(Un)interesting story of the day

So, tonight, fiddling around when I came home from work, I felt it necessary to inspect the label inside my new smock long-top-short-dress type thing. As my eyes scanned down the tiny writing and then flipped over, something caught my attention. Where I was expecting it to say Made in China/Taiwan/by poor orphan children in a sweat shop, it instead said Made in F.Y.R.O.M.

Now, you must forgive me because apparently I'm not up to date with the hip new acronyms, nor am I that good at geography. I took a good few minutes staring, puzzled, at this weird new acronym appearing on my Topshop label. Where the hell was F.Y.R.O.M.? what country was it? Eventually my powers of detection led me to google it and apparently its the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia. But don't you dare call it just Macedonia.

Anyway, mystery solved, anti lives to see another day. Wearing mass produced Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia Topshop.

Try saying that quickly.

At least

...Monday's over. Now, if I can make it to Wednesday, it's all downhill from there.

For children 3+

Wish they'd had these when I was a kid...

Momma's a spend thrift

So, being broke, I'm not meant to spend money. But the recent cold weather drove me to seek the comfort of the giant Topshop for the improbable purchase of new sunglasses. Despite the blistering cold for the last 48 hours, the sun was out for most of today and the spring-like feeling drove my craving for the Oliver Peoples sunglasses that we have in the cupboard in the overdrive. Since they're somewhere around £200, I figured I'd be better off getting Topshop knock-offs. I didn't buy the ones I wanted because they didn't have them. Logic would dictate it's best to wait patiently for a new stock delivery but let's face it, this is Topshop and chances of getting hold of a pair are slim-to-none.

So instead, I bought these babies:



I thought that the oversized vintage feel needed to be presented in black and white, although the glasses are actually a dark brown. I'm now hoping for a reprieve from the snow yesterday:



Today was better but still icily cold. I don't mind that much, as it means I have a legitimate excuse to wear Uggs to work.

Lessons from a cold snap

In that true British tradition, tonight's first awkward topic is the weather. It's far too cold. This morning as I walked to the station I watched my hands turn from normal to red and then finally, blue (my first mistake of the day, no gloves). It wasn't any better during the day and by the evening, I was considering payin £10 for a cab home, just purely to avoid the biting chill of the great outdoors. My stupidity in not following through with the idea was magnified when I had to sprint for a bus on the way from the tube station. I would like to point out that I am what some would say 'not the sporting type' and they're right. I don't run if I don't have to and even the I have to pause and think about it. To top it off, I had leather soled boots on - not ideal when running on icy pavements.

It was so cold that it felt like I a human throat kebab as I ran to make the bus. That harsh, rasping hateful pain that only running in the cold quickly made itself apparent and I spent the entire bus journey - with it's sudden heat - trying to restore my lungs and throat before facing the cold walk home at the other end.

It's not been a good day. So tomorrow, no matter what, I'll be wearing my toastiest uggs. I will not run for a bus again, albeit in the rubber soled gods of cosiness. No, I will walk, wrapped in far more layers and with GLOVES.

And tomorrow we'll probably suffer a sudden unexplainable heat wave.

Shameless plug

Since it's Sunday, I naturally have no inclination to post. Instead, I'm going to make you watch this purely because I can:



alternatively, go watch it over at punktastic. Bump up the numbers, push them up the charts and fuck all the punktastic emo nazis off. If you like Flood of Red, check out Small Town Records.

Do it. Hell, do everything I just told you to do. It'll make my boyfriend happy and ergo, me happy. And we all know a happy anti is better than ranting anti.

Step aside, MySpace

...For my heart belongs to facebook. While I maintain a myspace profile, I now spend most of my time on facebook. One of the weirdest and yet most compelling components of the whole internet networking thing is that you can find out what people are up to without talking to them. This applies in particular to those who you probably knew from school, weren't that great friends with then and probably won't be now but you add purely for the sheer hell of it.

While conversation and wall-to-walling will be thin on the ground, it is possible to peer into those peoples' lives (and they, into yours) without so much as a text. It's a bizarre phenomenon. And they wonder why humans are becoming more anti-social? Why bother going through the apparent ordeal of meeting up with anyone when you can socialise online from the comfort of your computer, in your pyjamas and without the public transport journey home? I suppose it works, if you enjoy never leaving your home.

But yes, myspace is so 2006. Get with the plan and facebook.

The Perfect(ly Horrible) Storm

As you may or may not know, the UK was hit by a huuuuuuge storm that made the entire transport and road system grind to a halt, cause £1billion worth of damage and sadly, killed 11 people. I know that a storm in America recently killed 50 but in terms of ratio, you can fit Britain into California three times over and still have some spare fields, so 11 is a much higher micro percentage than 50 in comparison to population levels.

I found the tree in the picture was blown over on the route I that I walk most days; having given up waiting for a bus in the standstill traffic, I braved the winds and rain to walk home that night. I can't say that it was still standing in the morning as I'd chickened out and wisened up, catching the bus instead of schlepping on foot as I didn't want to look like I'd washed up to work on a tidal wave.

Thursday was the most amazing day. To cut a long story short, I called in and styled my own mini shoot for the magazine where I'm doing work experience, the offer of which blew me away last week. Subsequently, I became too superstitious (sp?) about to mention to most people, even my mother, until the night before the shoot. The experience was truly unbelievable and I had so much fun all day that I was fit to burst when I finally rolled through the door that night. Not even the cramped and damp tube ride home could keep the smile from its position, plastered across my face like the local loon.

Enough simpering like a love struck teenager. Normal service will resume shortly.

Mid-week-ness

I. Am. Exhausted.

I also really want one of these. However, owing to budget certain budgetary restraints - caused by a late night trip to the giant Topshop on Oxford St last night - I will not be buying one for quite some time. However, I am most grateful for my new beautiful boots that I bought last night and they came in handy in the pissing rain today. Sometimes, good things cam come from somewhat reckless actions.

Tomorrow's a big(ish) day for me at work but right now I need a shower before Ugly Betty starts and then some serious sleeping action, with a mad dash of preparation for tomorrow thrown in somewhere.

I'm getting tired just thinking about it all.

What remains of Sunday

So, since I've spent most of my weekend either drunk or hungover, I haven't been inclined to post. So go check these out instead:

- Kurt Cobain gets caught up in the madness of a gig, hits a security guard, guard hits (and kicks) back. CLICK

- Trolley Spotting. People find abandoned supermarket trolleys and monitor them. Oddly addictive. CLICK

- Punk institution cbgbs pictures by Joe's NYC. CLICK

- An open letter to the kid in the background of the Jessica Alba pictures CLICK

Hope you've all had a good weekend. Roll on, another week.

Oops.

I just spilt my ashtray. Never attempt to sit up whilst your ashtray is balanced on your bean bag folks, because it goes everywhere. All that's left to do is debate how to clean it all up - I could go all the way downstairs, drag the hoover up and suck it all up. OR I could try sweeping it all up with a dustpan and brush that I keep up here and spread it all even further, in a finer layer. The logical side of me says I should use the hoover but the lazy part of me says why bother when you can avoid stairs and heavy lifting.

And lazy wins.

Land of a thousand smells.

As much as I would like to divulge something intelligible and interesting, it is either one or the other and I'm still vaguely intelligible, or at least I hope so. I would wax lyrical about how I love what I'm doing right now but I don't know if your stomachs are strong enough and I'm not sure it counts as interesting.

I had my first experience of true 'tube crush' today. Coming home from work tonight, something was up with the Central line, most likely leaves on the line after our freak weather for the last 24 hours. Trains were only running every ten minutes at rush hour and as the train pulled into the station, the windows were a sea of black winter coats and sweaty faces, rammed uncomfortably close and I mean close. I had an awful moment between Marble Arch and Lancaster Gate where I was surrounded by four rather sweaty men whose armpits were exactly at eye level, about two inches from my face and my stomach began to turn from the smell. Thankfully, my stomach did not go through with its' threats but I think that the less said about it the better.

That's about as exciting as it's going to get tonight. The exhaustion of work coupled with Underground trauma means I need to go and lie face down on a beanbag for a while.

TV land is rife with desperation

Clearly, January is a slow month for TV. The only choices worth even considering at 10pm are Wife Swap or She Stole My Foetus. Before you say it, I won't entertain the idea of Russell Brand on Big Brother's Big Mouth as entertainment - having my wisdom teeth out was funnier.

I'll weigh in on this year's Celebrity Big Brother when it raises itself above the level of moron-ism that is sending in Jade Goody and her faaah-mily. Well done Endemol. No, really. Give the idiot who came up with that idea the remainder of his lobotomy and let him run free in a field, ignorant to the fact that he is indeed a fool and let us all hope the next two and a half weeks fly by so that we can all forget this entertainment disaster as quickly as possible.

So much for the salad

Happy 2007*. No doubt you've all fallen off the resolution wagon by now and the cigarettes are back, the gym membership has been forgotten (or yet to be used) and those midweek drinks that you swore off are already chilling in the fridge. Am I right?

Personally, I'm not big on New Years' resolutions but as always, I've been goaded into them by those around me. However, I've decided to keep it loose and go with 'try to be a better person' and 'eat more salad'. So far, the second isn't going too well but I put part of that down to not having been to the supermarket yet.

In other news, now that my old job as a costume assistant has run it's course, I've been doing work experience in the fashion cupboard at a glossy womens' magazine. It's only been two days but so far, I've really enjoyed it. It's fairly similar to certain aspects of my old job but only with prettier clothes, nicer people and normal hours. I cannot explain what working normal hours does for my mood. I practically skip to work, barely noticing the crush of the tube and the chilly morning air. It's really rather refreshing to walk through the front door with a smile on my face rather than frowning and grunting.

Anyway, enough sunshine and light, you were probably expecting me to rant. I'm sure something will come up soon enough.

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* - rather than post the usual fireworks/drunken toast/people photos that most post for a New Years' related post, here's my very sparkly ass. Since I feature in most other pictures from the night - and I look fat, bloated and drunk in all of them - I've decided to show off my wonderously sparkly dress that I bought in September and have been dying to wear since. It hid the bloat nicely and provoked much drunken interest in its' sparkliness. Thank you Primark.