all the furniture was ornate to the point of ostentatious. This had never been Mark's personal taste, what with him being a nice chap who preferred the simple things in life.
The walls were covered in Beatles records. "Who likes the Beatles?" he asked, with a incredulous edge to his tone. (Again, not really his cup of tea.)
"You sir" the maid answered again, completely bewildered, "it's your job sir."
His job? Now Mark was completely confused. He was a vetinary nurse and he really had no idea what this strange ginger girl was talking about. And why did she keep calling him sir like he was her boss or something? It made him feel quite uncomfortable.
"You're a George Harrison impersonator" the maid added, "and I think you may have had too much to drink last night sir."
Now Mark understood, he had jumped into someone elses body. Like Quantum Leap! And he was here to sort out whatever rot this George Harrison impersonator had got involved in. Maybe he would save his life, win the femme fatale as his own!
"By the way, your mum is on the phone" the Maid added, handing him an iPhone 5. Mark wasn't even aware these were out yet. Who knew impersonators were so well paid and connected.
"Mum?" Mark asked.
"George love" she started.
It was his mum! He knew his mum's voice anywhere, it was her! It was Ruth! But why was she calling him George. Oh this made no sense.
"Mum, why are you calling me George, my name is Mark."
"Oh no love, we nearly called you Mark but your dad didn't like it. Changed it to George at the last moment. It's a good thing too really, because you became your wonderful super successful George Harrison impersonator self keeping your entire family in the lap of luxery. I'm sure if we had called you Mark you would have ended up a vetinary nurse or something... "

A world without daydreams

2011-08-26T05:44:00.000-07:00

Some time in 2047 instant teleportation was invented.
Yes, some incredible supergeek developed a chip that could be placed into the thumb. The initial prototype meant that you could be transported to the place in your mind you most desired to be. However, Mr Supergeek adapted his idea when he kept turning up in pretty girls beds. The screaming just got a bit too much.
So, for his final design to work, you had to say where you needed to be out loud. He also created parameters around houses. Rather like a vampire, if you wanted to enter, you had to be invited across the threshold.
Soon, Mr Supergeek was so wealthy and powerful he made Mark Zuckerburg look like a stupid pauper. He turned the world into a fantastically productive place. Procrastination was eliminated from the dictionary and great leaders envisioned a world where people became these demi gods who never had to stop, who became greater and richer and more productive all the time!
Except, they didn't.
There was a bizarre side affect to Mr Supergeeks new invention he didn't anticipate.
The death of daydreaming. There were no more people staring out of windows on trains or cars or planes, planning futures and admitting to their minds their deepest desires and wants. Or creating silly stories in their heads, or coming up with crazy inventions such as teleportation via microchips in thumbs.
Truely, the world was a very productive place. No one faffed around. No one experienced delays. The world was an efficient machine where no one needed to read books, make up stories or feel desire or longing or excitement. (Well, how can you feel longing or excitement if you get something immediately?)
Despite what Mr Supergeek thought, that people would be teleporting themselves to crazy, amazing locations - the death of daydreaming meant that people just went where they needed to be. The office, that meeting, the supermarket. Couples didn't transport themselves to waterfalls and frolic in the surf because they had no time to create such a fantasy. They were so busy being productive. Getting things done. Ticking off lists. They went through the motions, day after day, in their perfect mechanical way.
One morning as Mr Supergeek awoke, his surgically enhanced bronzed beauty by his side, a deep sadness he couldn't understand or place in his heart, he saw something sticking out of the corner of his bed.
With confusion he realised what it was... something he had not seen in a long long time. A real (i.e. not computer generated) playing card. A queen of hearts.
The queen spoke to him in a way no one had spoken to him in many years. She said one word. Just one little word that had been missing from the world since his invention launched.
Magic.

What about me?

2011-07-18T13:45:00.000-07:00

I often think about what Marilyn Monroe's last thoughts were before she died.
In fact, I often think about what people's last thoughts are before they go. Morbid I know and a weird thought for a mini champagne bottle like me. I'm Moet by the way. Well, my full name is Moet Chandon Brut Imperial the third, a junior officer of the champagne order. But my friends call me Mo.
I'm honestly not prone to depression or anything, despite having a candle stuck in my head and melting down my body.
Bloody barbaric the things humans do, they either smash us, or if we're pretty they stick wax on top of us and burn us. They have become more humane as the years have gone by and started to send us for reincarnation so we can have many lives, not just as champagne bottles but also water bottles or beautiful paper to be handwritten on, or toilet roll... admittedly that one's not so glamorous.
Anyway, back to my morbid ponderings. I just don't believe your life will actually flash before your eyes. I really don't. I mean, death takes a second, there is no way a lifetimes worth of memories can flash into your head in that time, your synapses will explode. It's clearly something people say as comfort. The thought that as you are going you will get to relive the best bits, see the ones you love one last time.
I think people will be thinking something much more mundane. Something like, 'I should have eaten the cauliflower instead of the broccoli.' Or, perhaps petulantly, 'this isn't fair.'
I've decided that Marilyn would have been thinking, 'what about me?'
I feel a great connection with Marilyn Monroe. I think it's because we are both glamour icons. I know for a fact she drank a lot of my kind too. Probably more senior officers. Lucky buggers.
Would she have regretted being a vacuous sex symbol? Felt enormous frustration that she was nothing more than the male attention she received?
Despite the book after book she devoured no one saw more than her curves and pretty smile. No one listened to what she said unless it was sung in breathy tones. I know how that feels, no one pays any attention to me unless I'm full of joy and bubbles.
Would she have hated the double bind she felt stuck in? The fact that she craved and hated this attention from men? The fact that the entire world thought she had everything because every man wanted her. Well, at least the symbol of her. But no one really understood the thoughts in her head.
Would she have hated the pressure she felt to always be a performing monkey of charm and seduction? I've watched women have to do it, I'll be poured into a retro champagne glass and I watch as women smile and listen animatedly to dull men because they so desperately need these ridiculous and rude buffoons to like them, to feel loved. To be an eternal seductress, worth only what the last man thought of you, oh god the pressure of being an everlasting flirt in a sexually saturated world.
And it's not just that, it must have been tough for Marilyn to always be dealing with other women's jealousy because of how she was desired, but in the same breath she needed to keep it up at all times, needed to be the most beautiful woman in the world time and time again, just having one man think it once was not enough, she needed all men to think it constantly, always. Because to this world, that was her entire worth.
With all this swirling round her head it's no surprise she took her own life...
Sometimes I'll be burning away, the creamy wax dripping down my neck, the only attention I'm paid is for that of my outer image and those thoughts will creep into my head too: "What about me?"
I have thoughts, feelings, and I'm rather good at long division. Will anyone pay any attention to that? I am not just a beautiful empty vase for candle burning.
What about me?

The one where I arrogantly answer the Q&A from guardian weekend.

2011-07-16T06:02:00.000-07:00

When were you happiest?
I couldn't possibly pick one particular time but I'm a woman who loves novelty and change, when I first moved to Cardiff, when I first moved to London, whenever I start a new job. I'm always terrified as I like structure and routine but pushing myself seems to make me happy.

What is your greatest fear?
Never having a family of my own, and drowning.

What is your earliest memory?
I was in reception and my school got flooded, I was wearing a purple cowgirl style dress with black fringing. I remember my teacher complimenting it. My obsession with clothes was born.

Which living person do you most admire and why?
I'm going to cheat and say two people. My parents. My mum is my emotional life guru and my dad my practical life guru.

What was your most embarrassing moment?
Drunkenly sobbing on the night bus home last night was pretty embarrassing.

What is your most treasured possession?
My grandmother's Emerald ring. And my iPhone.

Where would you like to live?
A London flat I actually own.

What would your super power be?
The ability to persuade anyone to do anything. I would use it for the powers of good of course.

Who would play you in the film of your life?
Paloma Faith. She acts too, she was in The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

What makes you unhappy?
Hangovers, loneliness and misogyny.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Forgive me arrogance, but on the most part I quite like my appearance. If I don't go to the gym for a few days though, I start to feel like a blob.

What is your most unappealing habit?
I'm quite patronising. It just blurts out, I can't help it!

What is your favourite smell?
Books, new and old.

What is your favourite word?
Superfluous. I like to pronounce it super-flow-us.

What would be your fancy dress of choice?
I'd like to dress up as a black forest gateau. I'd wear plum velvet trousers, a brown top covered in chocolate sprinkles, plum velvet long gloves, a white wig, fifties make up with a cherry in my wig.

What is the worst thing anyone's said to you?
'I love you, I just don't think I can love you in the right way.'

What is your guiltiest pleasure?
I secretly enjoy pulling mascara goop out of my eye. I love it when it spreads across my eye and I have to pull it out slowly, like a string. It's weird and it makes me tingle.

What do you owe your parents?
Love and my time. They have spent years listening to me, and they deserve to be listened to in return.

To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why?
I spend my entire life apologising for myself. If I've really hurt someone, I imagine I have already apologised for it.

What does love feel like?
Like you are going mad. And then boredly content.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
'I went on this really bad date...'

If you could go back in time, where would you go?
To the 1940's to watch Rita Hayworth flamenco dance.

When did you last cry?
This morning, to an advert about a charity for deaf and blind children. It was really sad!

How do you relax?
Working out, drinking, reading, daydreaming to loud music.

What song would you like played at your funeral?
Proud and Humble by Imelda May. I'm not religious but I do live my life very much this way. I always do my best.

How would you like to be remembered?
Positively and with love from my grandchildren.

The clock.

2011-07-09T16:41:00.000-07:00

I am the clock. I am never late. Always on time. Always to be relied upon.
As I, the clock, strike two, Jack is not on time. He is late and thus, cannot be relied upon.
He has his excuses set out, the district line was down, his ex-girlfriend kept calling, being the crazy bitch she is, then his trainers got eaten by the dog and thrown into a pit of fire by the dragon that attacked his dog and flew away with them. And obviously he had to follow the dragon and get his trainers back because his loafers didn't work with the rest of his outfit and certainly wouldn't work for the romantic picnic he had planned today with his new girl Jess.
Well, I have said new girl, but being the clock I know what Jess is doing by my time, and as I strike two, she is going into Primark. She is not interested in unreliable Jack. She had a man like him in her past, a man who was unreliable and she vowed to never go down that route again. So in her mind Jack, though he does not know it yet, is dumped and Jess is off out shopping to buy that long floral maxi skirt she's had her eye on. Having been let down yet again by yet another man, she thinks she might deserve it.
Sometimes I, the clock, wonder if relationships are worth the hassle. I watch time and time again the lies couples tell around the time they keep. 'I was in the office dear,' he says while he was actually playing golf.
'Sorry I'm late, massive queue at the supermarket' she says, when actually she was in a hotel room banging the life out of her dental nurse. (The audacity of it, she could of at least have gone for the dentist).
It's 2.12pm and Jack is at Jess' door. He rings and rings but there is no answer. He's getting nervous. Did they definitely make plans for today? It was definitely today, he's not going mad. She had made that comment about disliking lateness. Is she punishing him? At 2.20pm he rings again, no answer. He decides to wait. He really likes Jess, hasn't felt this way about anyone for a long time. Shit, he should have been on time. God he thinks she's beautiful with her long brown hair and hazel eyes. Really nice bum too. And her laugh, just lovely. I strike 2.35pm and now Jack is very nervous.
Jack should be nervous, at exactly this hour Jess is walking down the high street, skirt in hand and a smile on her face. She catches the attention of everyone who walks by. Jack is not really on her mind at all.
I, the clock, wish more women were like this. So many women sit by me counting the seconds for his arrival. They don't go out and find their own joy, even if it's a simple pleasure, like a walk in the park or a new skirt. They wait for a man to give them pleasure, to give them worth.
It's funny because although I wish more women were like this, it really is rather detrimental to me. If they are out searching their own pleasures, they rather forget about me. I pass them by, like the wind, and they barely even notice I'm going. I don't get the same love, care and attention.
Jack should have given me that. He should have paid me some attention. Now it's going to take a great deal of effort to regain Jess' affections. I'm not even sure flowers will cut it. She has drifted away from him on the breeze and it's quite possible her feelings no longer remain. All because he was a couple of hours late. He didn't pay me, the clock, the respect I deserve.
That makes me feel rather good, like some sort of god. I don't want to be a tyrant with my powers, though it is tempting to ration myself. The less time everyone has the more precious I become. It would be nice to be considered a rare jewel. No one appreciates me when I'm generous.
And so I strike 3.54pm and Jess is back at her door. Jack is still there, looking rather glum with his wilted flowers and pathetic looking stale sandwiches. He has waited for nearly as long as he made her wait. Perhaps this will be enough for Jess?
'We could have spent the last four hours together you know.' Jess says to him.
Jack is full of apologies. It will never happen again he swears. 'Our time together is too precious.'
Ahhh, there ladies and gents, is the respect I deserve.

The Buddha Clan: Part II

2011-07-05T14:09:00.000-07:00

It has been many months since our first visit to the buddha clan. I am pleased to report that King Pink Buddha was not usurped by 'disco buddha.' It seems the ginger goddess is fickle in nature and what she once considered shimmering in glorious light, soon became tacky over priced bits of broken mirror.
In fact, it seems King Pink Buddha has been rewarded for this difficult time where his throne was in disrepute. He has been given a jaunty tequila hat to emphasise his jolly disposition and make him the same height as the serene buddhas who flank him.
The ginger goddess has also bought him a pet. A tiny golden buddha, this buddha hangs round his neck and gives him nuggets of wisdom on all matters. In fact, yesterday, as King Pink Buddha was reaching for a second portion of coconut pudding, golden buddha whispered the calorie content in the dessert. With a heavy sigh King Pink Buddha realised where his moobs come from.
Despite the sobering health messages, King Pink Buddha has grown to love his little advisor and, goodness, the little guy has a cheeky sense of humour. Just the other day he was playing hoopla with one of the goddesses rings, tossing it over the serene buddhas pointy hats and chortling with merriment.
At this point, the ginger goddess wandered into the living room. Quick as a flash the buddhas froze as any good personified household object should when a real life person enters the room. She saw the ring on the pointy hat and laughed, thinking the brunette goddess had put it there, just part of her odd sense of humour. The brunette goddess thinks the ginger one did it, and is becoming concerned for her sanity.
But what of the rest of the clan? It has grown in size and personality. The buddhas are taking over the windowsill and beyond. General Pewter Buddha still tries to rule the roost, but as life is going so well for the buddha clan, as they are so loved and revered by the goddesses, he is more often than not ignored.
The most exciting new addition to the clan is... well, a female buddha. An unexpected twist to the tale! She is kept inside a glass house and gold flakes float about her person, adding to her beauty and mystery. The rest of the clan adore her and often lay lotus flowers at her feet. Sadly she cannot touch these flowers, her glass house restricts such contact.
But who of her male admirers will she choose? Will it be nearly headless buddha, the brave warrior who lost his head in a battle with the great emperor Christmaswrappingpaper, but was rescued with the speedy application of some glue? Or perhaps it will be giant golden buddha and his sidekick, not so giant golden buddha. Perhaps her protecter, the old, wizened and er, wooden rotting buddha will win her heart with his devotion and experience. Perhaps one of the serene buddhas will entice her with their sweet fables told with melodic voices. Or lazy buddha, laying back with a massive smile, bulbous belly and offerings to the gods will press her buttons? It is always difficult to foresee which way a lady's affections will swing.
King Pink Buddha is a little concerned with the new yearnings in his clan. All this idle chasing of a woman is distracting the buddhas from their true service to the goddesses. What if they notice? What if they are not appeased? The black sack of evil could take them all!
He is hatching a plan. A plan of sacrifice of lady buddha to the goddesses. Surely that will appease them?
However, it's pretty tempting to just have her for himself, that will stop all this ridiculous pining in the clan and what woman doesn't love a jaunty hat?
Besides, he is the king after all, it is he who should have a wife the entire clan reveres...

The tamed Lion

2011-07-04T14:40:00.000-07:00

Once there was a lion named Jazz. He spent his days sat on a desk. His mane was... well I would say enormous but these things are all relative. Compared to the rest of his body his mane was enormous. But compared to a real lion's mane Jazz's springy orange tendrils were,without meaning to be rude, rather lacking.
Because you see Jazz was a mascot. A very tame Lion. He idly sat on this desk, a symbol of all that his owner could achieve in her working life. A muse, if you will. To her he represented courage, power, fiestyness, determination. You'd think representing such immense traits would be a lot of pressure for a tiny fuzzy little lion to undertake but in reality, he was very frustrated. You see the problem with being a symbol, a muse, is that you don't really get to achieve much yourself. You are just a representation of someone elses achievements and self worth. So much potential trapped in a gilted cage of mere inspiration.
And so Jazz dreams of much more than the spurious life he is currently assigned too. He dreams of being wild, running through the woods, the fields, the desert on his own four paws. Fighting knights and roaring at the stars. He dreams of having a real mane rather than tendrils of wool, of having intimidating muscles rather than cotton fuzz.
He cares for his owner, he knows he helps her through the day and he is grateful for this small job. He knows she thinks he is beautiful. But he envies her reality. She runs on grass with her own two feet and dances through the streets of London late into the night. She rules her own world, fights her own battles and rescues herself over and over. She is not tame like him and oh, how he is jealous of her. While she is out feeding the world with her song of passion, resentment, hatred, love and joy Jazz sits on her desk dreaming of the night sky he never sees.
Some days when she is sad, when she is feeling the pressure of the world and thinks perhaps it would be easier if she were tame too, just someone's muse, he wants to roar at her. He does everything he can to use his paws to scratch at her face and make her realise how lucky she is to be wild and free. That if she would give him the chance he could turn into a true almighty beast who could take her and her freedom on.
One night a different cleaner comes to the desk to wipe down the computer screen. Unlike the usual cleaner who finds Jazz the mascot very sweet, this cleaner has a nasty ambivalent face. He plucks up Jazz from the desk. 'What is this bit of tat?' he mutters with disapproval. Sighing he chucks Jazz into the black bin bag and continues to drag it about the office.
Panic fills up poor little Jazz's heart. His owner! His desk! His life! His beautiful gilded cage! It's gone, all gone. He is stuck in the darkness, lost to the wilderness. He feels as though he is suffocating, the stench of rubbish about him, dread weeps through his body. The bag is tossed through the air and Jazz knows that if he were able to vomit he would be retching everywhere by now. The bag hits something with a shudder and Jazz comes rolling out with a whimper. It is a different kind of darkness now, a cold darkness with twinkly lights. He claws at the other black bags in the garbage truck, starts to roar with fear at the starry night sky...
With that, Jazz starts to realise what has happened. He is no longer tame but wild and it is terrifying and beautiful and wonderful. He continues to roar but it takes on a different quality, full of hope.
He is free and roaring at the stars.

The hedonistic puppet.

2011-06-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

There was once a little blonde puppet dressed in purple. She had little purple clogs, a glittery purple dress and even purple eyeshadow to match her purple eyes and dainty little mouth.
If a fairy had appeared from nowhere and turned her into a real girl, then she would have been considered someone who was a people pleaser, someone with low self esteem, a worrier perhaps prone to anxiety and depression. As a real girl she may have sought herself help from a cognitive behavioural therapist.
But as it is, she is a dancing puppet with a penchant for purple clothes and glitter.
She often goes on dates with boy puppets (alas, she has not yet found her Pinocchio), and on these dates she truly sparkles. She is witty, sexy, interesting, full of big smiles and giggles. The boy puppets generally always ask her out again. But as she smiles, inside she feels rather, well, wooden. Her heart has not yet come into play and without any real emotion to fuel it, her sparkle is splintering. It is too bright, too needy. And she is becoming so very very tired with her 'oh please like me, please like me!' dance.
She doesn't only do this dance for the boy puppets. Day in, day out, she performs this dance for anyone who shows a smidgen of interest. Everyone she speaks to. She whirls and twirls on her strings, her expensive glitter swirling around for anyone who might look. She is full of smiles and positivity. She lives a whirlwind of hedonism to make those around her smile. To entertain them with her stories and parties. Without it all she worries everyone will see her for what she is, just a plain wooden puppet.
After another day of whirling and twirling in ernest, desperate for love, attention and belonging. Our lovely purple puppet droops to the ground, her eyes virtually closed, she is caged by self loathing and the need to please others. Yet again her dance has drained her and still she has not recieved the love and appreciation she so craves.
That night, her dreams were visited by a kindly looking fairy dressed all in green.
"Are you going to turn me into a real girl?" asks the puppet.
The fairy shakes her head and instead puts a rather ugly, bony hand on her head. Her kindly face morphs into something far more sinister. She tugs at our puppets hair until tears spring into her large purple eyes.
"If you want to be free, you have to cut your own strings" hisses the fairy before she dissolves into dust.
Although it's agonizing, our brave little puppet pulls down each string and rips at them with her teeth. It feels like it takes hours, all night in fact. As she rips apart one string another seems to appear. But she continues, silently sobbing through the pain, ripping the strings away.
The next morning she wakes with an odd feeling. She is no longer wooden! She has flesh, skin and bone. No longer does she feel self conscious, desperate for others love and desire. Instead of sparkling with need, our purple puppet shimmers with self assurance and worth. She doesn't even feel the need for the purple eyeshadow.
With this new found self love and respect, she is free from pandering to the demands of others. She finds everyone is looking at her differently. Contrary to her expectations, they are looking at her with real admiration, real respect, they really like her.
Finally, our puppet's heart comes into play.

A Gentleman Caller.

2011-03-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

For the past few months Miss Mayer has been entertaining a Gentleman Caller.
He's tall, attractive, works out and looks after his health. He's actually a bit blonder than you would expect... perhaps a little gingery? He definitely has a bit of a beard. A man like that always gives Miss Mayer terrible stubble rash but she secretly quite enjoys it, even though it can make her face very sore. Sometimes he wears glasses, but not always.
He's a bit retro in his ways and this is marked by the fact that he likes to wear a hat. Men nowadays never seem to wear hats, it's a real travesty.
The Gentleman Caller has a lovely voice. His accent can often change, sometimes he's northern, sometimes Welsh, sometimes a posh southern boy. A couple of times he has been a bit of an Essex boy. But one thing never changes, Miss Mayer loves listening to him and every intelligent, interesting, sometimes slightly geeky thing he has to say.
He takes the mickey out of her a lot but it's clear he adores her and her ditzyness. He adores the fact she can't put up a tent to save her life or even with a google map in her hand, will still end up going the wrong way. It means that he can sometimes look after her a little bit. Put her to bed when she's had too much to drink and is gabbling away about some rubbish.
I could go on and on about the thoughtful, romantic gestures that the Gentleman Caller could give. But that's not his way and it's not even really what Miss Mayer wants. Flowers on special occasions are nice, he knows that and does his best. But really he just loves being with her, doing things together. He loves it when she bakes for him, he loves it when they lie in bed and read together.
He's a very decent, reliable and kind man who puts Miss Mayer first. She's more important to him than beer and the boys but only just! And he knows she needs her space to go out with the girls or even just be alone sometimes.
His sense of humour is pretty daft and silly. He's also creative, confident in himself and imaginative. Miss Mayer is always impressed by the fact that he seems to think quite differently to other people, he thinks like her.
He isn't too moody and is quite laid back but this doesn't stop him from being ambitious and passionate.
Although he is a massive softy, he's still a typical bloke. He still watches gory action films, the odd bit of football and/or rugby and is a bit obsessed by breasts and sex.
Despite fulfilling her checklist of 'perfect man wants' the most important thing about Gentleman Caller is that he loves Miss Mayer and would do anything for her. Oh and he thinks she's damn hot stuff. He tells her of these things sometimes, but often he doesn't need to. She can tell by the way he acts.

Yes, the Gentleman Caller really is the perfect man. What a shame he is a mere figment of Miss Mayer's imagination and lives only as the shirt of one of her former boyfriends (we'll call him 'A') and the tie of another former boyfriend, 'B', and a man's trilby she found in a shop in York and thought would rather suit her, all hanging on her clothing rack.

Last week Miss Mayer had an epiphany. She realised she could never move on with her life if she held on to the past, and to an idealised notion of what the perfect man would or could be. She decided that the two former boyfriends would not miss their tie and shirt, considering she'd had them both for a very long time and neither had come back to reclaim them. So she took the tie and the shirt and threw them in the bin.

The inability to stop daydreaming.

2011-03-23T13:48:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back I wrote a post about giving up daydreaming. So I thought I would write a little update on how I'm doing with the, well, you know, not daydreaming...

It can't be done.

Seriously, it's totally impossible.

Although, I've not been daydreaming at work and getting to bed on time a lot more and making it to the gym earlier, all of which are positives. But you can't change the habits of a lifetime in just a few weeks and Ryan Reynolds is too strong a pull to resist for 20 minutes at 6.10pm on the tube.

I chatted with a friend about this (the inability to stop daydreaming that is, not Ryan Reynolds centered fantasies) and as I've never been one to sleep well she suggested that perhaps daydreaming is the way my brain rests.

That and it really does cheer me up after a stressful day.

Thus, I shall reach a compromise. I shall accept that daydreaming is just part of who I am and this will never change but I will try very hard to not daydream in the below situations:

1) At work

2) When I should be down the gym (perfectly fine to daydream while I'm at the gym, helps the time go by in a much more pleasurable manner)

3) When visiting my parents (they deserve my full attention!)

4) When out and chatting to friends (as above)

5) When I'm on a date and meant to be focusing on what the man is saying (insensitive to be daydreaming about Mr Reynolds or Mr Depp at this point really)

6) When I should be going to bed

7) When I should be having a post run shower (I know, I'm disgusting)

8) When I should be cleaning the kitchen/bathroom/sweeping the living room floor

9) When I'm already running late to meet someone and shouldn't really be making myself later...

Oooh, Johnny and Ryan, without shirts but with chocolate brownies that don't make you fat.

Whoops. What can I say, the place in my head is just a nicer place to be.

Giving up my largest vice.

2011-02-26T04:46:00.000-08:00

When I was younger I did one of those quizzes in a magazine that determines what kind of personality you are. Obviously such quizzes are often a load of generalised rubbish but this one got me spot on. It said I was one of life's dreamers. Always got my head in the clouds in a world of fantasy.
I live in a little fantasy world a lot more than I live in reality. (N.B I am able to tell the difference between my little fantasy world and reality - I don't have a personality disorder, I assure you all!). I can't even begin to imagine the hours upon hours upon hours of my life I have spent day dreaming. It's my greatest pursuit, my largest vice.
My very vivid and extensive imagination does have some plus points. I can write a silly story at the drop of a hat, I think very creatively at work, I'm more fun to be around as I have a very particular silly outlook on the world. Also, it's a great survival technique, something that keeps me cheerful. If I'm having a crap day I can just day dream about shoes and/or sex for a while and then I feel much better.
However, constant day dreaming has many negatives. A sheer lack of productivity is certainly one of the worst aspects of being a daydreamer. For example, it can be super busy at work, I'm working really hard and then Ryan Reynolds sans shirt chained to the floor a'la that famous scene in Blade pops in my head. Next thing I know, an hour has passed... in reality I have done little more than stare at a spreadsheet but in my fantasy world Ryan and I have met, fallen madly in love, married and he re-enacts that scene for my personal pleasure on a daily basis. Or, I've just got home from a really good night out with my girl mates. I should be going to bed and getting some sleep but I put some music on, lay on my bed and imagine all the amazing holidays and shopping trips me and my girlie mates could go on if I won a million quid on the lottery. Next thing I know, it's nearly two in the morning and I need to be up at 7am. I have lost many a weekend dancing round my house to music and imagining I'm a world famous jazz singer. I read an article recently that people tweeting all the time means they are now easily distracted from life's tasks. I never needed twitter to be distracted - my little fantasy land always did that for me.
Although my daydreaming has made me quite ambitious, as I'm always dreaming about the next big step, the next big thing. I worry that this means I will never be happy or content with my lot. I mean, it's hardly as if my daydreams are rooted in any achievable reality. I don't buy lottery tickets so it's pretty much impossible for me to win, I'm never going to become a world famous jazz singer due to the fact that I suffer from stage fright and it's not as if Ryan Reynolds lives down the road (sad times that). Constant day dreaming means that sometimes I don't appreciate the great things I have achieved and the amazingness of reality!
So, for one week, I have decided to instill some discipline to my head and give up day dreaming. I know this will not be easy. I gave up chewing pens just by putting nail biting solution on them but, as a former colleague pointed out to me, there is no nail biting solution for the brain.
Here are my rules for this week:
1) No music unless I'm doing something. I.e. right now, I have some music on but I'm writing so that's ok. But laying on my bed and putting music on is a no no. It's a sure fire way to day dream and no sleep at all land.
2) I shall have a daydream allowance. Twice a day I walk about twenty minutes to and from work. I have to make this walk so here is where I am allowed to let my brain go mental and have a good day dream to get it out of my system.
3) Instead of listening to my Ipod and daydreaming on the tube I will always read my book no matter how crowded it is. I shall read when I'm waiting for the tube as well.
4) If I start to daydream I shall stop and do something productive.
5) Every day I shall appreciate all the good things about my reality.

Dr Robotham and the 'evil' Roasted Penguin.

2011-01-30T13:35:00.000-08:00

There was once a world where mice drove tube trains. The mice bloody loved it and you could hear them squeaking with delight through the trains PA system.
In this world, plays at the theatre would consist of women laughing and little else. And women in general were ruled by the pendants on their necklaces. As little girls, who had not yet been chained by the pendants desires for beauty and love, they would run amok in the fields filled with contentment and happiness.
When each girl hit 13, their fathers would construct a pendant that characterised what he wanted his little girl to be in life. Often, the fathers were kind and gave their daughters pendants of birds so they could continue to be free, although of course, still tempered by the need to be graceful. The girls who were given heart pendants were the worst off, for all they desired in life was the good love of a man, not an easy thing to find at any stretch.
For the daughter of Dr Robotham, there was only one thing her father felt able to give her... a robot pendant that he had named 'Mini Dr Robotham.' He hoped Mini Dr Robotham would guide his daughter through life without the shackles of love and vanity.
She despised Mini Dr Robotham all through school. While her friends had pendants of flowers, hearts, birds and keys (keys to the heart, get it?) she had a clunky robot with diamonds for eyes. But Mini Dr Robotham forced her to study hard, to be clever and disciplined. By just 16 she had already achieved great things.
By 26, she was a celebrated scientist, forging the way in the treatment of cancer. All day, every day, Mini Dr Robotham pushed her on, worked her harder, forced to strive for great breakthroughs.
It was then that she met a man. A fellow scientist who went by the name 'Roasted Penguin.' So called because when he was very angry or very excited about something, he would go red in the face and hop from side to side, like a penguin who had been shoved into a hot oven. Despite this unflattering characteristic, he was exceptionally good looking, kind hearted and in love with, well, Dr Robotham (because that is what she was now, although we'll call her Jennifer, to avoid confusion).
Of course, her miniature hated him and thought him evil. If his protégée was to sense Roasted Penguin's feelings it would stray her from the wrong path! She would forget all about order, good sense and discovery and her life would slide into daydreaming and gooey lovey doveyness (ick). These two traits were not productive! He had to keep her on the right path. Save her from the fates of other women who mooned and cried over men all day and made no real achievements in life.
Whenever Roasted Penguin smiled at Jennifer or helped out with some small deed in order to win her affections, Mini Dr Robotham's diamond eyes would blaze and cause Jennifer a small pain in her chest. He hoped this aversion therapy would put her right off the whole concept of 'love.'
Unfortunately for Mini Dr Robotham, Jennifer assumed the pains were pangs of longing for Roasted Penguin and a desire to no longer be lonely with just her work. For Mini Dr Robotham was merely a little robot and didn't understand the human need to be loved. Despite his best intentions and his attempts to keep them apart, Jennifer returned Roasted Penguin's feelings.
Happily, despite his concerns that their love would lead to a lack of productivity and sentimentality on the part of Jennifer, he was wrong. He had trained her too well to love like that.
And the old adage that two brains are better than one was certainly true here. On her own, Jennifer was a very clever woman, but with Roasted Penguin by her side, she was pure genius.

N.B. There is a man out there who actually goes by the name: 'Roasted Penguin.' I barely know this man and this story has nothing to do with him. I just really liked the name.
Similarly, there is a real person out there who goes by the name 'Dr Robotham.' This is a man I do not know at all and again, this story has nothing to do with him. I just really liked the name.

For Dan, Hannah and Oscar... for they are the only three who might get this.

2011-01-22T19:47:00.000-08:00

Upon once a time there was a lady. She was a great beauty with dark hair and cat like eyes. But more than this, she had charm and depth and a frivolity that was impossible to resist.
On this particular evening, she was flanked by two gentlemen, two gentlemen who were entirely different but entirely the same. (I believe in modern terms, this is considered a bromance.)
First of her gentleman guards there was Oliver. A tall, blond and handsome man who often did push ups behind red velvet sofas (apparently the motion wakes him up, very odd indeed) and secondly there was Daniel, a gentleman of Indian decent who was a master of the piano and an all round 'laugh.'
The three tonight had to look after a ginger creature named Shelley. She drank and talked a lot but her jokes were often amusing, so she was easy to tolerate.
On this particular evening, after an hour or so in what is often known as an 'old man's pub' on Long Acre, this lady and her posse found themselves in an enchanted cave. The cave was decorated with many dancing men, men dressed in fine materials, green sequins, gold silks, purple sashes and silvery pointed shoes. Some men were more than dancing, they were doing difficult yoga positions or swinging on swings. It was quite the sight to behold.
After a glorious meal of stewed meat and pumpkin, lentils and yogurt (generally left for its boringness), the lady felt she should take her posse to Hospital.
Oh I don't mean a hospital with doctors, no one was ill you see. I mean a hospital of the soul... A bar that serves cocktails containing egg whites for a mere nine pounds and sofas covered in faux animal skin. What more could the human condition ask for?!
It is here that the story becomes a muddy affair... the cocktails were of the very strong variety and so the night became blurry... fun, but blurry indeed with conversation and far too comfortable sofas for a trendy bar.
This is where our tale moves to the ginger creature. You see, our fine lady did not overdo her drink and elegantly and easily found herself a bus back to Kensington where she resides. However, the next thing Shelley knew was sitting on an overcrowded night bus back to East London sans posse, pondering why the girl with the shaved head next to her was crying and why the could-be-gay-but-no-one-is-100%-sure man opposite her was rubbing her shoulder and telling her that 'Dave' needed to grow up, that although he loved her he couldn't deal with how special this shaved headed lady is and so had legged it.
And so it is four in the morning and the ginger creature with the terribly amusing jokes and over convoluted vocabulary is tapping away at her lap top trying to tell the tale of her typical Saturday night in London...
In short, when it comes to London ladies and gents, Shelley has one thing to say: Oh baby, it must be love.

New Years Resolutions. N.B. this isn't fiction.

2010-12-30T05:01:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again!
Yesterday out of interest I had a look at my resolutions for last year. Then, I had a good think about how much I have achieved.
Resolutions 1 & 2) Pay off overdraft, improve finances and approach to money.
I have completely paid off my overdraft and, wait for it, wait for it... have savings to the tune of £800! I have very much changed the way I approach money. In fact yesterday, I was in a shop and there was a lovely pair of red peeptoes on sale for £30 and a similarly lovely pair of nude peeptoes for £35. I walked out of the shop without buying either, reasoning with myself that I already owned three red pairs of shoes and a nude pair I never wore enough anyway.
Resolution 3) Improve my punctuation.
I'm sure it will never be my strongest point, but in the summer this year, I did have a meeting with my previous boss and he said he felt my punctuation was much improved. Hurrah hurrah hurrah.
Resolution 4) Get back to a healthier way of living.
I will go to the gym after work and then not have any sweets at the cinema. I will, I will, I will!
Resolution 5) Start being more crafty and making my own clothes, chutney and jam.
Errrrm, what?!
Resolution 6) Get better at web design.
Marginally improved. I think my site does look prettier. Probably can't be bothered to make it any better.

And then we go to that sneaky bit at the bottom about about being a dignified lady and handling the menfolk better... well, it's safe to say that the money issue is where I have really excelled this year!

And so to my resolutions for 2011. Every year I make resolutions about money and health and to be honest, I will always try to improve myself in this way New Years Resolution or not, so for 2011 I have decided to take a different course:

1) Stop putting so much pressure on myself because I always do my very best anyway.
2) Like and accept myself for who and what I am, because I do quite well and am quite nice really.
3) Show more kindness to others, especially the homeless.
4) Stop getting into debates with people. It only gets you feeling wound up and upset.

The history of the dumped coffee table.

2010-12-29T08:22:00.000-08:00

Nicola found the coffee table in the local recycling bin on a Saturday night.
It's a beautiful bit of furniture. Ornate and elaborate in design carved from thick, extremely good quality wood. Nicola knew it would be expensive, she had an eye for these things. So she did what any self-respecting Phd student would do. She got her dad to pick it up and take it home.
It looked just perfect next to the book shelf with her twenties style retro lamp (purchased four years ago from TKMaxx for only £24.99) sat atop it. Her materialistic sister and flatmate loved it as well. It appealed to her faux bohemian sensibilities.
Not once did Nicola ask herself why someone would throw such a lovely piece of furniture away. Not once did she wonder where the coffee table had come from. She was too busy relishing her damn good luck that she had found it.
Just four days prior, a couple stood in their flat, either side of the coffee table. And they were screaming at each other. This wasn't some little lovers tiff, they were ready to destroy each other, rip each other to shreds. You see Jack (that's the boyfriend) had discovered that Amy (the girlfriend) had slept with his best friend. But she insisted that she only did it because she knew that Jack had slept with every woman from Mile End to Earls Court and back again. Yep, he was a busy man on that District Line.
Amy also found Jack's best mate bloody attractive but that's by the by, she was too consumed with hatred and revenge for her philandering, womanising arsehole of a soon to be ex-boyfriend.
His face was also contorted with rage. He couldn't believe the little slut had just blamed him for her betrayal, that she had slapped him round the face.
As Nicola had calmly cooked her boyfriend and her sister seafood spaghetti and apple crumble, Jack had smacked Amy so hard that she had flown head first towards to coffee table, cracked her skull open and died as her blood seeped into the carpet and her soul into the table. The table was very special to Amy, it had been a gift from her late and very wealthy grandmother.
Panicked, Jack had wrapped up Amy's body in bin bags and, in the middle of the night, crept down to Regent's Canal and chucked her into the water. He had used Vanish stain remover to sort out the carpet and reported Amy missing to the police. For just four short seconds, Jack thought he had got away with manslaughter.
But the coffee table had other ideas. For four days the table haunted him. Whispering at him with her voice. Filling his mind with grotesque images, plaguing him with guilt for cheating on her and killing her. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amy, covered in blood and crawling out of the table. Of course, when he looked over, there was nothing there. He barely slept, his dreams were filled with torment.
By day four it had got too much. In a fit of rage, which tempered on borderline insanity, he picked up the coffee table and flung it in the local recycling bin before joining Amy in the canal.
Just four minutes later, unsuspecting of the tables dark and trecherous past, Nicola put out the weekly recycling and was delighted to make her discovery.

The Tale of the Wonky Poster.

2010-12-23T07:49:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a poster named Amelie.
Amelie was wonky. She sat on the far wall, pretty much the first thing everyone saw when they entered the large, white living room. She could have been beautiful, with her green background, red dress, dark hair and big eyes. If it weren't for that damn wonk, she could have been the most beautiful poster in all of Flat 7, 52 Globe Road, perhaps beyond.
All the other posters in the living room were perfectly perpendicular, not to mention practically perfect in every way. The twin Banksy posters were perfectly aligned in look, thought and feel. The jazz singer and her contemporaries stood perfectly straight and elegant.
Being surrounded by such perfection must have been bloody depressing. Amelie felt like the fat, ugly sibling, not perfect in any way. This was of course, Amelie being a touch overdramatic, she was only imperfect by an approximately 27 degree angle, but hey, just you try to reason with neurotic, teenage shiny paper, it's like talking to a wall...
Amelie was desperate to straighten out. Every time someone entered the living room they stared at her with mild irritation upon their faces. She heard comments, how annoying she was because of her wonkyness. If she hadn't been so shy and retiring she might have got angry and accused them all of bullying her. But Amelie was so mild mannered she just took the nasty, prejudiced anti-wonky comments to heart and drooped further down the wall.
For some bizarre reason, her two owners loved her wonky disposition. Whenever she heard comments from guests about how she 'just needed to be straightened out and then this room would be perfect' (I mean seriously guests, how hurtful, what must those words have done to poor Amelie's self-esteem?!) her owners spouted that it gave her and the room character, how they celebrated her difference, and because of her wonk she was 'special' and 'unique.'
Amelie cringed when she heard her owners say these things. "Why can't the lazy buggers just get up on a chair and straighten me out?" she thought to herself.
Then, everything changed. One Saturday night in early November, her owners held a gathering. The comments about her wonkyness were coming thick and fast. This particular group of guests found her wonkyness particularly offensive. Amelie desperately tried to pull up, to make herself appear as straight as possible. But nothing worked, the more she pulled, the more irritated the group got. Eventually, they all left. Her hideous wonkyness forced them out of the living room and down to the local pub. They couldn't take her anymore it seemed.
Miserable and lonely, Amelie dozed off to sleep.
Then, in the middle of the night she was woken by a rough pulling. Opening her eyes she discovered a beautiful maiden with tumbling brown hair removing her from the wall.
"I can't handle this poster anymore," the maiden muttered, "I know Shell will be pissed off, but I have to straighten it out."
STRAIGHTEN IT OUT! Oh wonder and joy! Amelie was on top of the world. Finally, she would join the world of perfection. No more comments and mutterings anymore, no more stares of mild irritation. Amelie was going to be just like everyone else!
Amelie couldn't sleep anymore that night from sheer excitement. She couldn't wait for daylight when she could announce herself to the world as a 'perfect poster.' Part of the perfection gang.
But daybreak did not bring her the adulation she craved and hoped for. In fact, the look of utter disappointment on her owners faces made her feel mild shame.
But it was the response of the guests that upset her most. None of them admired her for her straight beauty. In fact, they didn't seem to notice her at all. They were indifferent to her, it was like she was invisible.
It was then that the jazz singer poster rather bitchily said something (in poster language, it's not something us humans can hear) that made her new found joy crash to smithereens: "I'm glad they straightened you out. All your character meant that you always got the attention. Our owners always loved you more, we were all ignored because compared to you we were straight and boring."
And that's when Amelie realised, being the same as everyone else is all well and good but there is nothing special or unique about aligned perfection.

By request: Cheeky the grumpy kitchen monkey.

2010-11-25T13:30:00.000-08:00

I wish it could be said that Cheeky is a happy soul.
Unfortunately his name couldn't be more of a juxtaposition to his temperament. Cheeky is grumpy, difficult and always complaining about his balconette home above the kitchen cooker. First it's too hot, then it's too cold, and then it's not enough temperature of any kind at all. Good lord, Cheeky is not a happy monkey.
Many have blamed his stature, or rather lack of it, for the giant chip on his shoulder. It's a tough life for a chap suffering from short monkey syndrome. Or perhaps it's a monkey lady from his past, a romantic disappointment that has caused him such pain and turned him into a life hating grump. Maybe she ran off with a towering and much more handsome monkey. Maybe that's why people irritate Cheeky so.
Like those chavvy Essex girls that insist on cooking in his kitchen. Do they have to be so loud? Do they have to squeal so? And most of the time, they certainly don't understand the delicate science that is cooking. What do they think they are doing, shoving vegetables into a frying pan with a pre-made pesto sauce from Lidl? Or eating eggs and baked beans for dinner? They consider that food?! And this 'sauce factory' they create every fortnight, that they freeze and then defrost at a later date to sip out of a bowl with bread or mix with cheap twirly pasta. It's an abomination as far as Cheeky is concerned. A destruction of all that is good in the culinary world. As well as being a grumpy bugger, Cheeky is somewhat of a food snob.
But to be fair to the girls, sometimes they do pull some classy meals out of the bag and then, well then, Cheeky is in seventh heaven.
In quieter times, when the girls are skint and living off the aforementioned sauce factory Cheeky dreams of those days, the grilled mango and halloumi salad, roasted whole chickens stuffed with an entire lemon and herbs, beef lasagne made entirely from scratch (even the bechamel sauce!), chicken and cream puff pie, giant chocolate whoopie pie cakes with marshmellow filling, banana cake and Cheeky's absolute favourite, peanut butter cookies. Oh, how his lips tremble with hunger, he salivates as the smells waft up from the cooker and make him delirious with pleasure.
It really is the most tragic thing that Cheeky's lips are nothing more than a piece of string across his furry face and he will never get to taste the foods he covets.
Suddenly, it's not such a mystery why Cheeky the kitchen monkey is so grumpy.

A bit of Microfiction: The buddha clan on my windowsill.

2010-11-23T15:19:00.000-08:00

"We must assemble in random formation!' screams General Pewter Buddha. His importance bourne from his weight. Pewter is heavier than wood and plastic and all the other buddha's on the windowsill know this.
"How can you have a random formation?" mutters one of the triplets. The triplet buddhas are identical but for their colouring. One is brown, one silver and the other is brown and gold.
But he is merely being facetious, a rebellious desire to back chat to the rather pompous General Pewter. They all know why their assembly is random. It is to please the artistic temperaments of the brunette and ginger goddesses.
The goddesses are giant and rather odd beings, just the other day one of them seemed to be knotting herself into odd positions in front of the television, all for the sake of fitness. The other one stares at a small computer screen for hours, muttering mathematic equations and burning long smelly sticks from the chest of holy buddha - so called because of the hole in his chest. It is a sad fate for him, but one he must bear for the greater good of the clan.
For it is at the whim of these two goddesses that the buddha clan survives. If the two goddesses wish, they can remove the entire clan, throw them into the dark sack of evil next to the fridge. But for now the goddesses are merciful, leaving the clan to live in peace. And this is all thanks to King Pink Buddha. He knows the brunette goddess well and has served her for many years. At one time, she housed him on the skin of a goat to reward him for his devotion and service. He has promised that one day they shall all be on the goat skin - even keyring buddhas, which are the lowest of the low. They fear the dark sack of evil more than anyone.
King Pink Buddha is flanked by two of the slenderest, most serene and beautiful buddhas in existance, these two guards are originals from the holy land - Thailand. They whisper sweet fables, of a giant gold buddha lying in the ground. It must be a lovely life for King Pink Buddha to listen to them day after day.
But recently, even the King is nervous. There has been talk of a new King Buddha to take over the clan. The ginger goddess has spoken of a 'disco buddha' to usurp him. This King shimmers and shines in the light, he is covered in beautiful mirrors of joy. King Pink Buddha is frantic and feels betrayed after all his years of loyal service for brunette goddess. He misses the days when he had brunette goddess to himself on the goat skin.
Now he lays in wait for ginger goddess to make her decision. It is agony. Worse than when the goddesses watch that programme The X factor and you're waiting to see who will leave the competition. He gives General Pewter more power to boss the others around and hopes she will remain appeased. But he doesn't know what more he can do to save himself.

Discretion. Where's the line?

2010-10-02T14:06:00.000-07:00

I struggle with discretion.
This may be due to my former job as a journalist, or as the newsdesk used to jokingly call ourselves, a professional gossip. And even now, working as a PR my entire life pretty much revolves around giving people information that I would like them to broadcast to the nation.
So it seems, I just don't know where to stop. I'm very open with colleagues if I'm dating someone, I admit I can be very open with my friends about my sexual preferences, I'm just a very open, honest person, I'll tell anyone anything if they want to know, give me alcohol and I'll tell people anything even if they don't want to know.
And on some levels, I think it may work for me. People often confide in me because I have been so open with them, it signals trust I guess doesn't it? I find it very easy to make friends because I am so open with who and what I am and how I am feeling.
And I would far rather be friendly and open than closed, snobby and unable to trust.
If someone does tell me something in confidence, I do, on the most part, keep my gob shut. I admit, I may tell my sister... but she is much better at discretion than me and knows when to stop talking.
Similarly I'm careful about bitching. A sorry lesson learnt from years of teenage angst. I have to really trust someone before I am open with my dislike for or upset over a colleague or somebody in a circle of friends and often I will ask them to keep my comments private. I admit sometimes, if it is a mutual friend or colleague, I should think more about the situation I am putting them in and that I may be making them feel uncomfortable just by knowing this information.
Similarly, I sometimes worry, do my revelations make people feel uncomfortable? When is it alright to tell people about that crazy one night stand or drunken shenanigan? How close a friend do they have to be?
I especially worry about co workers, how much do you give away there? (N.B. I know enough not to tell co workers about crazy one night stands.) Where is the line between appropriate and chatty and over sharing?
Also, I will never be able to pull off mysterious. I so envy those people who have an aura of mystery about them. Who play their cards close to their chests, who you never quite know what they are thinking. It's sexy and intriguing. Everyone knows what I'm thinking because I happily blurt it out. Not so sexy and intriguing.
It has to be said that social media was the final nail in the coffin for discretion. If a woman can tweet about her miscarriage and Belle Du Jour can blog about her sex life, what chance do I have with keeping my gob shut?
Shockingly, it only very recently occured to me - while reading about how Kimberly of Girls Aloud has only ever had two lovers - a persons sex life isn't anyone's business but their own! It's meant to be private! I know, such is the loss of discretion in the modern world that it took me until I was 26 to realise that my sex life belonged to me alone, I didn't have to tell the world about it and also, if people asked, I didn't actually have to answer them honestly. If a new boyfriend asks about my past, I don't technically have to tell him anything that doesn't relate to sexual health and contraception. I can just reply something vague like: 'A couple of long-term boyfriends and a smattering of flings.' Rather than giving him dates, times and scores out of ten.
As someone who isn't particularly discretion savvy, I have decided to hunt out advice. What is the correct way to behave? How much information should I give out to the world, does my openness make people feel uncomfortable or gossip about me in a way I wouldn't like? It's certainly something I am to be more careful with in future. I just hope this doesn't make me less fun!

Girls just love clothes! Well, no, I really do...

2010-09-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

Last night, I read an article on The F Word moaning about shopping. The author of this article hates shopping. She bemoans the enormous gendering of clothing and in some cases, she does have a point, why are socks gendered? I had never contemplated this before. That is indeed stupid. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I need pink socks, although all my running socks are pink... anyway, I digress.
Her comments about women who are forced into terrible conditions to make the clothes in our throw away culture is similarly concerning. They are issues I am very concerned about and am researching ways to shop ethically.
And if this lady doesn't like shopping, then fair enough, not everyone has to find it a pleasurable experience.
However, I do. I find shopping a massively wonderful pleasurable experience. It really does give me great joy in life, pretty shoes make me smile.
Does this make me less of a feminist? Does the fact that I like dressing up in clothes that make me feel attractive make me shallow, vapid and a sorry excuse for an educated woman?
Admittedly, my little shopping issue has caused me some financial woe (on a small scale). But no one has forced me into this financial woe, I got into it (and then out of it) all on my own, I just like buying new shiny things too much. I see fashion as a form of art and indeed decorate my little flat with it.
Is enjoying clothing and flaunting your figure sexist? By happily conforming to gender stereotypes are you undoing all the good work of feminists from previous years? Even if you're not an airhead wag (although I wouldn't say some of them are so airhead) but have yourself a very fulfilling career, do what you feel is good, important and enjoyable work and support yourself?
Even if it's 100 per cent for your own enjoyment, you don't dress for men but for yourself entirely? If wearing a pair of killer heels and a nice skirt really does make you feel more confident in a meeting?
Am I just brainwashed? Am I just conforming to this because it's expected of me? Should I not shave my legs or get my hair done or wear a bra? Should I fling my underwear on that mythical bonfire that only existed in the minds of male journalists who tried to demonise feminism?
I have had men in my life ridicule me for my enjoyment of clothes... surely this is just another form of marginalisation? Another way of saying women's interests are not important or significant.
Fashion has given me great bonding experiences with other women in my life. One of my closest friends first approached me because she liked my dress. My mum and I go shopping before every birthday and christmas and it's more than her buying me presents, this way I actually get to spend valuable time with her.
Perhaps I am lucky but I actually don't find 'tight' clothing or high heels particularly uncomfortable and if a pair of shoes are proving uncomfortable, I stop wearing them. Despite appearances, I'm no slave.
It's not like I believe stripping to be empowering or anything (I have read a magazine article arguing that, the mind boggles) but I do feel I use clothes as a form of armour against the world.
Perhaps liking clothes and shopping doesn't fit the feminist archetype, but you know what, I ain't apologising. I want equality for men and women and I want it while wearing a pretty dress that I can't really afford, simple as that.

Fuck dating guides.

2010-09-19T02:33:00.000-07:00

This is to ladies out there who have read 'He's Just Not That Into You' or Zoe Strimpel's recent dating guide: 'What the Hell is he thinking'?
Although there is sound advice in both - I particularly enjoyed the whole, don't take any rubbish stance of 'He's just not that into you' - there is something very unfeminist about both books.
'He's just not that into you' is rather negative as it still suggests there is something wrong with the women. It's basically saying, any man who doesn't treat you wonderfully doesn't like you and thus, you are kind of rubbish aren't you. Perhaps a title such as 'He's just not good enough for you' would have been more sufficient.
Also, it's too cut and dry, even for a very black and white soul such as me. It doesn't take into account shyness. I've known men who have liked me but haven't asked me out because they are shy or think I am out of their league. When in fact, I was sitting there thinking 'I wish they would ask me out.'
Similarly, after reading the book, I was scared to make any move on a man, even a subtle one. When in fact, without those subtle hints that it's ok to ask the girl out, he's just going to be thinking 'oh, she doesn't like me, she'll just reject me.' Not all men are the world conquoring heroes the book suggests they are, some of them get shy, intimidated or frightened of rejection. Life is far more complicated than this book makes out.
With 'What the hell is he thinking' (I've already had a previous rant about this book after reading an article about it in The Times Style magazine.) Well, I tried to read it, I tried to read it twice and then I just got annoyed. You know what, I DON'T CARE WHAT HE IS THINKING. I've spent far far far far far too much of my life trying to work out what a man is thinking and trying to predict what he might do next.
And you know what, I have my own life thanks, my own thoughts, my own feelings and the prospect of spending my precious time reading a book of what is essentially a bunch of male bloody excuses as to why they can't be decent didn't exactly fill me with fucking joy.
Also, it would be bloody nice if for once in a blue bloody moon, a man sat with his mates going 'I wonder what she is thinking.' Because for a start, it would suggest that they actually give a damn about me.
If I feel good about how the relationship is going, I will to continue seeing the chap. If I don't feel right about it, I'm offsky. In the words of the Meercats: Simples. I'm sure if the bloke is really that into me, he'll be trying to win me back.
My new rule with the whole dating thing? Fuck dating guides, fuck analysing his every move with my mates, I'm just going to follow my instincts and find what's right for me.

5 things I love and 5 things I hate about alcohol.

2010-07-30T15:38:00.000-07:00

Love:
1) That first sip of rum/southern comfort/wine after a hectic week. Amazing how after just one sip I feel so much more relaxed and how, after one glass, that the world is a GREAT place to be.
2) How much better I become at conversation. After two or three drinks, even the most tedious person is fascinating and I am, of course, charm personified.
3) How it makes me forward. If I have a crush on a chap, I simply have to drink in his presence. By the end of the evening I will have suggested what a fabulous idea it is that we have a snog. (Amazingly, I usually get one too.)
4) How two or three drinks stops me feeling hungry or tired.
5) Dancing, laughter and an ability to be sentimental and 'huggy' (not something I am sober - it could be said that I am in fact rather cold with my lack of touchy feelyness) that ensues after a shot of sambuca or two. This is positive as it enables me to show in a tactile fashion how much I love my friends in a way that might make me feel awkward or uncomfortable when sober.

Hate:
1) How sometimes alcohol can make me cry, make me clumsy or become aggressive to random passerbys and vomit on inappropriate occassions. Oh and I must stay away from all forms of communication when drunk. Especially facebook, many a terrible message has been sent over facebook when I have been drinking.
2) McDonalds cheeseburgers (yes, plural) at 2am after too many rum and cokes. Oh the calories.
3) My hangovers don't generally just involve a headache or dehydration but usually an enormous feeling of depression, loneliness and the conviction that everyone on the planet hates me. Even if I haven't said or done anything embarrassing the night before. Oh yes, and the inability to sleep through my hangovers is a total killer. It doesn't matter what time I get to bed, if I have been drinking, I will be wide awake just four hours later, conscious of every second of my pain.
4) Want a secret out of me? Just get me drunk. Alcohol is like truth juice to me and I can't stop my bloody mouth. You won't even have to interrogate me, I'll just happily blab all my secrets without any forethought. Especially sexual secrets. I'm very good at confessing those.
5) Alcohol poo the next morning, from me or anyone else. I need say no more.

Social Media for Dummies: 10 things I learnt setting up a charity twitter feed

2010-07-15T07:11:00.000-07:00

After two illustrious years, I am leaving my current job as Press, PR & Social Media Officer for World Cancer Research Fund and moving to pastures new. As part of my handover, I have been asked to write a 'social media for dummies' document for the newbie who takes over the @WCRF_UK twitter feed.

This feed is very much my baby. I pushed to set it up and have single-handedly managed it ever since. Now considering I did have all my other PR bits and bobs to do as well, I think the fact that we are at nearly 800 followers is quite the feat. So here below are the 10 most important things I learnt setting up the feed.

1) Be friendly, informal and interact, interact, interact. Don’t just promote your blog or services, talk to people. Respond when they talk to you. It’s a great way to talk to other charities and supporters. I even managed to sign people up for WCRF's Beat the Banana run via twitter.

2) Use hashtags! My personal favourites are #kickcancer (this is a great campaign created by a girl who actually had cancer.) #health #recipe and #badjoke that I used at least once a week for WCRF's badjoke of the week and healthy recipe of the week. These are quite popular with WCRF's followers and it’s good to create little regular ‘features’ to make the feed enjoyable for followers. For example:

Oh and our GGC #badjoke of the week: What kind of room can't you walk into? A mushroom! http://ow.ly/2bdT9

Our #health #recipe of the week is this yummy Mediterranean chickpea salad http://ow.ly/2bdRl

While we are on hashtags, never forget a #charitytuesday or #followfriday. For example, tweet this on a Tuesday:

Happy #charitytuesday! @DiabetesUK, @DiabetesUKCymru, @CRUKWalton, @royalmarsden, @BCCare and @CR_UK #kickcancer

It’s a great way to spread the love and often people will do a #charitytuesday or #followfriday in return (you can also do #ff for Follow Friday if you don’t have space.) Another one people do is #fundraisingthursday but that isn’t as common. Always thank people or return the compliment if they do this for you. It’s just nice and to ignore it can come across as rude. Also, RT other people! I RT @NHSChoices, @BCCare, @DiabetesUK, @thebhf and @CR_UK a lot because their messages were often similar to WCRF's and it’s a way of showing support.

3) Use applications, set up tweetdeck. This application is invaluable to me. You can also get it on your phone so you can tweet on the move! (I never did this, preferring to, er, have a life.)

Hootsuite is also great, it's free and easy to set up. You can follow multiple twitter accounts, and schedule automated tweets for the weekend or just later in the day when you might be busy. This is not regarded as good social media practice however, so don’t do it too much, however, it’s a good tool if you are busy/would like your own weekend. If anyone retweets or speaks to you over the weekend, do respond first thing Monday morning. Again, it’s not the best social media practice but I think many people understand when you are a small organisation and responding or thanking them for the RT on Monday is better than nothing.

Socialoomph is another free and user friendly tool. You can create automated DM messages to new followers, among other things.

4)Bit.ly is the website used to shorten URLs but you can also do this in hootsuite and tweetdeck.

5) Twitpics! People love a good picture, so do add pictures to your account from the twitpic website as much as you can.

6)If you have a lot of pictures all at once, just put them on facebook. You can set it up so they will then automatically load onto your twitter feed as soon as you put them on facebook.

In fact, you can set it up so everything you put on facebook will then automatically load to twitter. I still like to then put another separate tweet about the same thing onto twitter though. Just because it’s then a direct link to whatever I’m promoting. It doesn’t matter that it’s a duplicate. Other twitter feeds duplicate all the time. Don’t do this too much though.

7)In terms of timings, I’ve been told that good times to tweet are first thing in the morning, lunchtime, and between 5-6pm in the evening. This is when people are most likely to finish/take a break from work and may check their accounts. 11am and 3pm are also good times. All of Friday afternoon is an especially good time! I often tweeted a silly game from WCRF's Great Grub Club children's website as a ‘relieve your Friday fatigue’ type thing. At the weekend or on bank holidays it’s best to tweet between 11am and 2pm as this is when most people are online.

8)Time management! I tended to spend an hour in the mornings on twitter and then just responded to things as and when/scheduled tweets throughout the rest of the day. Otherwise you really could be on there all day and never get any work done. It’s good to keep a half an eye on it though.

9)Be a person from an organisation, not a monolithic organisation voice. So, tell people who you are and tweeting the occasional ‘I did a 10k today, my legs are sore’ will make the feed a lot more accessible to followers. Although, of course, keep it on message. And make sure this is the case with any personal feed you may have. As far as my personal followers know, I am an extremely active health geek (which is mostly true) and this is in line with the WCRF's messages. If you are not comfortable with this, up your privacy settings. This goes for facebook too.

10)It’s ok to use exclamation marks! When I used to be a journalist I was told it's frowned upon to use too many 'dogs dicks' and in the most part I agree. But you don’t have many characters here, so it’s ok to use extreme punctuation to make your point quickly. It’s also ok to use shortcuts, such as 2 for two, to, too. There is a function in tweetdeck that can do this for you. (It can also change the language!) Although normal grammar applies of course. Not that other tweeters always follow that, but let’s rise above.

For any newbies to twitter setting up their own corporate or charity feeds I hope this is helpful! I am by no means an expert and most of this is quite basic stuff I have learnt as I went along. Just watch what other corporate or charity feeds are doing. This really is the best way to learn. Any questions? I'm @Shell3870, come find me on twitter.

Five years ago today...

2010-07-07T04:26:00.000-07:00

Five years ago today I was doing a work experience internship at More! magazine and while sitting on a train into Liverpool street had a call from my mum.
"Are you ok?" She yelled as soon as I picked up.
"Yeah mum, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" I responded, thinking my mum was being a tad over the top. I'd only been out of the house for an hour.
She mumbled something about a newsflash, some trouble on the tubes. I told her to not worry about it. There were delays on the tube every day. It would be fine.
When I got into Liverpool street, there were people running everywhere. I have never before or since seen so many people running in my life - and I've taken part in half marathons.
I tried to get on the tube, but was only met with lots of burly men telling me to get a bus. I tried to get a bus but was only met with empty buses rushing by, doors closed, nobody being allowed on.
I called More! and a panicked receptionist told me not to get on any transport, there were bombs all over the city. I should go home.
I lived in Essex. An hour train ride from the city.
So, I walked, in high heeled cowgirl boots. Luckily I got chatting to a bloke who showed me the way back to Stratford. No trains running from there, so I walked back to Ilford and then managed to bus it back to Wickford. All the way getting panicked calls from friends, family, my then boyfriend. I finally managed to get home at 3pm that afternoon.
But anyway, this post wasn't meant to be about the bombings. But more about the last five years.Yep, forgive me while I take a narcissistic look at the last five years of my life.
A lot has changed. My once tumbling long curly hair has all been cut off and tentatively regrown into a long bob, I no longer own those cowgirl boots, maxi skirts have gone and returned to fashion, my style has gone from romantic student hippy to retro with killer heels and has now settled at somewhere in between, I have lived in Cardiff as a regional journalist for three years but after getting some bad family news I did some real soul searching and realised that working in charity PR was what I really wanted and so I returned to London to be closer to my family. It's long over with my then boyfriend, two more relationships have followed but sadly not worked out. Friendships have died, new ones have been formed, others have grown stronger. I have lived in four different houses, become interested in things I never thought I would be, been to places I never thought I would, fallen in love with people I never thought I would.
Comparing myself now to who and how I was back then has made me nostalgic for the past five years, and it's funny how it has taken a major event like 7/7 for me to recognise my achievements and all the cool things I have done with my life. I have written for national magazines and newspapers, set up the social media and organised fundraising PR campaigns for a charity almost entirely on my own, run a half marathon in two hours, lived alone, been brave enough to ask a boy I liked out for a drink (in fact, I've done this on numerous occasions!). Things my much shyer 21-year-old self would not have thought possible.
7/7 was a horrible day and I am not ignoring all the pain that it caused many families and my heart goes out to them today. I read a story from a woman who lost her sister in the bombings the other day and had to hold back tears (I am a soppy wotsit and couldn't imagine the grief I would feel if I were to lose one of my sisters.) But what I got from that day was not the panic, the horror, (although I of course felt all that) but actually, how god damn nice people can be. That a man would walk all the way back to Stratford with a girl to make sure she didn't get lost, that so many people cared enough to call and check I was ok. In a time of crisis, I didn't see selfishness or hostility, I saw complete strangers helping each other.
In everything, one thing is always true: Life moves on. And you never know what might happen, who you might talk to, what amazing job you might land when you least expect it, who you might fall for. To quote my favourite Banksy painting: "There is always hope."
My goodness. I am going for the cheese saturation today aren't I.

Scaremongered by The Sunday Times Style magazine.

2010-06-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

Before I launch into this full blown rant, may I say how I enjoy The Sunday Times Style magazine. I think Mrs Mills is hilarious, the clothes are always covetable, the recipes always make me salivate. But yesterday when I picked up the magazine it ruined what had otherwise been one of the most enjoyable days I've had in a while. (And this was after we had lost 4-1 to Germany, so you can see how dire the situation is here.)
Anyway, that morning I had slept in till 11am. As someone who struggles to sleep, especially in hot weather, this was marvellous. Managed to get my contacts in fairly easily, an enjoyable rarity and, as my contacts are still new, I am still enjoying the novelty of actually being able to see, well you know, people and stuff.
Put on my favourite new halterneck summer dress with my new dangly cherry earrings, a birthday present from a friend. Even painted my toenails a bright red to match my dress. Lovely.
Met the boys (and girl, Claire) at the train station and walked to a very nice pub, The Green Man in Putney, in the sunshine. Picked up a Fab ice lolly (only 79 calories per lolly and only 65p - fantastic) on the way.
When we get to the pub, we discover a fantastic beer garden with giant chess, giant connect four and giant jenga. My inner child is getting very excited. And then, I actually beat Claire twice at connect four! A true miracle for a strategically challenged individual such as myself.
The boys get in some drinks. Pear cider for me. The pub also has strawberry cider, which I drink later. Yay. Being the true lightweight I am, this makes me very happy, very fast.
Then I eat scampi and chips. Play giant jenga with my buddy Oscar. He beats me after I arrogantly claim that I think I'm better at the game than him. Serves me right.
Watch the football. That's a bit depressing but more cider and a game of giant chess with my friend Dan cheers me, even though he does totally whip my arse.
It's such a lovely day that these antics carry on into the evening when we decide to head down to the riverside for dinner. I enjoy a lovely pumpkin and tomato risotto and tell all the lads that this has been a really marvellous day. They are not listening, they are watching the Argentina vs Mexico match. I'm so happy/pissed I'm not really that bothered. But then, dun dun duuuuun. I pick up The Sunday Times Style magazine. Massive and totally sobering mistake.
I flick to one article, it's by a lady called Zoe Strimpel. She has apparently interviewed hundreds of men about how they treat their girlfriends and written a dating book about it. The general outcome of her interviews? Men are arrogant commitment phobic arseholes who will only treat you badly and make you miserable. In fact, she gives a case study where a man can be the perfect boyfriend for a year, AN ENTIRE YEAR, and then go cold on you. So, it's not like some three month fling where you can tell pretty soon this man isn't right but figure, hey, I had some fun. This is a year of them telling you they love you, always being on time, buying you presents, taking you on holiday, being there for you, putting you before their friends, talking about a future, marriage, babies, you think he is it and then he totally fucks you over. He pulls down all your defences, lulls you into a false sense of security and then buggers off to male childhood land.
Does this woman not realise how terrifying/depressing this kind of bloody article is for a single woman? As previous posts have shown, I don't have the best dating repertoire as it is. This just makes me want to run for the hills and never speak to a man again. (Unless we are playing a giant version of a childhood game that is.)
When I make this complaint to my male buddies, my friend Gary only comments with: "I would respond to that article with an opinion, but I can't really commit to one." (Groan)
A heave a great sigh and turn to the next page. This is an article by Kathryn Flett about unhealthy eating habits. Apparently my little fascination with eating chocolate for comfort and my inability to give it up actually means that I use chocolate like a drug. That I, in fact, am a full blown raving drug addict because I can't go a few days without having a small amount of the sweet stuff.
Any feelings of happiness, joy or contentment about my nice day have gone out of the window. Now I see the truth, I shall die alone with only the memory of a string of commitment phobic boyfriends and my chocolate addiction for company.
It's fair to say that I have been well and truly scaremongered. And it's really starting to grate that the media does this to us ladies. Men don't get any of that bullshit. Men don't get double page articles in the newspaper telling them to 'be wary of those commitment phobic women!' even though I know for sure there are commitment phobic women out there (I've even been one in a past relationship), just as there are many men who do want to settle down. Men also don't get guilt tripping articles about enjoying chocolate. Men very rarely get told how to live their lives in the way that women do. They get commentary on events, analysis, news articles. They don't get do this, eat that, behave this way around the opposite sex if you want to be even slightly good enough to deserve a partner.
I can't believe I am actually going to say this. But I think I might start reading a section with zero guilt tripping and lots of fit, buff and healthy men to look at. Yep, you guessed it: the sport section.
Oh yes, but sportsmen do have a tendency to cheat on their wives don't they. Fucksakes.

Chocolate experiment = a massive fail

2010-06-01T03:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, so my attempts at giving up chocolate completely failed. I have been eating a lot less chocolate but after my last post, I kind of gave up, lost all motivation. I have a sweet tooth and am unable to resist.
So, unsurpriseingly, I feel absolutely no different and cannot make any observations whatsoever relating to the link between depression and chocolate.
However, I did notice something. Yes, sometimes I eat chocolate for comfort because I've had a bad afternoon or whatever. But on the most part, I eat chocolate because I'm really hungry and it's the most convenient and speedily energy boosting thing to hand.
I did a small test and without chocolate it seems I only eat around 1,300 calories a day. Considering that we ladies are meant to eat 2,000 calories, no wonder I'm so bloody hungry.
So I shall try and eat much more healthy foods in the hope that my hunger won't turn me to naughty things but not chastise myself too much when the need for sweet takes over.

10 ways to humiliate yourself when dating...

2010-05-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

At work they find my dating stories rather amusing. In fact, one of them has suggested I keep a diary of my dating life as they believe these anecdotes will make a very amusing book, such as '101 ways to totally humiliate yourself.' (N.B. When I suggested this title a male colleague piped up 'I'd buy it'... maybe this is how I shall make my fortune!)
Anyway, the single life can be rather brutal. Often to deal with said brutality and the fact that actually I'm rather shy and the prospect of being incredibly charming over dinner scares the bejesus out of me, I may drink a bit. I'm also rather a lightweight. Cue getting blotto on said dates and making rather a prat of myself.
So that others don't have to suffer my fate, I am very generously giving you my top 10 tips to avoid the things you must NOT do while on a date!

1. Trust your instincts. Don't ever go on a date with a slightly sleazy Albanian barman from your local pub because you're feeling a 'bit bored' even though you feel very unsure about him. The barman will try to grope you, make offensive gestures at you and then call you frigid when miraculously you don't want to sleep with him.
2. Don't drink too much. Never, ever, drink three bottles of wine on a date. You will vomit repeatedly, sob mercilessly for a couple of hours and then spend the next day in bed with a terrible hangover thinking 'I am mental, I am actually mental!' This does not mean you won't hear from the guy again, however if he does ask you out again it will start with 'despite what happened...' and you will feel far too embarrassed to ever see him again.
3. If you're not over your ex, don't date. Never drunkenly email/text/telephone/twitter DM/facebook message/turn up at his house/all of the above your ex-boyfriend after a bad date. A bad date does not make your ex suddenly right for you or make any of the reasons why you split up disappear.
4. If you're not over your ex, don't date x2. Never drunkenly lose your temper with a guy you have just started seeing because he did something a bit like your ex-boyfriend used to do that really pissed you off. This new man is not your ex-boyfriend and so does not deserve any of the rage you seem to be harboring for said ex-boyfriend. It will also totally freak him out.
5. Insist on paying half. Just because a man has bought you dinner and some fancy cocktails it doesn't mean that you have to snog him if you have decided by the end of the night that you don't fancy him. Twice I have snogged a man out of guilt because he has treated me to a nice evening but I don't want to see him again. The first time I nearly vomited afterwards because he had a weird mole on his lip and it freaked me out. The second led to a very awkward kiss outside Clapham Junction station where I legged it before he had a chance to shove his tongue in.
6. Respect yourself. If you are on a date and the man starts talking about how he thinks your mate is 'really hot' or starts watching 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' on the TV behind your head while you are trying to have a conversation with him, don't snog his face off... he is so obviously not that into you and has very little respect for you (and possibly women generally). In fact the right thing to do (and what I wish I had done) is to stand up, politely thank him for the drink and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
7. Don't be inappropriately forward. Never proposition a man over facebook when you have had too much to drink. Even if you are just after something quite casual, it never works and you just wind up feeling a bit stupid.
8. Pick somewhere with good lighting. I once went for a drink with a guy and the bar had this terrible strip lighting that for some reason made me look as though I had a green moustache on my upper lip. I only realised this at the end of the drink and amazingly, I didn't hear from him again.
9. Don't try to force things. In my experience trying to force the dating process by internet dating doesn't really work. I just met rather dull, unattractive - and in one case massively patronizing - men who I didn't feel any semblance of a spark with. A man can be witty and pithy over email and have the most flattering picture imaginable but it's how he is face to face that matters. These things work best when they happen organically and sometimes that means having to be patient for it.
10. Have some privacy and a sense of decorum. Never give any details about your dating life on a public forum like your blog, twitter or facebook, you will offend people and... oh bugger.

I cannot give up chocolate for even one month.

2010-05-17T06:52:00.000-07:00

So a little update post on my experiment into giving up chocolate for a month. The aim of which was to see if this had any effect on my mood and I decided to take it on after reading about a scientific study that suggested there was a link between chocolate and depression.
I have been conducting the experiment for 17 days and admittedly I have failed twice already. On my birthday my sister gave me a peanut butter cookie and I scoffed the lot before realising that it did in fact contain chocolate chunks. Also today, a colleague had hand made some chocolate macaroons. I honestly don't care if this means I have failed in my quest. The chocolate macaroon was so bloody good!
Despite this, I have made some observations about life without chocolate (or just, a lot less chocolate). Firstly, not eating chocolate has meant that I have discovered a whole world of naughty foods I used to ignore. I forgot about the amazingness of crisps, jelly beans, strawberry laces, jelly tots, foam bananas and shrimps, carrot cake... I could go on. Yes, it is true, as predicted I just replaced the chocolate with other sugery crap.
So, my intial experiment analysis was that it's not chocolate I am addicted to and has any effect over my mood but in fact it was sugar... and occasionally salt. This fits in very well with the theory of GI and energy highs and slumps.
Then, after eating the wonderful macaroon this morning and feeling completely satisfied for the first time in weeks, I realised something...
Just as a warning, total indiscretion alert coming up:
Not eating chocolate has made me even more horny than usual. It seems that chocolate curbs any, er, sexual needs in me.
Perhaps that's why chocolate lovers are more depressed, they aren't getting laid?!
This is a theory I must test further. I am to get back on the wagon and I will extend my experiment. I aim to give up pointlessly sugary things until the end of the month. This means no cake, no sweeties and other sugary rubbish. This way I can have a further analysis of my cravings (rather than just stuffing my face with jelly beans instead).

Depressing new scientific study: chocolate lovers are more depressive

2010-04-30T05:34:00.000-07:00

I always believed that chocolate lifted your mood. All the serotonin and what not. But according to a new scientific study reported on BBC News, people who regularly eat chocolate are more depressive. People who eat at least a bar every week are more glum than those who only eat chocolate every now and again and there isn't much scientific evidence for the theory that chocolate lifts mood.
Hmmmm, what does this mean for someone who eats chocolate every day?
Dr Natalie Rose, from the University of California, led the study and admits that this is rather a chicken and egg situation. They cannot tell if chocolate is the cause of depression or if people who are depressive tend to eat more chocolate believing this will cheer them up.
I've never been on anti-depressants or anything like that but I have long been a believer in the effect of healthy eating and mood elevation, so I have decided to conduct a little experiment.
As of tomorrow, I will not be eating chocolate for the entire month of May. It's a little experiment to see if not eating chocolate has any effect of my mood whatsoever, if it makes me feel better or turns me into a grumpy lady desperate for serotonin. Also it will be interesting to see when I crave chocolate the most, if I'm feeling sad, or grumpy or stressed, or just a bit hungry.
Of course I am aware that my experiment is totally useless in the scientific field. You may need to stay away from chocolate a lot longer than a month to see the true effects, it may not be the chocolate itself causing the depression but perhaps, if you believe in the theory of GI, the sugar the chocolate contains (N.B. I will probably still eat cake, I have a lot of birthdays in May) causing glucose highs and crashes. Or perhaps depressive people just tend to have a sweet tooth, the two are not linked and it's a random coincidence. Also, I'm just one person and in the grand scheme of things, my experiences don't amount to much in the way of evidence.
Ah, the perils of science.
All this aside, I am intrigued to see what effect it will have on me if I kick my bar a day habit. I imagine I will find this pretty tough. To be honest, the most likely outcome is that chocolate will be replaced with some other sugary confection... then again, I should have more faith in myself. Maybe I will feel happier at the end of it. Perhaps I won't miss chocolate at all. Maybe I'll get that washboard stomach I've been dreaming of forever!

A post that discusses Christianity, Prejudice and Freud. Oooh!

2010-04-28T09:33:00.000-07:00

This week in Stylist, that delightfully colourful freesheet for girls, I read an interesting article about the prejudices against christianity. According to the article, 70% of us claim christianity is their faith, so, Stylist asks, why do practicing believers face prejudices on a daily basis?
For a freesheet it was certainly an interesting read from a viewpoint that is rarely discussed. So top marks to Stylist on that front. And the colourful products are all so pretty...
Anyways, as an athiest, I have long felt that there is nothing there. This may be a reaction to the intolerance of certain walks of life the christian faith can preach, this may be a reaction to the barbaric wars, sexism, homophobia and, well, murder that has taken place throughout history in the name of god. Perhaps it is common sense, if I were born on the other side of the world, my religious beliefs would be completely different, thus religion is circumstantial and doesn't that make faith redundant?
However in truth, my lack of belief in god is something I feel in my gut. My non-faith as it were. At university I read an article written by Freud, this article stated that religion was merely an expression of fear of death. Perhaps to many that is rather insulting and Freud did say a lot of weird shit, but this article resonated with me. It made sense.
And religion can be comfort in difficult times. And for that there is nothing wrong with Christianity. Far better to pray for comfort when you are in emotional or physical turmoil than to drink yourself stupid or do drugs. Also, Christianity has defined right and wrong in our society in many ways, i.e. no stealing, no adultery, respecting thy neighbour, helping others less fortunate than yourself and what not.
However, having encountered prejudice and hypocrisy from various Christians I have met I found this article moaning about prejudice rather difficult to swallow.
For example, the Christian women who stands outside the abortion centre near my office giving out pro-life leaflets and shouting abuse at any poor young girl going inside, despite the fact she is probably about to make the hardest decision of her life, makes it hard for me to not judge Christians as being judgmental.
As another example, when I first went to university I went to Christian Union Barn Dance with some new flatmates. Being the liberal, free-thinking, everyone has their own path hippie I was, I had no problem attending. I thought it would be fun, besides, one of the lads was cute. That was until I was forced to sit down and listen to a lecture about how non-Christians were all going to hell and it was the job of all Christians to turn them to the path of light... Despite my anger at this fucking awful and almost cult-esque speech I continued to be friendly to everyone, counting the minutes till I could get out of there. I got chatting to this one bloke - now, I was a virgin at this time, romantically saving myself for a man I could love - and this chap asked which church I was from. I told him the truth, that I was an athiest and just looking to meet new friends. He replied 'Oh don't worry, I love non-christian girls, total freaks in the sack.'
I think I have made my point. And yes, it was quite funny.
But I do feel sympathy for individual Christians who may not have any intolerances against those from other walks of life but are shoved in a bible basher box for which they don't deserve. Christians who do use their faith for their own comfort, if it's something they believe in their own gut, something for them rather than something they try to impose on others.
Possibly that old adage 'two wrongs don't make a right' is rather fitting here. Shall we cut a deal Christianity? You don't judge me, I won't judge you.

Election Fever...

2010-04-16T05:48:00.000-07:00

Last night telly history happened. I'm sure you are aware of this, unless you are hidden under a rock somewhere?
The leaders of our three political parties, Gordon Brown of Labour, Tory David Cameron and Lib Dem leader Nick Clegg were involved in a live debate on ITV. Admittedly it was a rather 'eighties Britain' looking affair not helped at all by Gordon Brown's awful pink tie, dark brown suit and light blue shirt combination. However the debate was enthralling, I haven't got this excited by telly since vampire Bill Compton and Suki finally got it on in True Blood. In fact, I got so excited, that I forgot all about The Outnet first birthday designer £1 sale.
David Cameron looked so plastic I spent more time searching out a wrinkle on his face than listening to what he was saying. It bothers me that this man should spend so much time on his appearance. Surely he is going to be so busy with his botox injections, his facials and his suit fittings that he's not going to have time to really run this country? That and there is his child on the way, a dad I know is so knackered from his newborn that sometimes he isn't aware what day of the week it is, let alone anything about national debt, how many bobbies are on the beat and the state of the health service.
Gordon Brown I felt came across in a very gentle and trustworthy manner with his warm scottish accent. I was surprised by how I warmed to him, regardless of the terrible suit. And contrary to claims that he is nothing but a dour, bullying Scot he raised the biggest laugh of the night with his 'You can't airbrush your policies like you do your posters David' quip.
However, his comments about the economy left me running scared. It was like he was suggesting that we should just keep muddling on as we are. Keep spending as we are. Now, I don't know a huge amount about politics but I do know about budgeting. In short, there is no way you can pay off a debt without making cut backs and I think, as a country, we are prepared for this. We are aware that we, somewhere, at some point, are going to have to pay more taxes to sort out the national debt. All I want is a government who can sort this out in an efficient and responsible manner.
Perhaps it is irresponsible of me to admit on my blog which way I am planning to vote at present, but hey, I've admitted that I suffer from mild depression if I don't exercise, the rate of my debt just a year ago and if you check out my posterous blog, you can see what undercrackers I've bought recently, so obviously discretion isn't a strong point of mine.
Anyway, based on his performance last night, I'm going with Lib Dem and to me, Nick Clegg was the clear winner of the night. I also did an online quiz about who I should vote for this morning, Lib Dem was the outcome and if a quiz says so, it must be the right choice (I'm ignoring that the quiz suggested that the Conservatives should be my second choice).
Nick Clegg really stepped up to the bar and used this opportunity with all his might. The way he kept sticking his hands in his pockets after earnestly gesticulating his points and the fact that his suit was slightly too big for him reminded me of a young and enthusiastic teacher who really does want to do everything he can to make things better. He seemed to be the only one out of the three who talked about saving us from national debt in a practical everyman manner, scrapping all the bureaucratic crap and spending the money on real people, things that really matter. His only pitfall was the nuclear stuff - does he want us to be a sitting duck?!
Admittedly I am biased, I've always voted Lib Dem and always got irritated when people have told me my vote is 'wasted.' If everyone who wanted to vote Lib Dem but voted for someone else because they were worried about a 'wasted vote' actually voted Lib Dem then parliament might look very different.
After the disaster of the recession and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan people are deeply unhappy with the current government and I still don't think there is a great deal of trust for David Cameron, being the slimy, smooth-foreheaded character he is. So now more than ever I think Lib Dem has a chance, at the very least to form part of a coalition government - something both David Cameron and Gordon Brown were obviously considering. Brown made attempts in the debate to argue their compatibility in this way and Cameron posed all 'buddy buddy' with Clegg for photographers at the end.
Reading the papers this morning, I got very different stories about the election debate last night. As the Media Guardian today notes, "British newspaper readers woke up this morning to news of nine different debates between the main party leaders, with a range of outcomes to suit every taste."
Don't you just love the freedom of the press?!
Don't listen to what the papers say, make up your own mind... take a quiz.

A big FatSecret

2010-04-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life you overdo it. I am guilty of this. I have been guilty of this a lot recently. Too much chocolate, too much alcohol, too much cheese, too much, of well, everything.
And it has given me a double chin. Nobody likes a double chin.
So, time to hit a health kick and hit it hard.
But it's not just a vanity thing really. This is not something I have admitted to before but if I don't look after myself, I get depressed. And I mean massively depressed. I feel totally out of control, like I can't handle anything about the world.
I started being a health geek in the second year of university. My gran had just died and I was really upset, I had all these new subjects and exams that I was nervous about and even though I had a nice boyfriend, good friends and family I was always very shy, socially anxious and scared about what the world held.
However, when I worked out and ate healthy foods, I felt on top of it. Like I could handle anything this world threw at me. And the double chin disappeared, result!
Ever since the health geekery has slowly taken over much of my life. That was until the end of last year. At the end of last year, it all went a bit wrong. Which is a shame because I think last year was a time when I needed those endorphins a hell of a lot. For the months of December and January I didn't work out at all. Not once. And since that it has been pretty sporadic. I also ate a lot of crappy high-fat but very comforting foods too. I couldn't say no to chocolate or crisps. I tried to give them up for lent, I failed. I was using cake to fill the hole of sadness and it was only making me feel worse.
Last Saturday morning, while lying in bed feeling shockingly terrible from yet another hangover and eating an entire tub of glace cherries, I decided that this bullshit had to stop. This was not me, this undisciplined, weeping mess of a woman was not the woman I was just a couple of years ago. I'm fucking tougher than this.
So, on Sunday I went for a five mile run with my marathon runner friend (yep, his average Sunday consists of a marathon, he is a machine) and I felt uncommonly better. A bit of that old 'I can handle this fucking world' was back. And hurrah for it.
In a restaurant on Monday I went for the healthy fish and salad option and didn't eat any chocolate for the first time in fucking ages.
Today I have ignored the Easter egg and packet of Turkish Delight sitting on the office cabinet behind me.
And yesterday my sister introduced me to my new obsession: FatSecret.
It's AMAZING and free! It's an online food and exercise diary that automatically records the calories, protein, fat and carbohydrates you are eating everyday and then compares them to the amount of activity you are doing. You can do a daily weigh in to see how much weight you should have lost from the diet and exercise regime you have been following. They also have tips, recipes and a forum so you can make dieting buddies. It's so cute, practical and useful! Although admittedly somewhat American.
But my lord, I didn't realise quite how many calories there were in everything, (260 calories in a snickers bar, ouch) and also, just how easy they are to burn. Just by sitting on the tube for twenty minutes, you can burn 84 calories.
Happily there is nothing pro-anorexia about it. If recordings show that you are getting underweight it sends you dire warnings that you should go to your doctor. And it can even help you maintain your weight but just be healthier.
I'm pretty excited thus far about this personal calorie calculator. Fingers crossed for a happier and healthier few months ahead.

Another Mad Men thought: Old-fashioned romance.

2010-03-30T09:44:00.000-07:00

When it comes to old-fashioned courtship, I think many of us women are complete hopeless romantics. As far as we are concerned, the old-fashioned gentlemanly way is how we should be treated.
Flights of fancy and old-fashioned whimsy are very fashionable right now, just look at the darling Paloma Faith, the beautiful retro clothes shop Vivian of Holloway and sites like diaryofavintagegirl.com, where forties enthusiast Fleur de Guerre very beautifully waxes lyrical about the fashions of a bygone age.
This obsession isn't just about the beauty of the clothes - although that does have a lot to do with it - this is about romance. This is about the idea that a man asked you out to dinner and treated you with respect, who took your coat and paid for the meal and you wouldn't have to feel awkward while he did. (As I always do anyway as I have a thing about penniless creative types and usually earn more than the bloke.) This is about a perfect kiss at your front door and a man taking off his hat in respect towards you and giving you his coat at the end of the night in case you might be cold. This is about men behaving like a gentleman who is trying to win your affections rather than thinking they will shag you on a first date and then forget you.
That's how men behaved back then wasn't it? Beautiful stories like The Notebook, old movies like An Affair to Remember, old re-runs of Goodnight Sweetheart and the story of how my grandpa courted my grandma when they were young (he proposed several times and she initially only agreed out of pity for him, but gradually he won her over and by the time they were married she was madly in love. Awww.) have made me believe that in contrast men of modern times are rubbish when it comes to romance.
It is said so often, that modern men wouldn't know chivalry if it bit them in the arse. So many articles claim that thanks to feminism and female emancipation modern men are nothing more than frightened little boys ruled by battered egos, hence why they cheat, why they lie, why they treat us with disrespect. Because some women are just too fabulous and some men just can't live up to us. Cheryl Tweedy and Ashley Cole being a case in point...
Mad Men has shown me to reject such rose-tinted notions of the past. As far as Mad Men is concerned, it's not that romance is dead. It was never really there to begin with.
Some men have always been complete pricks no matter what age they come from. For example, Don and Betty Draper's marriage from Mad Men fills me with untold despair.
Don courted Betty by sending her the coat he saw her admiring but couldn't afford. So far, so romantic and chivalrous. But after a couple of years of marriage and a couple of kids he cheats on her regularly, despite her being the spit of Grace Kelly, he is also mentally and physically abusive to her.
And the poor woman is stuck, stuck in her gilted cage of a house with no escape. Even when she attempts to make a career by taking some modeling jobs Don sabotages it for her. And this man is meant to be our dashing hero despite the fact that he treats his wife like shit. (But it's because he's so complicated and tortured, yep, that old chestnut. And so it seems, that just as I have thought about many modern men, Don Draper needs to man the hell up.)
And he's far from the only one. Peter Campbell cheats on his new wife with secretary Peggy, Roger Sterling is completely open about using prostitutes and having affairs behind the back of his wife of many years. They muck women around, treat them with disdain and disrespect quite openly in their little boys club.
Compared to the men of the 50's and 60's advertising agencies modern men are rather wonderful creatures. Do you know why? Because they are forced to take responsibility for their actions. Women are no longer afraid to hold their men to account. Women can walk away from a serial philanderer, she can divorce without shame, it is they who should now feel ashamed. While she can have her own career and know she will survive.
So men might not wear a fabulous trilby anymore (a loss I do lament) and there will always be something quite lovely about a man offering me his arm or giving me his coat if it's cold (that's just good manners!) but I think I might cut the modern man a break. In comparison, he really ain't so bad.

Converting myself into a Mad Men lady.

2010-03-25T11:14:00.000-07:00

I was rather late into the Mad Men obsession. It was only when a colleague said: 'You must love Joan Holloway, she's very you.' I thought, who is this Joan Holloway? I must seek out a kindred spirit of red-head womanliness. So I purchased Seasons 1 & 2. Last night I finished Season 1, which enthralled, disgusted and delighted me in equal measures. It was so compelling, so stylish, so darkly funny, so slick but so misogynist and so much smoking!

Anyway, I decided to turn myself into a walking Mad Men woman: See the picture right to see how I would look! A woman who wears stockings and corsets and has perfect nails and rollored hair, even in the middle of the night she is perfectly coiffed with a pretty nightie and floaty silk dressing gown. A woman who puts her appearance before all else and accepts men as sexist pigs because that's 'just how men are.' Luckily, no man has been a sexist pig towards me, what with us living in 2010, so thankfully I haven't had to grit my teeth and be all sweetness and light in that situation.

Now two Mad Men style things I will not be doing is 1) constantly smoking as it's a) now illegal to smoke in most of the places the Mad Men ladies smoke and b) rather detrimental to my health. 2) I will also not drink copious amounts of whiskey when I'm meant to be working. There is a distinct possibility that whiskey may make me more creative in the office but I can't see my superior managers thinking much of me as I slur my way through a four-hour strategic planning meeting and then vomiting in a bin. I can assure you this is what will happen if I drink too much whiskey.
So anyway, onto the experiment:

The Wardrobe:
I have a rather retro style wardrobe anyway so luckily I am not having to go shopping to purchase some Joan Holloway or Betty Draper style outfits. I'm also used to strutting about in pencil skirts with nipped in waists. And oh, I've always thought it's lovely.

The stockings and suspenders:
I do already own rather intense underwearage like stockings and such. Although these were purchased as treats for the boyfriend rather than everyday wear...
Putting the fiddling stockings and suspenders on first thing in the morning, while my still bleary eyes trouble to even focus let alone concentrate on something so delicate, is rather a pain in the arse. It does definitely look a hell of a lot sexier than a pair of tights, however, even though my pencil skirt is well passed my knees I do feel rather self-conscious as I walk around the office feeling the relentless tug tug of the stockings around my thighs. Like everyone knows I am wearing this underwear like some kind of strumpet - even though fifty years ago these are the kind of things women wore on a daily basis. And even when I take them off I can feel them there, tugging, pressing, pulling on my skin. On the plus side, the stockings are cheaper than tights and if one ladders it's not a big deal, you can still wear the other one and just match it to one of the others in your stocking drawer. However, the handwashing may be a pain.
Also, and this is rather delicate, but going to the toilet? Ha! I work on just holding it all in until I can't take it anymore and then have to wiggle everything off just enough to go without going through the palava of taking everything off and then putting it back on again. This may explain why women took ages in the loo back then. Although it doesn't really explain why we take ages now...
Anyway, it may look sexy but if a gentleman did actually, er, come to call, there isn't actually that much in the way of ease of access. Getting all this underwear off is actually like Fort Knox. Not as sexy as you would think.

The corset:
Ouch! Maybe that's why men thought women the lesser sex, with such a lack of oxygen they couldn't breathe let alone think. Admittedly I do have a far more hour-glass silhouette which looks rather nice indeed. And it does make me feel more flirtatious, submissive and like I'm oozing sex or something. But to be honest, that's all a bit much for the office. That and I'd rather be able to concentrate on something other than the pain I'm feeling in my ribs.

Nails:
I'm going to have to buy falsies, with my actually having to live a life, growing my own perfect nails is unlikely to happen.

Nightwear:
I have been wearing vintage nighties to bed and floating around my flat in a silk dressing gown rather than my fluffy pink toweling dressing gown. Which has felt rather glamorous indeed, if a bit cold.

The Hair:
It takes a team of hairdressing experts three hours to construct Joan Holloway's hairstyles. I have, oooh, half an hour in the morning. But I make do with some heated rollers and the outcome is pretty good. But my hair looks, well, too bitty. The curls are all too individual. Then I remember something my gran once said to me. 'Sheryl dear, you always look like your hair needs a good brush.' My gran would have been about Betty Drapers age in 1960 so maybe she has a point. I carefully brush my curls. Et Voila! I look very retro. That is, until I go out in the rain and my hair just becomes a frizz bomb.

So what am I learning from my Mad Men experience? It's all a lot of effort. For a special occasion, the underwear, the clothes, the hair, it will all make you feel marvellous. But for everyday wear? I'm thinking I'll stick to tights thanks.

My apologies...

2010-03-22T05:35:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't blogged in months. I'm sorry. I've been really busy!
And this post is little more than a promise to myself to be more proactive in the blogging sense. I've had a pretty redesign (doesn't Rita look just lovely above?!) and I've made a decision. Obviously paying off my overdraft was a major deal for my blog previously. Well, the amazing news is that I have done it. I have paid off my overdraft, woohoo! I am no longer in major debt (aside from my student loan) and am free to write about other things...
Following this triumph over debt I have been trying to figure out how to fit my blog into a niche. Trying to work out what kind of blogger I wanted to be. There are so many different types of blogs and bloggers out there. There are foodie blogs, fashion blogs, sex blogs, feminist blogs, cancer blogs. You only need to pick up a copy of this months Company to see that there are blogs out there related to every single subject under the sun. Whenever I go to blogger networking events (I know, how geeky am I?!) I'm asked, 'what kind of blog do you write?' (For which I used to respond: paying off debts, fashion.) But I've decided I no longer want to typecast my blog into a particular label or subject. I have too much to say on too many different things to limit myself.
I only write this blog for me really. This isn't my job. I have one of those. I can't imagine I even have that many regular readers (aside from my sister, Hi Nic!) So this is more a creative outlet for anything else I want to write about... admittedly themes may crop up: food, fashion, health, charity, music, books, film, general geekery. But on here I will generally write about anything. Aside from my private life. That's private. And if you want to read about that you will have to break into my room and read the notebook hidden under my bed. (How very tantalising for you all...)

And I am inspired...

2010-01-07T12:39:00.000-08:00

At work yesterday I interviewed a woman who is hula hooping her way up Mount Kilimanjaro to raise money for the charity I work for (World Cancer Research Fund) because she has two close friends battling cancer.
She is taking the Lemosho Route, known as the second timers route because it's the longest of the outfield routes, the climb will take eight days, sometimes climbing for six hours at a time and up to approx 12,000 feet every day. Some people suffer terrible sickness and nausea. And this woman, who admits she is 'athletically disinclined', plans to not only climb the mountain but also hula hoop at particular points all the way up and then hula hoop at the summit, despite probably being tired, dirty and in agonizing pain!
I talk to a lot of fundraisers in my job and don't get me wrong, I always enjoy hearing about the amazing things they are doing for us, it always puts a smile on my face.
But talking to this girl made me feel particularly invincable, like anything is possible.
Her positivity was amazing, I just loved her chipper personality, her 'I can do anything' point of view. Doing something this amazing because it would make her two friends smile. And she is taking Hula Hooping classes in North London! (http://www.ilovehulahooping.com/) I am so going!
But anyway, back to the amazing fundraiser, Julianne McGregor who is 28. She plans to raise £3,350 for WCRF and will climb the mountain this September.
"Like most people, I have close friends and family in my life who are fighting, or have fought, cancer." she said, "They come from all walks of life but the one thing they have in common is an overwhelming positivity in the face of trials and a fantastic sense of humour. At the risk of sounding cheesy, they inspire me every day and brighten the lives of those around them, so I thought it was high time I returned the favour."
She has a youtube channel too, www.youtube.com/hulajules, and will be making videos of her progress as she trains and when she does climb the mountain and you can sponsor her at www.wcrf-uk.org/sponsor.
She's inspired me so much I think I might take up a challenge of my own... any ideas anyone?

So, it's 2010 and I have a New Years resolution or two...

2010-01-03T08:36:00.000-08:00

1) Pay off my overdraft (currently only £526 overdrawn so I have high hopes for this one! And yes, I had this one last year, but at the beginning of last year my overdraft was nearer to the £3,000 mark so I feel I have done rather well.)
2) Improve my finances generally and change the way I spend money.
3) Improve my punctuation.
4) Get back to a more healthier way of living.
5) Start being a bit more crafty, making my own clothes, making jam and chutney, etc (I bet you lot are well excited about your birthday presents now aren't you?!)
6) Get better at this web design thing.

And there are some others, generally about being a more dignified lady (especially at parties) and some other stuff about handling the menfolk better. But that's all a bit too personal to go into here.

So, what are everyone else's New Years resolutions?

Before Christmas, how things in my life are progressing...

2009-12-23T08:25:00.000-08:00

Overdraft total = £914. Not bad but nowhere near target. But aside from a little indiscretion in Primark last weekend I really have been very good. New target is by end of March at the very latest.
Health = I have been suffering from a cold for a week (a whole week! Unheard of in my land), I have eaten my entire weight in Quality Street (in fact, I reckon I look like a Quality Street right now) and I have done sod all exercise for a fortnight. I am going to become fat and spotty and horrendous.
Crafty/web design progress = I have made nothing and I have learnt nothing new about how to web design.
Improving punctutuation = Errrrrrm...
Lovelife = I refuse to answer this.
Job = Actually going quite well! However, just one hour and 39 minutes and then I won't have to worry about that for a whole week and a half. WOO HOO!

Cutting down...

2009-12-09T06:05:00.000-08:00

Check out this web page from NHS Choices: http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Hangover/Pages/Introduction.aspx
I took part in this little test about alcohol consumption and erm, I'm terrified by the results. Apparently "drinking at this level could lead to you developing health and relationship problems."
WHAT?! So I'm on a one way street to liver disease and being alone forever?!
I don't even think I drink that much, yeah I go out, I'm a young person, but I don't have a drink problem, I drink just as much as everyone else around me, and I only drink socially, I don't need a bottle of wine on a night in while sitting in front of the telly on my own. So, with that in mind I actually drink probably a lot less than some people. So I'm ok, right?
Well apparently not.
Anyway, I'm now shit scared and I'm going to cut down. This also helps me towards my healthier lifestyle resolution.
This is not an easy task in the festive season but the NHS have kindly given me five tips:
1) Work out a daily limit and stick to it. Wow, this is like AA. Hmmm, shall we say 1 maximum during the week and then three maximum on a Friday or a Saturday?
2) Do more activities that don't involve drinking. Like Hula Hooping? Or maybe I should take Flamenco dancing classes, I quite fancy that.
3) Eat before and while you are drinking
4) Don't let anyone 'top up' your drinks
5) Tell your friends you're cutting down - Friends! I'm cutting down.

Hula hooping across my bedroom.

2009-12-03T04:52:00.000-08:00

Hula hoops are fun right? Hula hoops can't cause you any pain. They are just something you played with in the playground at school. Nothing hardcore about a hula hoop.
Well, that would be a very wrong assumption. Hula hoops cause PAIN.
Last night I put on some dance music, some Justice, some Prodigy and some pop too, Girls Aloud is somewhat fun to hula hoop too! I grabbed my new freebie hula hoop and I hula-ed. For an hour. And I can honestly say it was the most hardcore workout I have done in ages. My back, thighs and even my arms are literally killing me today. And my stomach was killing me last night. This is good. When hula-ing in a little crop top last night I could see just how imperfect my stomach was. With a bit more hula-ing, I am so banishing the belly wobbles. And, according to some nutrition and fitness experts I know, I probably burned about 550 calories, that's nearly five milky way bars!
Ok admittedly I wasn't constantly hula-ing. My abs aren't that amazing. Initially the hula spent more time on the floor than it did twirling around my waist. And there were a fair few times everything went a bit tits up and the hoop smacked me in the face (see, hula hoops cause pain). There was also a bit of a space constraint issue - my room is large but it's not that large. I very nearly sent two glasses of water and a bedside lamp flying.
However, as the hour went on I got better, lots better. I went from barely doing one turn of the hoop to being able to walk/sort of jig around my room keeping the hoop up. Oh my daydreams now, I want to be like Yulia Pikhtina from La Clique who can hula 50 hoops at once, who can hula two hoops on each arm and who I must say is a very firm and pert bottomed lady.

Hula hooping: the future of my fitness regime!

The Salmon Bake went well...

2009-12-02T05:45:00.000-08:00

so here's the recipe!

Preparation and cooking time:
40 minutes
Per serving:
Calories: 468kcal
Fat: 10.5g
Salt: 1.6g
5 A DAY: 2

Ingredients

(serves 2)

150g/5½oz macaroni or other similar pasta 180g/6oz can salmon 1 teaspoon mixed herbs (or a handful of fresh basil) 400g/14oz can chopped tomatoes Freshly milled black pepper 30g/1oz low-fat cheddar, grated 50g/2oz wholemeal breadcrumbs 25g/1oz pine nuts (optional)

Method

Preheat the oven to 190ºC/375ºF/Gas mark 5.
Cook the pasta in boiling water according to the instructions on the packet.
Tip the drained salmon into a mixing bowl, break up with a fork, checking for and removing any large bones.
Add the mixed herbs (or shredded basil) to the salmon, then add the chopped tomatoes.
Drain the pasta and combine with the salmon mixture. Season well with black pepper and place in an ovenproof dish.
Sprinkle the cheese, breadcrumbs and pine nuts (if using) over the top. Place in the oven to colour the top and heat through for around 15 to 20 minutes.

Top Tip

While the tomatoes in this recipe do count as two portions of your 5 A DAY, it is worth remembering that consuming a variety of vegetables and fruits is important.

Visit www.wcrf-uk.org/recipes for lots more :)

On day five, five ways in which I have started to get my life together...

2009-12-01T06:35:00.000-08:00

1) I got paid yesterday and put a whole hunk of cash into my overdraft. I am now only £749.52 overdrawn. Not so bad!
2) I have got my mits on a hula hoop (for free) and tonight plan to hula hoop my stomach into oblivion.
3) This morning I did half an hour of yoga instead of being a lazy arse in bed.
4) I actually bothered to shave my legs
5) This lunchtime, I got all my food for the week and spent a tiny weeny £9.33. Tonight I shall make a recipe from the World Cancer Research Fund's budget bites cook book: Salmon pasta bake, which should last me four meals. If it's good, I'll post the recipe tomorrow.

Looking to the future...

2009-11-26T12:02:00.000-08:00

I have a small confession to make.
I am not doing as well at the whole paying off my debts thing as I had previously stated. In fact, I haven't even looked at my overdraft for a fortnight because I'm really scared that all my hard work will have evaporated into dust/been given to all the shops on Oxford Street.
I blame Christmas. I was doing alright, I swear financial guru, I really was. I was following your well thought out plan, I was saving money, it was torture, but it was tolerable torture and I was doing ok.
Then I went to Westfield. My mum took me to buy me a coat for Christmas. Then I planned to put the rest of my Christmas money into my overdraft. Yes, you read right, I planned to put Christmas money into my overdraft. HA! Have I met myself for fuck sake? At the end of the day laden with bags I had spent every penny. And you know what? It was damn worth it. I really did need a faux fur coat, a jumper with a tiger sequinned on the front, a black knit jumper dress, a floral clutch bag, two shirts, two round neck black T-shirts, a black and gold suede belt and a floral scarf, I really did! I was on such a high when I got home. The shopping had made me quite drunk. And then I went crazy and spent fuckloads of money on Oxford street, Spitalfields Market and drinking rum in a bar. And then I went to buy a perfume and ended up buying three because I couldn't decide which smell I liked best and they were on a 3 for 2 deal. It was at that point I knew it had all gone hazardously wrong.
Not only is my cash situation a problem, I have to admit something else. I haven't been very healthy lately. In fact, I have been a total carboholic who hasn't worked out for a week or two (it's been so cold in the mornings!) and my hard worked for abdominal muscles are well, jellified. And I'm getting quite spotty. If this is what stuffed pasta does to your skin I'm not so sure it's much of a comfort food anymore.
So, it's about time I stop being a lazy moany cow and get my life in order. And I am going to be a bit more crafty (A great way to save money I'm told). And more web savvy. This is the third blog I've had and I still can't work out how to create hyperlinks. Oh and I've been a journalist and a PR for four years, I've got a first class degree and I still can't use apostrophes. So any punctuation tips would be good too.
So, this is no longer a blog bemoaning my lack of money, this is no longer a blog lusting after things I can't afford (but if you still want to read that, you can go to my simpleblog http://www.sartorialpervert.posterous.com/) this is a turn my life around blog, a postive improve myself blog. Where I will share my hints, tips, recipes and ideas to make me a better person. A person who does things rather than buys things. I have 365 days, starting from tomorrow, to get my act together. This time next year I will be a far richer, craftier, web savier, healthier, better punctuated woman.
I just need your ideas! So please send them to me at ginger_princess365@yahoo.co.uk and I'll make sure I feature as much as I can.
And going back to the overdraft. Right, time to be brave. Let's have a look: £1,137.60 Oh shit fuck shit rubbish fuck shit shit bugger. Worse than I thought. :(

Frocks of the future?

2009-11-23T09:18:00.000-08:00

At the fashion party I mentioned the other day I got chatting to this lady called Alice Wilby. She had a very nice broach on her coat, I told her I liked it and things went from there.

Turns out she is a stylist who runs an online eco lux fashion magazine called Futurefrock (www.futurefrock.com) created to 'feed your fashion fix without compromising your ethics.'

It's a pretty slick affair, with lots of beautiful on-trend photoshoots and and environmentally-friendly fashion items, all sourced ethically. There is a range of prices from £400 for a pendant to £40 for a skirt.

I wanted to share this website with the world, and basically, get your thoughts!

So what do we think? Pretentious rubbish that just makes those of us on the breadline feel guilty because we can only afford a £6 Primark skirt rather than a £40 People Tree one? Or a refreshing beacon of hope that fashion can be planet friendly?

Is cheap Jimmy Choo a reason to break the shopping ban?

2009-11-11T08:39:00.000-08:00

Recently I went to a fashion party where these two new designers, Julia Smith and Joanne Stoker, were opening a shop in Connaught Village.
There was this one pair of very splendid heels by Joanne Stoker that I quite loved: black velvet, covered in zips and with a solid silver heel.
I asked how much they were... £700. (There was also this beautiful, beautiful pink netted strapless corset dress with a little pink net train designed by Julia Smith, which did not even have a price on it. I moved my champagne away quickly.) In a month £700 would pay my rent, all my bills and my travel. That one pair of shoes costs my entire living expenses for one month. And this wasn't even a well established designer, this was a new designer. And you know what, I am so jealous of the posh girl who could afford those shoes (and dress) and then drink a £13 daiquiri in Chinawhites. It's a whole other world that an average girl such as me (who turned up to said party in a £35 dress from Dotty P) will never be part of.
This is why I am very cheered by Jimmy Choo's new H&M collection, out this Saturday. And these are really nice. I especially like the zebra-print strappies (my sister is desperate for them) and the red strappies showcased in Stylist magazine today.
Just as an aside, I've heard Jimmy is a very nice man, I do have a shoe drawing of his alongside an autograph stuck on my wall.
But sadly I won't be queuing up outside H&M for hours and then hitting some women over the head with my brolly to get my hands on a pair. Forgive my lack of dedication, (if they were Christian Louboutin I probably would, despite the ban!) but I have to stay true to the ban. I have to get these debts paid off, I'm so close. That and the whole, can't afford Christmas presents for my family so really shouldn't be buying shoes situation.
So instead, I shall just put a shoe pic on my blog and that will just have to suffice. *Sob*

I've just realised... I can't afford Christmas

2009-11-11T08:11:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'm on track to be debt free by the end of the year. Apart from one tincy wincy problem.
Christmas. I have no money for Christmas.
I initially thought I would have some cash in my contingency fund to pay for Christmas pressies. It seems, I do not. Unless of course I am somehow going to buy eight presents with twenty quid.
*Sigh* I do tend to buy everyone really nice clothes at Christmas (I like clothes, I'm good at clothes... you may have noticed this fact), sadly this year I can barely afford Primark. Oh no, disappointment for all abounds.
Help me! Please comment with lots of suggestions on how I can make fab presents for my family without spending too much/anything!
There are my two sisters, my mum, my dad, my bloke, my nan, my mates secret santa, my work secret santa.
I read an article in The Daily Mirror (http://www.mirror.co.uk/advice/christmas/2009/11/09/50-ways-to-save-money-this-christmas-115875-21807603/) with some ideas but they all seem rather cheap... oh yes, that's the point.
However, I particularly like the tickets to BBC shows and the personalised calendar ideas (points 13 and 21) and there is a huge possibility my family might be getting a load of 'I will do this for you when I have some money' vouchers.
I don't like it though. My parents are always so generous and I love playing the big sister who can spoil her two student sisters.
But what I can't give in money I can give in time. So please people, comment with your ideas! I'm creative! I can make things!
Oh dear, Christmas this year is going to be funny.

Someone save Luella!

2009-11-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

It's a sad day for quirky British fashion. Luella has ceased trading:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/nov/10/luella-bartley-ceases-trading-closure-fashion

Such a shame, her current ready-to-wear collection is very cute. With all the bows and heart cut outs. Who is River Island going to rip off this season now? Luella is the reason I love River Island so. Will they crumble without her? Or just go a bit chavvy again?
Oh, I hope it doesn't go all horribly wrong for Luella, I hope they get another financier and start trading again. As I have shown in previous posts, (http://sartorialpervert.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-love-luella.html) I have so always wanted to own my own Luella piece, you know, one day, when I could afford it. You always think such brands, especially those with a £9m turnover, are invincible. But the recession has put us all on shaky ground it seems.
If Christian Louboutin goes before I can afford a pair of his heels, I actually will cry.

Dressing my sister...

2009-11-10T04:40:00.000-08:00

After reading about some of my combination talents on this blog. My sister asked me to clear out and reinvent her wardrobe and offered to buy me dinner for the privilege.
Let me think, spend the day doing something I love and then get bought dinner for doing it... well, how could I refuse?!
My sister has a fabulous wardrobe and a lot of beautiful things she doesn't wear enough, she admits she often buys things and then isn't sure what to put them with, so she never wears them. Or items get stuck in one particular outfit and she doesn't know how to mix and match, to get more wear out of them.
This was my challenge. To take the items she wasn't sure how to combine and make up some new outfits she may never have thought of before.
To be honest, I would be very keen to have someone do this for me and my wardrobe. A fresh eye is always a good way to mix things up. And if you feel like you have a whole new refreshed and reinvented wardrobe, then you are less likely to feel the need to buy new stuff and thus, you will save money. Hurrah!
For the next few days I shall post my favourite outfits that I put together for my sister.
Day one is this lovely frilled cream and black spotty twenties style flapper top. Nic loves it but rarely wears it as she has no idea how to. I admit, it's a difficult top to wear. It looks like a shirt, so a skirt won't work with it. Black jeans are the only thing in Nic's wardrobe I see working. Along with these cute glittery pumps from River Island, some clashing animal print hoop earrings and a black Carrie Bradshaw corsage gives things a little lift. It's a very 'meet his parents' kind of outfit but would also work for any low key work do.

Other ideas...

2009-11-09T05:51:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I have been so busy I haven't had a chance to blog my other ideas for the dress!
Well, I have two other outfits I really like. Here they are:
First up, I figured out a way to make the summery outfit with the blue skirt a bit more winter-esque. I have replaced the open toed sandals with shoe boots and black tights. The butterfly belt with a little black bow belt and put a white shirt underneath the dress. Marvellous!
Another idea is to put a whole other dress like this floral skirt poplin dress over the top of the dress, so cute!
Other ideas suggested by friends include wearing various multi-coloured tights and also, focusing on hair and make up to change your look rather than clothes. This, I feel, is clever as make up and hair is far easier and cheaper to change.
So in all I have created 13 different looks with one dress. Admittedly that is nowhere near as many as Sheena Matheiken (http://theuniformproject.com/) who is wearing the same dress (she has seven different versions to avoid the stinky/ruining the dress issue) for an entire year and is raising money for the Akanksha Foundation for the education of underprivileged kids in India. She has already raised more than $28,000 and the project has only been going since May. And my lord this woman looks cool! I especially love the different coloured socks she seems to favour. My only concern? How the hell would you wear this dress on a big night out to somewhere glitzy? Don't get my wrong, it's a cute and obviously very versatile dress. But it doesn't really scream glamour does it? I saw the outfit she wore for her 6 months of the dress anniversary party and... just not that fussed. However, the whole ethos of the project I especially love. We don't need lots of clothes! Just buy some really good quality black staples and lots of colourful quirky accessories!

Right, where can you buy colourful socks?

Project: Abort

2009-11-02T09:05:00.000-08:00

A disaster has occurred.

My dress has a hole in it. At the armpit join, a hole I tell you! I have whiffed so much it has blown the stitches clean away! Or maybe Febreeze erodes the cotton? It's not too much of a problem. I can sew it up for future wear. But it has made me realise the outcome of my project. You cannot wear the same cheap dress solidly for days on end. You will ruin it! I barely even lasted a fortnight.

This is why Maureen had to go to LK Bennett and buy a super expensive dress. This is why she had to fork out on expensive four hour dry cleaning. My £35 jumper dress is most certainly no longer in a nice condition. And I'm sorry, I'm not going to work with a hole in the armpit of my dress. Not a professional look.

This is a damn shame as I did have many more ideas! But do not fret because I shall showcase them to you in a blogpost very very soon. And on the plus side, I feel the project has already proved that with just a little imagination and a lot of layering, you can mix and match to have a whole variety of different outfits from just one dress. I've already shown eleven and I have a few more to come. So that old 'I have nothing to wear' adage when you have a wardrobe bursting with clothes will most certainly no longer wash with me! Stop shopping people and get creative! I feel a quote from Maureen's article here would be appropriate: "Style, which is personal and depends on self-awareness and self-assurance, is much harder work than fashion, which just requires you to read magazines and spend heaps of money."

In short: In times of economic hardship, let's all give up fashion and go crazy for style.

Oh and good news I would like to announce. My overdraft is currently only £827!! Just a couple more months of being super careful and then I am free of immediate debt! (Student loan doesn't count.) And I have a saving plan. Once my overdraft is paid off I shall put this saving plan into place. By the time I'm 35, I shall be able to afford a house!

Day Eleven - clashing animal prints.

2009-10-30T04:41:00.000-07:00

I'm all about the animal prints today. Somebody suggested wearing a nice scarf with my dress and some jeans. And I am doing so today. It was a good idea, I never wear any of my rather extensive scarf collection.

It's once again casual Friday so the dress is over some black skinny jeans with black ballet pumps, an animal print scarf (only £2.50 from Primark) that coordinates with my leopard and then a slightly clashing animal print bangle. Ooooh.

However, in the last couple of days I have begun to get fed up of the project. I'm fed up of this dress. I want to wear something without sleeves again. I want to wear some straps! I know it's to be expected and I am pleased with the amount of variations I have already (and can think of many many more) but just right now, rather fed up. The dress is going a bit baggy too, it's no longer slim fitting. Boo. But I shan't give up. Must keep going!

Day ten... and I have been so radically different. Sort of.

2009-10-29T05:16:00.001-07:00

Well my dress doesn't smell today, I did manage to give it a good wash. However, I am noticing bobbles on the knitwear. Bobbles! How can wearing the dress ten times and washing it twice make it start to bobble? I am ruining my beloved dress! In fact, I think I may buy a whole new one when I finish this project. Or, does it count if I buy a new one half way through? It's still technically the same dress. Even though that is kind of against the whole money saving ethos of the project a little bit.

Thanks to friends and such for your comments and ideas. I shall definitely put some of them into place. And my lord do some of you have faith in me. You think I am still going to be doing this come January?! Could I last that long?!

Anyway, today I have layered the dress with a... cardigan. Revolutionary huh?! Just a long grey cardie belted over the top of the dress. The red bow belt is so cute, I love it. Some black tights and my lace up shoeboots finish the outfit. It feels a bit short for work, and I was beeped twice on the way to work this morning (I even got a wa hay hot stuff! from one bloke) so I'm concerned I am giving the wrong impression. Maybe this look would be better for the bar rather than work... good to know I look hot though!

Day nine... and I still smell.

2009-10-28T04:16:00.000-07:00

Went out last night so didn't get a chance to wash my dress. I still stink. It's kind of like curry. Nice. So tonight I MUST wash the dress. Febreeze just ain't cutting it anymore.

Anyway, today I have gone the leggy route. Red tulip high-waisted mini skirt, black diamond tights (I still have to be fairly respectable for work) and black court shoes.

But enough with the skirt layering, I've done it to death. Tomorrow I am going to attempt something a bit different. What it will be I'm really not sure! Any suggestions? I refuse to run out of ideas already!

Five fashion websites I wish I could afford to shop in...

2009-10-27T04:38:00.000-07:00

A slightly different post to go alongside my outfit of the day post. (Don't want anyone to get bored here, especially me.)

I love internet shopping. With not being able to afford magazines, it's the only way I can keep up with what's hot, what I love, what I wish I could afford to buy and which trends I will wholeheartedly ignore. I just thought I would share my five favourites.

1. www.asos.com Well of course, the best online fashion store in the country. Everything looks wonderful and is certainly affordable. Just check out the great dress my sister is wearing in the picture. I love the buttons on the top and as you can see, it's great for summer but can also be styled for winter.

2. http://guardianfashionstore.co.uk This is a new launch but I see great potential. The store links with the fashion editorial content from The Guardian and The Observer. The stuff isn't cheap but it's certainly aspirational. So in short, scope this site out for great stuff and then find a rip off on the cheap end of the high street!

3. www.bravissimo.com You only need to see previous posts to see how much I love these people. They don't have many stores across the country and their stock in store can be rather minimal. So internet shopping from Bravissimo is most certainly the way to go for the busty lady.

4. www.very.co.uk When my overdraft is paid off I will certainly be coming here. What a fantastic makeover for Littlewood's Direct. AND it's affordable. I love their celeb ranges (especially Dita Von Teese's uber sexy underwear selection for Wonderbra) and fashion advice from top fashion journos like Louise Roe.

5. www.faith.co.uk Now, I know there are stores all over the country, but I felt I had to include an online shoe shop. And Faith wins, it wins everytime. Before I gave up shopping I would spend my lunch hour perving at the shoes on the site and then I would go into the shop having selected my favourites... the money this place has made out of me is terrifying. Anyway, I digress, it's an easy site to use and postage and packaging is currently free for orders over £40.

Oh and I have just realised, I haven't given an overdraft update in a while. It's £1,210. Not great, but still on track to be debt free by the new year.

Day eight and I smell...

2009-10-27T04:31:00.000-07:00

Yep, the dress definitely smells today. Which is weird because I went crazy with the febreeze last night.

Also, the outfit I have picked today is, well, wrong. It's a summer outfit. I am wearing a spring/summer outfit in the deep dark days of late October. Navy blue open toed heels do not work when it's raining. And although the navy skirt over the dress does work, the patent butterfly belt just makes me think of summer. The fact I have rolled up my sleeves (to show off some pretty pearl bracelets) is just making me rather cold. I want to pull my sleeves back down.

And I can definitely see stains on the dress. Parts are also going a bit thin from the overwear. Oh, this is not hardwearing durable knitwear I have purchased. But then, what do you expect for 35 quid?

7 Days, 7 ways. Day seven of the Maureen Rice project.

2009-10-26T14:24:00.000-07:00

Well, I have an apology to make. On Saturday I went to a party, I drank too much and ended up sleeping at my sister's house (There is an attractive photo of me sprawled out on my sister's hall floor. Amazingly I am not going to put it up here.) Then on Sunday I was, erm, in a bit of a state. And then, as I am indeed so very cultured, I had to meet a friend at the National Portrait Gallery and didn't have time to go home and get myself into a new outfit.
So technically I have cheated. I wore the dress in the same way for two days running (and underwear too, eugh). But I am going to make up for it. Despite the febreezing I am actually quite enjoying myself. So I have decided to continue my challenge until I run out of ideas. Everyday I must wear the dress in a different way, even if it's only slightly different, the outfit must be different in some way. I could last just a few more days, I could last for months on end. Admittedly by then I'm probably going to be wearing some very weird shit.
Anyway, today I wore a variation of my much loved forties theme to cheer up my Monday morning. The big gray skirt again (can you believe this was only a fiver from Primark?) but no shirt this time, instead a big chain pearl necklace (again, only £2.50 from Primark) and some bright pink frilled T-bars, a bit like the Yves St Laurent ones Carrie wears at the end of Season 4 but mine were only £10 from New Look. And the bloke liked it too, and my housemate commented on how nice I looked. A result I think!

7 Days, 7 ways. Day five of the Maureen Rice project.

2009-10-24T02:56:00.000-07:00

OK, It's Saturday. Day for casual dressing. I am just hanging out with my sister today and then we are going to a thai restuarant for dinner.

So for the day I am just going to wear my dress as it is. With some thick opaque tights, some very, very cute snowboots (with pom poms on them!) my tuxedo jacket from Top Shop, my envelope necklace and a patent red, chain, quilted shopper. And when it comes to going to the restaurant I will change my boots for some red and gold platform open toed heels (see pic two).

I washed my dress last night, it's still not quite dry if I'm honest and I have to be at my sisters soon. The only solution I can see? Pull out the hairdryer and dry it that way! I'm going to feel bloody stupid doing it, but needs must.

Oh and I do have some news. Maureen Rice tweeted me last night! She said: "HI.Have just been alerted to your Project. Early days, but looks great. You are more creative/stylish -way better than mine. MRX" And there was me thinking no one read my blog. Wow! I am humbled.

7 Days, 7 Ways. Day four of the Maureen Rice Project.

2009-10-23T00:49:00.000-07:00

Today is dress down Friday. So my new challenge, how to make the dress semi-casual. (Because you're still at work, so still have to look kind of smart.)
So I have teamed it with some black skinny jeans, black ballet pumps, a chunky red belt and my envelope necklace.
I quite like this look. I feel the chunky red belt may be an accessory too much but I wanted to keep with the colour, I feel I have been wearing too much black this week. And Gok Wan tells us you can totally change an outfit with a belt.
But my lord did I have some hygiene issues last night. I was kipping round the bloke's house so went home after work and quickly got changed into today's gear. However, I felt the need to febreeze the underarm material of the dress, just to keep the whiffs at bay. Would that febreeze dry? No it god damn wouldn't. I was pretty late to get round his house so ended up just putting the dress on and dealing with the soggy pit feeling. Now my underarms have had a good febreeze too. The most annoying thing? I got to his house and he had only just got home from work. I could have taken my sweet time! Oh and he said: 'your dress doesn't look any different from the other day, have you changed it at all?' !!!!!!
Can I just put this down to men not getting it rather than my failing at my task?
I'm sure little stains are starting to appear on the dress as well, and the material at the elbows is starting to feel a little thinner, just from four days wear. It's not feeling baggy anywhere yet though, I am pleased to announce that the knitwear is staying firm, which is an unexpected delight.

7 days, 7 ways. Day three of the Maureen Rice Project

2009-10-22T03:06:00.000-07:00

As promised, I have added a splash of colour to my dress today. In the form of some very cute forties style pink high heels from faith. They have a red sole too!
I am much happier with today's combo. It's very nun crossed with naughty schoolgirl. I like it! And have had some positive comments from colleagues.
I have layered my dress with a white shirt and a very tight, stiff, flared, gray, high-waisted skirt. Despite wearing more clothes I actually feel slimmer, possibly due to the tightness of the skirt and the shirt has made me realise just how itchy this dress is on my back. Today, no itchiness!

Also, due to the sheer amount of clothes I have on, I feel no need to wear a coat.
To accessorise I have added a single pearl necklace and I wanted to show you a back image as well, so you can see my seamed tights (so love!) and the exposed zip (very on trend) of the skirt. There's a little glimpse of my red hair too, woooo.
The febreeze is admittedly working on overtime but I don't feel *that* disgusting or smelly. People don't seem to be standing far away from me on the tube. I am also working very hard to keep myself clean by showering a lot more than usual so even if my dress may whiff a little, I, on the whole, don't.
Also, another oddity, men seem to be discussing my project with me far more than women do. Admittedly, some have just looked at me as if I am rather odd. Women have just generally said 'great idea! Let me know how you get on,' whereas men seem to consider the concept extremely fascinating. That is until I talk too much about the clothes. Then their eyes glaze over.

7 Days, 7 Ways. Day two of the Maureen Rice Project.

2009-10-21T08:22:00.000-07:00

Today I put a black high-waisted pleated skirt over the dress, some uber high black courts and a burgundy beaded necklace.
I am pleased to say that it does indeed look like a completely different outfit. I am not so pleased to say that I feel a bit fat, and hot. Layering isn't something I do often as 1) I don't tend to feel the cold and 2) I don't like to add bulk to my body, generally because it makes me feel, well, bulky. But this proves that layering is a surefire way to completely change an outfit.
I also feel rather, boring. I'm very black you see.
It's funny, I honestly thought I would love this combo, the shape is so flattering, the colour so slimming. But what this dress needs tomorrow my friends, is a splash of colour.
However, if you ever feel the need to look very conservative, this outfit is the way to go.

P.S. I hope everyone enjoys my pink starry dressing gown in the background here. It's seriously a wonderful item of clothing!

P.P.S. Thank you Matthew1471 for the shoe whore terminology, I shall definitely use in future!

7 days, 7 ways. Day one with The Maureen Rice project

2009-10-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

Day one and already I have spilt some cream sauce down my dress (it was ok, got it off with some enthusiastic rubbing) and had to crank out the febreeze because my underarms are a bit whiffy. This is what happens when you wear jumper dresses on the tube.

However, I LOVE LOVE LOVE my new dress. I wore it very simply today, just black diamond tights, black cage lace up shoe boots and my favourite gold envelope necklace. Perfect for work and going to lunch with a friend at The Guardian offices (they all look very cool there, I had to dress appropriately).

And you know, I feel good about styling this dress for the next few days. I've had a little sort through my wardobe and I think I can do a lot with it. Layering with skirts and shirts, playing with big belts and clashing shoes. In fact, I'm confident that some people at work won't even notice I've been wearing the same dress for seven days running.

And yes, I'm sorry I've cut my head off in the picture, but it's about the clothes people, not my face/inept photographic skills.

The Maureen Rice Project.

2009-10-19T06:24:00.000-07:00

Last week I read an interesting article in The Daily Mail. A journalist named Maureen Rice wore the same dress every day for an entire month. A whole month! Every day she styled it in a different way to make it seem like she was actually wearing different outfits. She called it 'fashion rehab.' You can read the article here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1220464/Could-wear-dress-month-One-woman-did-changed-way-thinks-clothes-forever.html

Now, despite Rice saying she is 'broke', I couldn't help but feel how financially comfortable she obviously is. As a successful journalist and editor (and before I get negative, I would just like to say, I really enjoy her work) I don't feel she actually needs to give up clothes in the same way some of us do. For a start she went to LK Bennett to purchase her everyday dress at an eye-watering £195 (this is a hell of a lot more than I have ever spent on a dress in my entire life) and who can afford four hour dry cleaning?

Despite her good intentions I'm not sure this is actually feasible in real life and doesn't actually help us poverty stricken lot who can't really afford clothes. (And I mean from Primark, not LK Bennett.)

So I am going to do a mini version to see if the Maureen Rice project actually works. But I'm doing it from the perspective of someone who actually doesn't have any money! The same dress every day for a week. That's 7 days and I'm including the weekend. And I will take a photo of my outfit everyday and show you the 7 different ways I am wearing the same outfit. And I will purchase nothing new. I'm going to do all of this with accessories I already own. However as Rice purchased her everyday dress, so will I. However, unlike her heading to LK Bennett I will go to Dorothy Perkins.

I know I'm not technically allowed. But I've seen this great black jumper dress with a leopard on the front in Dorothy Perkins for only £35. It would be so versatile, I could wear it casually and for work.

In the place of pricey 4 hour dry cleaners, I have Febreeze and handwash detergent.

So tomorrow is day one. I know a Tuesday is a silly day to start a week long project but you have to start sometime. I will monitor how I'm feeling, the state of the dress, people's reactions to me and if I really feel this way of dressing is actually going to save any money.

Top tips for the monetarily challenged

2009-10-10T05:54:00.000-07:00

Since my last post I have recieved a whole host of ideas and advice from concerned friends to help me construct a winter wardrobe with no cash what so ever. (They have all seen my wardrobe, I feel there is some concern that I might actually freeze to death when it gets really cold. Or worse, be forced to belt my duvet round my waist and go to work like that. Not only is this impractical but it's also totally unflattering to any girls figure.)

So anyway, I have decided to post my top five ideas below:

1) Sell the clothes you no longer want. What am I doing going to the charity shop with my clothes and giving them away for free when there are women out there who will actually buy them off me?! I have already had two girls say they would like the biker boots mentioned in last post and will actually buy them off me so I then have the money to go and buy a pair that actually do suit me! AMAZING. Why did I never consider this before? Why did I never think about the whole selling your stuff on Ebay thing? Something to bear in mind after my next wardrobe detox methinks!

2) Trade is a charity shop in Brixton that has been recommended to me by two different women.
Apparently you can pick up clothes from Top Shop, Karen Millen, French Connection and more for just a tenner. That's where I will be going when I next get paid and have some contingency fund money!

3) For those who actually like the biker boot style (I'm thinking I can do it, I just need a heel. A big one.) Here's a tip from a friend on how she recreated some from an old pair of boots: "I have had the same pair of tatty old biker boots for... oh this is the 4th year! Well I have regenerated them with a new pair of odour eating insoles (nice). AND my genius is almost unbeaten.. I can't afford a new pair of the trendy 'lovely studs and buckles all over them' boots, so I bought two chunky studded belts from hennies and have simply wrapped them around the boots. £20 instead of £60-100 on new boots. I am very pleased with myself." And so she should be! This is credit crunch fashion at its best.

4) Mix and match, mix and match. I know I've said it before, but I don't think I have ever seriously gone through my wardrobe and done this properly. So last night, I did. I took every piece of clothing I owned and tried it with different items. Who knew a jumper dress could look so different if you just put a flared skirt over it or that you could turn a party dress into a work outfit, just by putting the right jumper and a belt over the top. Last night I created 10 new winter outfits with clothes I already have. Go me.

5) If you don't own a black high-waisted flared skirt, buy one. It goes with EVERYTHING.

Current overdraft total: Erm, same as the other day. I just don't want to look right now. It's a bit depressing.

Shoe Pervert and the need of a winter wardrobe

2009-10-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

Just check out Shoewawa for a sneak peak at the new Dorothy Perkins 'Luxe' range. All named after fashionable cities throughout the world. Priced very reasonably at £55-65:

http://www.shoewawa.com/2009/10/sneak_peak_doro.html

Particularly loving the 'Paris' Shoe Boot, the whole pirate style fold at the ankle is damn cute. An even cheaper version can be found in Primark, where I know the suede is supersoft, probably not real and will probably last about ten minutes. But considering that's how long my attention span lasts, that's probably not that much of an issue.

Oh ladies and gents I have come to a realisation and it is not a good one. In the recent cold weather I have discovered I need some winter clothes. I have barely any jumpers, my winter coat is falling apart and the biker style boots I bought in a frenzy a few weeks back are not my style at all. Too clumpy and masculine at the shoe. I was seduced by the warm fabric top and the promise of biker style cool. I am not biker style cool. I'm a prance about in your pretty heels, skirt and lipstick kind of girl. I know this, I've known this for years but I won't bloody give up on the promise of 'I don't give a shit androgyny.' How I yearn to be Chrissie Hynde in all her husky voiced finery. Sadly, my boobs are too big and my hair too ginger. (I'm sorry La Roux, you don't pull it off.) So fifties style little cardies, cute little shoe boots and Mac coats it is for me.

Oh what to do? I can't afford any winter clothes but the situation is starting to get a little dire. I can't sit in my office in a tiny top wrapped in a pashmina to keep me warm for the next few months. I feel far too wanky, not to mention somewhat impractical. And my contingency fund for the next month is already spent on the dentist and a rather scarily large electricity bill... does anyone have any jumpers I can borrow?

Current overdraft total: £1,376.22

Reasons to break the shopping ban

2009-09-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

I am so being tested this week. I have come across two fabulous shopping websites and it's doing my head in.

First up, here is junk jewels: http://www.junkjewels.co.uk/
This cute little website sells romantic pendants on necklaces and bracelets, including the infamous 'I Love You' envelope locket, now also available with 'Je t'aime.' Created by London based designer Zoe Jones, these retro, Parisian loving trinkets and charms have got me salivating like crazy. Not only does she supply to Urban Outfitters, she also sells her handmade designs at Portobello market and it's possible to pick up one off pieces there. I can honestly say it is taking every ounce of me not to get down to Portobello market this weekend. I want, I want, I want, I WANT!

Also, a twitter friend has tipped me off on this fantastic US site called Bettie Page Clothing: www.bettiepageclothing.com.
Fantastic retro designs to flatter the fuller figured lady. I am particularly in love with their 'Curves' dress with the whole flight attendant feel and curved buttons. I LOVE it. Me n' this dress were quite simply made for each other! (My twitter friend who has recently purchased the dress is one lucky lady I must say!) The cheeky retro image T-shirts are pretty cute too. The dresses aren't cheap, costing approximately $155 each but they do come down by more than half price in the sale. It's only available online (or on http://www.pinup-parade.com) and in three US stores but they do international shipping. Do you think my contingency fund could cover this?! Oh no, Dentist bills. Booo!

Current Overdraft total: £1,467.

Moving away from Oxford Circus - this can only be a positive thing.

2009-09-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

Well, first I would like to apologise for the meloncholy nature of my last post. Usually I am a very chirpy, cheerful soul. But occasionally I get a little, well, bleugh. I am merely a human after all.
But today I have better news to broadcast... I will no longer be working on Oxford Street!
I admit I will miss being so close to the largest Top Shop in the country, not to mention the top class River Island, Miss Selfridge and Urban Outfitters.
In fact this is the first time in my working life I will not be a stones throw away from masses of shops. In fact I'm pretty certain this is why my shopping obsession first came about. Before I started working I loved clothes yes, but I was able to be quite disciplined about what I bought and stick to budget. Now I have about as much discipline as sex addict in a porn shop.
I feel for my wallet this move can only be a very positive thing. Now there will be no meanderings in my lunch hour, no popping into the shops as I head home. Now, for the first time in years, I will have to plan for (and thus save up for) any future shopping trips. Hurrah!

Or so I thought. Then I went to visit the new office today and discovered it's just a short walk from Tottenham Court Road... next to a big fuck off Dorothy Perkins.
I'm screwed.

ok, I cheated...

2009-09-25T05:09:00.000-07:00

To be honest I didn't do to well this week. And some aspects of this post are rather meloncholy and well, not even particularly amusing like usual, so I'm sorry about that.
Anyway, the autumn/winter season is out and I'm rather in love with everything. I particularly want this animal print faux fur coat with rocking horse broach from River Island (£69.99) and a pair of lace up ankle boots from Dorothy Perkins (£45). And I'm feeling a little rebellious. I'm fed up of the whole trussed up fifties workie look. I want to be one of those women who can throw on a T-shirt, some jeans, fringed ankle boots and eyeliner and look really cool.
Anyway, I certainly had a couple of indisgretions this week. I went to New Look and bought these vibrant pink T-bar heels with a frill on the T-bar (very in right now and only £10 in the sale) and then I went to Primark and bought myself a pencil skirt with a spanish style frill down the side (yes, I'm feeling the frills right now) as well as a pair of super high black courts, which look very Victoria Beckham and totally kill my feet, but they will go with everything for years to come. I also bought this fantastic navy blue jumper dress in Dorothy Perkins for £35. It has a low back and embellishment on the shoulders. I don't think I can pull off the power shoulder look that is so very fashionable right now, as I think you need to be flat chested, but I figure this piece is my nod to it. I can't wait to wear it with tights, heels and a belt out tonight.
Now for the melencholy part. I have come to a realisation. I shop to fill emptiness. And this is more than boredom, although that certainly plays its part, this emptiness is more about a lack of anything, a lack of control, a lack of purpose, a lack of joy.
For example, I had a naff couple of days this week. So after work in my sadness I trailed listlessly around some shops (See the mini shopping spree above). It was only when I had bought some beautiful new shiny things did I feel more in control, did I feel I had purpose, did I feel joy.
The irony of this is that my shopping obsession is the one thing that actually gives me least control in my life. Because of my undying need to consume I can't control my finances and thus can't afford to buy a house or pay off any of my debts. Instead I merely accumelate more. (Of debts as well as stuff)
I mean this is no new realisation, we have all heard the term retail therapy, that going for a shop can really cheer us ladies up.
But I can't continue to fill up the hole of emptiness with new stuff. Because it doesn't fill up that hole for long. As a twitter friend quoted "The looking glass so shiny and new, how quickly the glamour fades." (I love a bit of Florence & the Machine!)
So in short, new stuff will never make me truly fulfilled but instead of hunting out something real to fulfil me that doesn't cost loads of money, I just keep buying to keep the ever depleting hole filled. However, a new coat will not make me better at my job, a new dress will not make someone love me and, believe it or not, new shoes will not make the emptiness go away. New clothes do not make me in control of anything. They just make me look nice.
I think I shall go back to the library and get out some more Jasper Fforde. He cheers me up without even going anywhere near a shop.

Current overdraft: £1,567.36 Oh fuck. Oh and another thing I'm fucked off about. Remember the pink cross bar heels I bought in my final splurge back in May for £55? Now in the sale for £15. Fuck sakes.

I have a financial guru

2009-09-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

It's quite trendy to have a guru, and now I have one for the only aspect of my life where I *really* need help. My finances!
This lovely lady has revolutionised my spending and the way I view money.
With her help I shall pay off my overdraft in four itty bitty months. The answer? Have about a hundred accounts!
I'm kidding, but my financial guru is correct in that I need to move my spending away from my overdraft account. The way it's going up and down all the time makes it pretty difficult for me to see how much I'm paying off every month. And I may as well just put all my savings into the overdraft account, no point having them sitting there when I'm paying loads of interest on the overdraft.
So now I have four accounts:

Account One: The dreaded overdraft account, for the foreseeable future I am not allowed to take any money out of this account. But I must put in £200 every two weeks.

Account Two: My essential outgoings account. This is the account my salary will go into and the account my bills, rent and travel will come out of.

Account Three: My weekly spends account. This is the account I will use day to day. I will put a certain amount in every fortnight (I get paid fortnightly, yes, it makes the whole monthly spending thing quite confusing) and if I run out of money here? Well, then eating isn't an option.

Account Four: Contingency fund. Every month I will put a certain amount in here to cover costs that might crop up when I least expect it, i.e. a huge dentists bill, or if my coat falls apart and I'll freeze without a new one.

And when I'm debt free I can change the purpose of the accounts. So instead of a paying off debts account, my overdraft account can be a long term savings account (to save up for my own flat, you see) and the contingency fund can also be for the Bravissimo bras or that perfect pair of boots. (However, must be careful not to go too crazy, I will still have dentists bills when my overdraft is paid off.)
When I went into the bank and set up all these other accounts the bank manager did look at me as if I were crazy. And I admit, I do feel somewhat overwhelmed and confused with the whole process. It's like a blur of numbers. But it's ok because my financial guru is going to make me a spreadsheet to make everything clear.
It's just quite how I'm going to survive each week on my new weekly budget of £97 that is the small issue.
And that's where my new guru jumps in once again. She can revolutionize the way I buy food, instead of £40 a week on groceries it will be £20 a week, as well as substantially cheapen my nights out. Apparently it's about really enjoying the two nights out a week I can afford, rather than getting trashed all the time and giving all my money to a bartender. So it's the old adage once again: Shoes not booze! It seems to be shoes not posh food too.
But you know what, I feel really rather excited about this new plan. I am in control again. And four months is not that long really. I can really do this!

Current Overdraft total: £1,424.60 Well, I'm only at the start of the plan!

Wardrobe detoxing

2009-09-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I get the need to throw out the crap. A desire to scrap it all and start over, reinvent myself and become something new.
A hugely wanky way of saying chuck out all my old clothes and give me an excuse to buy new ones! I love a good old wardrobe detox, I really do. I'm just obsessed with organising to be honest, so organising my clothes gives me the greatest pleasure on earth.
And when Glamour did an article about the ultimate wardrobe detox this month, I knew now was the time to get in there and get chucking out.
Although I usually treat a wardrobe detox as a way to start over (i.e. create a space to fill with lots of new clothes), according to Glamour a good detox can make you rediscover your old favourites and give them a new season twist. I'm going to discover outfits I never knew I had!
It's all about the streamlining and wearing old clothes in new exciting ways. I'm sure this is all advice I already knew, but I'm happy to go through the steps.

Step 1: Wardrobe detoxing needs to be done twice a year. Already do that!

Step 2: Be ruthless, if you haven't worn it in the last year, if you have a newer, better version of it, if it looks obviously dated, if you only bought it because it was on sale, if it has any holes/bobbles, no longer fits or make you feel great: chuck it out. I have to admit, I'm pretty damn good at this too.

However, a mini tip just from me, some things can be repaired, so make a 'need to sew' pile. Sew back on any buttons, take any stained clothes to the dry cleaners, sew up any holes, and rejuvenate lots of old clothes. A very cute gray pencil skirt with pink pinstripes of mine that was too big has now been salvaged by just a little bit of darting at the waist.

Step 3: Get organised. Put tops with tops, skirts with skirts, dresses with dresses, etc. Well, I must say there is a lot to be said for organising. I never realised quite how much gym kit I had!

Step 4: Reinvent. So my uber cute summer floral poplin dress works well for winter teamed with tights, a white shirt underneath and a black cardigan belted over the top. Good tip!

Step 5: Recycle. Take all your old clothes to the charity shop. And also, that dress that worked better on your friend than you? Give it to her. Trust me, it will give you an overwhelming sense of generosity and make you feel like the best mate ever!

Ok, I didn't find *loads* of brand new outfits, but with all the recycling and mix and matching, it certainly has the ethos of my new budget lifestyle.
Just a shame I barely have any clothes for winter and desperately want to buy a new coat and three pairs of ankle boots in Dorothy Perkins. But it's ok because I've made a list of all the important pieces missing from my wardrobe to purchase once my overdraft is paid off. It's only three pages long.

Current overdraft limit: £1,374... Rubbish.

I <3 Bravissimo

2009-09-09T03:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was bad. And for anyone who really isn't into posts with a serious case of TMI, please look away now.

You see, none of my bras fit, to the point where I am in pain ladies and gents. My boobs have been sore for weeks! And the one that does fit is fairly moldy and gross. So I went to my local Bravissimo for a fitting and then gave them all my money in exchange for some much needed new scaffolding.

I can tell you, it was very embarrasing at yesterdays London Bloggers Meetup telling people I write about giving up shopping and toddling about with a Bravissimo bag in my hand. Everyone could see my glaring failure.

My glaring failure was all the worse because, although I did buy one very useful black multiway plunge bra, which I can wear under pretty much everything, for a mere £24.50. I also, well, bought a basque.

But it fits really well and is so pretty and is amazing under dresses where you need to be held in somewhat, and I have been in love with the Agent Provocateur ones for months but this one was a third of the price so really it's ok I bought it, it really is. It's a multiway too and has a lovely balconette bra that works beautifully under square necklines, so it really is very useful. For example, I was wearing a dress at the weekend which was strapless and very tight. So instead of wearing remarkably ugly Bridget Jones pants and having my bra straps on show I could have just worn the basque. Much more attractive. And it was only £54.

And in fact, my new brassieres have given my wardrobe a whole new lease of life. Today I am wearing a gray forties style nurse dress, which I certainly couldn't have worn without the correct support. And I'm sure the new bras make me look thinner. Smiles all round. Expensive underwear is an investment worth making.

And there are my garbled excuses. The way I reason these things to myself, I don't know.

But I have made a decision to myself for the future.

I will never, ever, buy cheap underwear again. I'm sorry La Senza, you may do my sizes but your bras simply don't offer me the support I need, and whenever I buy cheap bras I always end up with double boob syndrome. No one likes double boob syndrome! It looks crap and is rather painful. So from now on, I have a new plan.

Every six months I will make a trip to Bravissimo, get measured and buy beautiful but also erm, upstanding, bras. And I shall save up for this. Once I have this overdraft paid off and I'm officially allowed to shop again I will have a ladies nice things account. I will put a certain amount in every month and I will save up for my hearts desire.

Instead of falling into the instant gratification trap, buying it there and then and getting myself into such fucking trouble... again.

Current overdraft total: £1192.52

Living on £100 a week is really hard. My answer? Shoes not booze.

2009-09-07T04:58:00.001-07:00

It's currently Monday and for the rest of this week I have a grand total of... £20 to spend.

Yep, I've spent £80 of my weekly budget already.

£40 of this went on food for the week, £10 on toiletries and £30 on a night out. I'm also sure I owe someone money. And my Ipod headphones have packed up (again) so I really should get some new ones. But I may have to resist until next week.

Last week I may have overspent by maybe £5 but I think I did pretty well for my first week of poverty. And that £5 overspend was buying birthday chocolates for a friend. But this week is another story, I have a dentist appointment on Wednesday. That's this weeks budget screwed! I can't afford to have nice teeth.

Once upon a time, when I was a lowly student, £100 a week seemed like loads of money! Now, it feels like absolute torture living on just £100 a week. Bleugh for pricey London town.

But seriously, I get the £100 out of the cashpoint every Friday evening, and it feels like such a small insignificant pile of cash. And then it disappears out of my fingers quicker than water runs down a plughole.

On the plus side though I did spend half an hour in Urban Outfitters on Saturday (my good friend was buying a very retro coral front fastening bra with pink corset ribbons) and I didn't buy a thing.

Also on the plus side I received my current student loan statement this weekend. I owe the government £9,638. Which is pretty scary, but compared to some other people I know, not that bad.

I'm also going to start a new mini campaign, my housemate came up with the fantastic idea, it's called 'Shoes not Booze.' I've even twittered about it.

In short, alcohol costs money. If I drink less, I will spend less money, if I spend less money I will clear my overdraft faster and be allowed to by shoes sooner. And alcohol is full of fattening calories and makes you feel hungover and increases your risk of breast cancer.

Shoes make your feet look nice.

Shoes not booze is a fantastic plan! I may have failed with the plan at a friends birthday party at the weekend, but today is a new dawn. I refuse to spend any money on alcohol until... well, at least next weekend.

Current Overdraft total: £1,108.07

My beef with Elle

2009-08-27T04:21:00.000-07:00

In this months Elle there is a feature about why young people are still shopping.
A naive, posturing, irresponsible article which doesn't answer the fucking question at all but only serves to advertise the cycle of consumption even further. To continue to make women feel they are inadequate if they aren't buying all the time like ditzes with credit cards but no brain cells.
The author Linda Grant talks of the predictions of the end of shopping with the recession bearing down on our wallets, this is the end of "mindless consumerism, to be replaced by a new mood of seriousness, of wartime make-do-and-mend. Of buying a few investment pieces that would last years, instead of a new dress every week."
Well, firstly, I can't even afford those investment pieces and secondly, Linda then goes on to tell us about how despite these predictions, the country is still shopping, as if this is a positive thing! Oh, it doesn't matter that you are up to your eyeballs in fucking debt and can't even afford porridge because you have bought three pairs of shoes that week you must keep purchasing!
According to Grant, it's because of "fashion's own defiance of bad news." Really? Or is it just so fucking hammered into us that we're nothing unless we don't have loads of stuff, however fucking useless. Unless I have a new shiny dress in my wardrobe I'm nothing. No wonder we're all in a recession, we can't stop, it was going to implode on us at some point.
No Grant hit it better on the head when she said "for those under 35, who have never known anything but a culture of consumerism, it might be cool to buy an ethically sourced necklace - but it's unimaginable to buy nothing at all... to dress badly, in out-of-date clothes, or ones that no longer suit you, is to surrender your self-respect."
When did self-respect become about having nice new clothes? I thought self-respect was about sticking up for yourself, believing in yourself, achieving something real with your life, not queueing up to buy some fucking Matthew Williamson at H&M because you might not get the chance again and if you don't have a shiny new wardrobe every five fucking minutes then you quite simply don't match up regardless of the intelligent thoughts you may have or the good you do for others.
Now, fair enough, Elle is fashion magazine, it is in their interest to push consumption, and really, as I'm on a shopping ban I just shouldn't read it. I'm just angry that this is why I am in such a mess. That I fell for it all. That it's so ingrained in my pysche. That I only have myself to blame.
And I do love fashion, love it. I love pretty things. But I'm coming to realise that the "sheer pleasure of being surrounded by pretty things" means nothing compared to once in my life actually having some financial security. Now, that, is real self respect.
This weapon of massive consumption (thanks Lily Allen) is retiring.
I wonder how long my self righteousness will last... ohh, there's a nice bra on the Bravissimo website, I could do with a new bra.

Incapable of being stylish at a festival

2009-08-25T05:19:00.001-07:00

I always look shit at festivals. I'm allergic to camping you see, I break out in terrible hayfever, if I get bitten by gnats I develop fierce red rashes, despite how much factor 30 I smother myself in I still get burnt. My ginger disposition means I can't handle the outside world for longer than a few hours.
This is why I don't think I'll ever camp at a festival with a boyfriend/man I fancy. They would run away screaming. The cute little red head with nice heels they thought they were going out with has suddenly turned into a blotchy red-eyed zombie woman with terrible hair.
The fact I look like utter crap is only highlighted by the whole Kate Moss festival chic thing everyone has been sporting for the last couple of years. Seriously, at the V festival this year there were women wearing shoulder padded glittery Balmain dresses with their wellies and perfect dark edgy make up. Other women were in cute little sailor girl poplin dresses or Pixie Lott style fifties shorts with a face full of glitter. Somehow because you have wellies on, it's perfectly fine to staunter about in an uber revealing going out dress for two days. And that's before we have even get to how good all the acts looked, V V Brown with her vampire collar leather jacket, (so cool) Lady Gaga with her disco ball dress, Lily Allen with her massive heels and backless minidress, Shingai Shoniwa from The Noisettes with her fringed red jacket and white mini shorts.
Well, my denim cut offs with mascara smeared all over my hayfevery face just doesn't quite match up does it? I don't know how women manage to stay that polished at festivals. My carefully constructed stylish appearance that works so well in London town just crumples and falls apart as soon as I set foot in the field.
Seriously, a man was walking round at the festival offering 'free hugs' to any woman that walked past. As I walked past he yelled, 'free hugs for all... oh, not you though, eugh.' Charming.
Usually when I'm feeling this unattractive, I shop. And the V festival certainly provided in that respect. There was this unbelievably cute festival dress shop full of the sailor girl poplin dresses mentioned before. All vertical monochrome stripes and anchor emblems. Not to mention other dresses with cute little covered buttons, floral skirts and fifties style necklines. And they were cheap, just £15 each! Oh, it took a lot to walk away. In fact, I went back three times. But my sisters constant reminders that if I bought any of the dresses I wouldn't be able to afford to eat again for 24 hours pulled me though.
Thank goodness there is one thing I care about more than clothes: food.

Current overdraft total: £1490.05 Fuckady fuckbags. It seems I can't afford to eat either.

The money diary

2009-08-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

After the horror of my extreme spending last week I have decided to keep a money diary, just so I can work out where exactly all my cash goes. I'm sure I don't spend that much on clothes.
I have noted down every little purchase, even if it was for £1. From this, I hope I can pinpoint my most extravagant and unnecessary expenses, give them up and stop my cash flow from, er, flowing quite so much!

Saturday:
Lunch at Double Espresso with girlfriends: £13.50
Cinema with girlfriends: £11
Coke & ready meal for dinner: £4.29
Night out at The Roxy: £27.50 (this includes drinks, entry and cab ride home, so I think I did really rather well considering how tipsy I was!)

Sunday:
Photoshoot with sister: £150
Milky way, nutrigrain bar and apple juice: £1.55
Snack a jacks, Orange Juice and chewing gum: £2.63
Weekly grocery shop: £21.73

Monday:
Chocolate: £2

Tuesday:
Gave friend Suzi £2 so she could buy fags.

Wednesday:
Lunch with friend Jones: £7.55
Entry into the Tower of London: £17
Muffin from starbucks: £1.45
Film from blockbuster: £1.95
Indian takeaway: £13.29

Thursday:
Lunch with Hannah: £6.39
Chocolate: 65p

Friday:
Starbucks muffins for colleagues: £2.95
Lunch: £3.59
Wrapping paper: £2.99

Total: £294.01

Oh god. Nearly £300 in a week when I was trying not to spend, when I was trying to behave. See, no clothes at all! Oh my god. And I didn't even drink that much either!
It seems I spend my money mostly on... food. £100.57 on food to be precise. That's the answer, I'll starve myself and then I'll be able to afford shoes again!
Seriously though, how many lunches with friends can a girl go on in a week? This week I spent £31.03 on lunches out alone!
Right that's it, no more lunches or muffins from starbucks, no more chocolate to cheer myself up on the way home from work, (unless the day has been particularly bad). As a student I had a £25 food budget and I stuck to it rigidly. I was also a lot slimmer then too... hmmm, perhaps there is something to this minimal food thing. But how? How did I spend so little? Back then no one else had any money either, so we didn't go for lunches, we just ate toast round each others houses. Not sure that would go down so well these days.
Right I'm calling out for tips, how to eat well on a budget? I shall consult my Thrift book too. India will tell me exactly how I can eat organic, vegetarian, fair trade and free radical for just £25 a week. Hurrah!

Another thing I can go with out... photoshoots with little sisters.

Current overdraft total: £810.58 Not bad, but again, I have just been paid.

Just a minor shopping indiscretion... or two.

2009-08-07T02:04:00.000-07:00

Ok, this week, well, this week has not gone so well.

You see, it's my dad's 50th birthday party soon. It's a fancy dress party and I'm

going as Marilyn Monroe.

I think it's fair enough to buy a costume, I mean, it isn't for me, it's for my dad! So I toddled on down to the fancy dress shop and discovered two Marilyn dresses.

One was a very synthetic, see through, badly fitted white halterneck dress for £20 - this dress did not give me any kind of Marilyn allure or sophistication. It made me look like white trash with droopy boobs. Not a look I favour.

The other dress, which cost nearly £60, was just beautiful! Pure silk, fitted

perfectly with corset ribbons and a wonderful long pleated skirt I could just swirl round and round forever in.

I know from an economic perspective I should have just gone for the £20, it's just a fancy dress party and I'll probably never wear it again.

But, well, I have a minor obsession with Marilyn. I admit, I am not into the whole psychoanalytic, suicidal, weak, all for man and child, fluff and giggle routine, I prefer a little more kick ass attitude.

But I like the way the woman dressed - I have read that I have very similar

measurements to her, and I think she maximised her assets to full effect.

So when presented with these two options, I knew I had to go for the more

expensive option. I just had no choice! I then had to get the big pants (wow, how did women breathe in those things!) the red lipstick, false eyelashes and wig.

So phew, that was indeed pricey.

Then, well, I went into the Primark and New Look in Tooting. I honestly was

merely accompanying my housemate so she could take back a top. Instead I

ended up buying a pair of flat biker boots, developing an obsession with a pair of suede pixie boots, buying an uber-cute heart printed mini skirt, some Chanel

style pearls and a red beret.

Whhhooooops!

Because it was Primark and New Look I did only spend £55 on all those lovely clothes. But it's still very bad. And £50 I don't really have. Especially

considering the price of the Marilyn dress.

But, well, they are all wintery style clothes, so it's not all bad. These are clothes

that will last! I can wear the mini skirt with thick tights, the boots and a jumper in the middle of December, and I can hardly wear the beret in the hight of August

can I? It was an investment purchase.

And I had said in my initial rules if I found a pair of biker boots that I liked for

under £50 I was allowed to buy them. The fact I'm now desperate for the pixie

boots is a whole other problem.

And the Chanel beads? I have no real excuse except that the Coco Chanel film is on at the cinema at present so it really is the height of fashion and Chanel pearls never go out of style.

Most importantly, they only cost me £2.50

So, yes, I have been an extremely naughty girl. I had my comeuppance though. I looked at my bank balance yesterday and actually yelped. Yep, I yelped, like a

dog. A dog with no money.

On the positive side, I have created two new outfits with my existing clothes that I am looking forward to wearing! It's all about the layering and the mix and

matching!

Just stay the hell away from Primark and New Look.

Current Overdraft total: £1256.02 This means I have spent £496.84 in a week, a week! I'm a money spending machine. So, so bad. *Sob*

I bought the purse and the shoes.

2009-07-31T05:53:00.000-07:00

Remember last week when I went into Dorothy Perkins and very nearly bought some shoes and a purse but then didn't?
Well today I did.
I bought a lovely lovely pink snakeskin 50's style clutch wallet for £12 and some plain black ballet pumps for £20 from Dorothy Perkins.
Here are my excuses:
1) Technically these two could fall under things I need. Plain black ballet pumps are a necessity and I currently don't have any. My current red purse is old, faded and covered in stinky crusty dried yogurt that I quite simply cannot get off.
2) I am in a really rubbishy mood today, I pulled my shoulder working out this morning, I've poured oriental spiced sauce all down myself and wandered around all morning with my flies undone, so I think I bloody deserve a bit of a cheer up.
3) I've been trying to cut down on my chocolate intake so haven't eaten any today and my fella is on hols, so no cuddles either! Christ, I have to get my serotonin hit somehow.
4) My sister gave me £20 last night thanking me for letting her stay on my sofa for a week. So technically she bought me the ballet pumps.
5) I actually think I was really good just buying the purse and ballet pumps, I did have a little scout round DP and am totally in love with most of the new autumn collection, especially these amazing high heeled suede boots with a little bit of fringing for just £55... If only I didn't have such a long way to go before the dreaded overdraft was paid off. *Sigh*

Current overdraft total: £759.18 Not bad at all!! However, I did get paid today.

A new development

2009-07-22T05:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm back on track.

I went into Dorothy Perkins last week, picked up two pairs of shoes and a purse. I got into the queue all ready to pay and then realised the error of my ways, put the shoes and purse back and left.

This is a new achievement for me, I often have second thoughts while in the queue but I think, 'well, it would be embarrassing to leave now, I may as well just go ahead.' This my friends, is what is categorically known as a delusional excuse, which I have now ripped free of, hurrah.

I also have been shopping for various friends birthdays and been able to buy them presents of the clothing variety without buying anything for myself. Double hurrah.

I have also noticed something. I may be currently experiencing an increase in personal self-esteem.

I think this is for two reasons, firstly, the current success with the non-shopping (despite the small cave last week) and also that I have stopped reading magazines.

Don't get me wrong, I am still reading my housemates Look every week, but it's more a very speedy flick so I still have an idea of what's hot (so not losing the style touch) without focusing on any particular garment, otherwise the desire to purchase said garment might consume me.

This week former editor of Marie Claire, Liz Jones, announced she has fallen out of love with fashion magazines. According to Miss Jones, magazines are all about "making us feel dissatisfied with ourselves and what we own, so that we believe we can buy our way out of our own misery... It's all too far away, too full of fairy tales, too sniping and dare I say it, anti-women."

To be honest I figured that one out at uni but it seems I suffer from some bizarre masochism where I'm hell bent on unachievable self improvement preached at me by patronizing journalists. That and the magazines are so shiny...

Anyway, now I have stopped buying Look, Glamour, Grazia, Elle, Company and Marie Claire I am saving a bundle (shinyness doesn't come cheap) and I feel better about myself. I don't constantly feel like, if I just bought that dress my life would be better. If I just had a flatter tum, or more bangles then everything would be ok. I would then be a woman who deserves success.

This is all bullshit! I am worthy with the wardrobe I've got and the pretty much flat but some days slightly rounded tum. I don't need all this crap to be happy. I'm happy already!

But I must say it's very addictive bullshit and a mindset I'm struggling to escape from. Hence the need to still flick through Look to keep up with the trends.

I know now that I don't need shopping. That in fact I'm happier without the cycle of consumption. So why do I miss it so much? God, it's like ditching a bloke who is bad for you.

Current overdraft total: £1,363,62. Not great really.

I caved...

2009-07-13T03:55:00.000-07:00

On Friday night my sister rocked up in a great outfit and I simply fell in love with one of the bangles she was wearing, leapord print with gold strips, very nice indeed. Once we had all got a little tipsy I offered to buy my sister a cocktail in exchange for the bangle. She laughed and agreed. I figured it wasn't technically shopping as I would probably buy her a cocktail anyway. Getting all my friends drunk in exchange for their clothes seems like a good plan! Although I may get hordes of women banging on my door the next day insisting they have their clothes back and claiming I had taken advantage of them. Hmmmm.
Anyway, on Saturday I decided I really needed a bangle holder to hold my new bangle. I'm fed up of bangles being littered all over my desk. So I went to Oliver Bonas as they often do nice jewellery holders.
Bad things happened. Not as bad as they could of been, but still bad... I had a minor failing on the shopping ban.
I'm not sure quite what came over me, I saw this unbelievably cute poplin dress with rose floral flared skirt and black vest top. Only £30! I tried it on and knew resistance was futile. £30 is a really cheap price for a nice boutique dress. Then I kind of went a little crazy and started picking up belts and bags and jewellery. I was doing the shopping equivalent of stuffing my face with a whole chocolate cake.
But then I momentarily came to my senses and put all the accessories down. I even put the dress down, for half a second, and then realised I was totally incapable of leaving the shop without it. And I didn't even find a bloody bangle holder.
But it's only a minor failing. Just £30. And it doesn't mean I'm going to give up on, er, giving up.
I will just get back on the wagon.
Even if the desire to go out and buy stuff is immense, about three times worse than it was a week ago. I've even written a list of things I want to buy, and promptly hidden it.
But I can do this. I will simply research clothes swapping events to get my buzz. My friends visited the Look magazine event and said it was a crazy mess and involved a lot of standing in the rain but another friend visited the Guardian event and got some very nice stuff indeed.
I shall keep you posted.

How to look after your clothes, according to The Thrift Book

2009-07-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

If, due to the current economic climate, we have to shop less (or in my case, not at all) then looking after, mending and generally not ruining the clothes you currently own is surely of utmost priority.

So below are my top ten tips to looking after your clothes, generally borrowed from The Thrift Book:

1) Stuff shoes and boots with crumbled newspaper to help them keep their shape between wears.

2) Buy a very good unscented deodorant, which doesn't leave marks. And don't get a too aggressive brand, as these eat away at the fabric.

3) Learn how to iron properly! You have no idea how this gives old clothes a new lease of life. I won't go as far as to advise starching spray but apparently that's good too.

4) Use a clothes brush, you know, like your gran did, to combat fluff and shave off bobbles.

5) Sew buttons back on to clothes as soon as they start to dangle. It's so easy, just three stitches and you're done.

6) Learn how to darn tears, patch holes and re-hem. I have chucked out many a pair of decent trousers just because the hem came loose. If you can't do this yourself many dry cleaners have services to do this on the cheap.

7) Most 'Dry Clean' garments can be washed by hand. Clothing manufacturers only say this to cover themselves should you have a shrinkage issue. If your 'Dry Clean Only' garment has a horrible stain then do take it to your dry cleaner. However if it just smells a bit, you can save some pennies by washing it by hand.

8) When hand washing, swirl your garments and leave them to soak, do not rub them, twist them, scrub them, wring them. This will damage the material. I admit I am very guilty of this when I have a huge amount of hand washing to do and not very much time. But if you want your clothes to look nicer for longer you're gonna have to take a little time over it. Soak and swirl my friends, soak and swirl.

9) If you do have dirty spots rub them very gently, with one finger. If the stain doesn't start to come off immediately, it needs to be soaked for longer.

10) Dry everything flat, pressed between towels. Do not wring the water out, press, press, press the water out.

Those are my ten most important tips, but for more handwashing info, do grab India's book. This woman knows how to handwash.

The Thrift Book

2009-07-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

When I'm really serious about something, as I am paying off my overdraft and saving money, I generally always buy a book about it.
Buying a book about it makes me feel much more ready to deal with the challenge. I have a set of instructions, rules and tips! I'm halfway there! That and I also get the buzz of, er, buying something.
Anyway, while moseying about in Borders for a book I very much need for work purposes I spied The Thrift Book by India Knight. Apparently full of great ideas to live beautifully but cheaply. Excellent.
Sadly it seems if you want to live beautifully and cheaply there is rather a lack of buying anything. In fact, it's not just The Thrift Book but also the how to live beautifully, organically, healthily, environmentally friendly and not harm or offend anyone in anyway book. In the clothes section this India Knight woman bangs on about Primark using child labour so it must be avoided at all costs, advises shopping twice a year rather than every Saturday and tells us to buy expensive classics that will last a lifetime.
It's the shopping only twice a year I am most upset about.
And aren't 'expensive classics' generally the territory of older/fatter women? Or am I being a complete youth/skinny snob?
Another concern is that I'm too fickle to wear the same dress for ten years. BORING.
She has given some interesting advice on mending and hand washing though. I shall post some of these tomorrow as I find them extremely useful. Looking after and mending my clothes is something I already do, so advice on how to do it better is always appreciated.
She did witter on for quite a while about making your own clothes. The idea of this is in theory, a romantic notion. The prospect of my seeing an expensive dress on Kylie in a magazine and then making my own version for far fewer pennies is, well, rather delightful and very empowering. Can you get more self-sufficient than making your own clothes? It's a tremendous skill, far better to say you can make a dress from scratch than boast about your shopping prowess, in which all you are really doing is handing money over a counter and the money won't even go to the poor child in Africa who made your new dress, but the fat white men who own the shop. (Yes, she has got me feeling really guilty)
Sadly I know the reality of my making clothes is a badly constructed black shift dress, which will have one arm shorter than the other, fray at the seams after one wear and I will probably break the sewing machine in the process. I'm too slapdash for such artistry.
However, part of the reason I took up this challenge was to change my mindset toward money. To stop the obsession with compulsion and learn to save up for something I really want and appreciate it, rather than smack it on the card until I reach my overdraft limit. I have got into this mess before, got myself out of it with loads of hard work, and then got myself into the same state all over again. It's like a diet, the best way to keep the weight off permanently is to change the way you think about food rather than deny for months on end and splurge again.
So maybe 'expensive classics' with a few up to date accessories (i.e. hot shoes) is the way to go... does this mean I can shop designer without guilt?! Suddenly that option seems far more appealing!
And with the sewing machine? Ok, I shall try and then post it up here so you can all laugh at the hideous results.

Current Overdraft total (minus the savings): £1,155.04

Fashion insults and exploits women...

2009-07-03T02:27:00.000-07:00

"...it is all about extravagance, and consumption, and a sort of camp depiction of femininity that isn't about empowerment, but about a cartoon version of how women should be, how we should look."

Thank you Liz Jones, for squishing my shopping cravings with one sentence.

Hot hot heat

2009-07-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

Has anyone else noticed how heat makes people pull out their best frocks? The sun is out, it's an event, an occasion! Those beautiful yet totally impractical for a cold country items we buy in a frenzy of lust and longing are suddenly useful, and ba boom, the women of London are dressed like it's the bahamas.

Cute little halterneck fifties dresses, nautical sailor inspired playsuits and indian summer floral prints have all become de rigueur on the tube.

Oh and about a hundred different types of sandal are newly coming into play. Gold ones, studded ones, metal ones, glittery ones, fringed ones, multi-strap ones. The list goes on.

Firstly, this made me very glad I did eventually splash out in Vienna on the metal sandals pictured for just forty euros, in the sale at Zara down from fifty. Total bargain. And I have discovered they go very well with many items in my wardrobe, especially my summery blue wrap dress. And I gave my other gladiator sandals to Beth, so I really feel no guilt for my purchase, technically it was a forty euro present for Beth.

Secondly, I want to buy more sandals. I also want to buy some more high waisted shorts, the shorts I currently have are just not quite high waisted enough and I have totally fallen in love with a pair worn by newbie pop star Pixie Lott in Look magazine.

But thus far, I am being very strong. I have not purchased any beautiful new summer gear. I did have a wander into Dorothy Perkins and River Island but I assure you it was totally by accident. You see, this thief ran away with my mind and my purse and obviously I had to follow the clothes obsessed little slag into both shops to get them back. I had to wrestle her down in front of the most beautiful pair of pink and zebra print sling back heels in River Island. But I'm very pleased to tell you I won and left the shop sans heels with both mind and purse intact.

I have also been playing around with different outfit options, today putting together my navy striped nautical vest with an old fifties style skirt from Primark. This Gok Wan capsule wardrobe thing is working better than previously expected.

When I first got back from holiday I admit I had a terrible shock. Perhaps naively, I thought that as I had been away for two weeks not spending any money (well I was spending money, but that had already come out of my account when I changed it for foreign currency) I would suddenly have shitloads of cash in my account. I was wrong, it was still pretty much the same as ever.

But I have also been doing some calculations. I have worked out that if I put a certain amount into a savings account every month and don't touch it for six months, I will have saved up enough to pay off my overdraft by Christmas! That means I can shop in the January sales! Yaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Now this is something to look forward to.

Current overdraft total (minus amount in savings account): £1,295.40

Shopaholic goes on holiday

2009-06-24T10:53:00.000-07:00

I have been on a fortnight tour of Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Vienna and Bratislava and thus far, haven´t bought any clothes!
No offence to the Germans and Eastern Europeans but, fashion sense here is rather rubbish. My travelling buddy Beth and I even hunted out a shoe shop that the guide book said is Vienna´s veritable shoe paradise. Well Austrian people have shit taste in shoes. They were all so ugly! The lack of Top Shops, Miss Selfridges, River Islands and Faiths has made not shopping pretty easy for me too.
However, it seems I have supplemented clothes shopping with buying souvenirs for everyone I know. Well, I´m not technically shopping for me, they are presents for other people, so it really is totally guilt free! I get the shopping buzz and a feeling of supreme generosity as I am only really thinking of others. Seriously my dear friends and family, expect a lot of souvenir crap when I get home! (Well, actually some of it is very nice so please be grateful.)
Also, I´m not sure I can hold off on the clothes shopping for much longer. Today Beth and I went to the main shopping street in Vienna and I went into H&M, Mango and Zara. According to Beth the look of delight and relief on my face as we entered H&M was like a dying woman being given a second chance at life. It is just wonderful and also quite worrying how being in a shop can make me feel so happy and content with the world. I just feel like I belong under that strip lighting.
Amazingly I didn´t buy anything but a very cute polka dot umbrella with frills, which I do really need as it´s really raining in Vienna and my brolly had broken.
However, I did spy a very cute little black nightie, some cool converse trainers with tarten lining and an amazing pair of fringed white gladiator sandals in Zara (I really don´t like the ones I currently own.) So tonight I will count how many euros I have left and tomorrow I may purchase one of the above. I figured that´s ok, I´ve budgeted for those euros already, I´m just going to spend them on food, alcohol and souvenirs anyway, it´s technically money I have already spent at the post office and it will be such a pain to change any left over currency back.
And I´m holiday! I´ve been so good, surely I deserve a little reward?

Current Overdraft total: No idea, haven´t looked at it since I left.

One month down, several more to go!

2009-06-10T05:38:00.001-07:00

I haven't shopped for a whole month. That's four weeks of no new clothes and shoes.

And today, I went into Accessorize to buy a present for a friend. I bought her present, I very nearly bought a clutch bag and some cute knickers for myself but then I PUT THEM DOWN. I paid for her present and left, left, left!

Now I was worried that Primark the other day was a fluke. But being able to leave two shops without buying anything for myself is a much more concrete achievement. I know I'm well on the road to shopping addiction recovery!

And such is the extensiveness of my wardrobe, friends think I haven't given up shopping. For example, yesterday I wore my red Galaxy rip off dress purchased in the January sales for a mere £30. My friend Hannah commented on its general lovelyness (I agreed) and then made a face as if to say, 'when did you buy that, have you broken the ban?' It took me a couple of minutes to convince her that I bought it ages ago!

So thus far, I'm doing Gok proud, I'm wearing rather than buying.

However, methinks it may get harder. This may be a shock to some people but I have in fact gone an entire month without shopping before. Ok, this may not have been recently, but I have done it. The second month is another case entirely. The last time I did that I was that penniless thrifty student. And I still have a long way to go before I get that overdraft paid off.

Unlike a chemical addiction such as smoking, this shopping ban will only get harder the longer I carry it on for. You see, I do actually need clothes. Maybe not quite as many as I own but I do have to wear something. If I don't, I get arrested/molested.

However, drugs, fags, etc. You don't actually need those things. They don't actually enrich your life in any way. No one says to a smoker, 'wow, that pack of cigarettes is so pretty, where did you buy it from?' No friendships or common interests are established over drugs. There is no artistry in a line of coke as there is in that perfectly cut dress.

And when the toxins are out of your system it gradually gets easier.

Shopping addiction is not about toxins, it's a psychological desire. Much harder to kick people!

But if this ban teaches me anything it's to buy what I need, rather than what I want. I just need to keep it up rather than fall back into the sloths of irresponsible spending.

Current overdraft total: £1,819.13. Much worse than last week. Eek.

This week had been hard.

2009-06-04T09:23:00.000-07:00

Despite my earlier success, in week three I'm now really starting to feel the pinch.

At least ten things this week have made me utterly desperate to shop.

1) I looked through Look magazine. Big mistake.

2) I've realised I don't actually much like the gladiator sandals I bought in my final splurge. I would like to buy new ones. Most specifically a white pair with gold studs from River Island.

3) My housemate went on a shopping spree in River Island, she not only bought the cutest little floral top, she also got the white gladiator sandals with gold studs. She's so lucky!

4) I have finished the unbelievably absorbing saga of books I was reading. The book I have replaced them with is a bit pants. My mind is no longer occupied with vampire duels and love stories (yes, my taste in books resembles that of a teenage girl) and so it is wandering once more to shops.

5) The women in my bikram yoga classes are all so trendy. So frustrating, I'm doing sweaty yoga to keep my mind off shopping, not to make me want to shop more!

6) This morning I pulled a beautiful pair of red heels out of my wardrobe that I haven't worn for ages, as I've said in previous posts, part of this shopping ban is to appreciate the many facets of my wardrobe that have been forgotten. So I decided I would wear them today. As I hobbled off the tube and to work I realised why I haven't worn the beautiful red heels in ages. They fucking hurt! And that's from a woman who can handle heels. Anyway, this hobbling from the tube meant that I wasn't able to walk very fast. This meant I got a very generous look into H&M and at a very cute yellow sundress that is the perfect shape for my figure. This made me want to go inside H&M and buy it.

7) I had a check up at the dentist this morning. It cost me £70. I could have bought at least two new pairs of gladiator sandals and possibly a floral playsuit (a woman was wearing one at Bikram yoga, she looked so amazing) with that £70 instead of wasting it on my fucking teeth.

8) I'm bored. When I'm bored I shop.

9) I'm not feeling particularly sexy at present either. Usually, when I feel a bit dowdy and unsexy, I would just nip to Miss Selfridge, shove on a figure hugging dress and instantly feel better. Currently I am not allowed to do this. Boooooooooo.

10) The Bravissimo catalogue came in the post. The model on the front looked amazing in a multi-coloured striped bikini. I want to buy the bikini. This world isn't fair.

My current overdraft position: £1,522.33. Still a long way to go. :(

I want to go shopping.

2009-06-02T05:46:00.000-07:00

I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping. I want to go shopping.

But I'm not allowed so instead I shall go and do yoga in a sauna. Rubbish.

Breaking News! I walked out of Primark!

2009-05-29T05:49:00.000-07:00

Today I exercised self control I wasn't aware I possessed.
As part of my non-shopping, fuller, healthier person rehabilitation my friend and I have signed up for some (cheap) Bikram yoga classes. Now as I'm going to be doing yoga in a sauna I realised none of my jogging bottoms would really be appropriate. So I needed some gym shorts. I felt that was ok, I do actually need the shorts. I'm sure housemate Claire will approve. And the pair I picked up only cost £1.97 so I hardly broke the bank.
And would you believe it, I walked in Primark, picked up the shorts, paid for them... and walked out.
I walked out!! I didn't buy anything else! Does this mean I'm cured from my shopping addiction?! Ok, probably not.
I admit I had a couple of very weak moments. I saw the cutest quilted clutch. I didn't look at the price, I knew that would make me buy it. And some gorgeous gladiator sandals, somehow so much nicer than the pair I had on. And this amazing red patent bag, and such a cute little floral skirt with mismatched buttons, and this great blue bandage dress and...
Ok, so more than just a couple of weak moments. But I didn't pick anything up, I didn't actually buy anything but the shorts I had planned to buy! I am rational and in control!
I am so proud of myself right now. I think another Milky Way is in order.
Although I may have to find another reward, otherwise I am going to become quite tubby.

Admitting my number

2009-05-27T13:24:00.000-07:00

It's not quite the end of week two yet, but I know I am going to get to it easy. Milky Way, woo!
I became a member of my local library, have acquired an obsession with reading a whole saga of books - which will hopefully keep me occupied during shopping hours. I have not purchased any magazines and when I flicked through my sisters Company mag, I read all the features rather than analysing the fashion pages. I haven't gone in any shops and I am certain the desire to is fading. Admittedly walking past Selfridges on Monday was a difficult moment. But I did it!
However, it's not all good news. As I mentioned in my last post, I seem to very quickly have replaced spending my money on pretty clothing with spending my money on other frivolous but not at all necessary things. These things include cocktails, chocolate, cocktails, chocolate, etc.
And as I'm doing quite well at the giving up shopping, I think I can give up other unhealthy expensive things too. Or at the very least majorly cut down.
But, well, I need a target. I need to be able to see my overdraft disappearing. It's like when you go on a diet. You need to see weight loss to keep motivated.
Currently my overdraft ain't budging. I need to see results for sacrificing some of my favourite things in life.
So, I'm going to do something potentially embarrassing. I'm going to admit quite how big my overdraft is. Now I don't want any people turning their noses up saying it's not that much. In my eyes it certainly is! And this is before student loan. This is purely consumer debt. And even worse, I've just been paid.
Ok, big breath. My number is... £1,974.48. I owe the bank nearly two grand.
But it's not impossible to sort out. I've been in this situation before and I got out of it, even though I certainly wasn't paid as well as I am now. And it will go down, every week the number is going to get smaller. That's my motivation ladies and gents.
Fuck me, this is going to be so hard.

Shopping is a motorway in my head.

2009-05-21T02:38:00.000-07:00

If I get through today, that is one whole week where I haven't shopped. My Milky Way is sitting at home waiting to reward me.

Firstly, it seems I have replaced shopping with eating out. Three restaurants in two days. It's not just clothing shops where I throw my money away it seems. I cannot afford the lifestyle I am living. The lifestyle I desire and feel I deserve but have not earned.

Also, I have realised, I walk in shops out of habit. They have a pull over me, it's almost totally outside my consciousness, like a magnet.

Everyday as I walk past River Island I end up walking in some bizarre diagonal line toward the shop and then, in a fit of self control, away. I must look extremely odd to anyone watching me.

I used to do this as a little girl with the fridge. Sometimes I would just open the fridge door and look in. Not because I was hungry or because I was going to eat anything, just because looking at food made me feel more content. Used to drive my mum batty, it made the kitchen cold.

Fast forward 15 years, replace food with shoes and it's my bank manager going batty... Possibly with joy due to the amount of interest I'm paying on that fucking overdraft.

Also, sub-consciously I have made shopping part of my routine. I am a woman who is slave to routine, it gives me control and purpose in an otherwise messy life. That is why I need shopping so much, every thursday evening, my body is geared for shopping. If I'm waiting to meet someone after work and am left hanging around Oxford Circus, what is there for me to do while I'm waiting? Go in shops! My body is geared up for the pretty lights and the thrill of the purchase. The want, want, want. The more, more, more.

A friend and I were discussing mind roads at lunch yesterday in restaurant number two, the Natural Kitchen http://www.thenaturalkitchen.com/ on Marylebone High street. I had Crayfish tart with Hollandaise sauce, veeeery nice.

Anyway, I digress. The mind is like a road map, and if you go down a particular avenue often enough, it becomes a bigger road. Whereas other aspects of the mind, which you don't go down often, remain little country roads. Thus, shopping is a motorway in my head.

I need to leave the big comfortable, convenient motorway to happiness. I cannot afford the motorway. I need to change my routine, go down the budgeting country road. Turn myself back into that thrifty student who thought spending £35 on an item wasn't throwaway, it was an investment purchase. Turn myself back into that thrifty student who was really very disciplined with money.

Sadly, that thrifty student wasn't very well dressed.

Ten ways to avoid shopping

2009-05-18T04:58:00.001-07:00

1) Don't leave my office in my lunch hour, instead read on my offices pretty roof terrace.

2) Don't buy magazines. Not only are magazines expensive but they are also full of pretty clothes and outfit suggestions. I must avoid these at my peril. I cannot want the latest it shoes, if I am unaware of their existence.

3) Don't look in shop windows. In fact when leaving or going to work, always be in a rush, this way the lure of Oxford Street will merely blur as I run by.

4) Don't go in shops. In fact, try very hard not to buy people clothes as birthday presents so you don't have to go in shops. Madness ensues when I go in shops.

5) Become a member of my local library. This means I can get the pleasure of getting something new, without actually buying anything.

6) Replace my shopping addiction with a reading books addiction, this is going to make me a fuller, better, more interesting person. I can really work the hot librarian look too. So love geek chic.

7) Have fun with my current wardrobe. Pull out old clothes and mix it up, be a bit more creative and make outfits I hadn't considered before. This will hopefully satiate my desire to look new and different.

8) Leave the plastic at home. If I only have £20 cash in my purse, I will think twice about handing it over in Top Shop. I will want to buy drinks and food with it.

9) Don't talk about clothes or shopping. The more I talk about clothes and shopping, the more I think about clothes and shopping. The more I think about clothes and shopping, the more I will want to go shopping for clothes. Other acceptable topics for discussion include: Books, current affairs, health, sex, Robert Pattinson.

10) Reward myself with a treat for every week I haven't shopped. Milky Ways work.

The final splurge

2009-05-15T09:11:00.001-07:00

My final splurge is proof that I have to stop.

In just one hour, I spent about £150 on four pairs of shoes and two tops.

FOUR pairs of shoes, in ONE HOUR!

Honestly, I felt sick as I sat on the tube. I knew I had spent too much. Even as I was passing over my card at the counter I knew I was spending too much. But I couldn't stop!

This is why I have to stop and go 100% cold turkey. Mini measures, weaning yourself off, that I cannot do!

Sadly I didn't find the boots that I feel are the hole in my wardrobe. Totally the wrong time of year, I shall have to wait for the autumn/winter collections to come out in August.

But I did find a pair of gladiator sandals, just £16 from New Look, that will come in very useful. Also a pair of very sweet white flat sandals, again, veerrry useful for the upcoming summer months and again only £22 from New Look.

New Look also provided well on the top front. This seriously cute 'Go bananas' T-shirt only cost £12 and was perfect for WCRF's 'Go banana's on Fruity Friday campaign.' (That's the charity I work for, just in case you didn't know.) and this very cute red & white striped vest top with cute ruffles, again very useful for summer and just £12.

That's the useful stuff over with. Now, for the frivolous stuff.

My first pair of new heels were less frivolous than the second. I had been looking for some weddingy style heels for a while to go with my strapless red cocktail dress and beaded cream clutch. So when I spied these beautiful cream Marilyn heels in Primark, just £15 with the cutest gold edged bow detail, I just had to have!

After that I honestly thought my spree was over. My feet hurt, I was very hungry. I was homeward bound. But then what did I spy in the Dorothy Perkins window just as I was heading for the tube... the most beautiful Miu Miu style pink crossover courts with a snakeskin heel. I honestly have been waiting for these shoes to come into DP for months and months. How very serendipitous they have came in during my final splurge. It was fate, my one last shoe present. Just look at them, for £55, and they really do look designer.

So that's it. Unless anyone happens to see any black biker style boots for under £50, I'm finished, shopping ka put.

Right now I'm not that depressed. I'm enjoying my new purchases too much.

Can't see that lasting long mind...

Hello, my name is... and I'm a Shopaholic.

2009-05-14T05:25:00.000-07:00

I received some terrifying news this week. My bank statement.

I'm in trouble.

I'm not thousands upon thousands of pounds in debt. However, well, it's not that far from thousands upon thousands of pounds in debt.

And I know the bulk of it is because of my little shopping habit. I work near Oxford Street, the clothes just jump into my hands as I walk home from work! Honest!

Do you know what is depressing about this situation? I don't shop designer. I have never shopped designer. In fact, the only designerish item I own is Karen Millen and according to Gok Wan that's high street.

Also what is depressing about this situation? Despite my jokes I don't actually have a credit card. I cut it up years ago after spending £90 on bras and then buying a plane ticket to New York in one afternoon. I just knew it was too dangerous.

I also don't have any store cards, just the worlds largest overdraft - my bank keeps extending it! I don't even ask for extensions, I just get congratulations letters through the post telling me that my overdraft has been extended by xx amount.

Amazingly, according to the magazines out there, and in fact my bank, my financial position isn't that bad. So what kind of situation is the rest of the world in exactly?

I have no mortgage, no car loan and I am in virtually thousands of pounds of purely consumer debt. I don't even want to talk about my student loan on top of that. Talk about terrifying.

And why am I in this debt?

Because of my love of shoes, handbags, pretty tops, nice skirts and dresses. Because of my addiction to new shiny items I can wear. Clothing I think will change my life and of course never does.

Don't get me wrong, I love love love fashion. It's such a huge part of my identity, how people define me. How I define me.

What am I without it? I'm still interesting, funny, clever and sexy without the latest pair of it shoes, aren't I?!

I have tried to budget for a clothing allowance. It doesn't work, I just go into shops and go mental.

So I have made a big decision, until I have cleared my ginormous overdraft, I am not allowed to clothes shop.

No buying shoes, bags, earrings, shirts, shorts, anything I can wear.

I have some rules to my new challenge.

1) If I am buying someone else a present, I am allowed to purchase clothes for them.

2) If an item of clothing that I really need (say I get a huge hole in my ballet pumps, or all my jeans rip) I am allowed to purchase a replacement. However, these replacements can only be bought from budget shops, Primark, New Look, Dorothy Perkins. My housemate Claire is judge as to whether I actually need said item of clothing I am replacing.

3) I am allowed one final splurge.

4) The only gaping hole in my wardrobe is boots. If I see a pair of boots that I love which are cheap (i.e. less than £50) I am allowed to purchase them.

5) People are allowed to buy me clothes as presents.

So this is no longer going to be a shopping blog... more a non-shopping blog as a chronicle going cold turkey from my addiction.

From now on I'm going to have to think more Gok Wan's capsule wardrobe. I have to start mixing and matching all the amazing different items I have in my wardrobe, be a bit more creative and stop the colour coordinating obsession. I don't have to wear pink shoes with a pink dress - I have loads of shoes, I'll definitely have something that matches...

The only thing that's getting me through this is the thought of the final splurge this evening.

The perfect dress

2009-05-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

For my birthday party I think I wore the perfect dress. It was the perfect shade of red, it was perfectly cutesy but also very sexy.

The fifties style flarey skirt was so much fun to dance in. It had a tantalising little cut out at the back as well as a very sweet little bow.

It was tight, fitted with wide supportive straps that added to it's oh so fabulous vintageness and you didn't need to bother with a bra.

And I absolutely adore its runched sweetheart neckline. I feel it made my boobs look rather mavellous indeed.

Slick on some red lipstick and some gold jewellery, some leapord print heels and matching clutch and I was retro fabulous.

Brilliantly if you add more gold jewellery, patterned black tights and my black goth shoes - as previously shown in shoe pervert - you have this whole new Peaches Geldof esque look. (I know she's a bit of a brat but I do like her clothes!)

For another look you can mix with the white shoes as also mentioned on my last shoe pervert (and yes, one amazing person did actually buy them for me, and this amazing person wasn't me with my credit card!) loads of pearls and you have a whole new look again. So very versatile.

This is the dress I have been looking for all my life. AND it was only £39.99 from River Island! Once again, thanks mummy and daddy for another fabulous birthday present!

(And before you ask, the Lion on my shoulder is my daemon.)

Shoe Pervert - more birthday love.

2009-05-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

And these multi strap white sandals, £75 from Faith, go just perfect with my new poplin dress. Anyone else fancy splashing out on me for my birthday? No? Ah well, credit card it is then.

I love my birthday!

2009-05-05T09:46:00.000-07:00

My parents are actually truly amazing. You know those parents who buy rubbish hand knitted jumpers or socks for their offspring? That never happens to me. Such are my wonderful parents so accustomed to my stylish ways, for my birthday they take me shopping. Big grins all round! (Except my dad, who by shop four usually looks as if he wants to commit suicide.)

This year, I did very very very well I feel. I am nearly prepared for the summer months, yay me. I've worked out that I just need 11 more pairs of shoes and then my collection is complete!

But anyway, back to the extremely cute clothes that have been purchased and pictured above.

Well, from Dorothy Perkins I found these fantastic multi strap lace ups with a splash of gold on the heel. Looooooovvvveeeeely! They work with jeans for the pub, a mini skirt for the club, a knee length skit for work. And just £38 as well. Proper bargain. Even my dad was impressed.

Next up, my parents gave all their money to Top Shop. Just look at this Gossip Girl preppy long red cardie with apple detail on the pocket. So cute! And only £32.

Then, this rather cute floral mini also for £32. I know I have one already but this one was a totally different colour scheme! Much more summer.

And finally, this super cute stripy poplin dress for £45. Soooo perfect for all those days wandering about Clapham Common! I just need to get some white multistrap sandals to go with it. And I've seen the perfect pair in Faith! Shoe pervert post coming right up.

Bandeaus and bags

2009-04-27T07:07:00.001-07:00

Usually strapless is something I tend to avoid. Unless of course the strapless item is highly structured and can keep my boobs in place.

For the summery sweetheart jersey bandeau this is so never the case. But I do think they are so cute and fifties. Very useful in the summer too, go with everything.

Soooo, I propose something that could be considered totally classless but I honestly think adds to the fifties take on the summer bandeau. Black bandeau, black not strapless bra, black nurse style belt. Trashy I do not think. Worn well with curls and red lips the exposed bra straps create a neckline that is totally fifties starlet. (N.B this does not work on white or light coloured clothes, now that is trashy.) You can currently pick up a a black bandeau in Miss Selfridge for just a tenner. A new dress, just a tenner! That is recession fashion, oh yes.

And while I was perusing Miss Selfridge I found this beautiful cream quilted slouchy handbag with long gold chain strap for £25. The material is so soft I could stroke it forever. And it goes with the purse discussed in my last post! How perfect. And how perfect are my housemates for buying it for me for my birthday?!

Two loves of the week - quilted patent purses and Marilyn Monroe hair

2009-04-22T05:33:00.001-07:00

I'm considering a style change.

For nearly three years I have sported a bob, albeit a curly one.

I'm bored. And I'm fed up with the way my hair keeps flopping as of late. I feel shabby. I hate feeling shabby.

So I'm going to tootle down to my hairdressers at the weekend and see if she can turn me into a ginger Marilyn. It's pin curls a go go.

So if you want to see me, get in your invites now, because from this weekend, I'm going to be far too busy spending hours pin curling my hair to actually see anyone.

In keeping with the retro glamour, just look at this beautiful patent quilted cream purse I spied in Urban Outfitters. At £20 it's a little steep for a purse. But look how pretty!