Gownedhog day

Sometimes, history repeats itself, and in recent weeks, various occurances in levels of interest varying from 'mild eyebrow raise' to 'completely boring please die' have bubbled up around me, rendering my life rather like a B-version of 'Groundhog Day' except obviously less cool and containing less Bill Murray.

1. Got job back at Selfridges. Sell shit/gawp at celebrities/run at 100mph round corner for cigarettes when proffessing to be 'just popping to the loo'/steal free sample chocolates. Hustle hustle hustle... trying to save some penies to pay my rent and creditors, might have to just quit uni and do another 5 zillion years of 12 hour shifts just to afford these things thoughhhhh....




2. Met Beth Ditto again. Some calorie-addled delusionist has hired her to 'inspire' a new range for Evans which launched at Self's on Friday. Love how a smalltown texas gal like her is seeminly franchising herself pound by fleshy pound. Also quite like this dress she designed. I imagine she sits in a large velvet throne at night counting her money, cackling between bites with a big mac in one hand and whopper in the other. Whoever knew lard could be so lucrative. ILU BETH <3.




3. Last but by no means least, aNOTHER awkward run-in with Henry stupid Holland. Step off the tube at old street station in the lovely dappled polloutiony sunset wearing my loveworn HH jumpsuit, spotting actual Henry Holland (not just the debenhams version, as my suit is) walking in opposite direction. My god, that man is tanned.
Panic.
Continue walking, spotting H giving a quizzical look to said jsuit, which has a huge rip down one of the seams (and has once had a lighter taken to it when lizzy tried to set me on fire...unsuccessfully)
Decide on giving old Hen a casual smiley nod, whilst pointing to outfit and cheekily (i imagined, though probably sounded weirdly stalkerish, like some heartbroken slag who wears only her boyfriends old teeshirt 24/7 because it still smells like his BO) quipping 'wearing your playsuit mate', receiving a tanned...if smiles CAN be tanned...smile and double thumbs up.

So, i think, maybe i am one step closer to my dream of our blossoming friendship as prophecised a couple of blog posts ago. Or one step closer three steps back because it will be breaking the outlines of a restraining order.
The only thing i do know, that cuts like a knife into my brain tendons, is that it wasnt a playsuit. it was a fucking jumpsuit. a fucking jumpsuit cherry.
The man is in the fashion industry, clearly he knows the difference and CLEARLY thinks you do not, and that you are therefore a stupid nonothing nogood tart.




Back to square one then.