What would Audrey do?

I think it may be my imagination, but the swathes of London's fashionable ladies seem to have taken an elegant turn of late. Perhaps it's the nip of cold in the air that's forced them out of their tacky cruise clothes and into their tailored winter coat, or the lingering recession that's forced them to put on a brave face and some ladylike gloves; or maybe, just maybe, it's the whisper of Hepburn in the winter winds that's getting us all riled up.
I've spoken before about my indisputable increase of interest when it comes to all things 'up-do', but it's not just my beehive that's got a distinct whiff of Audrey about it. My pearls, too, have had a few more outings lately, and I have got such a lot of use out of my vintage black gloves. With an auction of Audrey Hepburn's rags taking place just next week, it wouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility that I have become spongelike, and by a process of osmosis have subconsciously absorbed all things Audrey.
The cutesy side bar that corresponded with Style's coverage of the auction made me chuckle; if you didn't see it in the Sunday Times just gone, it was just a silly little piece about how one can live as a Hepburn in a world of Hiltons. But between the superficial digs at Paris Hilton's lifestyle, there was some damning evidence that to live as Hepburn would not only make us much more classy and elegant women, but would make us better people. Whilst I would never give a Parisian lip-curl to peroxide blonde and pink girls, I've never fitted in with that crowd, and never wanted to. I adore Audrey, her box set takes pride of place on my buckling bookcase, and I could watch Breakfast at Tiffany's over and over again (not least of all because when cat gets wet at the end I want to cry and rescue him and squish my own little kitty). If it wasn't for the threat of pneumonia, I'd don some capri paints, a nautical sweater and some dolly shoes and go skulking about the corners of Tiffany myself, but as it stands I'll have to make do with watching the DVD at home in my balding Uggs. The world would be a much better place if we all asked, what what Audrey do?
Link for picture

Shhhhh

My posts have been somewhat hurried and petite of late, and I would apologise profusely, had I not been working on some lovely little treat for my trusty blog readers. Next week heralds the start of December, which means most of us will start the day with a bell/holly/present/indistinguishable Christmas item shaped chocolate and, in the style of a turkey, gobble our way up the advent til Christmas Eve. But while you're licking your chocolately fingers clean, why not satisfy your beady fashionista eyes on my visual blog advent extravaganza! From the 1st til the 24th December, when the clock strikes midnight, a new post will appear with a lovely fashion themed picture as we count the days til the big fat red beardy man brings us LOTS of presents! How marvellous, I can hardly wait myself even though I know what stylish treat each day brings!
I shall sign off with one of my favourite Chanel adverts of all time. I remember watching this advert on TV when I was a 90s legginged child. Shows what subliminal messaging can do to the soft vulnerable squidgy brain of an infant; maybe it's to blame for my worrying obsession with all things Chanel.

Objects of desire

Ellen Von Unwerth has it all going on. Sexy, saucy and sensual, her photographs are the only kind I can imagine blutacked to the dressing room mirrors of the Victoria's Secret angels, as a stedfast monochrome pin-up of inspiration. Forget the slut and sleaze of the Playboy mag, Von Unwerth captures the naughtiest sides of girls with enough flesh to get tongues wagging and enough class to affix them between the glossy ads of Vogue. In my opinion, it's rare to capture eroticism in fashion photography that isn't goodytwoshoed or cliched; Von Unwerth gets straight down to the gristle of the shoot, and her photographs are an utter joy to peruse. I honestly can't remember what sparked this post, I think I probably saw something about Von Unwerth on my home-from-homepage, a.k.a Vogue.com, and got looking at her pictures again. I've been a fan for a long time, but never really appreciated how much she had contributed to not only the fashion world, but the film and music industry. Her talents have clearly affected all walks of life. But so seems the blessing of being under the scrutiny of a high definition lens. Before the camera was clasped firmly between her facile fingers, Von Unwerth modelled, and years of being a subject has grafted her into quite the photography master. How wunderbar.
Photo credit

Hairy Fairy

Once upon a time I had a bob. A proper, serious bob. It was cute in a kind of Amelie way when I was in primary school, but by the first year of secondary school I felt like the ugliest duckling and was craving for lush, long reams of hair. I mean, you could see EARLOBES it was that short. I'm off to have my hair lopped off tomorrow, and as much as I'd like to go for a quirky pixie cut, I'm currently indulging my inner child's wishes and growing my hair out. I just can't seem to find any inspiration for how I want it to be styled, so I guess I'll just have the split ends off, short and sweet, just like this post.

Hunted

I was style hunted today!! A few years ago, my seventeen year old self was hounded for a photograph and I refused and have always regretted it for some reason. But today I was obviously feeling in the right mood and stood, cheesey grin and all, to have my outfit snapped. They paid particular attention to my tights and shoes (told you I had a thing for hosiery!). The shoes are Chanel, I was wearing a cream dress from Mango, Chanel pearls, crocodile bag, mink cape and I forget where I got the lacey tights from. I didn't catch which website it was being taken for, but if you see my lacey limbs all jolly on your browser then let me know! I adore thesartorialist and I commend those with enough patience to hit the streets and style hunt.

Itching to get these puppets on your fingers?

If I had a mini spud sprog, I would no doubt be popping these little knitted darlings on my fingertips and entertaining the bambino with them. From Karl to Alber, these designer finger puppets are officially adorable. I found them when trotting through Liberty today, which, if you're London way, you should visit. It really put me in the festive mood, but the Luella grotto was a bit of a let down; and I SO wish it hadn't been disappointing because there is definitely a Luella shaped void inside me that could, and should, have been satisfied by that certain corner of Libertys. Nevertheless, there are plenty of fashionista stocking fillers to be had at Liberty - Marc by Marc Jacobs goodies, Anya Hindmarch purses, McQueen keyrings... the list goes on! I could have easily astounded all logic and withdrawn every last penny on an infinite credit card limit, had I been lucky enough to own such plastic. So why not get out your winter coat, hoist yourself onto a tame reindeer and canter to the W1's favourite wood paneled department store.
Credit for the photograph of the woolen gang

Midnight feasts

Oh golly gosh. Last night I was ravenous. I realized I had rather foolishly skipped lunch, leaving me ready to gnaw the arm off of my boyfriend at about 2AM. In a rather nostalgic turn of events, we set off fridgewards to have a midnight feast; garlic bread, ham, cheese, toast and tea. Mmm. The only thing I feel was missing was chocolate!! If you've never seen the fantastical gooey goodness of Choccywoccydoodah I don't know where you've been, unless you've been hiding underneath a HUGE chocolate button... in which case, it's time you nibbled your way out and checked out their website. Tasty skulls, white chocolate lovebirds and popcorn bars will have you salivating. My eye is set on the chocolate kittens; too adorable to eat??
Choccywoccydoodah website is here.

5 gold rings and a Partridge in a magnificent jeweled tree

When my BlackBerry's mini red light started flashing, little did I know I was about to fall desperately in love (I know I go on about how much I love things ALL the time, but I genuinely do... there's a lot of love in me to give!!). Netaporter's new for you has disappointed me of late, but my cold black fashion heart started beating with vigor again when the stunning masterpiece's of Solance Azagury-Partridge popped up!! What a mouthful of a name, and one that might not have crossed your lips often. I was playing dunce when I was flicking through the few pieces up on netaporter, thinking I had stumbled across a designer new to me, but a few clicks later, and the penny dropped and I remembered this wasn't love at first sight, but a rejuvenated affair. OF COURSE I know Solance Azagury-Partridge, and you should too! A ring so pretty that an enameled bluebird decided to clasp his golden claws around the diameter had been placed into my internal wishbox, and it was a joy to see it again! The ruby lacquer lips and daisy ring also reminded me of how much I appreciate SAP's designs. Perhaps one for the more kooky jewelry connoisseur, SAP's website will have your bank balance fretting in no time as you mentally tot up all the wondrous things you could buy... if you won the lottery. So maybe these are the things of dreams, but when's a bit of dreaming done anyone harm? I love the zodiac rings, the poison collection and the pieces from the Platonic section that look like they've been plucked straight from the firmament. Treat yourself to some eye candy and pop on her website now.

Out of the jungle and into the lion pit

So, Katie's left the jungle. I have to say, I don't watch I'm A Celebrity... merely for the fact that just watching creepy crawly canapes makes me feel ill. My evening's entertainment just doesn't include watching Z list celebrities wretch, but far be if for me to judge if it does for you! If anyone else out there is an avid India Knight fan I'm sure you'll have read her little piece about Katie's predicament in the Sunday Times this weekend. I have to agree with a lot of what India said; the dire lengths that girl will go to now to redeem public support are grim, but not half as awful as the barbaric citizens who insist on voting again and again for her to humiliate herself. I'm not surprised she's quit, but it's quite shocking that Katie's need to 'be seen as genuine' in the eyes of the public drove her back to the jungle. I don't buy that she went back for some peace and quiet - being watched by millions doesn't quantify a utopian break in my books. I can only assume the Australian outback challenge was her atonement; yet no one informed me when the decision was made that eating cockroaches = upstanding member of society. There's no doubt the show's got appeal, it's figures are impressive, but to me it's just a circus for downtrodden starlets, making the most of that final fifteenth minute.

Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside... armadillos!!

So I've briefly mentioned these weird and wonderful shoes in previous posts, but I couldn't quite bring myself to not dedicate a post to them. Wow. Now I know they're currently the marmite spread on the Ryvita of the fashion world, but I can't see how anyone can NOT like them. They are, quite frankly, amazing. McQueen is notorious for running fashion shows intended to spark debate and controversy, and these 'armadillos' have split the fashion world into two fine slivers. I can't imagine that anyone sitting in front of a pair in their size could resist the temptation to try them on and have a totter. HOW can you walk in them? Good old Daphne Guinness managed it, Gaga strutted in them too and the stick thin models of the runway got by with barely a wobble. Yet Vogue accredited the models of McQueen after attempting the mean feat themselves and faltering; maybe us mere mortals don't have the right bones for them? McQueen's Plato's Atlantis was a shrewd commentary on the future of civilization; we came from the sea, and perhaps we shall return there. If His Majesty McQueen is right, I'd rather be standing tall, making friends with the crustaceans as they got chummy with my 10-inch high claw-like foot apparel, than get stuck in a puddle with some pitiful kitten heels. Move over feline dubbed shoes, now is the time for some futuristic aqua-reptilian booties!

Oh, and just by the by, all this armadillo fuss has left McQueen's ivory sky high heels somewhat in the dark. The transparent plastic straps get a thumbs down from me, but the detailing on the platforms that's akin to gnashing jaws, and the vertebrae intwined heel, is too amazing for words. Bravo, McQueen, bravo.
Link. Link.

Bitten

Last year, my nose was well and truly buried in the Twilight saga. If you haven't read it, don't unless you've cancelled all your plans for the impending week. It is addictive! I stupidly went to see the first film on it's opening night; oh. my. god. If I thought I was any kind of crazed fan, I was severely mistaken. I could deal with the most unhinged of the audience being dressed in Twilight appropriate gear for the event (and I used the term appropriate lightly; I don't think it's appropriate to go out in public in full on TEAM EDWARD outfits, but once the lights dim in the cinema, I suppose it's permissible). What I couldn't deal with was the screaming; screaming when Edward was about to come on screen, hysteria when there were Edward close ups, and just general delirium throughout the showing. This year, some sense has been knocked into me, and I plan to go at a much more modest time on Tuesday. I shall report back, but suspect I will be somewhat late to review the film. The box office records have gone through the roof, and it sounds as if the world and his wife have already witnessed some vampire frolics.

Get your five a day

The lack of fashion shows at this time of year makes me feel like a carnivore who has been forced to go vegetarian for a month; dizzy, irritable and weakened. I seriously feel as if I'm lacking in sustenance, and I therefore end up foraging online for any tasty style titbits. So here I am, kindly sharing todays five-a-day with you!
ONE. I'm still obsessed with hosiery, and House of Holland's limited Crimble additions are the only kind of nylon heaven I'm interested in. What's better than having WANNA PARTY written up the backs of your calves? Nothing, that's what. Snap them up here.
TWO. There a quite a few pieces of jewelry on the market at the moment that give more of a fierce body pop than a nod towards the silver creations for Jimmy Choo at H&M. Head over to Topshop if that sounds right up your studded street, and while you're at it check out the chunky monochrome bangles that are drawing me to their flagship store lickety split. Here they are in fabulous pixeled 2D.
THREE. I have always adored Westwood, I owe so much to her! I'm loving a little bit of twinkle this year and am sure to whip out my Swarovski embellished perspex hair clip soon. If the sound of that little gem appeals to you, nip online here and grab a broach of the same design.
FOUR. I'm loving the whole Miss Havisham vibe at the moment; lace, dusted velvet and black black black... swoon!! If you're more ghoul than glam then check out All Saint's skull candle here - erring on the right side of eerie, it's perfect to satisfy your inner goth.
FIVE. Tipped to perform at this year's Royal Variety Show is Lady Gaga. I hear you ask, how is that in any way related to the tempting little list I've just given you... well, it's not, but who really gets their true five a day anyway?! And plus, I think it's the kind of news I need to trumpet about. Asked if HRH was familiar with Lady Gaga, a spokesperson for Buckingham Palace said she 'really wasn't sure' if the Queen had ever listened to Lady Gaga before. Come now, that's just like when you're parents said maybe when you were a child. It's just a polite way of saying no.

Stationery to stop the postman

Maybe it's a 'me' thing, but I adore stationery, and I'm willing to suffer the papercuts in the name of the luxe letters. I haven't forsaken you, Miss Squishy And Squarey Nancey bag, but I'm falling head over non-McQueen-heels (sob sob, no I didn't go back and get them today SAD FACE) for Smythson paper. It's the kind of stationery that reminds me of why the leaded ordeal that was terms and terms of penciled handwriting paid off; to earn the right to buy, and use, my first leaky Parker pen. And looking back on my little bobbed Primary schooled self, I'm surprised I don't write in fountain pen every hour of every day in recognition of all those lame smudged ABCs. But when I do pick up a posh pen, I want something spectacular to write on, and Smythson does just such a line of correspondence cards. In such a stunning spectrum, you'll wish the paper was edible so you could take a little nibble. And for diaries, I am coveting a Liberty leather edition in a tasty gobstopper shade. Nothing quite like the softness of leather to age with the year, and naturally the Liberty print won't fall out of fashion by the time Fall's Jack Frost nips you on the nose in 2010. But if it's just a few cute notelets I'm after, I'm straight onto papernation.com. Not been on it yet? What do you expect to write your Dear Santa's on?! The Melrose and Croc cards really tug on my heartstrings (Melrose is a little cartoon yellow dog and Croc is a...er... croc and they live in these children's books that make me wish I wasn't nearing 21 and could still get away with reading their adventures ALWAYS). Oh, and they sell erasers shaped like peanuts. Need I say more?!
Link to the pretty cards

Walk, walk, fashion baby, work it, move that bitch crazy

I have a deeply guarded secret. Between the rows of Pineapple trousers, the shelves of opened smellies and the plastic hangers suspending 98% polyester/2% hideous American prom gowns, I know of a TK Maxx that shelves Moschino, Prada, Marc Jacobs, Superfine and Nicole Fahri. Is this a special TK Maxx? No. It's simply placed in a back end concrete wasteland of a little town full to the brim with designer-illiterate people. But that's OK - that leaves all the goodies to me!!
Today's trip to trusty TK started like any other; I have a very set way of going round TK Maxx, quick glance at the scarves, then shoes, then bags, undies and finally any other garments that catch my eye in the ruffled rails. Maybe it was fate today that I went straight to the shoes first, and then I beelined to a very certain very gorgeous very purple pair of shoes. I knew from a hazy difference I was in for a treat, and BOY did TK perform. In my size, in a rather fabulous shade of plum, were Alexander McQueen heels. I take a guesstimate that they are from his 2008 ready to wear collection; forgive me for falling in love with them so fast that my keen fashionista eye lapsed and instead of denoting their date of birth, I was crazily throwing my Uggs off in shoe lust (don't think I haven't learnt a thing or two from the Jimmy Choo at H&M extravaganza about fast paced shoe transitions!). The picture is deceiving, the heels weren't sized 5, but in fact MY size, because I was THEIR Cinderella. Shoehorning my tootsies in, they did fit. I could walk in them, but they were incredibly high and sexy, in a sort of come-hither-and-get-me-because-I-am-actually-wearing-VERY-high-sexy-shoes-and-I-can't-walk-far-but-it's-fine-because-they're-pretty way.
I knew immediately I didn't have the cash to spend on a whim on them, which is a shame because with their RRP at £500 they were practically giving them away at TK. That didn't stop me from popping them into the shopping trolley and pushing them about TK like an obsessive bargain hunter with her kill, eyeing anyone else with a size 3/4 foot with suspicion and disdain. I found myself questioning if anyone else shopping in TK DESERVED the shoes; would they care for them? Would they wear them with something hideous? God forbid, would they be worn in the RAIN?! Let's just say if I were Golem then these were my ring, and I had a very hard time putting them back on the shelf and had to have a heartfelt goodbye with them when I left the store.
As you'd imagine by this lengthy post, they're rather playing on my mind. I'm starting to contemplate food and it's importance to my well-being; shoes might make me happier. Which leads to me conclude that perhaps us fashion types don't diet and starve in the name of fitting into that Christmas dress... maybe we just think forsaking food is a sensible way of saving money to then spend on horrifically ethereal shoes...
I highly doubt I'll get to sleep tonight, I'll be far too busy hatching plans on how to get the cash to buy the shoes... how much would you pay to know where my secret TK Maxx is? £150 you say....

All wrapped up with a bow on top

After a shockingly bad week for my wardrobe (a Luella top with a huge hole in it and a Mulberry bayswater bag with a broken clutch, and counting...), Vogue.com's lifted my spirits with one of its latest articles. Commending the art of Deepa Gurnani, Vogue highlights one of my greatest pleasures in life; hairbands, itty bitty bows and cutesy clasps. I LOVE hair accessories, possibly more than I should, but surely the zenith of your body should be topped with a modern day tiara?!? Gurnani's creations are beautiful, and his hairbands have graced the scalps of many a celebrity including Little Miss Cole. They're a snip too, at around £50 for something you will undoubtedly wear again and again and oh AGAIN; I highly suspect the elastic would wane long before your interest in this hairband would. And while I'm at it, I'll reveal some of my other hairy crushes; Marc Jacobs Amour makes me want to cuddle orphaned kittens, Eugenia Kim's liberty inspired band makes me want to go all folksy and frolic with fawns and Erikson Beaman's velvet embellished hair band is the epitome of luxe living. Am I the only one who still mourns not getting hold of one of Luella's 2008 hairbows?? I regularly check eBay in a self-induced frenzy, just hoping one day I'll manage to get one! But alas, until my great hairbow dream comes true, I have a lovely assortment of accessories to be drooling over, and I really hope Gurnani's appearance on Vogue.com gives him the recognition he deserves.
Bow bow bow

Down the rabbit hole

So my deadlines for university work are drawing in, my days alone are numbered by the unexpected (but welcomed) stay of my dearest boyfriend on Mondays and Tuesdays due to an impromptu PR internship and the holidays promise many to-dos, but STILL I won't be kept away from exercising my thinkbox and writing on my blog. And what better way to pass the time than writing about my excessive excitement for Burton's imminent Alice In Wonderland. A star studded cast promises to rejuvenate the tired tale, and I can barely wait for 2010 to come rolling round. I've always been a fan of Burton, from NBC to Sweeny Todd, and it's safe to say he reminds us all of the magic of Alice. Depp's performance as the Mad Hatter looks to be brilliant but absurd; if you haven't seen the trailer yet, do do DO! I predict the highstreet will be awash with striped stockings, oversized clocks and lapin-esque headpieces (which reminds me, I saw at the Jimmy Choo event a darling in Vuitton bunny ears - gorgeous!). Time to fall down the rabbit hole and indulge in some escapism? I think so.

Flabber.Gasted.

There I was, innocently looking into what now seems quite a tame blog about soft furnishings adorned with the union jack, when I fell into the little guilty hotspot that is Femail on the Daily Mail's website, and.... well, the picture speaks for itself. KATE. What. Are. You. Doing. The last thing I want this blog to turn into is me pointing my finger at celebs with a self directed circle of shame, but this really takes the proverbial biscuit. I gave the picture a double take, clicked away, clicked back again, toyed with the idea of writing about it, clicked away again, hastily rushed back and here we are now. Staring at leggings. Jumpers. Belts. I don't even quite know where to begin but I think I'm safe in assuming the same thoughts are rushing through your head as in mine as I type this. In such desperate times when brilliant designers such as Luella are slipping into the deepest darkest potholes of the recession, fashion needs to put on a brave face and look fabulous. If supermodels are trotting about looking like this, then I'm not surprised fabulous fashion houses are faltering. It makes me want to ditch the 2.55 and crawl under a rock in Per Una clothing with nothing to eat but spam and nothing to watch but Antiques Roadshow. OK, so it's not that bad. But it's pretty dire. Sort it out, please?!
Link to Miss Dross Moss

One, two, three, go...

Before I'd acquired a vast library of DVD delights, this was my most coveted cinematic treat and my obsession for this film was well and truly rooted. Everyone quantifies their coming of age differently; first kisses, jobs, prom nights, moving out, teenage years... for me, I knew I'd truly grown up with my first pair of Marigold gloves. Glamourous, I know. But if any film is going to capture all the triumphs and traumas and the hormones in between, it's Thirteen. Raw, edgy and unashamedly honest, Thirteen documents the life of Tracey, who wants so desperately to be in with the cool girl that she taints all that has gone before and leaves her relationship with her mother in tatters.
Don't let the title fool you; the film runs with an 18 certificate and contains images not for the faint hearted (I don't want to spoil too much, but sex, drugs and self harm are just a taster). It was released in 2003, when I coincidentally would have been 13, but I didn't see it until a few years after that. The imagery still haunts me, and the dwindling saturation of the imagery throughout the film is stunning. Go. See. It. Now.

Forget the cat's pyjamas, this is the dog's bollocks

Man's best friend, and apparently fashion's chicest accessory; I can't wait to get my paws on Dogs In Vogue. I'm desperately missing my own little furry companion in the form of curly tailed and wet nosed Ivy. She's a little bit of black mischief, we call her the shadow because she's constantly lurking about up to no good. I think her most triumphed performance to date is when she successfully removed every single tissue from a brand new box, covering the kitchen in Kleenex. I take great pleasure in visiting the park with my boyfriend on a Sunday, just to marvel at four legged fiends, and round where I live there are lot of rather amusing pedigree chums. From the snuffly pugs to the cuddly cockapoos, I can totally see the appeal of canines and I'm really not surprised they've been in Vogue for years and years. To come home to a little waggy friend, consistently pleased to see you, really is one of the best things in life that are free (pardoning the vets bills, squeaky rubber chickens and mountains of kibble). I can't even entertain the suggestion that to save the planet we must eat dogs; if you hadn't heard already, some bright spark noted that a large dog damages the environment to the same effect as a huge 4x4 car. Man's most faithful friend skewered and shredded? I don't think so. If I may be so blunt to look back to neanderthal times, I have a few notes to make myself. I note that men used dogs to hunt, guard and help; they surprisingly didn't jump into their SUVs, sling their spears on the back seat and rush to a drive through. We survived all those years with the wolf in the living room, so I think there are plenty of obscenities that could be dashed in a quest to save the planet, before the finger is pointed in blind idiocracy at Crufts for being a hazardous global-warming eco-suck. The fifties wouldn't be the same without poodle skirts, my childhood would have been hindered without Lassie and where would Tintin have been without Snowy? Dogs, whether you like them are not, are here to stay, and long may they lounge in the pages of my Vogue.

The Cat That Got The Cream

Oh dear. I fully intended to write this post last night as soon as I got home, straight from the Jimmy Choo-ed horses mouth as it were. But the lure of a cozy Notting Hill pub stole my attention for a few hours, and now I'm up at a god awful hour ready to head to Brighton. Still, this post should hit before the elbows of the keen general public lock in a shoe frenzy.
Last night was frankly amazing. Arriving a little after 5, we were kept out in the bitter winds for well over an hour for the doors to open, much to the amusement of the general buzz of London, as they wondered what was so good to keep us affixed to the walls of H&M on a cold Friday evening. As a fully fledged fashionista, I'm well accustomed to the pushing and shoving when the greats come together and create a collection kind on your purse strings, but I wasn't quite anticipating the bum fight that was yesterday evening. Considering it was the prelaunch, people were going mental; champagne glasses were flying out of people's hands and shattering onto the floor, there were audible cries of glee and disappointment, and more than thrice did a shoe box corner enter my ribs to the unconvincing apology of a woman on an UTTER mission. Very few people were wearing shoes, but clasping their original pair and staggering about in ill matching Choos to try and decipher which one suited them best; then they usually bought both. The boxes were stacked high, the bags piled on and everything was a sea of that recognizable electric blue. I spotted many people adorning Jimmy Choo for the occasion, the vicious stilettos and over-sized clutches doubled up as choice weapons for those eager and mad enough to physically push people over in their quest for THAT shoe.
The collection was far better in person. It was nice to take a more relaxed and luxurious stance and browse the shelves. I adored the black jump suit, the pink capsule clutches were cute but predictable and the sequined dress was practically walking itself out of the shop. Designer for H&M it may be, but I saw very few people there who looked accustomed to H&M shopping. Most seemed Jimmy Choo fanatics, drawn in with this latest ruse.
I left with my own palm sized piece of the action; an adorable circular black leather coin purse. Modest and understated, it hasn't featured much in the magazines but the glittered lettering reminds me it is a Jimmy Choo legend nonetheless. The goodie bag included a Jimmy Choo bracelet, not available on the shelves, and a Vogue and H&M magazine.
So. What an evening. I apologize for such a rushed post, but I'm incredibly dehydrated and still aching from last night!
Thanks to Giselle for the picture!

As if I could fall out of love with you

Gaga's got me grinning like a hyena again. This new video is inspired. Watching Gaga sometimes makes me uncomfortable in the same kind of way that an uncle approaching the dance floor at a wedding makes me cringe; something is screaming at me that it's just not quite right, but I can't help but watch. This doesn't mean by any stretch of the imagination that I dislike Gaga's videos; Gaga marks herself from the crowd, and at least it's different from the usual dross of MTV. Subverting fashion in a completely controlled and serious manner makes me love her just that little bit more. Yes, we can play dress up with clothes, but that doesn't mean we want to be mocked. Seeing extra-terrestrial ghostly slips of models tottering down the catwalk in those cloven platforms, I couldn't imagine anybody but the goddesses of the McQueen show wearing them. They were phenomenal, yes, but imagine pushing your shopping trolly around Tescos, powered by those hooved babies. But of course they suit Gaga. Why wouldn't they - that girl can pull off a full length polar bear cape! Seeing her in the suspect metallic McQueen get-up, the space age clothes finally made sense to me, with a full blown character behind the seams. The unbelievable seemed plausible, the ridiculous mundane; cliche though it might be, I'm going goo-goo over Gaga.
Gaga link!

Shoe deja vu

Dear reader, this isn't groundhog day. I promise. I know I have hyperventilated over the Jimmy Choo for H&M collection previously, but my attentive little noggin notes the countdown to the prelaunch party is really drawing to a close. Two sleeps to go, to be precise. And this time I'm writing not to the awful lyrics of Shyne, but to a rather vintage number from Paul Simon; Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes. And yes, that sure is a way to lose those walking blues. So I may not be able to afford bejeweled brogues, but once I've shoehorned my itty bitty size 3 feet (yes, they're small, it's a miracle I stay standing in a strong breeze) into some Choos I'm sure every cloud will have a silver lining and a smile will split my face in half. What is it about shoes that is so uplifting?? When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.
ANYWAY, I'm not some snooty fashion type that takes Vogue hosted parties in her stride whilst inhaling canapes and knocking back the Moet. I am unashamedly absolutely bloody excited; I don't think I've been this excited since I asked for a Playmobil Pony Ranch for my birthday when I was five. I'm getting my hair done especially; bardot beehive, naturally. The dress is picked. The tights are picked. The shoes, of course, are picked. I suspect if on the night the DJ plays my favourite song I shall be compelled to dance, if I bump into a celebrity I will be overwhelmed by starstruck enduced endorphins and if I fall in love with some shoes I shall squeal. Basically, I plan on having a jolly good time. Care to join me, Shulman?
Who's that girl and what's she doing with that divine bag?!

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun!

I am in mourning. Dear, dear, dear Luella. Did I not mention that darling name just a few posts ago in my top ten Crimble wish list? Becoming the latest victim of the recession, it looks like Luella's days are numbered as Club 21, their main investor, cut ties with the brand. I'm a little more than devastated. I love Luella. The bows, the hearts, the frills, the tongue-in-cheek spoilt girly brat look. I've felt Luella's collections can be a bit same old same old, but it's that same old that I like!! It's very hard to contemplate who I'll go to when I want some clasped polka dot arm candy in the future. I'm hoping with the press coverage another investor will creep out of the woodwork and rescue the whimsical brand. I understand to feed the economy back to full health a few brands have to be thrown into the proverbial jaws of the recession, but please, Luella isn't a little frugal snack. For a designer to be crowned Designer of the Year and then find themselves at the helm of a sinking brand just twelve months later sets alarm bells ringing in my mind for the future of fashion. So maybe you think me melodramatic, maybe you think fashion a little frivolous but it is at the axis of society; what we wear and how trends change is utterly dependent on modern culture and what's going on in the world. If what we gain from the economic downturn is the death of some truly fabulous brands then I shall be bitterly disappointed. Jane Norman can burn to the ground, Bench can go and New Look can pack their bags, but please, great ethereal fashion Gods of the sky, have mercy on Luella.
Image from Catwalking.

Oh yes... it's a onesie

Wow. I want a onesie. I'm not Jack Will's biggest fan, but they've tapped into my inner ice cube with this stripey number. At the tender age of twenty, I actually feel too old for Jack Wills. Last weekend I found myself parousing one of their newer stores, and I just can't be doing with boys wearing their pyjamas about; I see that enough already (does that make me old fashioned?), nor can I cope with the gaggles of thirteen year old girls who hang out in Jack Wills. I highly doubt any of them actually bought anything, but Jack Wills makes it just so cozy for you to chillax there all day if you're a tweenager with nothing better to do with your time. And it's not as if I blame them for not buying anything; university outfitters? Ha! Student loans would, and do, buckle under the pressure of plastic burning up in Jack Will's card machines. When I'm in there, I find myself thinking about backcombing my hair, dark wood furnishings and clay pigeon shooting, all the while pouting, Crackberry held tentatively by a rather arrestingly angled palm... then I catch myself in the mirror, and leave faster than you can say flannelplaidlumberjack. But this wasn't meant to be a malediction against Jack Wills, because I could readily go on even though I myself own garments embroidered with that suspicious looking pheasant. This was meant to be about my need for a onesie. I get SO cold and have lost a rather tiresome argument with the boiler this afternoon, leaving Daddy dearest to haul a heater to the flat for me to keep me slightly toasty. As the colder months draw in, so my fashion inhibitions leave me; ballet pumps are replaced by Uggs, cashmere cardigans become the finishing touch to any outfit and scarves become my best friend. I find I can't text, get my Oyster card out of my bag or enter my PIN without some woolen based catastrophe due to my now HUGE gloved sausage fingers. Last year I acquired some rather snuggly cashmere Juicy Couture trousers in the sale, so I plan to perhaps attach those to a cashmere jumper and thus knit myself into a self styled onesie, complete with Ugg booties. I will look like a small fuzzy abominable cosmopolitan snowman, but hopefully by then EVERYONE will be so cold, they shan't turn their heads to get a better glimpse at me for fear of their necks snapping off due to the aforementioned cold. Ahhh I kid, but it is OH so tempting.
Link for ONESIE.

And a Galliano Christmas tree!

Five 24ct gold thiiiings! 4 McQueen scarves, 3 Vuitton bags, 2 Westwood pirate boots and a Galliano Christmas tree!! I wasn't expecting to write another Christmas post so soon; don't get me wrong, I adore Christmas, but it's still a tad too early for my liking. But when I heard Galliano (gasp) was designing Claridge's (double gasp) CHRISTMAS TREE (triple gasp!!), I couldn't help but not do a little squee. Moreover, it'll be unveiled the day I was planning to go to Claridge's for tea for my dearest BFF's birthday do! Fabulous, much?! Now I've had a quick glimpse at the sketches and I wasn't expecting the tree to be traditional, but the blue iced tree festooned with exotic charm was a surprise nevertheless. I'm sure it'll be glorious but I don't expect it to ignite my Christmas spirit, more the little critter in me that seems to be head over heels over anything expensive and fashionable. But at least that critter will be happy. SO here's my top three Christmassy things to do in London that will encourage you to get your flashing antlers on and be festive (I'm sure I'm not the only one to own flashing antlers....)
ONE. Ice skating! Perhaps an obvious choice, but I adore ice skating, and my pick of the rinks is Somerset House. Twirl about until you get frostbite, and then warm up with some nice soup at the cafe there. Their tree there is usually fantastic, Tiffany&Co is decorating it as usual. Expect lots of their typical ice blue and cream palette on the tree, as well as matching cupcakes and decorations! I believe it opens on the 17th November, booking is recommended to avoid disappointment. I remember one year I went, and this wonderful lady got on the ice with GOLD blades, she was incredible! So you never know what tricks and delights you might be witness to. And nothing gives you rosy red cheeks quite like a skate in the outdoors!
TWO. Visit Selfridges Christmas Shop and pick up some beautiful decorations for your tree. From the sublime to the obscure, you'll be sure to find something fitting for your Christmas theme. This year I think I'm going for a red, white and blue look; union jack time!! And if you want that finishing touch to your decorations, visit VV Rouleaux in Marylebone for some gorgeous ribbons, trimmings and stunning wreaths!
THREE. Forget the obvious Hyde Park Christmas land/world/something similar, and head to the Natural History Museum for a little walk of an evening. Watch some people have a good skate around, have some mulled wine (responsibly, of course!!) and walk beneath the fairy light coated trees.
Link to Galliano pic

There may come a day when we have nothing left to say

Ah Weezer can do very little wrong in my eyes. I have some really frightening affinity with punky poppy chirpy chappies. So this new tune is right up my jolly little street. Well, I say new. I think it was leaked quite a while ago. The catchy chorus reminds me of the gigs I went to when I was 14. I'd plan what I was wearing for them about two months in advance, and I'd be tucked up in bed by 9. Latest. Wild. And I'd have sung my lungs out. Which is what I do when I listen to this song. But in my head. 9 o clock central line commuters wouldn't approve of my Weezer rendition, and up until now Buddy Holly would have been number one on my commuter karaoke list, but I think this has just pipped it to the post.
It's very hard not to tap you're foot along to this; my dearest boyfriend (the musical brains of us) helpfully pointed out the beginning starts very alike to A Town Called Malice, which is does. It makes me like it even more.

Style crush much?

From the skinny jeans and dolly shoes, the Chanel J12 and the three (and counting) Mulberry Bayswaters, the ditsy print dresses and the beanie hat, the macs and the converse, the hair bows and scarves, Fearne Cotton is my official girlie style crush. I used to watch her when she was on Diggit, so we go WAY back. I really don't think she gets enough praise for her finesse!! Bar the utter wardrobe disaster, I think it's safe to say Fearney's bang on the money. And it helps that she's a good egg too.
Link. Link. Link. Link. Link. Link.

Lest we forget

All poppied up and after a two minute silence, I was to experience the delights of Clerkenwell vintage fashion fair today. The fashion treasure trove enveloped unique pieces from the 1800s to the 1980s, and it seemed to be particularly fitting to be browsing the stalls for sweetheart broaches and clothes that evoked a wartime glamour.
I'm not usually one for vintage shopping - I'm not particularly good at searching through clothes that usually smell a bit dubious and were meant to stay well and truly in the decade they've surfaced from. But Clerkenwell was different; the venue, The Old Sessions House, provided a fabulous labyrinth of stalls. I felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, rustling in the different rooms, frequently backtracking to try and find once more 'that special something' that I needed to have a second look at. And the experts had truly cherry picked their best finds! I saw some utterly wonderful furs for no more than £30 (and a fabulous wild mink coat for £775!), some very sweet sixties shifts, hand knitted cardigans from the 40s, and dozens of butter-soft leather heels just waiting for their thrifty Cinderella.
I walked away with a beautiful Hermes silk scarf for £20 which was in pretty good condition, a few small stains but nothing that a bit of cunning twirling couldn't disguise! I also grabbed some rather sexy lacy black gloves that were more than a little bit Dita Von Teese. And also the real crocodile bag pictured for £30; I managed to get a few quid knocked off that, it's had a lot of life and some of the scales split down the side, so a bodged job with some glue has left the leather stained black.
Just as I was about to lindyhop out with my bag full of goodies, I was drawn back in by the a capella sounds of a trio, all dressed up in 1940s clobber; just like the Puppini Sisters. That truly was the cherry on top of the cake (oh and there were delish cakes there too!!). It was beautiful to listen to; and if you grew green with envy eyeing their decadent forties make-over, you too could be Bettie Page for the day thanks to Lipstick & Curls who were also at the event. Click here for more information.
So, what a find!! Only trouble now is fitting my trinkets in my suitcase and carting it back to my flat....wish me luck!!
Clerkenwell Vintage fair is on bi-monthly, check their website for details by clicking here. A little birdie told me their venue would be changing shortly, so keep a keen eye on their website for more details.

Bringing sexy back

Congratulations Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, on becoming the only British Victoria's Secret Angel, set to grace the catwalk in nothing but her undercrackers this December. One of the few fashion catwalks to get straight men to sit bolt upright in their seats and pay attention, Victoria's Secret will host their fifteenth show this year since their debut in 1995. With Black Eyed Peas tipped to perform, this years show could be their biggest and best yet. Any feminist cries out there that women feel objectified and degraded by these kind of shows should surely be muffled by the fact that sales of stockings and suspenders are up 40%; and I'm pretty damn sure that it's women driving those sales. Why? Have you seen men shopping in Agent Provocateur, far too mesmerized by it all to make a decision and too busy cringing into the collars of their coats to ask for assistance? The majority leave empty handed or worse still, leave with ill fitting and entirely inappropriate smalls. No, I'm pretty sure the boys have finally left it us, and we seem to buying lingerie in our millions! I know the models of Victoria's Secret are primped and polished and full of botox but I still look up to them; I'd rather see perfection trotting down a glittered catwalk, all dressed up to the nines in stilettos than the average British woman (I don't care if the average sized woman is a UK size 16 - that isn't aspirational, and that doesn't mean I want to see it), all flustered in her greyed M&S basics. So go go go Rosie! Power to the pants!!

Dashing through the shops

I know it's a bit early, but Christmas is already on my little eggnog noggin. The Liberty Luella windows, the first sherry of Winter, the passing of bonfire night, the dwindling days of Strictly and X Factor... oh, I can almost taste the festive salmon blinis and Moet!! Christmas is just specialness personified. So here's my top ten wish list; I've given up on asking Santa for a pony. 18 years of heart rendering Dear Santa prose and not even a whiff of a hoof. Huff.

Diamonds Oh diamonds, truly a girls best friend!! I have a favourite jewelers in New Bond St (good luck future fiancee!) which do the most gorgeous diamonds. Slip one of their charcoal boxes under the tree and I would be over the moon! I love their pinkie rings, but this over the top engagement ring is divine. Pretty please?!
Price:£16,500. Click here for link.

Barry M Glitter Nail Paint So maybe diamonds is a little ambitious; achieve all that glitters kudos with Barry M's fabulous nail paint. I'm currently wearing their nail paint in glitter cherry red; if Dorothy had clicked her fingers instead of her heels to get home, this would definitely have been her varnish of choice. The perfect little stocking filler.
Price:£2.89. Click for link.

Chanel J12 How could I not mention Chanel on my top ten? As my dearest Giselle knows, a Chanel beauty all wrapped up with monochrome ribbon is utterly magical! I think I'll be waiting a good eight months before I even get a glimmer of a chance of getting one of these, but a girl can dream.
Price: £3125 last time I checked, but the price was rising.... Click for link.

Blythe Doll Creepy, but I want one. I won't say any more. Because they are creepy.
Price:£100 approx. Click for link.

All Saints Embellished Forgotten Woods Tee Mmm I'm quite desperate for this one. I adore All Saints; well, I adore Vivienne Westwood and All Saints leeches a lot of her best ideas in terms of tailoring and palette. But I'm really loving crystals and the such at the moment, and this teeshirt just makes me want to do some kind of cult jig... just kidding......
Price:£85. Click for link.

Luella Windsor Dress Oh for a Luella party dress!! I love Luella, so cute, so girly, so eeeeeeeeeeesquiddle! This dress is gorgeous. I'm thinking thick knit tights, cute patent mary janes and a 2.55. Yes? Yes. And it's in the sale! *skips heart beat*
Price:£122.50. Click for link.

Bebaroque Babooshka hold ups OH hello hosiery. I have a real thing for tights, e.g aforementioned Chanel lookielikey lovelies. These are just divine. Bows and crystals and glitter oh my! I would love to nestle these in my tights drawer... is it sad I have a drawer entirely devoted to tights?! Knitted, red, seamed, cream, glittery, grey, leopard print, lacey... you name it, I've got them. I've even got a pair of tights that are SMOTHERED in pictures of cats. That little feline number often attracts crazy cat people to me and my boyfriend has threatened to dump me if I wear them too much in public; imagine that! Tights harnessing the power to ruin relationships! They don't come out too often....
Price:£70. Click for link.

Liz Earle Cleanse and PolishThis is definitely the snore of the list. But it's useful, like that umptenth pair of socks you get at Crimble! I swear by Liz Earle cleanse and polish. Especially now I live in London, having a product that can remove make-up and that nasty layer of city grime from my face is a must. It's kind on sensitive skin, doesn't smell too nasty and leaves your skin brighter and healthier!!
Price:£21.75 for 200ml and two muslin cloths. Click for link.

Alexander McQueen magpie print chiffon scarf Last year I received my first McQueen silk scarf; union jack skulls adorn it and God Save McQueen scrolls about the edges. But this scarf is utterly delish!! I love the print, as the houndstooth turns into magpies. It reminds me, in a good way, of Hitchcock's The Birds, as they spiraled into the distance. Am I permitted to be cheeky enough to say I think sometimes the chiffon McQueen scarves can be a bit cheap looking?! I usually prefer the silk ones, but I'd make an exception to have this one snaking about my nape.
Price:£225. Click for link.

A kiss under the mistletoe After a string of charlatans, I bagged my man over three and a half years ago. I've had a few kisses under the mistletoe, but never one on Christmas, which would be rather nice! I know it's cheesey but to spend Christmas day with him would be perfect!
Click for link.
Grand total: £20,252.14!!! Oh well, a girl can dream! And there really is no point reigning it in on a wish list. Santa baby, slip all of that under the tree, for me?!?

Save the last dance

Through my slightly warped chicken soup and soothers induced haze, I have been excitingly researching a pair of 1930s ballet pointe shoes as part of my university project. There's something exceptionally magical about ballet slippers; call me pretentious, but I wear a pair around the house as ordinary slippers, and not in a heroin chic Winehouse way. The fact that handmade pointe shoes have a unique symbol stamped into the sole to refer to their maker is the thing of fairytales! I'm yet to book a ballet to see this Christmas, I'm a huge fan of Matthew Bourne and have seen his Swan Lake, Edward Scissorhands (twice) and The Nutcracker. Just breathtaking. I believe Bourne's Swan Lake is on this Christmas, and I'd be more than willing to feast on those visual delights again!
Anyway, there's a link of a much more eroticized use of the classic pointe shoes. And may I take this chance to proclaim my love to the dearest Dita! She really is an inspiration, now there's a girl who takes one look and just goes with it, and there's something to be admired about that.

I get the point...

I stumbled across this today. OK, it's seventies, it's acid induced and it's kind of crazy. But I love it. How can you not like a story about a round headed boy who didn't fit into a land of pointy things so he had to wear a pointy hat but then was banished to a forest?! And it has a sweet moral. And a pointy dog.

Watch the fur fly...

Now, I'm going to try my hardest to be sensible in this post and not come across as some kind of Cruella DeVil antichrist. I've been thinking about an advert I saw in Vogue a few months back for a while now, which introduced me to Origin Assured fur. The idea is that buying Origin Assured fur means that you know that the fur has been farmed under strict conditions and guidelines as applicable to the country of origin. Now, to me, this is a brilliant initiative. I own fur, I wear fur, I love fur. There, I said it. I never feel afraid to say that, but somehow I always feel I should feel afraid to say it and I know people hate me for it.
I would count myself as someone who really loves animals (I can hear the sneers of hypocrite); but I still eat meat. I still wear leather. I still wear sheepskin. And I still wear fur. And I don't clearly see where the line is drawn between fur being crueler than leather. People don't utter their disgust at people wearing Uggs, but will happily rant a tirade against a fur. And I'm quite happy for them to do that, as long as they have a logical reason, because to be honest I think for a lot of people the reason that a fox is cuter than a sheep is a logical reason. Which is absurd. I personally used to hate the idea of fur, but when I thought about why, I realized I'd jumped on the bandwagon before really thinking about it. I've seen the gruesome programmes, made myself watch the fur being torn from the animals back like carpet from floorboards again and again and again. I had to make myself watch them to be sure that's something I wanted to be affiliated with. But I too have seen the programmes about battery farmed chickens being kicked about like footballs, fed until they're too fat to walk and never see the light of day and that's something I would definitely not want to be linked to. But I'm happy to eat eggs, so long as I know they are free range. Just like I would be happy to wear fur, so long as I knew it had been farmed in an ethical way.
I know people will always have a problem with fur, and in many ways I can see why. I think many people have more of an issue with fur than leather and other goods because they believe fur doesn't offer any bi-products; which isn't actually completely true, a lot of the meat used from animals farmed for fur is used in pet food, and their body fat can be used as oil. I know that there are some cases of the most obscene cruelty in fur farms, but that can be said about so many practices involving animals; battery farms, intensive farming, the exotic pet trade, zoos... the list goes on. You can't stop people wearing fur, just like you can't stop people from going to zoos or eating cheap meat. So instead of avoiding the matter completely and campaigning about something that will never falter, I think it should be commended that someone has taken the initiative to set up a label that sets the standards in fur farming, for a better life for those animals in fur farms; not just because they're cuter and cuddlier than their bovine friends, but because they deserve a standard of living too.
Image credits here

Guilty pleasures

I'm sat here in my very cream room on my very cream bed using my very cream Mac and I'm feeling very grey. Last night I felt awful, so much so I was carted away from my London flat back home to the sticks to be given some well needed TLC while I recover from the sniffles. I've been stuck in bed for most of the day, doing university work - so far, I've written a film review, two news pitches, and a target market analysis. Writing it out like that makes it look much less impressive... usually, I wouldn't mind doing the work but my head feels like it's been hit by a frying pan and everything seems to take thrice the time.
Nevertheless, it's times like these that I just want to bundle myself to the sofa, surround myself with soft furnishings and watch The Hills. Back to back. All day long. GORGING on popcorn. There's just something inherently fabulous about The Hills and I'm not ashamed to admit I own seasons one through four. Yes, I know it's staged, and not just because I read the miniscule MTV warning but because I'm sad enough to have watched so many seasons to notice discrepancies (LAUREN how could you claim not to have received a Chanel bag before and then be carting one around to the nail salon before coming back and then at Christmas time you open your present from Jason and it's the Chanel bag you were carting around before when you went to the nail salon even though that was days before you open the present!!!! *sharp intake of breath* trust MY keen eye to pick up on any Chanel shenanigans). But I'm still addicted, and I'm pretty much 99% sure The Hills is clinically proven to be less dangerous than crack, even if it is as addictive, so that's good.
I'm starting to get BlackBerry induced lazy crazy eye; I keep thinking the little red light is flashing when it isn't! A true sign if ever there was one that sleep was needed. Goodnight world!!
Image courtesy of frillr

Alright, Jimmy Choo shoes on your feet?!

Take a minute to type Jimmy Choo into spotify... THAT is the song I am listening to now. For like ten seconds. Then I had to turn it off. Because I refuse to listen to a song that includes lyrics 'I need a Prada chick to take this dick'. Please. Stop it.
It's a shame, because Jimmy Choo is so APT for this post about....er...Jimmy Choo! I never quite know what to think of designer collaborations with H&M; I thought Viktor&Rolf way back in 06 would have been worth getting my pointy shovey elbows out for, but other than that, I usually keep a safe distance from the bum fight that becomes H&M on the opening mornings of such collaborations. Luckily for me, for the Jimmy Choo launch I shall be getting a SNEAKY PREVIEW. Courtesy of Vogue (and my fabulous friend Giselle!), I shall swan about with champagne and canapes and sway to a live DJ set on Friday 13th, a day before the general public can get their mitts on them. I've been checking out the collection online and I'm pretty impressed. I'm not one for OTT heels and animal print, but my eyes are drawn to the brown leather coin purse, the studded flats and the cute strappy patent heels. I always find it hard to choose things online, but once I see the beauties in the flesh, I think my money will be burning a big shoe shaped hole in my pocket!
I'd type more and drool more over the Choo creations but I fear I have been taken ill with some nasty cold; sneezles and a face that aches and feels so swollen that my eyes are going all squinty at the screen and then the pretty shoes get all distorted and then I get huffy. I suspect a cocktail of ibuprofen, echinacea and vitamin C should do the trick.
Image courtesy of the lovely Giselle

My brain box

It's just on fire tonight, can't stop whittering. This is my seventh post in TWO days. I'll calm down soon, I promise. But before that, some reflections on memories and kitties. Tonight I wrote some reviews for perfume. Perfume is so hard to write about - it's just really evocative and hard to describe. My mother always says my sense of smell is the cross I have to bare - I have a ridiculously good sense of smell, a blessing and a curse! If everything goes tits up maybe I can be a wine connoisseur and get tiddly all the time? I digress.... I still have the last bottle of perfume my dearest Nana owned. Chanel Allure. When she passed away, I foolishly used it all up because I missed her smell so much. She was the kind of woman who wore pearls to get on the bus and go shopping. She'd post me a fiver each week sellotaped to a piece of card and on the back of the envelope she'd draw some crazy bee wearing boots. She hated other people. She called cats sods and would have hated my little darling Niamh. She knitted my mum her school uniform. When she wasn't wearing contacts, she wore huge glasses that made her eyes look wombatish. She'd buy me rice crackers and then eat some of them before giving them to me. When I was clearing out her flat, I found a 'Congratulations on passing your driving test' card, already written and signed by her, that she'd stowed away... when she passed away, I'd only had a few lessons and was months away from passing, but she had so much faith in me that I'd pass first time. I can't describe the perfume in any other way than describing the woman who wore it. What a hell of a lot of memories.
Image is of my little Niamh

ZOOM ZOOM

OH OH OH. I am way happy right now. I emailed Lauren Luke for an interview for part of my university piece, and... SHE REPLIED. Totally wasn't expecting that! She began the email HIA like how she says on the YouTube videos and stuff?? Ohhhh so good.
The link above is her video tutorial for Leona Lewis' Bleeding Love look; it got a crazy 3 million views. It's amazing we're not all wandering round with those eyes!! I admire her for so many reasons, not least the fact she videos her tutorials with her pugs and Family Guy in the background. There's just something very honest about her.