I love Lanvin.

H&M have once again triumphed in their annual designer collaboration. The latest, with French fashion house Lanvin, sold out within a matter of hours, and it's easy to see why. All the designs are amazing - I'm a huge fan of the red 50's dress, which is just perfect for the Christmas season. But on another note, given the fact that H&M aren't at the top of the High Street list, it may seem somewhat strange that they, more than any other retailer, manage to pull in the massive names in fashion for collaborations. Topshop, the only high street retailer to feature in London Fashion Week, have the Kate Moss collection, and Celia Birtwell designed a capsule for Topshop in 2007. Miss Selfridge had a short-lived Gossip Girl collection of a mere 8 dresses and New Look had the Fearn Cotton collection, but surprisingly none of these are big names in fashion. Kate Moss is the muse, not the designer, and Celia Birtwell's name pales in comparison to, for example, Karl Lagerfield and Jimmy Choo, both of which H&M have collaborated with.

On paper, you would think that it would be Topshop that would pull in the major designers. After all, it is the high street equivalent of the catwalk. And so goes the food chain, that from the runway it goes to Topshop, and after that the trends generally fritter down to Miss Selfridge and New Look, and then to all the shops that we don't want our coveted playsuits to ever appear in, like Rebel Rebel, aka neon galore. Rest assured, that by the time the playsuit as an item has been blinged up and chavved out, the rest of us will not be wearing them any more, but you get the point. So why then is it H&M that attracts the big names? Well, it is the biggest international high street retailer in the world, so it's kind of understandable I suppose. But regardless, I love the fact that the likes of Jimmy Choo and Comme Des Garcons are available to us mere mortals from a high street store, and it appears that Sofia Coppolo thinks the same: "It's so cool he's working with H&M. It makes it accessible to all kinds of young people now to be able to afford it and wear it".

And the Lanvin collection does not disappoint. I was a bit dubious about the Matthew Williamson's '09 collection in all honesty, yet Elbaz seems to have stayed true to the label and created a collection that is chic, and oh so definitely French. But more importantly, the Lanvin for H&M collection doesn't look like a capsule collection for a high street chain. It looks like Lanvin. Which is surely the whole point. Personally, I'm just sad I wasn't in London for the launch. I would have happily stood outside of the store all night if it meant getting my hands on a little Lanvin luxury...

With frills and bows galore, the collection is to die for. The androgynous bow-tied suit is oh-so chic, and I'm in love with the Parisian waitress look, sexed up with some divine red velvet bows. I'm also loving the virginial white Madonna-esque outfit, and I heart the head-to-toe red number. Oh, how I wish I lived in London.

Nevertheless, rumour has it that Tom Ford will be next year's designer. So I have made a pact with myself that I will definitely be in the capital for that, as it's currently the only thing that's consoling me that I don't own one of these babes...

Dear Santa...

So, the snow has arrived in Newcastle! Yesterday afternoon I looked out of my window to see the pretty snowflakes falling from the sky. It looked so beaut, as the snow remained untouched by human footprints and the sky was bright blue. This pre-December weather has however gotten me all excited about Christmas, and so I've been putting together my Christmas list to send off to Santa. I really hope he takes pity on me and grants me my wishes, as I do think I've been a good girl this year so I can't imagine my name would be on the naughty list. I just wish I had applied to be an Elf in Lapland, where the snow would be plentiful and Christmas cheer would be everywhere! Next year, perhaps I will get my wish of meeting Santa and his reindeer...

Until I get to Lapland though, I shall just have to make do with the snow here. How pretty does it look?

Back to my Christmas wish list.

Well, I've already purchased my Christmas present to myself, in the form of a Vogue subscription. How ideal! As much as I'll miss buying the new issue on the shelves, it does seem wiser to pay half the price for it... And I got a free Benefit gift! I am eagerly awaiting the heavy thud on my leopard print doormat, signalling its arrival.

Other than that, there are lots of other things I'd like to find in my stocking on Christmas morning (George Lamb mainly, but I somehow don't think that's going to happen).

I heart this tapestry bag from Urban Outfitters. I've coveted another one since mine broke in sixth form. I've never quite gotten over it, so I feel this would be lovely to store all my essentials.

                                             I also really heart these lace-up boots.

I also really want this. I feel it will go well with the above boots: Topshop velvet detail tweed blazer

Recently I have been feeling that I need to branch out from my staple fur coats as I'm starting to think I'm predictable. The only problem is, they're just so warm it's impossible to get them off my back in the chilly Newcastle winds! This sexy coat would however enable me to do so, and with the leopard-print trim, I would still be able to be faithful to my true Bette Lynch self: Leopard detail swing coat.

I really heart this coat. Sheepskin is everywhere at the minute and I fell in love with this as soon as I saw it. I doubt it will arrive in my stocking this year, but one can only wish! It's just a shame my own sheepskin coat I bought at a flea market for a mere fiver last year doesn't fit me as it's too big... It fits my boy perfectly, but I have yet to convince him to wear it, even though he does look like an absolute babe in it. I would quite happily donate it to him if I could have this one in return: Sheepskin pea coat.

I also heart this knitted basic. It's available in so many colours and they're so wearable. My favourite is the cranberry colour, but I'm a bit fan of the peach and dark blush ones too: Scallop edge basic vest.

I'm massively into stoles lately. This one is amazing: Mongolian fur cape.

I also love these chandeliers. Edie Sedgewick would be jealous: Facet drop chandelier.

I'm in dire need of a laptop case, as mine is suffering badly due to my lack of one. This one is fab: Leopard print laptop case. However, in order to avoid a leopard clash with the majority of my wardrobe, I feel this one would be more suitable: Quilted laptop case. I'm enjoying the Chanel-esque quilting.

I also want this fur stole a LOT: Fox fur stole. It will go perfectly over my Bettie Page dress, and with these seamed back tights I'm hoping to get as a stocking filler:

I also heart this fox fur coat. Even though I said I was trying to branch away from the animals, I love the fur of this so much that I feel I might just be able to make an exception: Vintage fur coat.

This stole is also amazing. Gawd, I am so predictable: Vintage fur stole.

And not to be forgetting those Vivienne Westwood wellingtons I so crave...

I'd also love a Polaroid camera. You can get them for next to nothing on eBay; the only problem is the fact that the films are non-existent, and subsequently cost about 20 sheets for 10 shots. So until Polaroid decide to start producing them again, I feel my wish will be put on the back burner.

These Urban Outfitters slippers are so adorable:

I do not however expect Santa to bring me all of these wonderful delights this Christmas, this is merely my wish list. There are other things I could add to this list, but I do not want to bore you with all my wishes as the list is endless... And so from now until the first of December, when I can start opening the doors on my advent calendar that I've yet to purchase, I will be hoping that Santa has Internet access and can see my blog, as I'd love for some of these to be under my tree this year...

Rain, rain, go away.

One thing you have to know about me: I really hate the rain. Yesterday, whilst walking to meet my friend for a shopping trip, I somehow managed to kick up practically a whole puddle's worth of dirty water all over my feet. As if my toes weren't numb enough due to the cold anyway! And subsequently, said dirty water ruined my beaut velvet shoes. I was so upset, I had to go and buy myself a 17p Freddo to make myself feel a bit better...

The worst thing was, at that particular point in time it wasn't actually raining (so I can be excused for wearing inappropriate footwear!) The ground was just a mass of puddles, which is great if you're dressed for the watery weather with a pair of wellington boots and a mac on, with a rather large umbrella to protect ones barnet. Unfortunately however, I wasn't dressed for the weather, and so I was largely unimpressed.

For me, rain is the worst type of weather. Granted, I'm not the biggest fan of wind, but at least it doesn't soak you to the skin. My favourite type of day is the crisp, cold wintery mornings when the sky is bright blue and the sun is shining. Those types of days make winter seem beautiful; when the ground is frosty and wrapping up for the cold is an attractive prospect. Those types of days, when you don your coat and gloves and you can see your breath in the cold, are the best. It makes you want to go outside and enjoy the cold sunshine. I love days like this in Autumn, when the leaves are brown and cover the ground, and when they are dry and crisp underneath your feet. Last week for example, me and the boy went for a walk in Jesmond Dene, which is just beautiful all year round, but especially in the autumn. Autumn leaves make for wonderful photographs. Here are a few of my favourites:

                                                  Me, on said Jesmond Dene walk.

                                                        I heart this photograph.

                   My friend Philippa, on another Jesmond Dene expedition a couple of years ago.

Rain however, does not make for lovely walks or trips out, like autumn does. Rain ruins trips, whether you are planning a day trip or even nipping to the shop for a pint of milk to warm yourself through with a cup of tea having gotten soaked by said rain. In fact, rain only ever appeals to me if I'm inside my house, tucked up and cosy with my gas fire on, with a film and preferably my boy, when I can stay indoors and stay dry all day. I don't mind the rain when I have nowhere to go and it's hammering on my window, because more than anything it makes me love even more the fact that I'm indoors. Yet there are very few days when I don't need to leave the house at all, meaning I am a target for raindrops and subsequently they keep falling on my head.

I have been caught in many rainstorms in my time. A few weeks ago for example, having left The Journal offices and en route to the Metro station to go home (not before a quick trip to H&M mind), I was caught in a hail storm which soaked me to the skin. This time, I was really thankful that I had my large leopard print umbrella with me (lifesaver), yet again my shoes and the rest of me was absolutely drenched. Another time a couple of years back, I was on my way back from lectures in my ginger fur coat, when the heavens opened. This time, I was without an umbrella, and in my 30 minute walk home I was left looking like a drowned rabbit. Not great. Once I finally arrived home, I jumped straight in the shower for fear I would die of cold, and sat by my electric heater for the rest of the night. My coat took forever to dry, it was just lucky I have about 12 fur coats so the only consolation was that I at least had another coat to wear the next day...

It always seems to rain on my parade.

 This photograph is pretty apt.

You see, raindrops always seem to spoil my day trips out, especially when I plan things for when I venture to the motherland. It NEVER stops raining in Cumbria. I cannot count the times I have planned to go to Keswick for a boating and picnic trip, which has been spoiled by the rain. And the ratty, which is this very cute wooden steam train that goes through the countryside and takes you to this little village called Eskdale, which is just picturesque. Me and the boy finally managed to go at Easter this year, when my cousins from London were visiting and my sister was at home, so we all ventured out and had champagne and strawberries on the ratty (it sounds way more sophistocated than it actually was as we were a little rowdy to say the least). Yet up until this point, out ratty trips have been spoiled by the weather. One time me and my dear friend Emma actually ventured to Keswick in the rain with wishful thinking on our side, hoping that once we got there the sky would clear and we would be left with sunshine. Needless to say, this wasn't the case. The ever growing hole in the bottom of my very loved but very battered Office boots gave me wet feet, and I subsequently felt like I had trench foot for the remainder of the day. How attractive.

At Leeds festival last year, I was given the greatest gift ever: a plastic rainhood. You see, my Topshop pac-a-mac failed protect me from Glastonbury's downpour (my hair was soaked as it clearly wasn't waterproof), and so I was incredibly grateful for the ingenuious hood so loved by grannies. Given that the weather was never torrential rain, my fur coat was enough to keep me warm and dry, and the hood served to protect my barnet. I got quite a lot of comments on it (it surprisingly went down a treat), and for a couple of months afterwards I hailed my rainhood as the lifesaver to any umbrella-lacking situation. Now however, I realise I have neglected it for quite a while. It will however make an appearance at next year's Glastonbury, as it is possibly the easiest solution to a quick shower there is. And at least it's waterproof!

                                          The much-loved rainhood. I'm such a pensioner at heart.

Luckily, it isn't raining today, meaning I will be able to go outside without having my backcombed barnet flattened by the messy little raindrops. However, after yesterday's puddle incident, I feel my need for the Vivienne Westwood wellingtons is definite. Please Santa, have mercy on my tootsies.

Holidays are coming.

Yesterday, I started to properly get into the festive spirit by watching Elf and Miracle on 34th Street back to back. Tucked up on my chesterfield sofa with my Cath Kidston throw and my gas fire on, it was my idea of Sunday afternoon heaven. The only thing lacking was my new Christmas pj's and mince pies. You see, I LOVE Christmas. It's my favourite time of the year. And ever since I saw the first viewing of the Coca Cola advert, my anticipation has been increasing by the day. And more than anything, I'm looking forward to buying my first proper Christmas tree and decking my house out in seasonal decorations. In my University houses, we all returned home for Christmas mid-December, and so having a Christmas tree seemed a bit pointless. So this year, I am embracing the decor, and cannot wait to buy my first real Christmas tree. And even though I will be returning to my motherland for Christmas day, the boy and I plan on having an early Christmas dinner together on the 23rd, complimented by my decorations and a Christmas film marathon. You see I have such a large family it simply wouldn't be Christmas without them and without the noise and laughter, and of course the Frank Sinatra finale we have to any family celebration, which consists of badly singing along and dancing whilst my dear grandmother sits in her chair, drunk on a bottle of Bailey's by this point, takes it all in around her.

For me, Christmas has always been a time for family, and I love buying gifts for everyone. I like to think I'm quite good at selecting presents (for my best friend's 21st birthday I bought her the Vogue from November '88, ergo the month and year of her birth. She loved it so much she cried!) I love watching people's faces as they open their gifts. Seeing my boy's face when he found out I'd bought him a Glastonbury ticket made my two and a half hour stint on the laptop trying to get them worthwhile... But presents aside, I just love the Christmas season. I love real Christmas trees and fairy lights, and some of my all time favourite films are Christmas ones. They always have such a feel-good vibe to them. It's A Wonderful Life is a beautiful film. And I heart Jingle All The Way, known to my family as Turboman. It's one of those films that is on every Christmas without fail, and it wouldn't feel like Christmas without a viewing of it. I bought it on dvd last year, just so I have a back up in case Sky fails me... I love the Boots three for two deal and I love wrapping Christmas presents. December wouldn't be the same without an advent calendar to count you down to Christmas, and every year the closer I get to the 20's, the more excited I get. I love Christmas cake and mince pies, and I love the traditional turkey roast with crackers and Christmas hats galore.

Christmas gives me that warm fuzzy feeling whenever I think about it. I always have a very nostalgic image of winter, wrapping up for the cold and buying winter coats and gloves and going ice skating and for jolly rambles in the countryside. I love the Christmas markets that come to town, where you can fill your belly with all sorts of cullinary delights and mulled wine. And I love snow. Well, not the snow of last year, which was mid-calf in depth and not enjoyable having to slog to the library in it every day in inappropriate footwear, however snow for a day or two is fun. Just the right amount to build a snowman and have a snowball fight is perfect.

The stress of last year's snow though has made me realise that those Vivienne Westwood for Melissa wellington boots I have coveted for a long time would surely be a very useful present. After all, at the minute I'm walking around in a pair of Topshop's leather ballet flats - not exactly ideal for the winter weather, given the fact that my feet are soaked every time the ground has a bit of water on. In the Westwood wellingtons, I wouldn't have to try and skirt around that massive puddle, as I could just splash on right through like I did in my patterned wellies and little pink mac when I was five. And they're so cute and delicate, they're not really like wellingtons at all. More little booties, with the fab gold buttons displaying the orb down the side. I'd like them for Christmas quite a lot...

And on that note, I'm off to make my Christmas list to send to Santa before I go for my first ice skate of the season. I cannot wait.

Stupefy.

This is the beginning of the end. With the first part of the final Harry Potter film now in cinemas, I'm really quite sad. After all, I grew up with Harry; I was 11 when he was 11, and as a series it has dominated the noughties all over the world. The Harry Potter craze is unbelievable, but, in my opinion, well worth the hype.

On Friday, my day began in the best way possible, with a 10:30am viewing of The Deathly Hallows. I had pre-booked my seats a decade ago, although I was a tad upset when Empire released earlier viewings to the one I'd booked (the 10:30 had, at the time of booking, been the first viewing). You see I'm so sad I had wanted to get there first and be the first of my friends to see it! But unfortunately this was not the case. Nevertheless, my Metro journey into town was one of anticipation, and we got there in good time to fit in a pre-cinema hot dog and snacks. What a delightful breakfast. The cinema was actually really full, which I hadn't expected with school times and the standard 9-5, but then again my lovely boy did take half a day's holiday to come and watch it with me, and so I figure there must be others as sad as us out there...

And the film was amazing. For the first time, I felt it was completely true to the book. And the thing is, I haven't read The Deathly Hallows since its publication, so it's not like it was all fresh in my mind. But the film was exactly how I remembered it. Nothing had been omitted, which is why I really appreciate the fact that the film is in two parts. In an interview, Daniel Radcliffe had said that if they'd tried to do it in one film, they would have had to completely rewrite the script in order for it to make sense, which wouldn't have done the Potter series any justice at all. However, as much as I still believe this was the correct way to go about filming the final book, I was left feeling so frustrated at the end of Part 1. It was amazing, yet I just wanted to see the rest of it! Which is obviously the idea; the film ends with Voldemort's acquisition of the Elder wand. Suddenly the lights came on, and I was left with that sinking, frustrated feeling that I was going to have to wait 7 months for the next installment. I wanted to stamp my feet and shout NO at the top of my voice! The film was thrilling, and often I was on the edge of my seat with anticipation. To have the ending suddenly taken from me felt like I'd had Aladdin's magic carpet swiped from under my feet.

However, regardless of the frustrating wait, I feel I need to press actually how good the film is. Whereas I hate the opening of the Prisoner of Azkaban, it seeming unnecessarily dark, The Deathly Hallows has the perfect balance between the ominous and the humourous. One of my favourite scenes in the film was right at the beginning, when the polyjuice potion created several Harry's; one being Fleur De La Cour, and the audience was treated to a viewing of Daniel Radcliffe in a lacy bra... The Potter films have never really taken the humourous route in the past, but with the final film the funny scenes serve to only highlight how much work and effort has gone into this one.

I loved it so much, I'm going to see it again on Tuesday (hello discounted tickets courtesy of Empire's cheaper Tuesday deal). I could genuinely watch it again and again. You see, like Matilda (which I have been known to watch four times in one day...), I could never get bored of Harry. I have seen each film more times than I can remember; I have read each book, and will re-read them again and again. Me and my boy frequently disagree on film choice, yet somehow the Harry Potter's are the only ones we ever agree on. And so, with daily disagreements, Harry is always the simplest and easiest way to please both parties. And my dear boy hasn't even read the books! I keep insisting that he does, but whether I am eventually successful is another thing altogether... The thing about Harry Potter that appeals to us more than anything is the fact that it's a complete other world that allows for complete escapism. And minus the ever-impending threat from the oh-so powerful Voldemort, I really wish it was real. Hogwarts makes any child or even adult wish they had been a witch or wizard, and I genuinely wish I was a witch! I certainly felt that way when I donned my graduation robes. That way, I would have been able to visit Hogsmeade and go to Honeyduke's to buy chocolate frogs, and visited Diagon Alley to buy my wand and get myself a nice pet owl. The wizarding world of Hogwarts (again, minus Voldemort) is so much more exciting than everyday life. Why, you'd never need to walk anywhere again, as you could either fly, disapparate or travel via Floo network. All are more preferable than the half an hour daily walk I have to get to town...

I feel I need to stop wishing I was a witch before I actually start to get a bit morose. On another somewhat depressing note, I'm really going to miss the Harry Potter series once Part Two is finally released. Because after that, there'll be nothing else to look forward to from the world of Hogwarts. At least at the minute, we still have the final film to look forward to (even if the wait is a bit annoying!) Because once all has been filmed and the series has been laid to rest, all I'll have are my nostalgic memories from my camping holidays in France with my father, always accompanied by the latest Harry Potter novel to keep me entertained. I'll have the books and I'll have the films, which of course I will watch more than the average person should. Nevertheless, it will still be a bit sad when the whole Harry Potter hype eventually dies down. Well, unless J.K. Rowling stands by her word and writes a prequel to the Potter series, in which case I'll have that book and subsequent film to look forward to. But until then, and until June 2011, at least I have the books, which I plan on re-reading from now until then. Well, I do have 7 months to kill, so I might as well...

Beg, borrow or steal...

Having watched the Sex and the City movie for what must be the millionth time last night, I was reminded of a website that I had been meaning to blog about since the beginning of time. Or thereabouts, anyway...

The concept behind Beg, Borrow or Steal, the online rental website for designer goods, is genius. It allows us mere mortals to sport that quilted Chanel, or that Hermes Birkin, without the full designer price tag. This means that designer beauty is not just reserved for the Carrie Bradshaw's or the Victoria Beckham's of the world. For a snippet of the price, that vintage Chanel (pictured above) can be yours, albeit temporarily.

Since birth, I have wanted a black quilted Chanel. But nearing two thousand sheets in price, it has thus far been a distant dream, just like the Mulberry Bayswater I've had my eye on ever since I spotted it in Harrods, and thus fell head over bag in love. As a young woman with somewhat expensive taste for staple items, Beg, Borrow or Steal has given me the opportunity to experience the joy of having the Chanel number on my arm, without having to sell myself for my bag fund.

This Hermes Birkin Gold Vachette is available to rent from Beg, Borrow or Steal for £1,190 per week, or £3,500 per month. One of the more expensive bags, but nevertheless, still a snippet of the RRP price tag.
This amazing Carlos Falchi Magazine tote is the perfect accessory to any outfit. Rent it from Beg, Borrow or Steal for a snippet at £43 per week, or £125 per month.

I have wanted this quilted Chanel ever since I saw it draped over Agyness Deyn's arm. It is pretty much me in bag form, combining two of my great loves: Chanel and British patriotism. The union jack, along with leopard print, is one of my all time favourite prints, and my love for the Queen is endless. I'm VERY tempted to rent this for Christmas time, at a snip of £66 per week or £195 for the month. I have a Topshop version of this bag, which I loved but it broke, and so I feel it would be the perfect excuse! And what with the royal wedding announcement (I am planning my London trip to wave my union jack as we speak), I feel it's very contextual. Any excuse Grace....

However, it seems that us mere mortals can have the Cinderella treatment too, with www.cinderella-me.co.uk bringing us Louboutins and Jimmy Choo's to give our tootsies the star treatment. With Louboutins costing over 400 sheets for a basic pair, cinderella-me is a wonderful concept. Let's face it, we all crave those ruby red soles that give a glimpse of femme fetale on a grey day.

These gorgeous Louboutins are the perfect leg lengthener, and that peep-toe is oh-so sexy. And for £85 per week from cinderella-me, what's not to love!? They're the first heels on my wish list.
Bang on trend with that milky nude shade, these Alexander McQueen shoes are perfectly understated. The inner platform adds a bit of height (which is a winner with me, standing tall at just 5'3...) and I love the colour. For £55 per week, they're positively bargainous. You couldn't even buy a pair of Topshop heels for that! Love them. Long live McQueen.
I HEART these Gucci shoe-boots. The peep toes stop them being prim, and then navy and cream contrast detail give them a very Chanel feel to them. Audrey Tautou eat your heart out!

My conclusion?? Whereas I originally anticipated waiting a lifetime to get a vintage quilted Chanel on my arm and a pair of Louboutins on my feet, it seems these rental websites will allow me to do that a bit sooner than I thought. Which can only be a good thing, surely?! When funds allow, I will make my desired purchase and get some of these babies for myself, but until then, I plan on renting my pocket money away to bring a little luxury to my early twenties. Hello Christmas list.

Hot Shoes...

Last week, I was privileged enough to have tickets to go and see Michael Flatley's return as Lord of the Dance. And my, was I excited. You see, I have a life-long love for Flatley and his rapid feet. At the age of five, my grandmother bought me Riverdance on video (how vintage), and even at such a young age I was fascinated with how straight their lines were, and how quick their feet were. I think it is easy to say that I was instantly hooked, like a drug addict to heroin. All I wanted to do was riverdance. My dear mother tried her best to find me a local class, but unfortunately my primitive home town didn't cater for my taste, and thus I had to settle for tap. Which I loved, and I would never criticise my dance training, as it was the very best in my area. And even though I also trained in ballet and modern dance, tap was always my firm favourite. It's what I'm best at, and more importantly, what I love. I feel at home with a pair of tap shoes on my feet, and teletone taps might as well be my best friends. And even now, having given up dancing when I started university (I miss it so much), I still get the same thrill from hearing the sound of tap shoes than if they were on my own feet.

Nothing, however, could have prepared me for how bowled over I would be from watching Lord of the Dance. My dear grandmother visited me in Newcastle and we went together; she also being a firm lover of Flatley. Our seats were amazing, especially given the fact that we booked them the day before (our free tickets unfortunately didn't happen and so a mad panic for tickets ensued). We were seated in the balcony area, and therefore had a perfect view of the stage from a head-on angle, meaning we could fully appreciate the show as it's meant to be viewed, unlike the unfortunate ones sitting in the left and right tiers. From the moment I sat in my seat and the screens showed the number of sold out shows Lord of the Dance has achieved, my excitement was greater than anything I've ever experienced. So as you can imagine, I practically had a coronary when Flatley finally came on stage...

Opening with Cry of the Celts, Hardiman's The Dawning literally gave me the chills. There's something about Irish music that has that magical sound and feel to it. Lord of the Dance, with its fiddles and its flutes, literally transported me to another world as I watched in wonder. The soft shoe dances were beautiful, and the dancers appeared to be literally floating on air with their graceful, quick movements. The tapping, however, blew me away. Every time Little Spirit played out the Lord of the Dance on the flute, I felt shivers down my spine. Nothing can prepare you for the wonders witnessed in the eye of the beholder whilst watching Flatley and his troupe in action. During the tapping, I sat there throughout with a smile on my face that would envy that of the Cheshire Cat. And sometimes I felt, dare I say it, quite emotional. I was completely bowled over, and somewhat bewildered at the magnitude of his talent. I barely blinked throughout, for fear I would miss something crucial. I mean, after all, when Flatley can tap 35 times in a mere second (which is just outrageous), had I blinked, I really would have missed so much...

His solo's were magnificent. He was magnificent.

Overall, the show was slick and sexy, and had underwent a massive overhaul since the original graced the stage in 1998. The tapping told the story of love and lust, and of good versus evil, with Flatley and lead tapper Cunningham having a furious dance off, much to the delight of the audience. Of course, Flatley triumphed.

The finale left the crowd hungry for more, and thus chanted enough to make Flatley and his troupe return to the stage for an encore. Like me, the audience just didn't want it to end.

Before writing this article, I had anticipated rambling on forever about his talent. But now it comes to writing, I somehow feel a little lost for words. Because to me, nothing can describe the way the show made me felt; nothing can describe how fabulous their performance was; nothing can describe the electric atmosphere in the audience. The audience, who throughout screamed and cheered until their voices hurt. The audience, who clapped so hard their hands turned red. The audience who, after the finale, gave Flatley & Co a standing ovation; so appreciated were they by the ever-loving fans.

I was one of those fans.

The only thing left to say is that I genuinely cannot wait for the next installment. Until then, I shall gaze lovingly at my Flatley poster that my boyfriend so loves. Personally I just think he's a little jealous...

Supersize versus superskinny

I have a question: are we really happier when we are thin? When we're a few pounds lighter rather than heavier? And when our clothes feel a little loose rather than a little tight? Reading a recent Grazia article inspired me to look at modern society's perceptions of weight, given the fact that it dominates the main headlines of women's magazines.

So I'm intrigued.

Let's face it: the fascination with the waif is purely down to the noughties fashion ideals; this decade brought tinier models than ever and today's women, despite the average size in the UK being a 14, are aspiring to unrealistic ideals of the size zero and the tiny model. The nineties supermodels had curves which were sexy - just look at shots of Tyra Banks or Gisele Bundchen in their peak. These women had boobs and a bum; granted, they were also long and lithe, but a far cry away from the skeletal models that have dominated the noughties catwalks, who are more Twiggy than Dita; far more androgynous than bootylicious.

Celebrities of today are under constant scrutiny; every pound lost or gained is documented by the press. They are criticised when they're bigger, and even more heavily criticised when they're slimmer. For celebrities, there really is no middle ground. Victoria Beckham, Kelly Osborne, Charlotte Church, Lady Gaga, Alexa Chung and Mischa Barton, to name a few, are constantly documented for their weight loss or gain (mainly loss to be fair). And when one is in the spotlight and one's weight is commented upon on a daily basis, can you really blame them for wanting to shed a few pounds? Of course, there is always an exception to the rule, this time in the voluptuous form of Beth Ditto. Ditto, a self-proclaimed size 28, thinks nothing of wearing spandex leggings and stripping down to her underwear at gigs. In fact, she has appeared naked on the covers of both Love magazine and NME - surely a monumental achievement in a decade which favours bones over boobs.

It has been suggested that our generation is breeding a dog eat dog world which turns women against one another. Rather than coveting ones Mulberry Bayswater or Burberry mac we envy the woman with the tiny waist, the slim arms, the long, lean legs and the pert bottom. And apparently this is down to the fashion world. This is, after all, where the High Street and aspiring fashionista's take their inspiration from. And so it goes that if the models are skinny, that's what we want to be. We want to be a clothes horse; a muse that would make a bin bag look amazing, because we'd have a delicate decolletage peeking out, along with thin arms and slim legs. And to you, granted, this might seem a tad unrealistic. However, I can tell you that from my perspective, it most definitely is not. Of course I admire the beauty of a woman, and I admire her sense of style more than anything, but on a regular basis I have to stop myself envying the woman with the slim arms and the long legs. One of my biggest pet hates is a girl with an amazing figure who dresses it all wrong; it baffles and almost angers me, which is ridiculous given the fact that I'm not overweight. Of course there's things I'd change about myself; I'm 5'3 so definitely on the shorter side to say the least, and so would love longer legs, but this is not a reason to envy the legs rather than the bag. The fact is, today's society embraces the thin, the long and lean, and that can even confuse those with a normal BMI. I'm a size 10 for God's sake - hardly a Ditto in the making, and nevertheless I find myself wishing that my legs would be a bit longer and leaner when wearing my leather shorts or my vintage Levi cut offs.

So, is the fashion world to blame? In all honesty, I just don't think it is. Women have insecurities: always have and always will. And the fashion runways are never intended to reflect everyday life. If they did, an escapism from said monotony would not exist in fashion form. Fashion enables designers to transcend their ideas; but for them fashion is a vision, a creation; and not just a blouse or a cape or a pair of killer heeled boots. Take haute couture for example: hardly clothing that you could wear to go and pick up your bread and milk. The fashion world has always been the epitome of fantasy; so why, just because we are a culture devouring fast food like it's going out of fashion, should the models be overweight to reflect the very society that the fashion world is trying to escape?

However, I applaud John Paul Gaultier for using a size 20 model in his Paris Fashion Week show back in '06. Yes, the model dwarfed the other waifs, but she was sexy, and, at a time when the fashion world was coming under much scrutiny, he made a much needed statement. High fashion models don't have to be super skinny, the fact is that the term supermodel, coined in the '90's, set the standard for the long and lean and lithe.



And which size triumphs on the catwalk, the 0 or the 20? I'll let you be the judge.

However, before I become cast as a plus-size hater, I have to press that it is most definitely not the case. Granted, maybe I am of the opinion that the catwalk models should be slim and should abide by the notion of perfection that is unobtainable to the rest of us mere mortals. After all, if a supermodel can be of any height and any weight, then the world could be a supermodel, and thus the pedestal that the fashion world is cemented upon would come crashing down. Yet I still do not agree with anorexia dominating the fashion world. The futile obsession of perfection has, in this case, been taken to an extreme length to the extent that the world now thinks that jutting bones are the stairway to the catwalk.

Programmes such as Supersize Vs Superskinny has brought the issue of weight to the general public, making society realise that being superskinny is just as unhealthy as being supersize. The controversial weight issue of the noughties, however, is possibly more reflected and exemplified in that of the celebrities rather than the catwalks. Rachel Zoe seemed to be a driving force behind the size zero obsession in LA, styling the likes of Nicole Richie and Lindsay Lohan when they were at their skinny peak. And my opinion? Slim is good. Bones are not.


So, to get back to my original question, are we happier when we're slimmer? I'm aware that the answer to this question will differ from person to person. A naturally very thin person will want the boobs and the bum of a voluptuous size 12 diva, and a woman with an overweight BMI will more than likely not want to be a skinny size 6, but more like a 12-14, a realistic and healthy size. Slimmer depends on what weight you currently are. However, speaking for myself, and probably for Tyra Banks (pictured below), I can say that I personally am happier when I'm slimmer. I love food and I'm a self-confessed carb-junkie, but I always feel more confident and self assured when I'm a few pounds lighter; when my clothes are a little looser and when my cheekbones are more prominent. But that's just my opinion; however I feel the delighted look on Tyra's face says it all...

Little Monsters

Okay, I am officially the worst blogger ever.

In my defence, I have been working on some lovely little articles to post once they are perfected (so look forward to it!) and my week has passed in a blur of coffee and cake and Halloween delights. So I thought it was time for a quick update...

I have mainly spent the past week with Mary, my lovely little pink sewing machine, courtesy of the boy for my 21st birthday (best present everr). I named her Mary after my fabulous grandmother, who by now you will know I absolutely adore, and as she has handed me down her pearls of wisdom regarding paper patterns and sewing machines, I thought it only right that she got a bit of loving recognition. Mary kept me great company last week, as did Carrie and the girls in my SATC sewing marathons. How very desperate housewife! I had a slight crisis in Halloween dress as my harlequin print fabric (I dressed up as a clown) proved quite a nightmare when making my skirt - the diamond pattern was all over the place and I thought I was going to have to scrap the idea, before I decided to put so much fabric in it and copious amounts of net underneath which seemed to solve the problem. The lack of downward pointing diamonds was now not too noticeable at all! And my costume worked out a treat. After creating the typical clown ruff, I decided that it wasn't particularly flattering on my not-so-flat chest, and thus had to rework the fabric into a massive bow tie. Well, I'm a big fan of oversized bows and I regularly sport them on my head, so I figured one for my neck would be the perfect replacement.

Now, one thing you have to know about me is that I never do anything by halfs. And so, rather than having one pumpkin, I had three (worst decision ever when I had to carry them home and my arms genuinely almost fell off). This OTT attitude led me to buying coloured contact lenses (goodbye £22), orange hair spray and supersize false eyelashes that would put Katie Price to shame. After a contact lens and eyelash nightmare (watery eyes and eyelash glue do not compliment each other well...) my Halloween face was finally complete and it kind of worked out how I had anticipated (luckily). I took the risk of spraying my oh-so-white barnet bright orange (despite the note on the can stating the spray was NOT suitable for dyed hair, let alone beacons of light like mine). I'm mightily glad I did as I loved being ginner for the night, and I was told I reminded a friend of the babe that is Vivienne Westwood... Not exactly sure how given my clown attire, but this is surely a compliment nevertheless.

And so the weekend brought me many delights, mainly the presence of my two bff's Emma and Jon, who came to visit me in my boudoir for some Halloween fun. And much to my excitement, everyone went all-out on the fancy dress front. Steve's robot attempt, with fitted LED lights attached was amazing, even if he was sporting Primark's silver tights with a scarf stuffed in the crotch (manly vanity at its best).

All in all, we had copious amounts of fun, and I kind of wish my hair had stayed orange...





And so now the Halloween delights are over, for the remainder of the week I'll be looking forward to yet more coffee and cake, and bonfire night, with sparklers and toffee apples of course. Oh, and I'm also going to see Marina on Thursday, babe that she is. And I have another date with alcohol and my vintage leather shorts this coming Saturday. Oh, what a busy week...