Easter ills.

Just when I thought I was hopping back on the blogging band wagon, I've gone and caught the boyfriend's flu and lost all hearing in my right ear, as happened some weeks ago. This has therefore relegated me to bed for the majority of the bank holiday weekend and means that I've spent most of the four day weekend unable to stare at my computer screen as it makes me feel even worse and ergo, undone all of my blogging intentions.

Of course, now that it's Monday night and I have work tomorrow, I'll wake up at 8am and feel fine. Great. And before you say it must be so nice to spend the time lying in bed, I do not call scraping all of the skin off the tip of my nose, having watery eyes and constant sneezing/sweating/general grossness relaxing.

Humph.

Beeeeeep...

Normal services shall resume shortly, please be patient.

Best phishing email. EVER.

From my junk mail filter this evening...

NOITIFICATION‏
From: FBI (fbgvous1@poczta.onet.eu)
Sent: 23 March 2009 13:27:40
To:

ANTI-TERRORIST AND MONEY LAUNDRY CRIMES DIVISION
FBI HEADQUARTERS IN WASHINGTON, D.C.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
935 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE,
NW WASHINGTON, D.C. 20535-0001 Website: www.fbi.gov

HAVE A NICE DAY,

THIS IS AN OFFICIAL ADVICE FROM THE FBI, FOREIGN REMITTANCE/TELEGRAPHIC DEPT. (FRTD), IT HAS COME TO OUR NOTICE THAT THE ADB (AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK) AND C.B.N (CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA) AFRICA HAS RELEASED YOUR PART OF INHERITANCE/CONTRACT PAYMENT OF 10,500,000.00 U.S DOLLARS INTO FIRST UNION CORP BANK/MORTGAGE IN YOUR NAME AS THE BENEFICIARY.

THE BANK IN AFRICA KNOWING FULLY WELL THAT THEY DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH FACILITIES TO EFFECT THIS PAYMENT FROM EUROPE TO YOUR ACCOUNT, USED WHAT WE KNOW AS A SECRET DIPLOMATIC TRANSIT PAYMENT S.T.D.P TO PAY THIS FUND THROUGH WIRE TRANSFER. THEY ARE STILL WAITING FOR FINAL CONFIRMATION FROM YOU ON THE ALREADY TRANSFERRED FUNDS, TO ENABLE THEM CREDITING INTO YOUR ACCOUNT ACCORDINGLY. SECRET DIPLOMATIC TRANSFER PAYMENT ARE NORMALLY FUNDS RELATED TO DRUG/TERRORIST AND MONEY LAUNDRY SYSTEM OF PAYMENT, WHY MUST YOUR PAYMENT BE MADE IN SUCH SECRET TRANSFER , IF YOUR TRANSACTION IS LEGITIMATE AND NOT RELATED TO DRUG/TERRORIST AND MONEY LAUNDRY, WHY CAN'T THE BANK IN AFRICA VIA EUROPE EFFECT DIRECT TRANSFER INTO YOUR ACCOUNT THAN SECRET DIPLOMATIC PAYMENT TRANSFER.

DUE TO THE INCREASED DIFFICULTIES AND UNNECESSARY SCRUTINY BY THE AMERICAN AUTHORITIES WHEN FUNDS COME FROM THROUGH SUCH PAYMENT PROCESS FROM EUROPE, AFRICA AND MIDDLE EAST, BASED ON THE RECORDS WE HAD IN THE PAST ALWAYS IDENTIFIED SUCH METHOD OF PAYMENT AS DRUG/ TERRORIST/MONEY LAUNDRY FUNDS, TO AVOID PROBLEM WITH THE US GOVERNMENT AS SOON AS THESE FUNDS REFLECT IN YOUR ACCOUNT IN THE U.S.A, IT IS OUR MANDATORY OBLIGATIONS TO ASCERTAIN THE DOCUMENTATION AND CERTIFICATION OF THIS FUNDS BEFORE THE FINAL CREDITING INTO YOUR ACCOUNT.

WE ADVICE YOU CONTACT US IMMEDIATELY, AS THE FUNDS HAVE BEEN STOPPED AND HELD IN OUR CUSTODY PENDING WHEN YOU WERE ABLE TO PROVIDE US WITH A DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY SEAL OF TRANSFER (DIST) WITHIN 3 DAYS FROM THE UNITED NATION INTERNATIONAL FUND MONITORY UNIT (UNIFMU) THAT AUTHORIZE THE TRANSFER AND CERTIFIED THAT THE FUNDS ORIGINATED FROM AFRICA AND MIDDLE EAST IS FREE FROM TERRORIST/DRUG AND MONEY LAUNDRY OR WE SHALL CONFISCATE THE FUND. WE WILL ALLOW THE FUNDS TO BE RELEASE INTO YOUR ACCOUNT IMMEDIATELY YOU MAKE PROVISION THE REQUIRED DOCUMENT.

YOU WILL BE DIRECTED WHERE AND HOW TO GET THE DOCUMENT IF IT IS NOT IN YOUR POSSESSION. THANKING YOU FOR YOUR TIME,

FBI DIRECTOR
ROBERT S. MUELLER III

Every time I read it, I hear the Fonejacker's voice.

Silent scream

I'm sorry if I seem to have disappeared again. And I was doing so well, right? After the craziness of fashion week back-to-back with my boyfriend's sister's wedding with a side of crippling throat virus, I felt I owed it to myself to slow down for a few days. Unfortunately, that was not the case as it was back to the swing of things in the office plus a band shoot on Saturday. Once again, I found myself doing a long week and sleeping most of Sunday in order to be ready for Monday.

The good news is that I intend to kick back and relax this weekend so just the thought of that is reinvigorating me as I type and I'll no doubt be back and raring to go later this week, with tales and photos from the Rayban Colorize party last week - Amy Winehouse, Esser and the riot over free Raybans all to come.

The bad news is you'll have to wait til next time.

Bleugh and other stories of illness

So, I'm on day 10 of the flu that struck the day before Fashion Week and I can't seem to shake it. Having pretty much managed to ignore it all through the course of LFW, it was Wednesday when I was at last sitting back down in the office that it really crept up and smacked me over the head.

Of course, the timing was fantastic as Friday was my boyfriend's sister's long anticipated wedding and as we headed down on the Thursday, I could feel it taking hold but it wasn't until I woke up yesterday with no voice that I realised quite how bad it was.

My voice keeps on returning and then disappearing again, along with my ability to focus on anything. Thankfully, we're now home after the hairiest drive home through flu-addled eyes and I've crawled into bed in the boyfriend's Incubus hoodie, some pyjama pants and a big ole beanie in order to rest, rest and rest some more in the hopes that I might actually be okay for Monday. If not, it'll be a trip to the doctor's for me to score some harder drugs than just the Nurofen and cough syrup that I've survived on until now.

I know that I promised to photo videos this weekend but it may have to wait until the glow from my laptop screen doesn't make my eyes feel like they're on fire. I promise to return as soon as I'm better.

Dirty Girl

ARGH, we have no shower. Well, technically we do but we don't have our shower. Last night, as I was trying to get out of our shower, the door suddenly snapped off one of it's hinges. Not good, considering the door is made of thick tempered glass and particularly heavy. Being in a considerable state of vunerability (ie wet, blind and naked) made it difficult to figure out exactly what was going on until I had found a towel and was able to re-focus, only to find the shower door at a particularly odd angle, swinging from the top hinge.

Not good. We managed to patch it together with some electrical tape to stop it falling off it's remaining hinge and crashing onto any unsuspecting victims in the bathroom. Matki, the makers of the shower calmly reassured me that they can send me some new hinges but my dad pointed out this evening that there's no way we'd be able to get the door off, let alone replace the hinges. So, tomorrow another call will have to be placed to have a new shower fitted. Ball ache.

Photos of our artistic taping to follow tomorrow.

Confessions of a Shopaholic

So, following the sadness of the blazer that never was, I have bounced back triumphantly. Last weekend, my mum came back from Berlin (where she's currently working) for a weekend and on Saturday, we hit town for a little retail therapy.

I was meant to be good, seeing as its taken me 5 months to clear half of my overdraft and I'd done that officially that morning but my mother and I should never be allowed to shop together. We are both of the school of 'you only live once so you may as well look fabulous' and the knock on effect was that I plummeted straight back into my overdraft with aplomb.

I've been umming and aahing as to what to channel for this season's inspiration but on Saturday I was decidedly inspired and shopped like I meant it. I bought the following:













And this is why I am once again poor but at least I'll be poor and well dressed.

Milan: the great model debate

My apologies, I've been lacking in internet but dying to post and now there's a scheduled blogger outage in less than an hour so I'd better be quick.

I've been flipping through the shows from Milan on style.com and I came across the Prada show. Cast your minds back if you will, to 2006. Milan was the first major city to take on the Healthy Model Body Mass Index, enouraging designers to use models who might actually occasionally eat and not be running solely on laxatives and coffee. So imagine my surprise when I came across this model:



I hate to be a fashion killjoy but this girl looks like she's about to drop dead and the glassy-eyed look so often adopted by models as they stalk down the catwalk actually looks real. Those ribs! Those legs! I can understand that clothes hang better on skinny people but corpses? Come on, Miuccia, that's just not right.

But it didn't end there, oh no. Step forth, model from the Jil Sander show:



And let's not forget the girls at Etro, whose shoulders could have your eye out in a bar:



Still, I suppose that with the economy in its current state, it won't be long before many of us are rocking shoulder blades as lethal weapons.

And now, to lift the mood ever so slightly, one very angry looking model from the Prada show:



Girlfriend's about to beat yo ass down.

[all images from the awesome style.com.]

Boo-urns

I'm a little bummed out this evening. On my way home from work, I took a little detour to go and mooch around Topshop. I'd seen an awesome black boy cut fully sequinned blazer in the vintage section on Thursday but as I was lacking in debit card following Walletgate, I couldn't buy it there and then.

All weekend, I tried to put it out of my mind, while some little voice in the back of said mind screamed 'You must have it. MUST!'

Armed with the resolve of if I can't get it out of my mind, I have to have it, I trotted down to the vintage section and you guessed it, it was gone. I'm not really surprised, it was an awesome jacket. And I suppose I kinda ruined that whole story by admitting that I was bummed out at the very beginning. I wouldn't have been bummed out if I had that blazer; I probably would've started with I bought the most amazing blazer today but no.

Ah blazer, perhaps it wasn't meant to be. Which is a real shame because you would've slotted into my wardrobe so perfectly. Sad face.

And now my second disappointment. I bought some Tarmasalata from the local supermarket last night and thought hmm, I'll have a little snack since its 11pm, I'm bummed about the blazer and I didn't eat dinner. Diligently, I chopped my carrots and a side of some good mozzarella, got a big dollop of the dip and went to settle myself in front of Law & Order. But it's salty. Really, really salty. And not good salty, gross salty.

So, now I sit here, bummed out - no awesome jacket and no good tarmasalata.

Tomorrow owes me.

LFW: Tuesday

Apologies for the lack of post tonight but some fucker stole my wallet earlier this evening and my mind is currently focused on that. Reports to come later:

Ashley Isham
Eley Kishimoto
Amanda Wakeley

..and a bunch of parties.

Warning: Wildebeest seen mid-air

Ladies and gents, I have done something I thought I would never do. Be warned, pigs are flying somewhere near you - I have joined a gym.

Those who know me will know I am the least likely person to ever be found in a place of public exercise or come to think of it, private exercise. However, the last 18 months of sitting at a desk job have meant that I have seen my waistline expand slightly and my levels of fitness, abysmal as they already were, sink to new lows.

So, yesterday the Boyfriend and I went to our local gym and signed on the dotted line. It's not the first time that I've belonged to a gym, I'll be honest. Years ago, following my first knee dislocation, I belonged to the extremely posh gym that is round the corner from me. However, when my membership shot from £40 to £120 once I turned 16, I decided that I couldn't allow myself to watch my mother pay through the nose for something I hardly ever used. Now, the £80 fee is deducted from MY bank account, which will hopefully be enough motivation for me to hit the cross-trainer.

That, or it'll be a very expensive lesson in my own laziness.

Minor Delays

Yes, I know, I'm useless at keeping this place up to date. My current job leaves me more knackered and stressed than before. I never realised how much I loved the answering machine in my old job, when in manic moments I could just ignore the phone and let some harassed PR harass my voicemail, rather than me. These days, there's no such luck.

I spend an awful lot of my day with the phones ringing off the hook, gritting my teeth to stop from sounding too irate when I finally answer, while simultaneously dealing with a million and two emails from more harassed PRs so by the time I get home, you'll have to forgive me for wanting to stay at least 5 feet away from a computer at all times.

It may sound strange but I end up coming up with ideas for blogs when I'm in the shower. Some people sing, I compose blogs as I soap up. Unfortunately, by the time I get out of the shower, the remains of my energy and resolve have gone down the drain, along with the remains of my shampoo.

In short, I apologise. I am rubbish. Normal service will hopefully resume over the weekend.

Network Suicide?

Back in the day when social networking first kicked off and the invites started rolling into my inbox, I resisted at first as I'd never really made any inroads with my original network of choice, Friendster after they kept freezing my account for no apparent reason. However, the numbers building in my inbox slowly started to mount to levels I couldn't ignore and gradually, my resolve crumbled. I hold my hands up and admit that I signed up to Bebo, WAYN and Myspace in the first wave of those networks popularity.

My interest in Bebo and WAYN didn't last more than a few weeks past the initial sign up date but I kept up with Myspace as my friends and I were dotted around the country/world at university. However, even that pissed me off. Once everyone found Myspace profile editting sites that generated the HTML for you, even the most special of individuals had all manner of flashing, sparkly .gifs and moving backgrounds. It meant everytime I clicked through to one of these amazing pieces of java abuse, my computer would freeze and die, often taking the essay I should've been working on with it.

Then, I found Facebook, the great leveller. Everyone was gradually signing up as they were more towards the end of their university time as it was, at the time, an institution only networking site, meaning that there was less awful grammar, no silly backgrounds and a distinct lack of ~*~StIcKy CaPs~*~ [shudder]. Thank the lord.

I quickly switched to Facebook, occasionally logging into my Myspace but not really using it and forgot all about Bebo and WAYN. Tonight, I went to check my email and to my annoyance, I noticed that the WAYN messages I had set a filter to ignore had started creeping through. Deciding enough is enough, I logged into my account and headed for settings, determined to end it once and for all.

But I couldn't. My little pointy arrow hovered over the button but I couldn't click. I have friends who in the heat of the moment have committed Facebook suicide, only to come back a few days later. Would I do the same? I admit that the word IRREVERSIBLE in red capitals that freaks me out a little, praying on my insecurities. There is no going back What will I miss out on? I haven't given a shit for two years but when it comes to actually clicking and deleting a piece of myself from cyberspace, it's enough to give me a case of web anxiety.

What not to do in publishing

I am a pedant for the english language. I can't help it. Seeing punctuation and grammar being abused or words - especially the simple ones - misspelt through sheer laziness really winds me up. You can therefore probably imagine that I spend a lot of my online time in a state of frustration when I see text speak on myspace or facebooks. Really, there is no need. Even those too lazy to bother learning now have access to spellchecks on pretty much every computer so they really have no excuse left.

While I understand that the internet is no place to play Language Police, you would think that maybe, just maybe online magazines would be of a higher standard than your average 14 year old's myspace written in StIcKy CaPs. The knowledge that you are a legitimate publication would surely push you to check your vitals before you hit publish? Apparently not.

A new magazine, Flirt is now firmly at the top of my Most Wanted for Abuse of the English Language. Apart from attempting to be an even lower rent mens' mag than Nuts or Zoo (yes, it is possible), it has more appalling spelling, grammar and punctuation errors than a illiterate 10 year old's essay. I was pointed in it's direction after a topic on Digital Spy and could not quite believe the sloppy work. Note to it's editor: You are only highlighting your crappy content (Billi from Big Brother? Oh Dear) with your inability to string a sentence together coherently.

I know some of you out there will think me bitchy and decry me for slagging off what is essentially still a new magazine that is unsteady on it's feet and still looking for better content. Well, if a magazine starts out poorly, how will it keep its' readers and maybe gain some, adding better advertisers and start generating money if it's editor cannot even write properly? In short, it won't. Instead, it will die a slow and pitiful death, losing someone along the way a lot of money and another losing their dream.

Neighbours' new home

Two posts in one day? Surely not! I've just seen the promo for Neighbours moving to Channel 5 and that's big enough news to me to post twice in one day, as those of you who know of my love of the show will understand. It starts on Five on the 11th of February and I'm hoping that all of those rumours of it being moved to a later slot (and maybe even an omnibus) are true. Yes, I know I'm a sad obsessive but I'm okay with that. So, here's the promo:

Tales from the kitchen

The other night, panicking and trying to find the Garam Masala powder as I cooked a curry, I came across some interesting things in my kitchen. Well, not really interesting per say, more weird and slightly gross.

First up, the siamese triplet grape:



Digging through the spice draw, I came across several things that had gone off. This is a fairly typical in our household. Once every two years or so we purge a different cupboard or set of drawers in the kitchen, propelled by one of my mother's manic cleaning episodes. This wasn't an organised purge; more one brought of necessity as I desperately needed to season the curry. As I tossed items out of the drawer in search of the one I wanted, I came across two very old tins of curry powder, as you'll be able to see in the photos below:



Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, they really are dated May 1996 and October 1995.



Worrying, no? However, once all of the items had been photographed and archived for your viewing pleasure, you will be happy to know that they were all destroyed; the spices went in the bin and the grape was eaten. While it was triple the size of a standard grape, it was disappointingly not tripley tasty. Alas.

Blargh. Argh. And more X-Factor.

I'm not entirely sure why but tonight for the first time in a year, I decided to update my myspace page. I haven't touched it in a very long time but I guess as I fall into a foul mood caused by the general ruins of everything else around me (ooh dramatic), I figure the only thing I can control is my damn myspace. How pathetic, you must be thinking. I am too. I should be preparing for tomorrow but I find myself in a procrastinatory coma where I can't think about the things I should be doing instead of wasting time.

But at least I'm actually motivated to blog. However, I will not be exploiting my current state of mind for that kind of entertainment. Besides, there is nothing in particular that has put me in this mood, it's just a general contempt that will undoubtedly lift shortly. On with the show.

As you've undoubtedly noticed if you read, listen to or watching anything with vaguely newsworthy substance, X-Gate carries on with 700 people now having lodged official complaints with Ofcom. At that level of complaint, they'll be obliged to investigate and waste lots of money only to tell us that there is no scandal. And then there'll be cries of a cover up.

My mother actually added her own thoughts on the matter today. She too read Chart Throb and like me, has a streak of cynicism about her now when it comes to the show. As she pointed out, there is the possibility that this is all a rig in order for Simon Cowell to make even more money out of the shows. Leon will get a £1 million record contract but Rhydian has already allegedly signed with Simon Cowell and SonyBMG. Simon can milk two separate audiences from one show. Hurrah!

Aging is bringing out my cynicism nicely. I promise I will stop blogging about X-Factor too. It's getting unhealthy. I should start conserving my energies for the new Big Brother.

What. The...? Aftermath

After my unexpected rant about X-Factor last night, I was not surprised today to discover that there are a lot of other sceptics out there. Whereas once upon a time a public outcry over a reality TV show would've made a few ripples and maybe have got a mention on the parent channel's news, the effects of multiple voting and competition scandals have rocked the big cash cows that are interactive viewer participation.

When even Blue Peter got caught up in it - twice, no less - you were guaranteed that even the cosiest naive fool was left feeling slightly suspicious of anything remotely riggable. So, no surprise that today's entertainment websites such as Heat World published stories about it and almost equally as little surprise when the news programmes and radio stations picked it up with plenty of people claiming they tried to vote for Same Difference and Rhydian. While those who voted for Same Difference deserve not to have their votes counted (at least, in my opinion), the fact that there was as little as 1% at points between Leon and Rhydian makes me very curious. Still, it's nice to know that Rhydian has already been scooped up by Simon Cowell and SonyBMG for a hopefully successful future.

Of course, by now, you're probably thinking that I'm some X-Factor junkie shut in who has dyed her hair white and had it cut into a Rhydian style quiff, from all of the gushing I've done the last two nights. Rest assured dear reader, this could not be further from the truth. As I mentioned last night, since reading Chart Throw, I can't take the show seriously. I have instead watched the last few weeks with a morbid fascination.

Thank God the show is over for a few months and I can now redirect my cynicism elsewhere. Quite where is yet to be decided, perhaps a anti-consumerist one will soon appear after I once again try to tackle the christmas crowds in order to complete my shopping. We shall see.

Trust in God but keep taking the Nurofen

Last week, I was reading an interview with Jemima Khan about her ex-husband's involvement in the political unrest in Pakistan at the moment and she mentioned an old Pakistani saying that goes something like Trust in God but tether your camel. All week, that phrase has been floating at the back of my mind with new interpretations since I don't have a camel but I really liked the phrase. Most of the week, I've had what seems to be the most appropriate the London equivalent of Trust in God but lock your car.

Since I haven't been able to step out of the house all weekend, I once again updated it to the new version of Trust in God but keep taking Nurofen. Tonsilitis is meant to clear up by itself within about four days and seeing as this is more or less the third, it should be gone by Tuesday but as the saying goes, back up your options just in case and in this case, my back up is Nurofen. I have to be back in the office and face the wrath of the faulty air vent again tomorrow but my bag contains large supplies of over the counter remedies to help me through the day as my GP can't see me until sometime after I get back from my trip so antibiotics are out of the question. Someone remind of what I pay so much tax on such a small wage for precisely.

Re-reading that, I've come to the conclusion that the Nurofen has gone to my head and I should stop rambling about ancient phrases, the size of my tonsils and the NHS' short fallings before I say something truly stupid.

...And where are my white towels?

Those of you who've hung around long enough may remember that back in August, I won the chance to be Capital's Culture Vulture for a day. It's a daily prize for listeners, all you do is fill out a form on the website, point and click. Producers pick someone and that person makes a fool of themselves in two or three voxpops but gets a night out to something cool in return. Done deal.

The Culture Vulture that I won was slightly different in not only did I win tickets to Metro Weekender, in addition I won a list of other cool stuff too. That was two months ago. On Thursday, the final bits of a hastily cobbled together prize were finally sent over. Now, I know I may sound like a spoiled bitch but all is not quite as it should be with my prize. I humiliated myself to a drive time audience and I feel that somehow, I've been slightly robbed under the trade descriptions act - not to mention the fact that I had to chase them endlessly after being told that my prize would arrive within a week. I was meant to win a duplicate of The Streets rider:

-Bottle of Vodka
-Bottle of Jack Daniels
-Crate of Beer (presumably Carlsberg, who sponsored the event)
-Swatch watches (note plural)
-Video game
-Wrangler wear
-White towels

What I actually got:
-Bottle of Vodka
-Bottle of Jack Daniels
-12 cans of Fosters (now forgive me but I always assumed a crate is 24 cans, no? I personally didn't care but the boyfriend was a tad disappointed)
-Fifa 08 and some other game (both for XBox360, which I do not own, ergo useless and soon to be ebayed or the such like and put towards the Wii fund)
-Novelty gold Swatch watch (singular, truly hideous. Will also go the way of video games)
-Pair of Wrangler jeans (not a pair I would've picked but not bad)

I also personally delighted in the fact that they'd clearly asked the work experience to bag it up and hadn't bothered to take it out of the Tesco carrier bags. In all fairness, whilst it has been delayed and delayed, they threw in a bunch of Rumble Strips stuff which was blatantly in someone's desk pile but at least it's the thought that counts.

I'll even forgive the lack of white towels.