Profashtination

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A good few days after i envisioned unleashing my second, hardhitting and highly exiting (the switchboards just going CA-RAZY), blog post, I've finally been able to jigsaw together enough pieces of my substance-addled brain, aided with a strongly alcoholic adhesive, to actually write one.

The week's mainly consisted of speed reading magazines, speeding around the park after countless cute puppies, making speedy exits, and rolling my balls off on speed. (JK).

http://www.fashiongonerogue.com/2009/08/jessica-stam-lily-cole-are-spent-for-pop-magazine/9/08/jessica-stam-lily-cole-are-spent-for-pop-magazine/w.fashiongonerogue.com/2009/08/jessica-stam-lily-cole-are-spent-for-pop-magazine/

Anyhoo, above is the link to the ' SPENT! ' shoot in this month's quite exemplary Pop magazine. I'm trying to exorcise the subject of this shoot from my conversational reportoire, so hopefully by putting it up here i won't have to sandpaper my mates' eardrums about it ever, ever again.

The shoot is so good, it even inspired me and Laura to buy foam rollers and RAINMATE HATS.The very thing for the despicable Manchester drizzle, and in this season's royal violet at a touch!
Note the rolley-uppy block colour ankle socks and shitty tooting market laundry bag.

The gorgeous creatures above are Lydia's canine companions, Sidney and Hedges (RIP Benson), doing their doggy thang, frolicking in the park and being bathed by their loyal slaves, aka Us Lot.
Now if only we had the Hermes So-Kelly bag and a natty fur hood to show them off with...

Par to the course for a night out with the insane, yet highly attractive head of hammersmith council, Miss Gigi Playfair, a night of VIP debauchery quickly turned into a night of foreigners, fags and petty crime.

At Funkybuddha, Mayfair, the free vodka, courtesy Grey Goose, and free sweets, courtesy Chuppa Chup were a-flowing steadily and we were settling ourselves in for a nice little dance around our handbags to Beyonce.

http://www.automat-london.com/

Not content with the bountiful offerings of the lovely Lorenzo (his name was probably Paul but he was serving me vodka out of a firework so i wasn't about to contest), Gigi was suffering unrest, and wanted to head to the base floor of Automat, which through a series of secret door knocking and probably Mormon chanting, operates a super-exclusive speakeasy frequented by the likes of Mossy, Geldy, Winstone et al. I henceforth found myself being lead round the back, high fiving clueless immigrant kitchen workers, in an attempt to rub shoulders with the winey-diney scenesters that lay within. Malhereusement, though, our foray was cut short due to a tussle with some official looking Russian in a suit (dammit) and we were quickly turfed out on our drunk arses, without even a sniff of a vou-le-vent. Or indeed a line.

But i suppose, the most important thing is that we got in. Even if but for a second. At least Macdonalds doesn't turn it's nose up if you ask for 2 smarties McFlurries and the entire stock of BBQ sauce at 3am. GP+CB- 1, cruel twists of fate- 0.

Chillin and Illin on the Breadline

Guys.

I have been forced, out of sheer boredom/desparation/insanity (deletable as applicable to how apathetic I'm feeling at any given minute), and on the reccommendation of a good friend-in-the-biz, to create a fashion blog.

Fashion. Procrastination. Pro-fash-tination. GEDDIT?

I hope so, because that, albeit juvinile and slightly lame, name took many, many hours of chain-smoking-out-the-window-time for me to conjure up.

Not really knowing why or how i started this blog, I'm hard pushed to find any nouns, adjectives, or indeed homonyms, similies, or any grammatical terminology to describe what may or may not pop up on this page, so I'm going to ask you to close your eyes and imagine.

Picture Anna Wintour, a member of 'The Police' that isn't sting, a BA air hostess and some camden tramp that spits at you if you give him half your caramac instead of money for drugs, collectively vomiting onto a scanner that was considered cutting edge at a time when we were all shit scared of the millenium bug.

Now picture, through the wonders of modern technology, that vomity soup being scanned into my computer, and therefore somehow translated into a

nice simple words-and-pictures format.

Sounds exiting, eh.

ANYWAY...here's a picture of my dad standing in a fountain, just outside Somerset House. We're having a whale of a time here, its approximately 30 seconds until a security guard ran up, hit us both in the back of the head with a large peice of what may have been antique gilt picture frame and told us we were 'ruining it for the children'. Oh how we laughed. Eventually.

Digression aside, we were just a bit too early (only by one week...) to see 'showstudio: fashion revoloution', which seems worth a looke if you're bored on the strand after watching The Lion King at the Lyceum Opposite

http://www.somersethouse.org.uk/fashion/showstudio/default.asp

you can even follow them on twitter! (no way...really?)

http://twitter.com/somersethouse

For those of you FOOLS who dont know you're BORN and have no clue what a caramac is...

...http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caramac

And for the fake-chocolate-wtf is it-caramelly-lardbar enthusiats out there who have no need for wikipedia (get you), and who want to check out how my favorite hick diner, Goldie's of three rivers, MI is doing, this is possibly what the inventors of twitter were thinking (apart form 'lets get more coke') when they came up with the idea for the site.

http://twitter.com/goldiesTR

at present moment in twitterland, 'ALL THE CHILI IS GONE'!!!

Guess we're all shit out of luck, no matter what side of the atlantic we're on.

Peace outxxc