Love.

OH MY GAWD the fourth edition of Conde Nast's second-best magazine has finally arrived, and already I feel I'm in love with both Rosie, who looks absolutely AMAZING on the cover, and her leopard-print dress (I am literally Bette Lynch reincarnated). It's release means I can finally stop trawling the newsagents in town to see whether or not it is out, where I have walked in, saw it's ommission from the shelf and walked straight back out, incredibly disheartened. I've been doing this for the past like two months as I swear it feels like an age ago since I lugged the last volume around with me. In reality I just have too much time on my hands...

However it seems today is a day for Love-ing in other aspects of my life too.

For a start (to bang on about my bicycle again) I manned up and simonised my vehicle this morning. I felt like a right bloke, but the sore hands and scruffy attire was more than worth it in the end - I am a complete magpie and a sucker for anything that shines, and if I was a bird I would defo's try and nick it for my nest (hence the Love).

Secondly, today I have relived my youth as an underweight child with the biggest ever appetite for shit food, and devoured the best part of a chocolate gateau. Being stuck indoors due to the summery downpour, I watched, for the first time, My Sister's Keeper, and was actually embarrassed about how much I cried. Literally, I hardly ever cry at films. I think the last time I cried at anything tv-related was watching the last episode of the Royle Family when the grandmother died - for some reason I was reduced to a blubbering mess - maybe it's the pensioner Love creeping back again... But honestly, you'd actually think someone close to me had died when I watched that today. I looked like such a trainwreck, I had to reapply my make up, and then went to help myself to a fat American's portion of my gateau, to make myself feel better. It definitely worked, and for the rest of the afternoon I didn't shed one tear.

Thirdly, I have a whole lotta Love for my loverboy at the minute. Given the fact my jobless self is crashing at his for the duration of the summer in order to avoid the monotony of life in my hometown, my days in NCL are spent by myself as everyone else in the world seems to be employed, and it gets a bit boring to say the least. SO, he offered today to sleep on the couch so I could invite my dear friend from home through for a night of dancing next week, subsequently giving us his room. What an actual babe.

The only thing I am not Love-ing about today is the fact that I haven't even left the house because of this nightmarish weather, and I feel like a couch potato. A big, baked one full of cheese and stodge and cake at that. Note to self: get up early and go for a run tomorrow, before the gym-work gets destroyed and I am blown to smithereens by the blast that would come from the explosion of my stretched stomach...

To be continued.

Ring my bell.

So I have bought a new bicycle. She is an absolutely wonderful Raleigh Twenty shopper, complete with bag, bell and basket, and in my excitement to see her I have returned to my motherland to collect her and profess my undying bicycle love. I've decided to call her Annie, after my dear mother, and Annie Lennox, who, if I had to choose a third (or possibly fourth, the Queen would be third) grandmother, it would be her.
The bike is fab, and I spent most of last night trying to make her sparkling. My grandfather was supposed to help me polish the chrome, but this activity has yet to occur as he told me I couldn't be bending over and cleaning a bike in a miniskirt (slash what was actually a pair of vintage levi cut-off's, but I suppose in the eyes of the pensioner it's all relative)... However as much as Annie is the ultimate babe, I think I'm more excited about the fact I can actually sit on her seat and touch the floor. You see I'm 5'3" high, with legs on the shorter side (it's a bitter revelation), and so my last bike, Celia, was practically a health hazard. With good intentions, my father told me last summer that he had bought me a vintage cycle. Obv I was dead excited, but this excitement lasted only until I got there and attempted to sit on it, which made it impossible for me to touch the floor. This later involved much dismounting at traffic lights and generally just being a bit of a shit cyclist (my grandmother actually had the cheek to tell me I was crap at cycling the other day - er, she can't even swim for a start, and would probably need stabilisers was she to take to the road on two wheels). I think I can safely say that I have more chance of staying alive on my new bike, which is definitely a positive...
And despite being greatly excited about my impending sunny cycle with my dearest friend Emma on Saturday (weather permitting in this wintery 'summer'), I am beginning to greatly anticipate winter; partly because I have spied a divine fur coat on ebay that I could add to my collection (it comes with a matching hat - need I say more), and partly because me and another friend of mine had a frantic status-commenting session about the joys of winter coats and 12o denier tights, so I got pretty excited about the prospect of cycling on my bike in a fur. As a result, I'm feeling pretty festive at the minute, in the middle of July. However it will probably snow next week and all my rose-tinted sentiments will go straight out of the window. But until then...

Hello blog.

Well, having recently graduated from university and being an unemployed statistic until someone takes pity on me and offers me a 9-5 (preferably one requiring business dress so I have an excuse to buy more Bettie Page dresses), I decided that the best way to pass the time was to get a blog. After all, I've only been meaning to for like the past decade. So having spent a while (about 10 minutes in all fairness) attempting and failing to come up with a name for my blog that was slightly original, I decided to plagarise from John Malkovitch as it's one of my favourite films, just don't tell him...

So I thought I'd start of by revealing a litle about myself. Firstly, my grandmother is my ultimate idol, followed secondly by the Queen (there's a pensioner-theme going on here)... As a result of my undying patriotism, I have a ton of monarchy memorabelia and all things British. I have approximately 12 fur coats and I feel my collection is only going to grow, despite the fact that the first of my collection (a donation from my much-loved grandmother) is by far my favourite. It's a lovely ginger rabbit. My fur coats are basically my pets, because I'm pretty much allergic to everything under the sun (both food and animal wise), although I've never quite discovered why I'm allergic to a rabbit yet can have a rabbit coat. Still, I'm hardly complaining...

Come Dine With Me is my favourite programme in the world. However David Dickinson and his perma-tan also wins me over on many occasions. Him and Frank Gallagher are my ultimate babes (jokes, well only slightly). I do actually think I will marry either Jared or Caleb F; R. Brand (down with KP); George Lamb (or his dad), or J. Depp (predictable yes, however he is the most beautiful man in the solar system so I'm not too bothered).

Other than that, it is my dream to own Mulberry's camel skin leopard-print Bayswater, but at £1,650 that looks like a distant dream in my doler state until I find a sugar daddy or win the lottery. Well one can only dream.