Circa '86

Whenever I think of the '80's, I automatically think of shoulder pads, spiral perms, Wham and The Goonies. This notion may be somewhat idyllic and incredibly stereotypical, but music and fashion is what seems to dominate my views of the era in which I was born. Women looked fabulous and men looked slightly gay. Just think of Wham in their white jeans and you get my drift... But genuinely, I have always pictured the '80's through rose tinted spectacles, having listened to my parents' stories about my mother's backcombed perm with the side shaved that my father used to draw on using felt tip pens; about my father getting heckled from the town scalliwags for dressing like Prince; and because of all the amazing 80's era hand-me-downs that now dominate my vintage wardrobe.

It came as something of a surprise then, when Shane Meadows brought the dark and dismal times of the '80's home in the spin-off series from the film of This Is England. And don't get me wrong, I'm not a complete idiot. I was already aware of the skinhead culture and the Thatcher reign, and of the difficult economic climate, but as I'm sure everyone who didn't live through the '80's does, I replaced that knowledge with attractive aspects which seemed to me to characterise the period. How wrong I was.

This Is England '86 was sometimes hilarious, often traumatic, and always amazing. Meadows knows exactly how people work - how to create emotions in his audience which makes you really identify with the characters. Having watched the last episode in the spin-off last night, I went to bed feeling physically sickened at what I'd just witnessed on tv. And as I sat watching Lol struggling with her emotions having bludgeoned her father to death, Combo came to the rescue and there was a bit of light shed in the dark tunnel of the tower block. Meadows' ability to bring conflicting feelings to highly-emotive scenes highlights his skills in conveying the real social atmosphere of the '80's; where the trends of the era are adorned by the cast, (and Doc's still remaining a firm favourite), but focuses instead upon the difficulty of life in the '80's, of the importance of loyalty and love between friends. This Is England '86 brings home the real '80's, documented cleverly by the World Cup matches, which serves to unite the cast in their allegiance for a country in economic climate.

But one of the most important things about the spin-off is that it was not all doom and gloom. Meadows' cleverly written script allows just a little excess of trauma, but that trauma is balanced out with the hilarity of other scenes. Shane Meadows knows how to do British drama like no-one else does.

And even though I've already watched them before, my LoveFilm order for A Room for Romeo Brass and Smalltime has been submitted. Well the man is a genius, and so I feel compelled to watch his films again and again. And again.

Reunion.

I'm back. I'm kind of hoping my blog is going to welcome my return with open arms, but I've neglected it so much that I'm not entirely sure that's going to happen...

Still, I blame Virgin - I've only just gotten the internet in my new pad, and so haven't been able to access any important aspects of my life, like my blog and ebay... And trust me, the lack of ebay browsing has been HARD. Still, I've had a browse and already have my roving eye on a few cheeky items... Well it's pay day next week, so it's only right. The first on my hit list is an amazing tapestry weekend bag. I've been on the hunt for another one for what seems like a decade - I had a babe of a tapestry about 6 years ago, but the zip broke and I never got round to trying to get it fixed, and as much as it pained me, I had to part with it. So this addition to my granny-chic collection is greatly anticipated. I have not bought any new clothes in what seems like forever, given the fact I've had to live on a weeks wage for a month. Since the arrival of online civilisation however, I have trawled my favourite sites and know exactly what a small (but significant) sum of my wage is going on. First off, there's the leather mini from Urban Outfitters. October is a busy month for me, what with the boys birthday and a scheduled Leeds weekender trip planned to see the mighty Crystal Castles, so obviously I need some new clothes to wear... So the leather skirt will be an investment. Somewhere in the dark hole of my wardrobe at home, I have a vintage leather pencil skirt courtesy of my auntie from her rebellious youth, but as of yet my mother hasn't managed to find it, so I'll just have to buy the leather mini... Next on the list is the previously mentioned tapestry bag. Then there's the American Apparel sheer blouses - I have my eye on the mesh black one and a cream one, which will total around 100 dollar for the two but given the fact that there's a possibility they might be going out of business what with their mental director, I feel it's acceptable.

More importantly, this months wages will be going on my deposit for Glasto 2011. Already, I am so excited about it; especially seen as I had to cancel my ticket for this year due to severe lack of fundage... So to ensure my attendance next year, I am purchasing both my ticket and a ticket for the boy's birthday. How very crafty of me...

So that's the breakdown of Thursday's anticipated pay when I will finally be reunited with dollar, ommitting of course the boring details like rent for example. They are not worthy of words on my blog...

However, the blog and dollar isn't the most important reunion happening right now. I'm railing it down to Watford tonight to see my dearest Rach (the ginner babe in the photo), who fucked off to Columbia for 16 months and met the love of her life (which is obviously delightful), however I am greatly excited about her return to NCL for her last year of student loans and overdrafts. It also means I'll have someone to regularly drag out with me when I just want to dance. This reunion obviously calls for some hardcore drinking and dancing, and so as soon as I've stepped foot off the train we're getting our glad rags on and going out. But hold on. What does a girl like me wear to go out somewhere that is reknowned for being particularly chavvy?? I had this wardrobe crisis last night, and immediately discarded the prospect of wearing vintage sequins as I want to survive the night. I finally opted for a vintage black and silver top, which hopefully won't induce too many death threats... The slight wardrobe concern is more than worth it, given the fact that Rachie is my ultimate girls girl. For the whole of first year she was pretty much my boyfriend, always on hand with the Ben & Jerrys whenever it was necessary (and whenever it was not). And given the fact that I am now living with the boy and he doesn't quite understand my obsession with Ugly Betty and ANTM, inviting Rach round therefore enables me to assume full control of the telly, as it will be 2 vs 1 in the name of the brace-wearing babe.

Rach is also the friend that took me to Sheffield for my birthday last year to see Airborne Toxic Event, and when the gig was cancelled and the band was outside, she boldly declared to them that it was my birthday and that we'd travelled for 4 hours on a shitty Megabus (the girl has no shame), which resulted in my private serenading session in the doorway of Leadmill. It was glorious. AND they appreciated my sequins. And Noah Harmon is the second fittest bassist ever (after Jared), and I managed to cop a feel of him (unfortunately not his package) for a kodak moment, and simultaneously fell in love, even if he is a bit short.

So naturally I am massively excited at what sort of carnage will ensue. Expect many photos to follow...

Peace out x

Rush Hour.

Gosh, I swear my life is running away without me at the minute. Granted I sit on my arse all day at work (I work in an office, it's natural), but once finishing I haven't been getting in until 10pm as I've had so much house-related stuff, etc, to sort out. And 10pm is very close to my curfew and bedtime of 11pm, so I literally get in, get showered and go to bed. The joys.

Still, I can't complain. I got the keys for my chateau yesterday, and already with the very few (about 6) items I've put in there, it's starting to look like a cross between Bette Lynch's boudoir and the Queen's parlour. They're my two favourite people, so I quite enjoy it, but I think my leopard print doormat was a step too far for the boy... Still, he takes it all in good jest, and I regularly abuse this, making my mindset that I can decorate the house however I want. I have good taste, so it's all gravy...

I'm currently blogging whilst on my dinner at work, as I have another night of late-night shopping for utensils and the like planned after work, and then Steve's birthday calls tonight, so I wouldn't have gotten time otherwise. I miss my blog, and my Virgin bundle package can't be installed in 64 soon enough (especially as I made sure the package had Living TV - hello hungover re-runs of Top Model). Today is especially delightful, even though Alison is leaving us with her pearls of wisdom and starting a new job. The plus-side of that is that we have croissants and hummous galore as a leaving treat. I needn't have bothered making a frantic dash to Tesco for soup for luncheon last night. My belly was filled by 11am...

Steve is having a house party tomorrow for his birthday. I'm quite concerned that my belongings are going to be scattered and trashed, and so I anticipate having the chore of moving EVERYTHING over to my new house this evening. If the last few parties are anything to go by, it will be quite mental. I'm just upset that we haven't organised Debbie Dumpling for this one. She was a babe, and it was hilar when her naked bod sat on his face... She actually looks like a fatter version of Susan Boyle, and so I'm sure you can imagine that he nearly (almost definitely) vomited.

That's all for now unfortunately. The microwave has just finished heating my soup and keeps making noises that are getting quite irritating, so I best dash.

Peace and love x x x

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...

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