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."