Wednesday, 28 December 2011

"You are 10 times better than you act."

"This is a letter to you. I hope it finds you soon, 'cause I've been pushing this pen back and forth but I still dont have a clue. I just want to let you know I'm here, always, even if you don't like me I'll keep you safe. It's not like I'll ever want you back but I miss having you around and if I could give you 1 piece of advice, it's just to be yourself. But you are 10 times better than you act and you're wrong to think that's not enough..."

For the navy blue peace sign tattoo, the stolen kisses, the way our music taste is completely different apart from one song, for the stupid way you first told me you loved me, the times you'd phone me up drunk and sing 'Lua' - Bright Eyes down the phone, the way we'd argue everytime it came to squishing in my single bed at night, for being so lovely to me when I was ill, for sticking by every silly little decision I made, the way you'd quote John Lennon to me randomly, for being exactly like Mark Darcy and folding your boxers, your stupid driving, how much you supported me, the angry comments, how guilty you'd genuinely feel when you hurt me, the plans we made for the future, for buying me 12 fortune cookies - one for every month of the year, the way your hair would always be messier than mine in the morning, the lovely texts at 6.30am EVERY single day, how you knew me better than I know myself at times, for doing nothing but laying next to me when I was upset and instantly making me feel better, for falling asleep next to me and holding my hand the entire night, for sharing your last cigarette with me, for every single lovely word that came from your mouth, the way you'd give me your jewellery because it was our secret way of showing we were 'together', the way my clothes would smell of you for hours after you'd hug me, the way you'd act like such a lad in front of people but how sweet you'd be when it was just us, for driving 64 miles just for a kiss, sending me letters because you know how much I love mail and for just texting me the lyrics I'm about to type...for all of this plus a million more silly little things that only mean something to us:

"I just want to let you know I'm here, always."

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Piece numero uno for Bobbysix...

Not that long ago, I blogged about writing for this awesome music & culture blog named Bobbysix. Basically, this really cool dude decided to set up a blog based around cool music, cool fashion and cool events. I'm so far from cool it actually hurts, so you can imagine my surprise when Bobby, the editor of Bobbysix, said he liked my writing and would like me to write for his site. 

Cue running around my kitchen, with the parrot on my shoulder, screaming to my Mum about finally having my potential as a cool person noticed. After I had calmed down, I finally got around to sorting out what my first piece for Bobbysix would be. And here it is:
I've put the link above too just because I'm crazy keen to get as many people viewing it as possible, but click on either link and it'll take you straight to the site. While you're there, definitely check out the website as it is pretty fucking cool, even if I do say so myself.

It was really fun to write and I have a few other pieces lined up so I can't wait to get cracking with those, but for now...enjoy my first piece, please AND let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is my 2nd favourite thing, after turkey and gravy sandwiches, right now so don't hesitate to tell me if I've spelt something wrong or if I sound like an absolute idiot. It's all banter

4 stone heavier, in posession of far too many pairs of Christmas socks & hating turkey...

It's safe to say that with the sale shopping, the leftover turkey and the compulsory weight gain comes a new level of stillness in my household. Christmas time makes everybody so much more peaceful, I almost wish that just like Wizzard, it really could be Christmas everyday.

As soon as it hits 14th December, we rush out and buy a real tree (there's nothing like the smell of a real Christmas tree, nothing at all), spend about 5 hours decorating it and then cry into our mugs of coffee/hot chocolate infused with candy cane (a little Gilmore Girl-ism there) when the parrot decides to risk his life by flying straight into the pine needles. It's a stressful tradition, but one I wouldn't change. Every year, I change my wrapping paper colour scheme and annoy my Mum because it doesn't match with her's and every year, we have the same argument over the colour scheme of the tree. I still stand by the fact that red and gold Christmas decorations will make our tree look like it belongs to a 70 year old named Doris.

Although I may joke about these traditions being predictable - something I try my hardest NOT to be - and boring, I secretly love them. For me, Christmas has always been about family, those closest to you and the silly idiosyncrasies each family member holds. For example, since I can remember my Mum has always filled our Christmas stockings with an orange, an apple, a handful of chocolates and £1 made up of silver coins. We joke about it but my brother and myself would be pretty lost if come Christmas morning, we didn't have any of these things in our stockings. Then there's the obligatory Christmas socks that I seem to get about 230 pairs of every year and the slippers that come with it. Don't get me wrong, I love reindeer but it's a bit much wearing them on my feet.
This year was no different and as much as I joke about the predictability of some relatives/friends, I actually really love it. I'd be a bit confused without my 222nd pair of snowman socks and fruit in my Minnie Mouse stocking.

Christmas Eve came by with a bang as the whole season as come around so quick this year. My brother travelled down from London with his girlfriend in the afternoon and we spent the evening playing cards, drinking Baileys and watching rubbish television. I then went to Midnight Mass with a group of friends and spent the countdown to Christmas Day singing hymns. What a weird, yet wonderful, day.

Christmas Day was fairly relaxed and pretty quiet, Christmas dinner was, like always, huge and everything was perfect. Lots of laughter, napping and food filled my Christmas day and I wouldn't change any part of it for the world. Well, except being a little bit ill, that I would change for the world. Sniffles and coughs aren't exactly welcome throughout Alan's Carr 'Spexy Beast' DVD.

Boxing Day flew by, just like the previous 2 days, and it was spent on the sofa, with a box of Lindt chocolates and the parrot drinking my hot Ribena. It was still pretty special as it was spent with family though and looking back on the past 3 days, I've had so much Christmas fun.

I hope everybody else has had a wonderful Christmas? What did Father Christmas bring you - positives & negatives, let's be honest here guys and gals? I'm off for a catch up with 3 of my favourite people tonight, wearing my PJs as my the majority of my clothes refuse to fit me. So yeah, cheers Father Christmas for selection boxes and turkey sandwiches. I'm feeling preeeetty grateful for those extra lbs I've piled on over the past 3 days, thanks for that.


Tuesday, 20 December 2011

You made me feel like the one...

Holding hands, drinking cans in the orange lights. 
Summer breeze, feeling free kissing for the first time.

So I know I've been awful with this whole blogging thing and I'm SORRY. Really, truly I am. But I do have a  valid reason for my absence. I've been in London since the 9th and I've only really had Internet access on my phone, which is stupidly slow. However, I have a spare 20 minutes now so I've stolen a computer from my best friend's Mum and I plan on boring you guys with a little (more like HUGE) update on what I've been up to. Apologies in advance, this could be long...

I've been staying with my best friend, H (mentioned in previous blog posts), since the 9th. The reason for my 'holiday' is that it was her 18th birthday on the 12th and lots of plans were about to unfold. Instead of me disturbing the celebrations halfway through, it just made much more sense to be here from the very beginning so with that begins my adventures. 
I drove up to Banbury, near Oxfordshire, with H's boyfriend, Ryan, who is steadily becoming one of my favourite people, ever. Our main aim was to collect the personalised birthday cake arranged for my girl and be back in London by 4pm. Due to SO many obstacles getting in the way, we didn't actually make it back 'til 12am. Talk about stressful. 
The cool part of this whole stress was that we were in Ryan's hipster camper van, which doesn't have a fitted heater, so wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, with a soundtrack of 'Biffy Clyro live at Wembly' we looked like proper hipsters. And I like that look. 
Skip to the 12th and the first of the birthday celebrations went down: a birthday meal with H's family. This meant fancy food, fancy wine and lots of sophisticated laughing. It was a lot of fun and I got to dress up for the night which is always brilliant. EVERYBODY had a great night, Helen got tipsy and my support tights were well and truly off by the time dessert came. 

I had to head back to Eastbourne for a few days as I needed clean clothes, clean underwear and a bed that doesn't resemble a sofa. As comfortable as this sofa is, sometimes you just need a proper mattress, right? 
While I was back at home, we put the Christmas tree up, I caught up with friends and I stayed in my onesie for 48 hours. I came back to London on Friday though and it's been crazy ever since.

Friday night was the last of Helen's birthday celebrations and this meant that a party was totally necessary. After a lovely meal at a bar-cum-restaurant with a group of H's close friends, we headed back to her house to let the alcohol fuelled times roll. I'd be lying if I said I remembered all of the night, but I do know that the phrase "what happens in London, stays in London" is totally appropriate right now. I woke up surrounded by 11 other bodies, cans of beer & shot glasses everywhere and a banging headache. It's safe to say that my body really is paying the price for my stupidity. I vaguely remember screaming "JAGER SHOTS, JAGER SHOTS. VODKA AND JAGER!" which sums up the night perfectly.

Saturday was spent recovering and catching up with an old friend. We haven't seen each other since April and as she's at University in Nottinghamshire now, it made sense to catch up while we were both in London. She made me spaghetti bolognese and we gossiped until there was nothing left to say. It was really nice to be a little bit grown up for the evening. 
Sunday, I ran around London and hung out with another one of my faves, Tara London. I've mentioned her briefly in other posts, but again - we were both free and in London, so it made sense for me to invade her photoshoot and bitch about a Russian hat she loves. Again, I had such a blast and regardless of being stuck in a freezing cold photo studio for the day, it was one of those days that would have ended too soon if it lasted 24 hours. 

Christmas shopping took place yesterday and me and H had a pretty girly day. Haven't had one of those in a while so it was nice to gossip about the boys in our lives and watch films that make everybody else cringe.

I'm starting to rush as I've just realised we have to leave in half an hour and I am SO not ready. We're going to see Stereophonics tonight, hence the Stereophonics lyrics scattered around this post, at Shephards Bush and I'm beyond excited. LOVE this band.

Anyway, if my phone decides to love me tonight, I'll get around to telling you how the gig went (amazing, obviously) but if not, I'm heading home on Thursday so I'll make sure I catch up with you guys then. Hope everything is amazing in your worlds, xxx

Thursday, 8 December 2011

"What I do isn't upto you & if the city never sleeps, then that makes two."

I've said before that when things get tough, I run off to London. I spend hours sat on my best friend's sofa, eating this amazing toast that only tastes right if her Mum makes it, drinking alcohol at 1pm with her lovely boyfriend while she's at college and just having a blast.
There's nothing negative about it; we could be sat in complete silence watching football (definitely not my favourite thing) and it's still perfect. She doesn't believe me when I say that it doesn't matter what we're doing, whether we're running around London together watching live music or sat in her conservatory playing Bomberman, but I genuinely enjoy myself. I love the atmosphere her house holds and more importantly, I love her family. I feel so comfortable around them that I've pretty much elected myself as part of their family and they don't get a say in the matter.

There's not many people that I feel comfortable enough around to sit with while wearing embarrassing pyjama bottoms, no make-up and a hoody emblazoned with their least favourite football team's badge. Although they say they've accepted the fact that it means nothing to me, football wise, and it just keeps me warm, I'm pretty sure her Dad's been plotting how to burn it. They are strictly a Chelsea/Arsenal/Spurs household.

I have too many memories of their house; 5 years old, pretending to be The Spice Girls (I was always Posh Spice, because we have the same name, and Helen was always Baby as she has blonde hair and is ADORABLE, even now). 9 years old and fighting over which member of Westlife we were going to marry. 13 years old and talking about boys while cuddled up in her single bed. 17 years old, getting back to her house at 1am with Morleys takeaway slightly tipsy after the Frank Hamilton gig...I could go on for days, there are that many but I'm losing track of what this blog post was originally supposed to be about.

Regardless of what we do, we always have the best time. That's why I run away to her house when things get a little cloudy in my small town. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing her and I hate having to say goodbye, but I feel so at ease when I'm at her house and that's what I love more than life. Because it doesn't matter what's going on in our heads or in the world around us because when we're sat in her conservatory, surrounded by music magazines, old photos and childhood memorabilia, everything is fine...well, for me at least, Helen's usually annoyed by my constant chatter.

I'm going to be spending about 12 nights being pushed off the sofa by one of two cats (if I'm lucky, both) and just enjoying myself. My train tomorrow is at 9.39am and although the early start is going to kill me, I'm pretty excited. Roll on the next 2 weeks because I can't wait to annoy Helen, get drunk with her boyfriend, act in an inappropriate manner with her Mum, watch music documentaries with her Dad and have the offside rule explained to me by her brother.

Seeya later Eastbourne, it's time for me to show London who's boss xxx

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

"The greatest pleasure of writing is the inner music that the words make."

This is just going to be a brief blog post as I have some good news to share with you guys. Well, actually it's brilliant news but I'm trying to be calm about this because believe me, if I allow myself to get excited, I will end up peeting my pants. 
To cut a long story short, pretty soon I'm going to be writing for another blog called BobbySix. It's a blog focusing on music/culture and it's so awesome. Even if I do say so myself. It's a PROPER blog, with an editor and everything - a bit like an online magazine - and it features some amazing interviews, reviews and articles. I'm going to be joining the team and I am honestly SO excited.

I've just conducted my first interview and it went so well, I'm pretty much on Cloud 9 here. This is like my dream...I love music, I love writing, I love combining the two so I'm at the stage where I need pinching every so often because I can't believe somebody actually wants me to write for their website. However, don't think you've got rid of me this easily as I'm still going to be posting my own ramblings on here. I'll also be posting the link to things I've done for BobbySix so make sure you check them out because I would really appreciate it.

So that's my good news and honestly guys, I couldn't be any happier. With that, have you guys had any good news recently and if so, what? 

Peace out for now guys, I'm off to edit my first interview ;) xxx

Saturday, 3 December 2011

"I will not be defeated...instead I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan."

I was 8, my favourite colour was lilac, I had an obsession with baking Barbie fairy cakes and my favourite film was Bridget Jones' Diary.
Wait, before any of you rush off to report my parents for child abuse (the film was rated 15...eeek), let me say that Bridget Jones' Diary was my guilty pleasure. Forget the fact that my favourite band was ABBA, which I should feel horribly guilty for I know, I used to watch this film in secret.
Am I really admitting this?
Friday's at school were spent in a fit of excitement, knowing that as soon as 3pm came, I could rush home, finish a project on The Tudors, tell my Mum I was watching Crossroads (my 2nd favourite, and probably more age appropriate, film) and spend the next 2 hours fascinated by Bridget and her really big knickers.

While most 8 year old girls in 2001 looked up to the likes of Clare from Steps, Britney Spears or Tracy Beaker, Bridget Jones' was my idol. I never went as far as lining my bedroom walls with her picture (Barbie took up most of the space) but I was well and truly hooked.
Thinking back, I don't think I could have given a reason for my obsession. I think it was perhaps the fact that I was 7 years too young to be watching the film AND because Barbie fairy cakes never looked quite as good as Hugh Grant. What can I say, I was an 8 year old with taste.

Within 6 months my obsession had ceased and I was suddenly more interested in Brian from Westlife. Aside from being blessed with the obvious talent of being able to quote the whole movie by the age of 9, my Bridget Jones' phase never really provided me with much else. It hadn't changed my life and it certainly hadn't supplied me with super amounts of knowledge, although I did learn that big knickers are apparently a turn on. Really, it had just taught me how to convince my parents that I was doing something good when I was really doing something I shouldn't be. "No honestly Mum, there aren't going to be boys there...promise!"

I never really gave Bridget much thought apart from at sleepovers and girly days with my best friends. I impressed them with my recital of Hugh Grant's poetry ("there was a young woman from Ealing, who p*ssed all over the ceiling...." you get the drift) and whenever I had to think about who I wanted to be when I grew up, my thoughts would instantly go to Bridget Jones. Because she's a journalist obviously, not because she's a "wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs."

However, 3 nights ago I decided to embrace my inner girl and have a bit of a pamper session. I threw on my onesie (I'm not even ashamed to admit I LOVE my onesie), made a hot chocolate with a spoonful of Nutella for extra indulgence and put Bridget Jones' in my DVD player. I'm not going to lie, the film just doesn't thrill me as much as it used to when I was 8. Nevertheless, I thought I'd give it a go because after all, it would have been a shame to not appreciate the beauty of Hugh Grant falling into a river:

The picture just doesn't do him justice
Despite being more entertained by my Twitter time line than Mark Darcy's reindeer jumpers and Bridget's verbal diarrhoea, I soon realised that I was being sucked into the film. It may have had something to do with how gorgeous Colin Firth actually is, but I'd like to believe that it's because I noticed just how much of a great role model Bridget Jones really is. I sat up and started to paid attention. On first glance, Bridget Jones' Diary is about an overweight, sex starved 30 something year old with an addiction for cheap wine and Nicotine, attempting to find love with a man way out of her league. C'mon ladies, Bridget has a double chin and let's be honest: Hugh Grant is far too pretty to deal with double of anything. After catching myself for even thinking like that (IT'S OKAY FOR OUR THIGHS TO TOUCH, LADIES), I realised that Bridget Jones' Diary is way more than that.

Despite the fact that she's obviously rubbish with men, Bridget Jones has so many killer traits going for her:
1) She has a career and is actually good at what she does.
2) She's a good friend, although her friends are absolute loons but nobody is perfect, right?
3) She can handle her drink.
4) She's got a great relationship with her parents.
5) Although she's a terrible cook (blue soup, anybody?), she has her own flat AND a kind of okay-ish wardrobe.
Now I know she has more than 5 amazing characteristics, but I can smell my dinner cooking and I'm afraid food has to come before writing out a list of a fictional character's good traits. But what I'm trying to say is that although it may not seem like it at first glance, Bridget Jones is an exceptionally good role model.

She accepts her flaws e.g thighs that touch and a bum the size of Europe but chooses to embrace them rather than change herself altogether. She opts for the Spanx instead of ditching her infamous tub of Ben & Jerry's, reminding us women that it's okay to crave a whole tub of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice-cream sometimes. The world isn't going to end if we devour another spoonful and no man is going to find us less attractive if our bum might resemble a continent rather than a teeny tiny country.
She may have an addiction to all things bad for her but sometimes the only thing that can turn a bad day good is a glass of cheap wine, a Marlboro Light and a karaoke session to hits such as "I'm Every Woman"and "All By Myself."
And yes, she may also have a tendency to choose the bad boys over the lovely boys like Colin Firth, but let's face it - who wouldn't choose Hugh Grant over Colin Firth? She's only female, after all.

So she isn't J.K Rowling, Adele, Dawn Porter or Michele Obama. In fact, she isn't even real. But in terms of being a role model, there's no denying that Bridget Jones is definitely a contender. Suddenly, those nights of sneaking downstairs to watch the film after everybody had gone to bed, and hiding the video tape in a 'Spice Girls: The Movie" case seem oh so worth it. Because Bridget Jones did actually teach me something all those years ago and yes, it's something of value: it doesn't matter whether you're just a bit rubbish when it comes to love, whether you will always be just a little bit fat or even if your decision to have sex with your boss now means you're pretty much jobless because in the end, all that matters is that you're happy. And after sharing half a bottle of vodka with her crazy friends and singing to Chaka Khan's greatest hits, that's exactly what Bridget is: happy.

"I will not be defeated by a bad man and an American stick insect. Instead I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan."

Monday, 28 November 2011

"She hit me with a chicken nugget. ONE chicken nugget."

I know for a fact that I'm probably the world's worst 18 year old. Give me a night in front of the telly with chocolate over a night out with cheap shots and loud music any day.
Don't get me wrong, I love getting dressed up (or dressed down, considering the dress code in my town seems to be "anything that shows your ovaries") and dancing to sleazy R&B songs with my best friends in a grimy nightclub. I also love that I tend to lose every single social boundary after a drink (or two) and think it's totally acceptable to talk to the man dressed up as Rolf Harris, stood alone in the middle of the town centre. Some of my best memories, although a bit blurred, are from nights out and as much as I protest that I really would rather just have a cup of tea, I love the thrill of a proper night out.

As you may have noticed from previous blogs, I consider alcohol to be one of my close friends. I know that's sad, but I really do like the taste of the stuff and therefore, it'll always have a place in my heart. I know my limit when it comes to a cheeky tipple and I know what I should and shouldn't drink. I'm quite lucky in that respect, because as I found out last night, some people just don't understand that there's a line you shouldn't cross when you're drinking. The line I'm talking about is something I disagree with massively when I'm sober and even more so when alcohol is involved: violence.

In fear of sounding like I'm auditioning for Miss Congeniality, I'm a massive believer of banning the bomb, making love not war and doing everything we possibly can to restore a little bit of peace in this crazy world. What can I say, I'm a John Lennon fan...
The point I'm trying to make is that alcohol doesn't always have a good effect on everybody. Sure, it helps loosen people up, making certain situations slightly less awkward and allowing people to shake of some of that stress as they break it down into a Chandler-inspired dance routine, but it also has the opposite effect on others. I've seen the negative effects of alcohol turn the loveliest person into something that us Muggles would refer to as "You-Know-Who". Well, they certainly didn't do a Voldemort and kill hundreds of innocent people, but they certainly thought violence was the answer that night.

Last Saturday night, I was sat in McDonald's with a group of friends, minding my own business and getting down and dirty with a tub of BBQ sauce. It's a necessity to have dirty food at the end of a night out and it's the only time I'll let myself slip & eat that kind of food, so I think my drunken self deserves it. More focused on the food than anything else around me, I didn't notice one of my friend's talking to his ex girlfriend. Never a good thing to happen when alcohol is put into the mix, but I didn't take much notice of it. My double cheeseburger needed my attention and who was I to neglect it?
2 minutes later, out of nowhere comes a chicken nugget box. I think you honestly needed to have been there to appreciate the sheer hilarity of it all, but it was like something from a film. As the box was in mid flight, a chicken nugget escaped and hurtled towards my head. Before my reflexes even had time to address the situation, the chicken nugget had hit me and was now lying by it's box, helpless, on the sticky floor. Soon after I had been hit, the door had slammed and out stormed the ex girlfriend. She had obviously aimed for my friend and hit me instead. Not intentional, but I had still just been abused by a chicken nugget and I wasn't about to let anyone around me forget it. A 10 minute taxi ride and a 20 minute walk later, my friend's had got fed up of me ranting on about the lone McNugget and had left me. I walked home, bitterness taking over my bloodstream and rushing through my body, preventing me from thinking about anything else.

Of course I was never actually that angry about the incident (who am I kidding?), I was just confused. I understand that one chicken nugget is hardly a glass bottle in my neck or a brick in my face, in fact it's absolutely nothing in comparison to some drunken acts of violence, but it's just opened my eyes to the effects alcohol can have on people.

I'm almost certain that if this girl hadn't have been a bit drunk, she wouldn't have thrown a McDonald's box at an innocent party. The same can be said for the guys who get a bit lairy after a few too many shots of sambuca and think it's clever to square up to other guys for no other reason than to show off that they're a man. However, regardless of the situation, alcohol should never be used as an excuse for this kind of behaviour. It can ruin a brilliant night out in a split second and can demolish friendships/relationships/pride and dignity in the same amount of time.

Now, I don't think this girl feels guilty about hitting me because as I said before a chicken nugget is nothing in terms of it being used a weapon. But I'd like to think that a little part of her realises it wasn't cool to lash out like she did. Fair enough, she lashed out with a cardboard box but what if that cardboard box was in fact a brick? Same situation, stronger weapon. I'd probably be sat here with a broken nose.

So the moral of my story is basically that no matter how many 'Blowjob' shots you demolish on a night out, violence is never the answer. Whether your weapon of choice is a dirty processed chicken nugget or a brick, you should never resort to violence to prove your point. Check yourself before you pick up that weapon and remember, it's a lot easier to slur your sorries and walk away than it is to deal with a criminal record, or in the case of what I now call ChickenNugget-Gate, a wasted piece of food. Dipped in BBQ sauce, that chicken nugget is pretty much perfection after a few Jagerbombs, so to the girl who threw her's at me - you're a fool.

Next time a situation comes up where violence could be an option, I suggest we all put down our drinks and our processed foods and let's forget our 'male pride'. 'Cause it's always more fun to let our inner Chandler Bing rock out than it is to lose a chicken nugget:

Sunday, 20 November 2011

Facts #4

I'm the queen of conversation starters. I really like the taste of whiskey. I'm stupidly paranoid and I want somebody who is completely unavaliable. Right now, I'm in one of those moods where I don't care what happens tonight because tomorrow is a different day. Eminem is my idol. I can rap/sing every single lyric of 'Love the Way You Lie' - Eminem ft. Rihanna. I can't wait to get out of this town, East London is my dream right now. A little text/tweet/Facebook message can make my entire week. I use humour to distract people away from my mood. I'm a little bit in love with my iPhone and I realise this makes me sound completely sad, but I don't care. The Music Machine are currently my new obsession and my sleeping pattern is really messed up.

Saturday, 19 November 2011

Just a casual Thursday, really...

"What did you do on Thursday, Vic?" "Y'know, just hung out with top celebrity chef Gizzi Erskine...yeah, nothing special really. Totally normal. You?"

Yup yup, you read it right and no, I haven't photoshopped myself into that photo. It ACTUALLY happened and I'm still pinching myself, because I'm convinced that I dreamt the entire day. And because I need to be sure that I didn't, I'm going to bore you lot reading this with the gory details. 

2 weeks ago, one of the coolest people to grace this Earth and my mate, Gemma suggested we get tickets to be part of the audience for Gizzi's new show, Drop Down Menu. Through Twitter, we've both built up a friendship with Gizzi so it was only normal that we wanted to go see our girl in action. Tickets got confirmed, we planned the day and suddenly, 2 weeks had flown by and Thursday was all over us like a rash.

For those of you that haven't seen the show, a) why not?! and b) it's a cookery programme, fronted by Gizzi and Matt Tebbutt where the audience get to choose what the chefs cook. Basically. It's totally cool and the show itself completely engages the audience so it's a win win situation really. Being part of the audience for any show is a pretty cool experience but it's totally different when you *know* one of the presenters. 
Before the show, Gizzi grabbed Gem and myself from the room where the audience hang out before they get ushered into the studio. Amongst the gasps of "wow, that's Gizzi Erskine! That IS Gizzi Erskine", lots of people were whispering to each other about how we knew Gizzi. "They're friends with her? What?!"
It was completely surreal and I just wanted to answer back with "YES, we KNOW Gizzi." because it's not every day that I get to shout about that but I kept my cool...kinda.

Let me clear something up before this turns into more of a brag than a blog. I was SO nervous, totally uncool and didn't take any second for granted. Our aim wasn't to rub our friendship with Gizzi in any body's face, we were just there to support her and enjoy the show. It still isn't my aim to brag about it and as far as I'm concerned, Gizzi is as human as you or I, but she just happens to be on TV, in magazines and on posters in the Underground. I blog about exciting things that happen to me and it just so happens that this day was pretty damn exciting. 

After hugs, pictures and general chit chat (when I say general, I mean I spent about 10 minutes apologising for looking like a prostitute. My bag had ripped my tights as I was walking to the station and it was too late to change), it was time for the show to start. To say that Gem and myself sat through the show beaming with pride would be an understatement. I know I'm bias but Gizzi (and Matt) totally rocked it. It was such a hilarious show and I fell in love with Matthew Kelly, who was a guest on the show. You can see the show here, which I think you should all do as you see me and Gem at the beginning. Whoop whoop, yeaaaaaah. 

At the end of the show, we went back to Gizzi's dressing room and chilled out for a little bit. This is the part where I ask somebody to pinch me because I've NEVER been in a dressing room before...unless you count the makeshift dressing room my year 6 class had when we performed Romeo & Juliet to the rest of the school, but that was just a classroom with the tables pushed back. After gushing about how much we loved the show (I'm totally joking, we're a lot cooler than that) and nosing at the books in her dressing room (what can I say, I'm a total bookworm), Gizzi took cool to a whole new level and asked us if we wanted to join her for dinner that evening, at her restaurant in the Ideal Home Show. Now, it's not everyday that I get invited to dinner by celebrity chefs and I can say the same for Gemma, so we obviously jumped at the chance when Gizzi asked us.

We said goodbye, letting Gizzi get on with her day job and I then spent the next 4 hours boring Gemma with questions like "but, it's ok to turn up with a hole in my tights, right?" and "do you think Gizzi will judge me because I eat with my knife and fork the wrong way round?" (the answers are yes and no, in case you were wondering). We got to the Ideal Home Show, totally transfixed by the 'snow' blowing out of snow machines positioned all around us and the Christmas trees that lined the entrance. The theme this year is Winter Wonderland and the minute you step out of Earls Court tube station, you feel like Christmas has hit you smack bang in the middle of your face.

We collected our tickets and can I just say that I was genuinely so excited by the fact that I had a ticket to collect. I felt beyond special, in a good way, and I'll never love saying anything more than I loved saying "Hi, I think there's a ticket with my name on...I'm Gizzi Erskine's guest". I'm totally joking here, because I made Gemma ask for our tickets, just in case it turned out to be a massive practical joke and I didn't want to look like an absolute idiot. But I said those words in my head and it was wonderful. 

3 shots of toffee vodka, 2 more holes in my tights and 2 hours later, we met up with Gizzi at her restaurant. Well, Gizzi, her Mum, her sister and her boyfriend. We were meeting the family and I looked like a drunk prostitute. Brilliant. 
I can't even remember the full details of what happened after introductions had been made, but let me tell you that it was lovely. I know, I know, I'm completely bias but the food really was awesome - I even lost my morals and ate meat which is a pretty big deal for me, but how can you be fussy with food when you're dining with a chef? -, the company was amazing and the whole night in itself was brilliant. 
Champagne was drunk, conversation veered from the wacky (something about chasing somebody around a forest?) to the wonderful and it really was an bloody awesome few hours. I don't think words can even express just how grateful Gem and myself were, not only for the evening but for the invitation as well.

It's safe to say that the whole day was a bit of a champagne/toffee vodka fuelled blur, but it really was super lovely. For those of you wondering what Gizzi's like *in real life*, she's exactly the same as she is on TV/in magazines. Absolutely lovely. We're all a little bit fake on social networking sites, wanting to seem better than we actually are (no? Just me then? Cool...) but Gizzi is as genuine as they come. She's completely charming, making you feel as if you're just hanging with your best friend, instead of a celeb chef and she made me feel 100% comfortable, even with holes in my tights.

Thursday really was such a nice day and I'm glad I've blogged about it because it's not a day that I want to forget (the toffee vodka and champagne are clouding my memories from this day rather well, so having something to re-read is pretty helpful). I couldn't be more grateful and as you'd expect from a day like that, I've fallen completely head over heels for Gizzi. And her boyfriend actually, but let's keep that between me and you...

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

"Nothing lasts forever, not him, her, you or I." - Rox

For-ev-er: (adjective) for ever lasting time;eternally.

When I was little, I used to believe that every decision we made would last forever. If I chose fishfingers over sausages for dinner, in my mind, that decision would somehow effect me when I turned 40. "I'm sorry Miss, but because you chose to eat breaded fish instead of a dead pig 33 years ago, your body has decided to shut down." I can just imagine the conversation now.

As I got older, I realised that perhaps my theory wasn't correct. I mean, the graze that appeared on my knee after I decided to play 'Superwoman' (think climbing up a tree to rescue an invisible cat, getting half way up and then remembering you're scared of heights so you jump out) lasted 2 days. Hardly forever really. I laughed in the face of my theory and I continued to choose fishfingers over sausages until one day, when I had just turned 18, it came back to bite me on the bum. 
I had been vegetarian (pescatarian really, as I ate fish) on/off since I turned 13 and for a few months I dabbled with veganism. I lived off steamed brocolli, vegan rice cakes and flavoured water. To say I hadn't been gentle with my body would be an understatement. That was confirmed when the doctors told me my decision to not look after my body had caused an impact on how everything was working inside me. I won't go into details, but let's just say I think twice when I have to choose between fishfingers or sausages.

Since then, I've always struggled with the concept of forever. Some things really are for eternity, while others are simply meant just for a day. While I understand that maybe not all the decisions I make impact my future, it's the figuring out of which decision does. Placing situations in either the 'eternity' box or the 'just for today' box is what confuses me.

When you're little, you spit on your hand and shake it with your at-the-time best friend, declaring you'll be friends until the day you die. You don't realise it at the time but by tomorrow, you'll have elected a new best friend and the spit will have washed off in the bath (I've never liked that 'pact', it's a tad too unhygenic for my liking).
When you're a teenager and your crush kisses you; you may think that your love will last forever and yes, your knees might turn to jelly and your notebook will be covered in his name. But, that boy will soon lose his sparkle and you'll need a new notebook.
You soon learn, when you reflect on things, that saying the word forever is a lot easier than sticking to it's definition.

For example, your parent's relationship might seem like the strongest thing in the world, but there will always be hidden cracks that you can't see. Your friendships may seem tighter than Ebeneezer Scrooge but there will always be one moment that rocks the 'Best Friends Forever' boat.
I'm not trying to be the bearer of bad news, but recently I've learnt things the hard way. I've taken situations for granted, I've believed that some people really will be around until my final day AND I've used the word forever loosely. I've cried when friendships have dissolved and I've eaten my weight in ice-cream when relationships have ended but with the tears and the weight gain comes a new level of understanding: maybe certain things aren't supposed to last forever.
It's that simple really. If everything was forever, we wouldn't be able to grow as people and move onto bigger and better things. It might be sad ending a friendship, but there would have been a reason for the curtian call on this specific friendship and you'll thank yourself when you figure it out. In the words of Rox, the lady whose lyric I used to title this piece, "these memories we'll always treasure, for the rest of our lives...'til the day we die."

That lyric in itself sums up what I'm trying to say. You don't necessarily need something of substance to last forever; you don't need to put the phrase "forever and always" onto something in the hope that it really will last until you die, because you'll always have memories. 

My vegetarian/vegan days didn't need to last forever because I know I helped save at least one cow in the 3 years I stopped eating meat for and I'll always have memories of the funny looks I got from people at a BBQ where I just ate sweetcorn. Friendships needn't last forever because I know that for the 6 months they did last, somebody touched my heart and I touched their's. Crushes, relationships, infatuations etc aren't expected to last forever, and it's a bonus if they do, but just remember that you have to move on and make somebody else's life a misery. Besides, sometimes it's fun if something only lasts for a little while.

I've just realised how depressing/negative this blog could seem but please believe me when I say that that wasn't my aim. Read this and then hug the person next to you because they're sat next to you NOW. Don't wait until tomorrow or 'til next year to appreciate something you have at this very moment.


Thursday, 10 November 2011

"Where words fail, music speaks. " - Hans Christian Andersen

What's that, I hear you cry?! "Oh look, another cheesy, cliched blog post about how much music means to an individual."
I wish I could say otherwise, maybe change your mind that this isn't just another blog post that rambles on about how much music effects me but unfortunately, I can't. This really is just another cheesy blog.

There's always one song, one band or one album that can change your mood within seconds and for me, it's my absolute favourite: The Beatles. I don't even have favourite songs, I just know that as the album plays on, I'll gradually feel better. So I got to thinking (always dangerous), maybe music can soothe the soul and with this, I thought about the lyrics that are always guaranteed to change my mood for the better. And then I decided it would be a good idea to blog about I'm sorry for boring you, as this is rather long...

"Nothing lasts forever, except you and me, 'cause you are my mountain, you are my sea."
(Mountains - Biffy Clyro)
This lyric instantly transports me back to July 31st 2010, with me and my best friend (the absolute love of my life in a totally no homo way) standing outside The Roundhouse, waiting for Biffy Clyro to show their faces. She's a BIG fan of the band and I willingly got dragged along to see them perform. We were on the barriers that night, after queuing for 5 hours, and despite having my ribs crushed for 2 hours, it was the most amazing night. This lyric always reminds me of my best friend (I've just realised I haven't even named her yet. Let's call her H) and that night. Eventually, it's going to be inked on my skin, I love it that much.

"I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul."
(Creep - Radiohead)
Perfection isn't achievable( unless you're John Lennon) in my eyes and after 4 years of struggling with that notion and trying to disprove it, I've finally discovered that perfection doesn't always lead to happiness. This lyric reminds me of my struggle and although some might say that that's pretty negative, I see it otherwise. The struggle made me stronger, braver and more courageous so this song will always have a positive connotation in my eyes.
PLUS one of my favourites, Tara London, did an amazing cover of this song and I seriously urge you to check that out as well:

"I don't know when I lost my mind, maybe it was when I made you mine."
(Miss You - Ed Sheeran)
Despite having a huge crush on him, this lyric made me love Ed Sheeran even more. A few months ago, I had just got back from spending an evening with one of my favourite men on this planet, who happens to be the guy I've had a huge crush on ever since I was 12. I was taking my make-up off, smiling like a crazy person and listening to my iPod when I heard this lyric. Suddenly, he text me thanking me for the evening and those words made so much sense. Even though things have changed between us (feelings, situations etc), this song always reminds me of him and that night.

"Ashtrays and smoke filled days, late nights and drunken ways: these are the things I do, but I'd give them up for you."
(Things I Do - Frank Hamilton)
Last year, on 20th December 2010, I won 2 tickets to see Frank Hamilton perform a really intimate gig in his living room. There was thick snow on the ground, weather warnings were being issued and TFL weren't keen on people using the underground but I still dragged my best friend to Clapham , where we ate Nandos looking like a couple (we shared a dessert, but neither of us were keen to put out that night) and then spent 30 minutes sat in a bus stop huddled from the cold snow. An hour into the gig, we were drinking red wine in Frank Hamilton's living room like it was completely normal. He played this song and these particular lyrics stuck in my head for some reason. It's the whole idea of loving somebody so much that you'd give up every single one of your vices for them. I like that. 
(p.s sorry Frank, I accidentally spilt red wine over your cream sofa. I covered it with a cushion and pretended it wasn't me sitting there...despite the pangs of guilt I felt every 5 minutes after the incident, you still made 20th December one of the best nights for me.)

"I don't know where I'm going, I don't want to know anyway, I just need you here 'cause you are my sundown."
(Sundown - Charlie Simpson)
I don't do 'love' easily, in fact I don't do emotions easily, but not so long ago, I was absolutely infatuated with somebody and the feeling was mutual (or so they said). We'd send each other lyrics via text and this lyric was included in those conversations. I was genuinely really happy with the confusing situation we had placed ourselves in and this lyric always reminds me of that. It's that feeling of not giving a care in the world about anything else but one person and wanting them with you, always. I don't feel that easily so it's nice to be reminded of a time when I let my guard down and became human, as opposed to a robot, for a while. 

"Light up, light up as if you have a choice. Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear."
(Run - Snow Patrol)
Flash back to V Festival 2009, Oasis were supposed to be headlining but due to Liam having laryngitis (we later found out, the boys had in fact split up), Snow Patrol were bumped up to headlining slot. Being my first festival, everything seemed amazing to me but words can't explain this night. Walking back to the camp site, all I could hear around me was little groups each singing this lyric over and over again. Eventually, everybody merged into one group and we had our own little choir, guiding us back to camp. I was surrounded by my favourite people, slightly tipsy and just on cloud nine. As of yet, no festival moment has come close to this one. 

"Thinking back, thinking of you. Summertime think it was June. Yeah, think it was June."
(Dakota - Stereophonics)
I was 16, with a fake I.D and the world at my feet. I was studying everything I've always wanted to study at college. I had great friends and a really great family around me and I had so many options/choices. Cut to now and all of that is just a blur of alcohol because with fake I.D comes the feeling of maturity, that really my 16 year old self couldn't deal with. College became boring, friends were only great when they had alcohol or drugs and the most important choice was choosing between vodka or gin. 
I don't have many memories of this 'phase', apart from one. Stood, in a pub, on a pool table in a stupidly short skirt, surrounded by 40 year old men (who had obviously come in for a 'quick drink' and ended up absolutely trolleyed because 2 16 (posing as 19) year old girls had forced them to do shots) screaming these lyrics out accompanied by the jukebox. This song always makes me smile, because I've realised how far I've come since then. I like to think of the 'you' as my bad phase that I'm not living anymore, just merely thinking back on.
"That I would be good"
(That I Would Be Good - Alanis Morissette)
Short and simple really, this song reminds me of being 14. Struggling to deal with the transition between child and teenager, I was lucky to have a really cool mentor who introduced me, properly, to Alanis Morissette and this song. Suddenly, everything made sense and the struggle didn't seem like such a mountain anymore. 
(If you're reading this, like you say you do, I'm hoping you realise how thankful I am.)
"A drop in the ocean, a change in the weather, I was praying that you and me might end up together."
(Drop In The Ocean - Ron Pope)
This song and these lyrics, specifically, remind me so much my first year of college. I was so naive with ideas way above my station and I met 3 girls who completely changed my life (they know who they are). They brought me back down to Earth a little bit and every Friday night, we'd listen to this, singing our hearts out and eating pizza. I was SO happy and these lyrics just sum it up so well. Whenever I hear this song now, I'm taken back to every single Friday night we spent laughing at each other when one of us messed up the lyrics. You girls rock xxx
"Breathe me."
(Breathe Me - Sia)
This is the part of the blog which I don't read out to my Mum because not only would she probably kill me as she doesn't know, she'd also kill me whilst slating this song. These lyrics are inked on my ribs forever now. Like I said, with fake I.D comes a stupid sense of maturity and with that maturity comes the stupid idea to get a tattoo. Philosophy was boring me, my iPod was playing this song and for that moment in time, I felt like the lyrics really "captured my mood". I don't know how well I can relate to them now, but I don't really have a choice as the ink is permanent. While some people think it's really stupid of me to have got these lyrics tattooed, I'm really glad because whenever I look at my ribs, I'm reminded of who I was back then and those stupid ideas that turned into reality, making me who I am right now.

With that note, I'm done. I've just realised how long this blog actually is so if you got this far, I'm in awe. Thank you for reading. What about you guys though? Are there any lyrics that stand out for you and why? 

Monday, 7 November 2011

I realise I am awful, but...

I am SO SO SO sorry! I realise I've been slacking with my blogging but I've been so busy, I've barely had time to brush my hair.
I'm writing this on my phone, so it's going to be super short as I don't really know what I'm doing. At the moment, I'm in London, staying with my brother and his lovely girlfriend, after spending 3 days with my equally lovely best friend. It's been a weekend full of craziness, alcohol and scaring myself (that leads onto another blog which I will post as soon as I'm back to reality) silly. It's been absolutely beautiful.

I hope you're all keeping well and looking after yourselves. Stay cool, beautiful people xxx

Friday, 28 October 2011

"And what if I lose everything?" "Well, you'll still have me."

I know I've mentioned it before, but every so often I have a little moment of self-realisation and I'm reminded of just how lucky I am to have such a brilliant support system around me. When things get tough, and chocolate isn't available, I turn to those I'm closest too and I'm really blessed that within 10 minutes, the people I've just cried down the phone too have formulated a plan to boost my spirits.

I don't get upset often and I rarely cry. In fact I don't show a lot of emotion...ever, so when I do, it's a miracle. However, the past 2 weeks have been a blur of tears, headaches, sleepless nights, hungry days and Coldplay songs and I'm not ashamed to admit that I got sucked into the horrible pit of sadness that I usually only allow myself to wallow in for a few minutes everytime it comes a'knocking. Sometimes wallowing is the only solution...I mean, although it's tragic, there's nothing better than a night in with the Gilmore Girls and my two favourite men: Ben and Jerry.What I'm trying to say is that when I do allow myself to wallow, my friend's know that the metaphorical crap has really and truly hit the fan. 

So tonight, in an attempt to forget the past 2 horrific weeks, I'm going to let my hair down at a Charlie Simpson gig in my 2nd favourite city in the world: Brighton. Not much else could make that situation better, but I'm luckily going with one of my best girlfriends, Raychel. Happy times. This means I'm in for a night of socially unacceptable conversation, Nandos (mmm) and taking the casual 'perving' on hot guys to a whole new level where it becomes so far from casual, it hurts. I can't wait.
I'm not a big fan of Charlie Simpson, I was never into Busted (I was more of an ABBA girl when I was little) at the age of 7, but I am obsessed with some of his lyrics from his new album and for that reason alone, I'm happy to spend 3 hours surrounded by 13 year old girls begging him to play 'Year 3000'. The fact that he is ABSOLUTELY gorgeous is just an added bonus...

Although every single one of my friend's have been amazing recently (they are usually pretty ace, but I've just realised that more over the last couple of weeks), this is a special shout out to my crazy chick, Raychel.
Here's to tonight: too much chicken, unlimited Pepsi refills, turning an innocent look at a guy into something that could get us arrested for sexual harrassment, being surrounded by people who you spiritually belong with (let's face it, what other 21 year old likes One Direction?...need I say more?), singing along to cheesy pop songs at the top of our voices, lots of inappropriate humour, photos galore and sighs of "Oh Vick, I want to marry him" everytime you look at our boy, Charlie. 

I hope whatever you guys are upto this evening, you have fun and enjoy yourselves :) happy Friday xxx

Sunday, 23 October 2011

 "I really, really, really, really, really like you. Right now, I think I like cheesy chips more but you're a close second. I mean, I really like you."

Last night, I was laying in bed, slightly tipsy after spending the night drinking my emotions away (I had 2 glasses of wine...I don't have many emotions and I'm a really cheap date) when I got a phone call. It was 2am, I was attempting to brave the Arctic conditions my bedroom seems to have acquired since my radiator broke and the last thing I was expecting was a phone call. I mean, it's 2am? Seriously...

The phone call mainly consisted of a very drunk person rambling about nothing but cheesy chips, more alcohol and how cold it was and truth be told, I wasn't paying much attention. Not because I wasn't interested in the conversation, but because the person was making very little sense. However, about 3 minutes into the conversation, I heard something that made perfect sense.
(Let it be known that I'm an absolute sucker for a drunken text/Facebook message/phone call. After a few drinks, I'm usually the one sending them/cringing in the morning when I realise that I've accidentally text my Mum something quite inappropriate.)

Here I was, freezing my bum off at 2.14 in the morning, listening to this drunk person confess their feelings towards me and I'm not even going to lie, I loved every single moment of it. Even if I did come second to a portion of cheesy chips. It's nice to know somebody is thinking of you whilst they drink their body weight in alcohol.
Hearing those words drunkenly slurred into the phone was kind of lovely, in all honesty, but I'm left a bit confused now the alcohol isn't part of the picture. How do we handle this kind of thing in the morning?

There's that saying: "drunken words are sober thoughts", but what if the words were just spurred on by the 5th pint this person had quite obviously enjoyed? I mean, I have no reason to not trust alcohol (apart from that horrible moment we shared when it had me throwing up in my friend's kitchen and getting a Halloween party shut down) but I'm a little bit dubious as to whether I should put my faith in it right now.

I was the (slightly) sober one in this instance but why do I feel like I should regret hearing those words? Do I address what was said or do I leave it and when the night comes up in conversation, shall I skip past that sentence being mentioned and jokily taunt this person with embarrassing stories about confessing their love for a takeaway food?

I'll tell you something for nothing, I don't know how this person is feeling today and whether they even remember confessing their love for both me and carbs, but I'm starting to wish that I was the drunk one last night. Things are so much easier whn there's not much else but alcohol in your body. Well alcohol and a whole lotta love for bad foods and me (in that order, apparently.).

Tuesday, 18 October 2011

Hi, I'm Vicky and I'm addicted to Gaga.

I should have guessed that Lady Gaga was a pretty big deal when the queue to see her perform at V Festival 2009 resulted in masses of people trying to jump the 60ft gate that closed off the arena entrance. People were risking their lives to see this chick perform and back then, I had no clue as to why they'd be silly enough to do that. As I stood there watching a man attempt to push past a 6ft security guard, who looked as if he ate 3 grown men for breakfast, just to get within Gaga's air space, I couldn't help but think "what the heck is this all about? She's just a singer, right?"

Oh, how wrong could I have been? 2 years since that moment, I've seen Gaga dominate the hit 40 UK chart show week after week, sell out arena tours within seconds and cover every single magazine & newspaper sold in WHSmith. Up until now, I've refused to allow myself to get swept up in the craze known as "Gaga-itus" simply because I assumed she was everything I was against.
Her quirky pop vocals, slightly cringey lyrics (c'mon, I mean "let's have some fun, this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick" - amazing and factual but just a REALLY cringey way of saying "I fancy you and want to make beautiful babies with you") and THAT meat dress all just screamed "GIVE ME ATTENTION" and for this reason alone, I stepped well away from the platform when I heard that the Gaga train would be stopping at my station.

However, after a conversation with my Mum where she declared that she thought she had better music taste than me and was therefore 'cooler' than me (baring in mind, my Mum is a huge JLS fan...), I decided to try to prove her wrong.
Her argument was that I refuse to listen to anything that isn't by The Beatles/John Lennon, "punk bands that sing about piercing themselves & drugs" or songs which don't take me back, metaphorically, to the 60's. Apparently, according to my 'really cool' Mother, if a song doesn't transport me straight to Woodstock, I instantly write it off. It kills me to admit it but I knew that deep down, she was right.
Knowing that unless I gave 'chart music' a listen, my Mum would hold the fact that she was theoretically cooler than me over my head forever, I decided to give Gaga a go. Famous last words...

The first step I took was reading an interview by one of my favourite writer's, Caitlin Moran. A lot was hanging over this interview, including my pride and dignity if I had to turn to my Mum and say "you're music taste belongs to a 50 year old man."
I read Moran's interview with baited breath and as I reached the end of the piece, I finally saw what millions of people over the globe see in Gaga.
It just so happened that the day after I read the interview, Gaga would be appearing on Johnathon Ross' show. My 2nd step was in place. I sat down that night and watched the interview with my eyes wide open. A total force to be reckoned with, Gaga, decked out in a mint green ensemble, entered the studio accompanied by a sheep named Kevin. What a way to make an entrance.
 I watched the entire interview, and performance, astounded. Through the media, I've always assumed Gaga would be pretentious and so far removed from reality that she may as well live on Mars, but I was fortunately proved wrong. I mean, she actually has a sense of humour? Amazing.

Since then, I've watched her HBO special documenting 'The Monster Ball', watched a 2 hour long interview entitled "When Google Went Gaga" and read numerous interviews. What started out as a challenge to prove my Mum wrong has now turned into a bit of an obsession. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of the music - don't hold that against me, I just can't deal with the 'poppiness' of it all - but I'm suddenly a huge fan of Lady Gaga's mind. Suddenly, I understood why those crazy people back at V Festival 2009 were so dedicated to seeing her perform live.

She's not just a singer, she's a force of nature. Music is everything to Lady Gaga and the fame & attention she's received on the back of her music is an added bonus, although she insists that she has no idea just how famous she is. What may seem like the craziest decision ever is actually a mere tactic in one of Gaga's magnificent plans to promote her music further. She's sad that she finds inspiration in the likes of David Bowie and John Lennon, two of my musical heroes and the name 'Lady Gaga' originates from the Queen song, Radio Gaga (obviously...). Putting the meat dress aside for a minute, here's a girl who knows what she wants and isn't going to stop until she gets her mitts on it.

Yes, she may wear provocative clothing but we see that in the high street these days. Her lyrics maybe a bit tongue in cheek but that's nothing that we don't see on TV (where, actually, we're probably witnesses to something more than just tongue in cheek) and yes, maybe her 'fashion' has kept the "What NOT to Wear" style columns in business for a long time. I mean, her outfits aren't really supermarket friendly, are they?
But despite all of this, she's actually a really great role model for young, ambitious girls everywhere.

She's kept her private life exactly that: private and hasn't made money on selling stories to the tabloids. It just really is all about music to her.

With that, I'm happy to announce that I'm a fully fledged 'Little Monster' and will happily "put my paws up" to that. Plus, she's even covered a John Lennon song and done it quite a bit of justice. For that, she's got my respect forever:

Thursday, 13 October 2011

London bound, baby.

I'm all packed, I've reserved a seat on the 17.57 Eastbourne to London Victoria train and I've got 'Bridget Jones' Diary' by Helen Fielding to keep me company during the 2 hour journey. I can't wait.

One downside to my little adventure is that I won't have my laptop with me, so I won't be able to check out all your wonderful blogs while I'm away. SADface. However, as soon as I'm back, I'm going to obsessively check every single one of your blogs to make sure I haven't missed out on anything.

I'm super excited to have some time to chill out in London, as I usually have a itinerary so jam-packed, I never really get time to explore. I'm going to try and write a fair bit too, which'll be weird as I'll have to handwrite everything due to my lack of technology. I'm also pretty excited about hanging out with my best friend. It's been 2 months since I saw her and her family so this visit couldn't come any sooner.

I don't know when I'm next going to be able to blog as I'm not sure when I'll be heading home but stay safe and keep bloggin', kids xxx

Wednesday, 12 October 2011

"Confess to yourself in the deepest hour of the night whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. Dig deep into your heart, where the answer spreads its roots in your being, and ask yourself solemnly, Must I write?" - Rilke's Letter's to a Young Poet

Monday, 10 October 2011

“By seeing London, I have seen as much of life as the world can show”

There's nothing I love more than receiving the confirmation e-mail (I know, I know, I'm a geek) from Southern Railway, telling me that a seat on the 17.03pm Eastbourne to London Victoria has been reserved for little ol' me. It's not just the confirmation e-mail that excites me, it's everything about my adventure from the moment I step out of my front door.
Even when the train is jam-packed with busy commuters, business men in sharp suits who insist on shouting at their phone/laptop/iPad and screaming children, I can't help but find peace in the crazy 90 minute train journey.
Perhaps it's the thought of escaping my ever so tiny town and causing havoc in the 'Big Smoke' for a few days or just the fact that I get to spend quality time with my best friend and her family, but I'm at my happiest as soon as the voiceover on the train states "the next station is Gatwick Airport". I know that home isn't too far away then.

Baring my geeky tendencies in mind, you can only imagine the size of my smile when I received that confirmation e-mail tonight. Because, as of Thursday, I'm disappearing off to London.
The best thing about this adventure? I booked a single ticket. I have no idea when I'm going to be coming back and I couldn't be happier.

I get to spend quality time with the girl (and her family) who has been my backbone for the past 16 years. I get to sit on the sofa I grew up on, in the house that's felt like my 2nd home since I was 3 years old, and watch music documentaries, sports and Gilmore Girls until my eyes are bleeding. I get to eat the grimiest takeaway ever, that's only available in London, and I'm going to savour every bite. I get to jump on random tubes and spend my days exploring different parts of London until my feet can't take anymore walking. I'm going to sit by Tower Bridge, people watch and write until it's time to drag myself back to that sofa. Most of all, I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

A lot of negativity has been flying around over the past couple of weeks and an event that took place last night reminded me that although we're not here for a long time, we're here to have a good time. Hence why I'm packing my bags and running away to the District/Circle/Victoria line.

Not everybody is lucky enough to have a place to run too when things get tough, or a best friend like mine who I know will be waiting on my arrival with a cup of tea, a hug and some anecdote from 1998 when we thought we were the Spice Girls, but I'm fortunate enough to have both and I'm really grateful for that.

With that, I'm left wondering where you guys go when you're feeling a little lost. Do you have somewhere, or somebody, that makes you feel instantly better? A particular landmark, person or place that you seek solace from? Hit me back guys, I'm interested to know whether I'm the only crazy one who thinks Tower Bridge can solve my problems.

Sunday, 9 October 2011

Facts #3

I've just ended a 6 year relationship that was a pretty big deal and surprisingly, I've yet to fall to emotional pieces. I've realised that I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was. Festivals are basically my favourite thing ever. 'Parachutes' - Charlie Simpson is my current song obsession and I have a really big crush on him right now. I'm worried I'm not a good enough 18 year old; I don't like clubbing, unless I'm with my best girls, I hate really loud music and the idea of hooking up with somebody on a dancefloor makes me cringe. I've just admitted the one thing I swore would never come out of my mouth. Wine, cigarettes and Cadbury's Twirl Bites are my current obsessions. I'm going to go to bed and cry to songs about love...(I might be joking).

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Today has been a bit of a weird one, if I'm honest with you. The picture above says it all.
Some days, I just want to grab my purse, iPod, phone (and charger) and a picture of this small, but beautiful, town and hop on a train and never come back. I don't feel settled here, I feel like I'm waiting for something BIG to happen...but I've been waiting for that for the past 7 years.

Happy posts will resume tomorrow, I just had to let it be known that I have emotions and despite people thinking I'm a robot/cyborg type, I am human. Kind of.

Monday, 3 October 2011

Even the strong need someone to tell them it's all right.

When bad news gets delivered to my door, I eat. I eat anything that isn't nailed down and God help it if it looks as though it can be eaten with either chocolate sauce or custard. Over the past few weeks, bad news has been a regular visitor and with that, my trips to the shop to buy calorie laden foods have become more and more frequent.
However, after stepping on the scales and realising that perhaps the 3rd batch of triple chocolate brownies went straight to my thighs, instead of my heart, I knew that when bad news knocked this weekend, the confectionery aisle of my local supermarket was not the place to find my solace.
So instead of reaching for yet another tub of ice-cream, I reached for my phone. I, stupidly, tweeted about the bad news and luckily for me, I'm followed by some absolute diamonds because within seconds, I had DMs, tweets and texts asking what was wrong.
Now, I try to not take my friend's (or followers) for granted, as I don't think that's healthy, but something about the amount of love sent my way last night made me realise that I really am incredibly lucky to have such wonderful people acting as my safety net.
In honour of my "safety net", I've set out on this blog post. I'm absolutely shocking with emotions/feelings and the thought of openly telling somebody just how much they mean to me gives me the heebie-jeebies which is why I rarely do it. However, I just thought a quick, soppy blog post could sum up what I'm unable to do without making myself sick from too much toe-curling cheese:

To my wonderful safety net, thank you for making me fearless of falling. I know I'll be alright as long as I have you to catch me. I'm not scared when you're around xxx

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

Let me just clear this up: I LOVE MEN. I'm a big fan of their delicious smelling aftershaves, the way they're usually taller than me and their ability to transport me from reality to fantasy within a blink of an eye. I'd love to say that the latter is some sort of sexual reference, but fortunately for you guys (unfortunately for me), it isn't. What I'm talking about is something that sparked off a very interesting conversation with one of my best girlfriend's and what's left me feeling a little disheartened.

Earlier today, I sat down with Kath and like it does between most 18+ year old's, the conversation quickly turned to the opposite sex. We spoke about being swept off our feet, the butterflies you get when you meet somebody you can't imagine living without (and the caterpillars that come when you meet somebody you'd rather live without) and the words, the promises, the "I can't live without you" and "you're so perfect for me". We shamelessly admitted that we've both fallen for all of the things mentioned above and we both cringed when we realised that we'd both been taken for absolute mugs. "I can't live without you" - really? Where are you now then?
Don't get me wrong, I realise I'm 18 and the last thing I expect is a full blown romance, but I sort of expected these things to last until I'm at least dressed.

This conversation not only made me realise I should probably re-consider who I believe after a glass (or 4) of wine, but that I'm not the only one to fall for such words. I've watched every episode of Sex and the City and I've seen those 4 women bitch about men and their incapabilities until they're blue in the face but it never occured to me that I'd be in the same boat as them.
My Mum definitely didn't warn me that one day, I'd fall for somebody telling me I was their everything. Not going to lie, I don't think she thought it'd ever happen, she's seen me in the morning, and I don't think anything can ease the pain of realising you've fallen for a lie. I mean, carrying around that kind of title is lovely - imagine introducing yourself to people as "Hi, I'm Vicky and I'm XXX's everything" - but when you realise that besides you, this dude also has a fiancee and 2 kids..."everything" starts to lose it's meaning.

It took about 20 minutes of Kath using calming words, 2 cups of very strong tea and lots of chocolate to stop me from hysterically crying; not because I realised that I'd fallen for the most common lie (Kath and I googled it) but because how would I know who and what to trust in the future?

Men say that women are emotional, clingy and hormonal but have they ever stopped to think that maybe, it's because of them that we can be like that? I'm not trying to generalise or tarnish every fella with the same brush, because I realise that there are some lovely ones out there and I apologise to every single one of my ex's who brought me nothing but happiness, but I swear on John Lennon's grave that if I receive another text saying "PMT?" from a guy, I will happily throw my phone in their face.

I'm not expecting every lovely word somebody says to me to be a promise, heck I'm not even expecting these words to be said. But if they are going to be uttered, I beg that the promises last longer than the time it takes for you to rip my clothes off.