When 60 minutes is never enough...

Grrr. I love shopping at the best of times. Fact. But speed-shopping during your lunch break? Possibly the worst of times. Honestly, I hate it with a passion. Trying desperately to cram in a cheeky ciggie whilst returning missed calls on your mobile phone and wading through the hoardes of chavs is not my idea of fun. Take earlier, for example. Tomorrow I am due to attend a 30th birthday gathering at a local cricket club, complete with barbeque, cocktails and camping afterwards (yes, I know – me + camping = disaster). Naturally, I don’t know what to wear..When I asked M he said the standard boy response of, “jeans and a t-shirt?” to which I replied, “oh right, ok thanks love..Do you have anything I can borrow?! I love you but there is no way I am going to start dressing like you..” Needless to say, I think you can all gather I am not really a ‘jeans and t-shirt’ kinda girl. Anyway, I had approximately 55 minutes to find something laid back that stated ‘I’ve-not-tried-hard-at-all-‘ and ‘oh this old thing? I just threw it on without a moment’s thought this morning’. Not easy.

First stop (because I am desperately trying to become a reformed shopping addict who actually has some cash left at the end of the month) was Primark. Big mistake. It was hot, sweaty, smelly (seriously, how hard is it to purchase and use deodorant for some people?) and there was a queue the length of the Nile at the till thanks. Great. In the usual desperation I resorted to panic buying and, to be fair to the Primarni, managed to pick up some pretty good buys: A khaki coloured drapey vest-dresss with cute plaited belt to go round the waist to add some definition and a beige long-ish cardigan to throw over the top. All for a total of £18. It took me longer to queue up and pay for the damn things than it did to source them but nevermind…




However good my purchases were, I still wasn’t happy. I was still striving for something more, something PERFECT. With 22 minutes to go I needed to pop to the MAC counter in Debenhams to replace some make-up (why does it always all run out at the same time ‘eh?). Ten precious minutes later (two words: slow staff) curiousity got the better of me and I nipped upstairs to check out Warehouse. Oh, and there it was. Hanging before me was a lovely, yet simple, mink coloured jersey maxi dress with little capped sleeves. At £25 it was a bargain price too. Could this get any better? Well, yes, obviously because I hadn’t tried it on. I could look like a sack of spuds in it and I was desperate to find out the verdict. With new and determined resolution (12 minutes to go) I marched over to the fitting room. To be faced with a large sign – FITTING ROOM CLOSED. Damn. I sighed and ran over the other fitting room – FITTING ROOM CLOSED. At this point I had 8 minutes to go and was losing patience (and boiling hot as it happens – epic fail on my part when getting dressed this morning and deciding on a Karen Millen knitted nautical jacket). With a audible sigh and (I’m not proud to admit this) a quite vocal uttering of a certain 4 letter expletive I decided to just go for it and buy it. What the hell. I can bring it back if it doesn’t fit. Well, in all fairness I probably won’t – I will do my usual and leave it in a bag at the back of my wardrobe for the rest of time I expect. Naughty. Thankfully there was no queue so 2 minutes later I was half-walking, half-running back to the office.

I got here with about 3 minutes to spare. Go me! Now all that is left is to try the dress on at home. Please please please look nice..The only thing worse than lunchtime speed-shopping is Saturday morning shopping. Shudder.

Flip? Definite Flop.

I had a funny conversation today with some colleagues. We were all walking over for lunch in Las Iguanas and, naturally, I was clip-clopping along in my sky high nude stilettos. At least three people said to me, “how can you walk in them? Your feet must be killing?!” But the thing is, they weren’t – my feet never hurt when I walk in stilettos. Fact. Nobody can understand it – my mates used to call me ‘asbestos feet’ when I was in my late teens due to my ability to last a whole night on the lash without having to stumble bleary-eyed and bare-foot into the kebab shop (suffices to say I was always one of the MOST bleary-eyed though..) But do my feet become super-strength in direct correlation to the amount of alcohol I have consumed, or do I just have mutant strength?

To be honest, I am inclined to think it’s the latter. Mainly because I love wearing heels all day every day, even if I am popping out to Tesco for fruit and Ryvita (read: Ciggies and wine) and I can do so without complaining. In fact, I think FLAT shoes are more hazardous! Take Ugg boots for example – yes, they are super comfy with their fleecy lining but they should come with a health warning! Come on ladies, how many of you have tripped over whilst wearing Ugg boots? You know, when you drag your feet along as you are walking and stub your toe on the pavement and stumble? It’s not just Ugg boots though – ballet pumps are just as bad! Take this morning, for example. There I was trotting along to work in my ballet pumps (heels in handbag, natch) carrying my skinny vanilla latte from Philpotts and, out of nowhere, I found myself lurching forward and towards the ground. It was fine though…I saved the latte. I did drop my beloved Marc Jacobs handbag though…It’s not damaged though (to be fair, I don’t think it’s ever fully recovered from the cigarette burn. Honestly, it makes want to cry every time I look at it).

Oh, and don’t get me started on flip flops! They are clearly the creation of a sadistic soul. I agree, they are nice and airy and comfortable for wearing in the summer months but are they practical? Bloody hell, no! I haven’t been able to drive wearing flip flops for 3 years now following a harrowing incident whereby my flip flop got wedged underneath the brake (meaning I couldn’t use it). Shudder. Also, how annoying is it when someone steps on the back of your flip flop? I know, I know, when someone does it the natural reaction is to smile and say, “don’t worry about it!” when inside you are quietly thinking, “you shouldn’t be walking so close to me then should you?!!” Then there is the dreaded rubbing of the flip flops between your big and second toes, the calve ache when you have walked too far in them and the sheer sogginess should you be unfortunate enough to get caught in a freak down pour. See what I mean? Awful.



These are just a few of the reasons why I am a dedicated wearer of heels. Speaking of lovely heels – check out these beautiful Louboutins. Pure porn for girls, and a snip at £1,225 (gulp):

Pampered Princesses, Styled Tresses and Posh Dresses.

Following on from the Vegas nuptials, C and P got married in a UK ceremony at the weekend – where I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid. It was an absolutely fabulous day, and C looked stunning in a beautiful Maggie Sottero number. Our bridesmaid dresses were gorgeous – the perfect colour and style for the occasion. As an added bonus, they all fit perfectly too (thanks to the alteration of Celia – Master Tailor Extraordinaire – who had a grand total of 5 days to alter 4 dresses (!!)

The ‘getting ready’ beautification process kicked off on the Friday night before the wedding with face masks and nail painting in full swing. Though we soon ran into a problem – namely when C mentioned that none of us were to wash our hair the morning of the wedding as the hair stylist team had requested it. Cue horror amongst the ranks. It was as if we had all been asked not to wash in the week leading up to the event! Cries of, “NOOOOOO – no way, I will feel GROSS,” were exclaimed. True, for many of us it was an act out of our comfort zone. Surprisingly I took it in my stride though, and was particularly non-diva-esque (yes, I know – shock, horror). Do you know why? Because I had remembered to pack my trusty Batiste dry shampoo, that’s why! A rigorous shampoo and condition before bed and a few squirts of the wonder product in the morning and I was good to go. I have always been a fan of Batiste as a little hair pick-me-up and now they have added in new lines to the range – namely products for blonde and brunette hair. Perfect. In fact, here is the finished article, post-styling on the day:




Many thanks to Doug Hobbs and the team from his Bristol salon, Hobbs, for their patience. At one point Doug actually exclaimed, “Blimey – you are a feisty lot aren’t you?!”


In addition to a hair stylist team, C had booked a MAC make-up artist (thank goodness – due to my lack of sleep the night before I needed some major facial reconstruction work). She was incredible. When I said down I looked like a haggered old bint (albeit with great hair) and when she had worked her magic I looked..I looked….HUMAN! Human with a flawless complexion and dramatic eyes. Hoorah!! Of course this lasted approximately 18.5 minutes before I stepped outside into the glaring sun, but nevermind ;) Also, note to self: Scuttling around on all fours on a roof terrace trying to avoid being seen having a cigarette is not a good look, neither is it beneficial to said hair and make-up. The only problem is, I LOVE MAC make-up and – typically – was asking the artist what everything was as she was applying it. As a result, I have just gone and spanked a load of cash on the MAC counter in Debenhams. Bad times. Though I can particularly recommend the primer and the mattifying loose powder. Amazing stuff.

All in all it was a wonderful day, one of the best ever. The funny thing, though, was that despite looking all elegant and lady-like, I was still my true self…By that I mean whilst greeting my other half, M, the conversation went in the following way:

M: You look gorgeous – like an angel.
Me: Cheers dude. I am sweating like mad in this frock! Can you hold my flowers whilst I have a fag and then go for a wee?


It’s like the age-old saying: You can’t polish a turd

;)

Dirty Vegas....

Apologies for my lack of blog entries in times of late, I have had a pretty action-packed couple of months to be honest. However, fear not because I am now officially back and plan to update you regularly on my fashion hits, misses and escapades.

A few weeks ago I went on a fabulous week-long trip to Las Vegas in order to witness my gorgeous friend C’s wedding to her now-husband P. In a nutshell I believe I can sum up the entire experience in 4 words: Mind-blowing, hilarious, messy and knackering. Anyway, during the time I was out there I did happen to have a little fashion misdemeanour – all the bride’s fault, may I add, but still a huge misdemeanour nonetheless….

Ok, so on the evening of C’s ‘Official Hen Night’ we decided that fancy dress was in order. But not just some half-hearted devil horns or fairy wings..Oh no. We are talking the shortest-of-the-short sailor dresses and stockings from superb fancy dress retailer Leg Avenue. When I say short, I really mean short. We are talking bum-skimming and (not in my case) cleavage-flashing. There wasn’t a lot left to the imagination I can tell you. However, a few shots of vodka (swilled either straight from the bottle or from a plastic Bellagio cup pinched from round the pool) later and we were all embracing the idea and the cackling had commenced. During the aforementioned ‘vodka-fest’ hosted in our shared room, the other bridesmaids and I conspired to hire a male stripper to come up and surprise C. We figured this sort of activity would fit in with the overall theme of the evening (by theme I mean the loose theme of ‘sl***-sailor-fancy-dress-wearing-vodka-swilling-maniac-women’). After hearing a knock on the door, C opened it to be greeted by ‘Sebastian’ dressed as a sailor captain. I tell you what, Sebastian actually looked a little scared. But, to be fair to him, he snapped out of it like a pro and proceeded to strip down to some little red pants and gyrate up against C. Honestly, I couldn’t stand up I was laughing so much:







But little did I know I would soon be laughing on the other side of my face…When Sebastian asked C to, “pick a girlfriend for some lovin’ treatment,” who do you think C chose? Yes, that’s right. Me. Actually I believe her exact words were, “go on Yates-Round, I know you can take it!!”

Sebastian proceeded to throw me on the bed, hold my legs in the air and, erm, well, simulate a few intimate positions. He then made me stand up and bent me over, thus revealing my big red knickers underneath my dress with ‘HELLO SAILOR’ emblazoned on my backside. But, sadly, it wasn’t only the knickers he revealed – he also revealed the 12-14 size sticker (only size left in good old Primark) I had forgotten to peel off my bottom. Brilliant. He then, to my horror, decided to pull on my hair whilst bending me over meaning a handful of my clip-in hair extensions came out in his hand. The poor bloke. As if being subjected to my sticker-clad bottom (remember, in the US a size 12-14 is the equivalent of 16-18) wasn’t enough, I then made him think he had ripped a chunk of my hair out. I’ve never seen a man so grateful to leave a room before in my life ;)

Just because I feel I left whatever grace and dignity I have ever had back in Vegas – here was the exact moment, kindly captured on camera by C herself…