'turn up for the books' (or, fuck off to the library)

After vomming into my straw hat (i had to throw it away) and a paul on the road to damascus-style awakening at the crack of midday on this, the gloomiest Sunday on record (measuring a pane shaking 8.7 on the fuck-this scale), some part deep inside my black black heart dragged me back to the unsuprisingly quiet Johnny Rylands library, where now I sit with a cut + paste massacre of dead magazines, gold rope and little bitty bits of paper that im never gonna be able to pick up.
I am, perhaps, happiest when I am moodboarding and listening to bright eyes.



The guy sitting opposite me on the computers keeps putting his shaking head in his hands and mouthing the word NO over and over again though. And im pretty sure he just called his mate a 'goon-bag' (what the hell is a goon bag, its def not on urbandictionary.com, i just checked. answers on a postcard plz) . I hope he's gonna be ok.

Subsequent to someone, whom shall not be named for health and security reasons, offhandedly mentioning that they might have maybe accidentily one time glanced with one eye open at my blog (HELLO) i have decided to ressurect it...again...from it's wasting away state and plumpen it up like a little spring lamb, fluffchick, or piglet.





Hurray for spring, hurrah for seasonal sweets, hurrah for Yellow, Pink, Green and White. The colours, not the characters in resevoir dogs. Although, whilst im on the subject, three cheers for Pink, why the hell not. So much time for that man.




Anyhoo, since the last time i typed anything into this godforsaken thing, Winterval has blown and past without any major mishaps or events, apart from Rache giving herself a ginormous second degree burn with a pot noodle and except for my minibreak to ROMA.
So good.
Just like living in one of those 'education MADE FUN' pop-up history books, except the monuments and stuff dont go all sticky and rippy-outy when you eat outstanding, italianny gelaticious icecream whilst youre looking through them.




Having miraculously conned some fools into giving me a job as a perfume spritzychick at Selfridges up here, my nose is like a finely tuned violin to the bow of world scent. I can smell Flowerbomb from 50 paces, which will obviously turn in handy...never?




Weapon of mass sniff-struction. Oh fucking hell that joke didnt work at all did it...fuck. Someone NEEDS to buy me some tabacco vanille though.

Apart from getting a cheeky bit of muscular dystrophy from sitting on my bum all day revising for my bladdy exams, thingz continue swimmingly. In next week's episode...DMFR's girl tour to Paris to meet the fashion folk over there. Considering our lecture earlier in the week involved a quick brief of what to do if you are 'forcibly removed from a building...they're french...it happens often', promises to be, as the parisians might say 'Une Belter'.
So expect me to blog about it...ooh...sometime in 2014?
Until next time folks
Spritzy Spritzy.

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.

Memento Mori

Rather like a well tended country churchyard, although my summer has been, on outward viewing, relaxing...breezy...floral...inoffensive even, much as I loathe to admit, it has essentially been pretty dead.

The infrequency of my recent blog posts also has been a background beat in my brain for quite some time now too.

Tap tap tapping away at my lazy skull sounding not unlike the faint tapping coming up from the ground from the unlucky folks who have been buried alive in said hypothetical graveyard. But enough with the morbid metaphor! On to the chit chat about ...relatively cool stuff!

Festivals have been a bit of a recerrant love affair studding this summer, and to round things off proper, i have just returned from Pukkelpop, Kiewet, Belgium, possibly the best festival ever given to humankind for these reasons three:

1. Mindblowingly boast-tastic lineup

2. Cheap smokes

3. Amazing chocolate.

I honestly havent just got back from a Bridget Jones fan convention (although if anyone knows of one in existance please contact me asap)

but a lovely box of lucky strike cigs, even inside the festival would set me back but a mere daily 3 euros, and, along with all the rather choice dutch weed we were kindly donated by charitable euro-cousins, I pretty much had a smoking device sticking out both my nostrils and ears as well as my mouth at all times. Hu-zzah.

Also we discovered...joy.

Forget 'suprises'. Who wants the risk of a suprise when you can have 100 percent guarunteed JOY? Half an egg's worth of melty kinder chocolate, with little bueno-filled truffles nestled inside.

They even give you a little spoon to eat it with inside, AND you still get the toy. U know it makes sense.

Oh and heres an incomplete list of bands and arteeeses ive seen over the past month or sa:

1. the temper trap

2. kasabian

3. ray davies

4. magnetic man

5. skream/benga

6. Placebo

7. Iron Maiden

8. Soulwax

9. Blink 182

10. Limp Bizkit (no really)

11. Bloody Beetroots

12. Seasick Steve

13. Steve Aoki

14. Benny Benassi

15. Yeasayer

16. Bad Religion

17. Major Lazer

18. Ellie Goulding

19. 2manydjs

20. prodigy

21. Queens of the Stone age

22. The fall

23. Atlas Sound

24. Caribou

25. Sound of stereoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooook theres steam coming off my keyboard now.

Boomtown. xxxxx

Much as i love my little old button-shoe blog

I love it even more when im far too busy having a life and actual things to do to write in it.
So i'll just continue the illusion that i do actually have both of the above things by keeping this sweet and simple.
The read of which i aim to be rather like enjoying (and not telling anyone about) a high quality and surely, legally imported, box of chocolates from croydon market/lidl or similar.

Righto. Well firstly I am hugely indebted to (stealing the find of) Sean by posting the link to this awesome video, but I am way too in love with it to let the chance to self centredly blab about it on here pass me by:







Exclusive/Inclusive. It's deliciousness akin to that of the much maligned strawberry truffle (though i remain an equal opportunities blog by admitting that they aren't everyones favorites (why??!)).
Love.

Check out the way the little smooch-print dress whirlpools around when she's asked to dance by the rather handsome chap in the bar. A-well-he-llooooooo there.

2.
Read the book
Love the book
Foghorn on to everyone that comes close about how good the book is for 4 months until the film comes out.
I give you- Mr. Nice. Green Triangle.


oh and a whipped up cup of coppola/phoenix/downtempo caramelly strokes'll do nicely if you dont mind:



and...oh go on then i'll just have the one...



SUGAR COMA
xxx

Lover, You Should've Come Over...

Hi Hi Hi Hi Bonj

I am aware that I haven't updated my blog in a number of weeks, an excuse for which i am completely searching my pockets for but do not have. I can't really talk that well at present moment, as i have somehow given myself a slight chealsea smile on the right side of my mouth (mmm, attractive) but you dont really have to open your mouth to type, unless, like lots of the time i am, you're trying to smoke hands-free holding a fag in your teeth.

If anyone can actually remember how ive given myself this injury then please...share with the circle.

I have, however, had and seen loads of stuff happen that i've ranted away to whomsoever has the misfortune of being next to me or for some unknown reason has actually CHOSEN to be with me at these moments 'ohmyguzzzzzzzmtOTALLYgunnaputthisonmyblogahahaha'

But suffice to say there have been too many of these moments (apologies, friends and strangers) for me to actually reference blog-wards everything that has popped up.

I mean i did actually SEE courtney love in the flesh and everything.

And me and lizzy are bezzie mates with darwin deez but yknow...NBD. Well, sort of BD, Liz has actually penned quite a catchy song/rap about our beautiful friendship triangle but release dates are strictly under raps and i dont wanna get sued by her record label (hit in the face) for saying anything else about it.

More recently though, after the breif peroid in my life when i did actually think that diagrams of chemical equasions were my only friends and that one fateful day when i did actually spend over 12 hours in the library, a few notable fun occasions have...occured.

PARKLIFE! Festival, a rollable distance from my both old and new Manchester residences was saturday. Despite the rather agreeable lineup, made even more agreeable by the 25 quid ticket tag, I still only managed to fully witness fourtet, with a way more than proportionate amount of my time spent laughing and running around wrapped up in blanket with jack, or lying on said blanket with blanket and mine's mutual friend Pascal. In fact, the blanket was the best mate I had all day, it came grinding along with me to Total Garage and schmoozed it's way to a total of four parties before sheltering me from the rain on the 6am walk back to it's house afterwards.

Holla Blanket.

Throughout the end of year, summervibe, carnival time ive actually been able to chill and read on a number of occasions...

...and am highly anticipating going absoloutely QUACKERS and SHAKING MY TAIL FEATHER on the London Ducktour this saturday for L's birthday. The website discribes the experience as 'DRIVING FROM THE ROAD BEFORE DRAMATICALLY LAUNCHING INTO THE THAMES '.

Lizzy, says i upon the suggestion of the magical anphibious trip, this is one of your better ideas. But riddle me this. Dont you think an altogether more 'dramatic' entrance to the Thames would be, say...

Telling someone, possibly an errent boyfriend, they were gonna have a nice pedicure, before applying relaxing cucumber slices to their eyes. After placing their feet into one of those foot spa-whirlpool bath things, utilising the element of suprise, and when they were least expecting, adding some cement mix ('bath salts, babe') to the whirlpool mixture. Then, and highly....suprisingly...cucumber eyes would wake up with their adulterous feet entirely encased in concrete.

And then be thrown into camden lock.

Alive.

SUPRISE, WANKER!

If i can manc it there i'll manc it...in manchester

I am back in the hippedy-hop buzzing city that never sleeps (but they will soon cos they're making that shit illegal)

The memory of my packet of fags being ripped up last week is but a distant memory though i have had to resort to rolling thanks to my card being delicned in lidl.

As lovely as it is to be back the remaining weekorso at home was studded with loads of lovely outings to the country (http://www.fannysfarmshop.co.uk/), attempting to 'dance' when that really quite honestly FANTASTIC song by mumford and sons which i have stupidly forgotten the name of came on after Foals at New slang and selling my ferregamo's for a measly 11 quid at portobello market...where i found this rather dashing old slushpuppy coloured fur coat with pictures of minnie mouse on!

In a moment of tuberculosis induced stupidity i did actually WILLINGLY give away my packet of fags to luke, who i went out for drinks with but coudlnt really chat much to at the time becuse i was constantly hacking like a coalmining witch.

The hilarity of a missed call from L with angry yet loving and thoughtful message 'DONT SMOKE! xxx' from luke this afternoon was only suppased by the one i was woken up with:

'not coming back to manc today...volcano exploded'

so as robbie is currently riding a tidal wave of molten lava we will have to make our own fun this evening

New yorks thatatway man

Thanks kid!

'Peaches Geldof...what a cunt...NUMBER SIXTY FOUR'

YAWN. Jingle. YAWN. Tumbleweedsound. Munch munch munch. YAWN.

If you were my blind stalker these would be the wonderful sounds you would've heard on a continual loop for the past few days.

After having a rather lovely yet money frittering easter week (ironically seeing as lent hadn't even finished) my main activities have recently consisted of sitting on my sofa, halfheartedly chewing on whatever defenceless item of food that may be in my peripheral vison, riding my bike around any flat streets around my house (i maintain it is the bikes fault i can't pedal uphil), and the good ol' favorites bbm, facebookchat and http://www.watchshitqualitymoviesillegallyonline.com/.

Most of my money was foolishly cheese-gratered away at this:

doing this:

with wonderful company. A rather scenic and sunny battersea-vauxhaul morning stroll was enjoyed by all, passing such wonderful landmarks as 'dogs home' and 'random chinese pagoda thing by the river'.

However being lazy sometimes has it's upswings. Here's a picture of my REALLY DELICIOUS LOOKING (sort of) hot X buns, the first thing ive cooked in fucking forever. They tasted okay actually. Behind is another foolish purchase, a box of Kellogs Krave, which i had to try to have an opinion on...the opinion being...they're okay. Very teasing, just made me want to buy an actual jar of nutella instead of trying to kid myself. 6.5/10.

As The Clash once said [sort of]

I'm so bored with the SM1

I'm so bored with the SM1

But what can i do?