The dark days are over.

My life has all just fallen into place.

Not only did I bag myself an amazing job the other day, I also managed to sort out the house-related stress and I now have a beaut new chateau in Jesmond! The best bit: it comes complete with burgundy Chesterfield sofas - hello retro cool. My monarchy cushions are going to go so well.

So at the minute I currently feel on top of the world; and waving goodbye to unemployment cannot come soon enough. Gone are the days spent miserably trawling the internet for jobs and houses, fearing that if I managed to bag neither I'd have to return to my primitive home-town and resign myself to eternal boredom. I now however have both, and somehow managed to bag both within the space of two hours. Score! If I was a believer in fate I'd swear it was the greater forces that brought me both. The job starts on Monday and I get the keys for my house on the 1st September. And so now, in my last weekend before my 10pm bedtime curfew begins, I am returning home to get fed and watered and spoiled, albeit temporarily. The boy is returning with me as we're both so poor due to the housing costs, we lack food in our cupboards and seen as I have a Sunday dinner waiting for me when I get home, he got jealous and decided to accompany me. Nothing beats Mazza's (my grandmother's) roasts. Can. Not. Wait.

Time is of the essence and so I must dash in order to catch my train, and promise to post again with details of my hectic week that has just passed. My eBay-purchased leopard print vintage belt has just arrived in the post and it's amazing; it will definitely feature in the new work-wardrobe (how sophis!)

Peace and love.

Carbicide.

I am literally drowning in a sea of carbs.

I have no idea what has came over recently, but every time I feel that pang of hunger I find myself reaching for the stodge every time. Nothing wrong in that obviously, but I've also taken a liking to full fat butter, and so you see where this issue is heading... Admittedly, overall I do have a relatively healthy diet. Having taken up the gym mid-dissertation in a bid to free myself from the clutches of the library and the vending machine (pretty much the only source of library calorie) for an hour a day to de stress and de fat. I've been keeping up this routine ever since and love the post-exercise slimline feeling, but since going to London a couple of weeks ago and eating everything and every cupcake in sight, then going home for a week to a week of wet weather and thus ruling out outdoor activity/exercise, I have struggled to get back into my gym routine since returning to Newcastle. I did go for an hour and a half this morning, however I feel my love for bread has taken hold in my absence from the treadmill. This wouldn't be too problematic, but starchy foods strip me of all motivation, and so you get the picture...

Now just to clarify, I am not some obsessive under-eater, but my obsession with bread and cake is somewhat uncharacteristic of my usual diet. I'm eating bread as if it's going out of fashion, and you'd think the potato famine was about to take hold once again with the amount of spuds I devour. Cupcakes are my downfall; especially ones from the Hummingbird Bakery and ones that are decorated with glitter or flowers or anything else 5 year old girl related. Pizza has also been my tea of choice too much recently, along with crisps and chips and every other shit-food item imaginable. My intake tube would probably resemble that of a 50 stone fatty on Supersize vs Superskinny; I'm like Homer Simpson minus the Duff beer. And so whilst slogging on the treadmill this morning, I vowed to cut down on my deathly intake. Yet reached for the crumpets as soon as I got home. Oh well, I tried...

I am however determined to quash my obsession and force myself to the gym every day to exorcise my carb-love. Although this may have to start on Monday, as a much-anticipated trip to Tynemouth market will be occupying me tomorrow, and so the gym is ruled out. I'm thinking new week, new start, and all that jazz. I have a second interview for a job on Wednesday so fingers crossed everything goes to plan and my life finally falls into place. Which also includes finding and signing for a house, with our original chateau plan unfortunately falling through. I was so devastated when the news broke, I reached for Matilda and the chocolate cake Scott and I baked yesterday (get your Betty Crocker out). Oh my, I'm so predictable...

To be continued.

Cartoon heroes.

Okay, so I'm aware this fetish may be in the minus numbers in terms of ratio, but having recently watched Toy Story 3, it has came to my attention again that I have a strange obsession with cartoon men. I know, I sound like I should be advertising in a lonely hearts column, however, I do feel male cartoon characters have serious potential that is somewhat overlooked. I mean, Jessica Rabbit has her own fan page on FHM and has been ranked in the top 100 sexiest women ever, with Lara Croft presumably not being far behind (this time not in Jolie form). But seriously, what about the men?? Granted Homer Simpson is far from being a dish, but there ARE sexy male characters out there! I have to admit I was slightly smitten with Andy in Toy Story, being all grown up when in numero 2 he was just a wee boy (okay I sound like a paedophile), but genuinely, he is a babe! I almost immediately notified my friend about my cartoon crush, and her response drew attention to his un-dishy loafers and thus had ruled him out instantly. I had acknowledged the shoes myself, yet decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and ignored them, and so now I have a full on crush going on.

This sort of crush was recognised a couple of years ago, when my dear friend Rach and I were watching Mulan during a Disney session. After being silent in what I thought was deep thought for a few moments, Rach exclaimed that she would 'well shag Shang'. Admittedly, he's the ultimate alpha-male, but nevertheless, I found it hilarious, and thought our lack of real-life love interests was to blame. Yet Toy Story confirmed to me that this was not the case. Andy is a babe, and I even found myself strangely attracted to the puffter Ken after seeing his closet... It would be co-ordinated outfits galore a la Elton John's heterosexual marriage. And Aladdin is pretty sexy with his boddess once he takes off his waistcoat, and John Smith is a bit of a babe, even though he's not my usual type with his blonde locks...

However, whilst taking the time to think about this (generally flicking through a memory of Disney films), I realise that my problem with cartoon-love is worse than originally anticipated. For instance, I realise I quite fancy the adult Simba in the Lion King, having envied Nala for what must be all of my life. Nevertheless, I am feeling a bit like an animal perv at the minute, and thus I feel I need to end this line of thought here before I get seriously worried about myself...

On a more serious (ahem) note, I do think cartoon men provide a fantasy outlet of the perfectly toned, alpha-male that would give any real-life Prince Charming a run for their money. Prince Charming Vs Chad Michael Murray in A Cinderella Story?? I wonder who would win. Hmm.

A leopard never changes its spots...

Many, many times I have been likened to Bette Lynch; once by the ultimate chav of a builder who jokingly hurled it, thinking I may be offended. Well, the joke was on him because I took it as a compliment, babe that she is and all...



However, the tacky barmaid has got nothing on Casati; early 20th century muse and eccentric, who dressed in cheeter fur and peacock feathers on a regular basis. But that is another story for another post, and so I shall continue.


Increasingly I feel I may need to start branching out on my set clothing patterns of breton stripes, polka dots, tartan and obviously, leopard print. This came to my attention today whilst browsing through the latest edition of Grazia, where Pearl Lowe for Peacocks' leopard print tea dress bowled me over (I never thought they'd be in the same sentence together either). Subsequently, it had me headed straight in that direction in an attempt for a possible purchase (at £35, who could complain?). Alas it was not to be this time, as the Northumberland Street store didn't stock it. Sob.


This disappointment merely led me to assess actually how many leopard print items of clothing I own, and the number is vast. Not that I'm complaining, as I love the print and it's everywhere for this upcoming season - at least I'll be able to dig out my old faithfuls this winter without having to spend a small fortune on new items! Yet nevertheless, I'm sitting here blogging in a grey leopard print body con dress (an old Topshop favourite) coveting this seasons new animalistic items...








This Moschino number is an absolute favourite of mine. Not that I'll ever own it unless I win the lottery, but regardless, how fabulous.











The bag on the right is my belovedly coveted Mulberry Bayswater. But at £1,650, again, it's unlikely I'll own it any time soon...


Aside from that, there's so many other high street finds that I really want. Office have a gorgeous pair of leopard courts, but given the fact that I already have some with a large black bow on the front (they are amazing), I feel it would be somewhat silly to purchase another pair. The Motel trousers are wonderful also, as is the bandeau dress, although past experience with these sorts of dresses tells me it won't fit me well enough to render buying it.


Anyways, enough of the purchase talk. From umbrella's and underwear to headscarves and clutch bags, my leopard collection is only going to keep on growing. I feel I will remain loyal to the Bette brigade even when leopard goes out of season, just like I did with vintage sequins. Although they were slightly ruined for me when horrific shops such as Rebel Rebel (No Bowie link intended) started churning them out left, right and centre. Nevertheless, I am a die hard leopard through and through. And as leopards never change their spots, I never plan to either. And so I shall leave you with a few of my leopard items. Enjoy...

.

Dreamcatcher.

Oh my days! I can't believe it's been almost a week since I last blogged. My life has been a series of errand-running and life-organising this week, which is perhaps why I have somewhat neglected my page.

Today I thought I'd focus on the theme of dreams. I've been having some crazy dreams lately (my imagination is massively over-active), and the dream I had last night was so amazing, I rendered it blog-worthy pretty much as soon as I woke from it.

So, I dreamt that Moss invited me, for my birthday, to watch her on the runway. But it's not just that, it gets better. I was transported there in a car driven by Chung, accompanied by Miquita, Agyness and Kelly O. Genuinely the dream road-trip! And despite the fact my birthday was in May, it felt so real I had to convince myself it had been a dream when I woke up. When I finally realised, I was massively distraught (obv). I think I woke when I got in a bit of a dream-fluster in M&S (best shop ever) as I was trying to buy vintage tea-sets for Moss and Chung as a thank you gift, but I couldn't find the till (defo's heart-attack inducing had this been in real life)... But that's not the only celebrity-related dream I've had that I've been practically inconsolable when I've woken. Last year I dreamt I was playing Guess Who (my favourite board game) with KOL. Well, just Jared and Caleb, but it was as if I'd gone back in time and Caleb had his fringed bob a la YAYM (the way he should have remained. Period). Sheer dream bliss. I was practically suicidal when I woke up.

I have always had an overactive imagination since I was a child. My mother has kept the stories I used to write, and they would genuinely give JK Rowling a run for her money. The only difference is that her transcripts will be spelt correctly all the way through, and wouldn't be written in crayon... Speaking of HP, just to go off the beaten track for a second, may I profess that I am SO excited about the impending film in Nov. It's pretty much a party in my pants everytime I see the trailor...

So back to dreams. My dream job would be to replace Alexandra Shulman, but with the inspirational eye of Grace Coddington and the boddess of Wintour. Mainly so I could coerce with models all day, to get paid to write about one of my main loves in life and have as many Mulberry camel haircalf bags as I want. Plus it means I'd also be able to buy the whole collection of Bettie Page dresses and wear Louboutins all day long. However, aside from all the superficial reasons as to why I'd want to be the editor of Vogue, I genuinely admire all of these women. I know less about Shulman than I do about Wintour and Coddington because of The September Issue, but nevertheless her work is amazing. Wintour admittedly does come across as very wintery (how apt.), but both her and Coddington are the driving force behind American Vogue, and despite their differences both recognise that the magazine would not be the same without the input of the other. After all, R.J Cutler (the director of US Vogue) stated in the NYT that 'Anna is all about the 'next', and Grace is most interested in a historical perspective of art and fashion'. Clearly, both of them combined equals the perfect balance.

And as much as I must seem impartial, I am definitely Team Coddington. Her shoots are inspirational, as you can see. These photographs are decadent and historical whilst maintaining a modern and high fashion look. Genius.

Aside from that, I have many whimsical dreams and wishes that I believe would make my life a lot lovelier. I wish that I may ride my bicycle without ever falling off or being run over. I wish myself and all my loved ones would live forever, but I know that's unlikely and so I have a hilarious desire to be stuffed when I go. Granted, it's a slightly morbid topic of conversation, but I love the idea of being in someone's living room like a moose on a plaque, except I'd keep my boddess. I wish my legs were longer and I was a little taller, as at 5'3" I'm on the shorter side to say the least. I wish I'd never be outbid in the last seconds on ebay EVER. In fact, I never wish that on anyone, unless it's me that's doing the outbidding... I wish every day was sunny in Summer and sunny in Winter. My favourite type of days are the crisp, cold, bright morning's in Winter. I wish it snowed for one day a year around Christmas, so everyone could build a snowman, but then I wish for it to be gone the next day, as inappropriate footwear and falling over is not too fun. In that case, I wish I owned the Westwood wellingtons so I'd have appropriate snowy footwear. I wish KOL had never sold out and I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful reunion for Pete and Carl. I wish I'd never had to cancel my Glasto '10 ticket and sell my Leeds '10 ticket. In fact, I wish I could go to every festival every year. I wish I was not susceptible to colds and hayfever. I wish I was not allergic to peanuts. I wish I had clean bedding on my bed every day, and not just every week. I wish I had Dorothy's ruby slippers and Matilda's super powers. I wish I had an endless supply of my grandmother's soup. No, in fact I wish I always had a spare day whenever my grandfather asked me to help him make it and subsequently learn the recipe myself. I wish my student overdraft wasn't maxed out and I wish, at this present moment in time, that I was still at university. I wish Virginia Woolf was still alive as I'd want to take her to dinner. I also wish I could meet Emily Dickinson and Margaret Atwood, and I wish Harry and Hogwarts were real. I wish I could live on Pandora and be a fly-on-the-wall in Moss' apartment.

So there's my life compartmentalised into a series of dreams and wishes. I hope I manage to obtain some of them, as I do believe that achieving all of them are impossible given the fact that Hogwarts is unfortunately a figment of Rowling's imagination. SOB.

Daytime TV.

So I have returned to Newcastle.



Having had to endure the whole journey home on the train (3 hours on a two-carriage train that is practically a tin can on a track), I finally arrived in NCL to be greeted by my lovely boy, and got home to a Marilyn black and white portrait waiting for me (I was sorely missed). Marilyn is like my idol, so it was a much-loved gift.



However, once again I am back to daytime-tv watching, and I have to admit I'm wondering whether I even bothered to return to Newcastle early (both houses I came back to view were SICK), as I'm now lacking Living TV, and subsequently America's (and British) Next Top Model. Admittedly Elle is no Tyra, but nevertheless I heart watching the runways and the shoots. And as much as I prefer the American version as it's so much more exciting as it's so much more OTT, it consoles me massively that when it comes to elimination the British girls fly the fashion flag and always seem to have amazing wardrobes and sense of style, unlike the American love for lycra. That's probably the reason why the Topshop in NY is so expensive as they're paying for the privilege of our high street in order to get some style. It's literally twice the price over there - it made me feel much better about paying more for AA clobber over here knowing that some American beauty was paying $50 for a Topshop tee... And even though I'm lamenting the loss of Living now, I did at least get to watch the re-runs of Cycle 10 until the finale, and I was bitterly disappointed (again, having already watched the series) when Whitney won. Yes, she is beautiful and a good model, but Anya's ethereal beauty capitvated me, and I backed her until the end. But oh well.



Back to Britain's, I was mighty jealous of the chocolate shoot. Take away the nakedness, and I'd do anything to have melted chocolate poured all over me and have some fit photographer take my photo. Joy is my favourite, although Kirsty pulls the pictures out of the bag every time and looks like quite the babe. Even if she did interrupt Elle...



So now I'm watching Friends twice-over, as Virgin TV has nothing else on offer at this time of night. In fact, the only good thing about Virgin is the on-demand Come Dine With Me, which is one of my favourite programmes ever, but even still, there's only so much CDWM I can take in one day...



One thing that does excite me is the fashion shoot I'm helping shoot tomorrow, and the vintage jumpsuit ending on Ebay tonight. It's like me in jumpsuit form, and so I feel it's destined to be mine. Fingers crossed!

Rough city.

Oh my God, I'm fragile.

I made the mistake of drinking Pimms, which to me just tastes like fruit juice and therefore I always end up far more under the influence than originally anticipated. Other than having my head stuck in the toilet for the best part of the morning, I had a very jolly night! I rarely venture out into town when I come home as the ratio of clubs is positively minus, but many familiar faces surrounded me and so I will gladly take the hangover and suffer for it. I think the favourite part of my night was when me and my two sexy lady friends spotted this man who looked like the babe on the picture. He looked stereotypically German, minus the fancy dress, and we decided to call him Hans and ran after him for an autograph. It turns out that he was actually Polish, and he positively FLED, and I mean ran, away from us, more than likely in fear for his life. Oh well, nothing like a good old rejection from a beautiful (...) stranger.

I crashed at Emma's last night to avoid being ripped off in a taxi home (£15 for a 10 minute journey?? No thanks), and I had to ring my grandmother to come and collect me at like 9am as I genuinely thought I was on my deathbed, and when I looked in the mirror I realised I looked worse than I felt. Still, it was nothing a few more trips to vom city, a good sleep, home cooking and Matilda couldn't cure, and by 12pm I felt relatively right as rein.

On the subject of Matilda though, I actually wonder how many hours I have spent in the duration of my lifetime watching it. No word of a lie, I can recite the script, and I have been known to watch it four times in one day... It has this cathartic, soothing effect on me which is just irresistable! And whereas a cup of tea solves everything for the rest of the world, I genuinely think my agony aunt, doctor and general comforter is Matilda. I wish I had her powers. I mean, how amazing would it be to be able to pour your cereal with your eyes?? I suppose I am a little obsessed with the film though. Maybe I am living my life by Matilda. Maybe that's why I chose to do English and am obsessed with chocolate gateau. Maybe innately I really want to be forced to eat a monstrous cake made by a sweaty, dribbly old woman... Oh God, I'm a real-life Bruce Bogtrotter...

Roald Dahl was always one of my favourite authors as a child, and his films still hold a special place in my heart, especially Matilda (obv) and the BFG. George's Marvellous Medicine was one of my all time fave's, and The Twits follows shortly behind. The allure of Mr Twit with his foody-beard was captivating to me. Maybe I should just shack up with a tramp and I could experience it for real. Or not. Maybe I'll just force the boy to grow a full-on Hans-style beard. Hmm...