I was lucky enough to come across a fantastic blog the other day in which a girl who is really into flea markets has given herself a budget of 365 American pounds to dress herself for a year by scouring flea markets and re-working dresses she finds there. I saw a brilliant post where she took a faded lavender nightgown, dyed it and reworked it into a stunning dress worthy of London Fashion Week. This is a worthy example of how re-working a dress to make something far cooler and most importantly more suited to yourself; the dress I am wearing today is an example of why one should be careful of assuming DIY dress design is not for everyone.
When I was head bridesmaid at my best friend’s wedding her incredibly talented mother made my bridesmaid dress from a vintage Vogue pattern from the 1950s. Being involved in the process of creating a dress is a brilliant experience. You might get the occasional pin in an unexpected place but I got to watch as what started as a pair of old cotton curtains got turned into a fantastic fitted silk dress with a tiered petticoat which was carefully stitched and crafted by my friend’s mother. It was an absolute honour being maid of honor and having a dress which wasn’t being worn by every other bridesmaid around the country added to this privilege. Dress making is tragically a dying art in the majority of households. Back in the day mothers used to make the majority of their children’s clothing; my grandmother would knit us cardigans for school and indeed one of my friends received matching booties, hats and cardigans for her baby from a wonderful elderly friend of hers.
The difficulty with dress making and indeed clothes making is that with clothes available now so cheaply there is no incentive to spend considerable amounts of money or what is more important for most of us these days, our time, in creating something from nothing but material, needle and a love of design. In our time then it makes far more sense to take the clothes we have, particularly those which have gotten a little frayed, loose, tight or faded and create something new. Stitch and Bitch classes are at large all around the country and for my Manchester followers I know of one taking place at Fuel Cafe on a Sunday. What you have to be aware of though is that re-working a dress is not as easy as taking a pair of scissors to a demure hemlines and turning it into something suitable only for showing one’s smalls.
This danger is I am sorry to say illustrated by the dress I am wearing today which was purchased from a girl on eBay. Though I thought it looked quite cute when I brought it I failed to look carefully enough at the hem of the dress. Bare in mind, a bad hemlines and stitching will ruin an outfit and can make one look crumpled and cheap. Whether you buy your clothing from Primark or Prada make sure you check the quality of the stitching on the hemlines, cost is not necessarily a guarantee of quality.
When this little frock arrived I was a tad worried for two reasons; first it was not as I had originally thought a hand-made frock, it was brought by its previous owner from Bay Trading and re-mastered into a foxy little bustier dress/ boob tube. It is undeniably sweet looking and reminds me of Manga but has unfortunately been cut so short it would only be suitable for someone who is around the 5ft mark. At 5ft 5″ I am hardly tall but on me, as the boy takes great pain in pointing out it looks as though it is designed for a 13-year-old girl.
As I packed in a hurry last night and had not previously tried it on I only realised the unsuitability of the outfit this morning. As with the T-Shirt dress of last Sunday I felt as though once chosen I have no choice but to wear a dress till the day’s end and ignoring the boy and struggling into a pair of form-fitting 60 denier black tights and my life saving M & S T-Shirt I bit the bullet and went in search of a full length mirror. To be fair it has been a reasonably nice choice and once I got used to having to keep my back to the wall when in company I started to warm to it.
It is so brilliantly cheerful even though I was woken four hours after i got to sleep by the enthusiastic alarm clock that is the best friend’s son, I felt rather chirpy. After I had gotten up and persuaded him to wake the boy as well we spent the day pleasantly telling stories, taking it in turns to snooze and fighting off the hoards at M & S to get the dine in deal. In spite of my disheveled experience me and the boy had a lovely dinner date together and got to relish in a rare opportunity for it to be jut the two of us to dine. When you are in a long distance relationship and both have a dream you want to pursue the time you do get to see each other can I find at times be rather stressful as you are so concerned about fitting a weeks worth of dates into one weekend; we try to see our friends; go out to gigs and restaurants and movies all the while trying to make sure we look our best and don’t end up having a tiff and ending the weekend on a bad note. Perhaps because of this then it is when we get to just chill out on our own together, catching up on the week behind us lazy eyed and unkempt with my panda eyes and his weekend stubble that we often have the most fun together. When you get a night to relax in it can sometimes be the nicest thing in the world, even if you are disheveled and sleepy it can be really great slowing down with someone especially with someone with whom the clock is always ticking on your time together.
In a recent interview, Travis Bonilla, pseudonym Quail Lungs, tells of a New Year bender which left him with a two day hangover not even weed could cure. From the quality of the recordings which range from near inaudible to a whining assault on your senses you figure these tracks were made the wrong end of such a night.
Dum Dadadumb starts off well with some winter warming inspired lyrics but falls apart half way through and by the line, “If I had your refrain, I would sing it again and again” you find yourself wishing he lacks the refrain and that an end to the track is in sight.
You Can’t Believe In Anything, You Can’t Believe in Nothing, has a brilliant three minute build up to the lyrics but unfortunately what he delivers is a verse which is out of time and disappointingly disjointed. You want to convince yourself this is deliberate but the end is so lazy you wonder if he just gave up or fell asleep playing.
Quail Lungs debut single is heart breaking; not because of his groaning gravelly voice or his pleading desperate lyrics; but because you feel that with just a little more work it could have been so much more. His music echoes Bob Dylan and more recently Ray La Montage but lacks the lyrical genius and the careful thought needed for timeless tunes.
Release Date 25/01/2010
When I started the 365 dresses section of the blog it was without too much thought about the content of each post. I knew it would contain a few images of the dress I chose for each day and information about the hows, wheres and when’s it had been acquired; but originally I had no plans to merge various life experiences into each day. When talking with some friends at dinner the other day we got on to the subject of the various posts and the two who have followed mentioned their favorite days had been the one’s not focused on fashion but the more personal.
To their mind, a blogger who was open about a health condition which many people know little of or who some people are perhaps a little wary of was still a relatively rare thing. Fear not, I have no plans to suddenly make the entire focus of each and every blog a detailed account of my current mental health. There are far better blogs that cover this very well for there to be any need and besides I enjoy tippity tap typing about giants, musicians and technological assault to stop.
What I have considered however is the charity aspect of this feature. Aware of having been a little vague so far on how the dresses will be sold or for whom any money raised will go to I have now decided to give any money raised from the blog to a mental health charity. I am looking into who this will be but will hopefully announce details within the next couple of weeks. In the meantime any suggestions of mental health charities people hold in high regard would be much appreciated. I will start selling the dresses directly through the site and all the money will go directly to the charity or I will start-up an eBay shop from which they will be available to buy.
I have also come to this decision because I really would like this project to last the distance. I for one really enjoy writing every day and I know when I am going through my own bad patches it is really helpful to be able to read other peoples experiences to know you are not the only one going through it or who has been through it. One thing which struck me as I trawled through a number of blogs about bipolar and mental illness was how suddenly a lot of them ended and how infrequent posts were. As much as I at times don’t feel able to write a post especially if I am having a gray day I try to force myself because some people have been kind enough to tell me they read the blog every day and there is a large part of me which doesn’t like letting people down. Yesterday on the way out the door to see my best friend on her birthday at her home where we were due to play Monopoly I had a very foolish but a very real raging argument with my parents.
I am so lucky I have been able to return home over the years in times of financial struggle or when I just need a bit of extra support and it pains me to argue because I find it hard to check my temper especially when the subject is of my illness. The giant struggles at times to understand the ins and outs of the condition and to be fair to him I am not far in front of him myself. We all ended up having a silly tiff over my driving and whether I was ready to get back behind the wheel following my rather dramatic VW cartwheels back in December. The whole run in left me so upset more than anything because I felt as though I was behaving like a teenager, all over emotional and misunderstood. The difficulty is however that a lot of the time I do feel it can be near impossible to explain to people how it feels to be stuck in a mood, how awful it is when you can’t just shake something off, when you wake one morning and just don’t feel as though you will ever want to get out of bed again. I feel misunderstood because I don’t understand myself and if this blog ever even makes one person feel a bit more normal, or helps a parent, lover or friend understand what someone close to them is going through or just as importantly makes people giggle and gives them a pretty picture to look at then it will be worth doing every day of 2010.
Today’s dress was another eBay buy and this one was 0.99p. It looked amazing on the floor but I am not really overly keen on the shape on me as I think I look a bit boxy and perhaps as a result of the new tablets I have taken a bit too chunky round the waist. As I did not wish to disappoint you too much with the pictures, which were taken by my best friend Katharine after perhaps a little more rose than professional photographs would drink prior to a shoot I decided to upload a special picture taken by myself of one of the most fashion forward four-year olds I know. Ladies and gentlemen please see below for the début of my best friend’s boy, in his own personal creation of pyjymas and post christmas inspired tinsel pashmina. He is a genius.
Emerging out of the recession with more false starts than Great Britain is the grand opening of Sound Control Manchester. You may have heard it had launched a couple of times back last year, but as these openings either didn’t go to plan or were not quite as spectacular as hoped, much like a bride on her wedding night telling her husband he is her first, Sound Control have decided these other nights didn’t really count. I imagine they are hoping anyone who attended the other launches was too tanked to remember it or have now convinced themselves that even though the music was better than normal, they had been at 42s after all.
Entering the club the first thing I feel aware of is the nerves of the staff and owners. They have embarked on an impressive publicity campaign and delaying the grand opening does seem a wise step. The venue looks superb; with a bar lined with pretty red lights and bathroom facilities far lovelier than anything you’ll find at Manchester’s longer running indie nights. There is paper and soap provided for a start.
Though they have expressed a desire to keep the building in its “raw industrial state” the end look is in places more rushed than raw and as I sit down on the wonderfully springy wooden chairs to take in the place I realise the smell I first noticed when I came in is sawdust which litters the lush tables.
There is some disappointment from people who have come here on a promise of stomping ska and garage in the basement club when it is closed only an hour after it opens as there are not enough people to fill the floor. Most people however, myself included, are quite content with the other floors; a bar area where one can listen to music whilst chatting with friends and a fantastic upstairs room which has a fantastic pa and music pit which when combined with its wonderful mini podiums for chilling out and acting up on could well rival The Academy as a live music venue.
The night is everything a music lover and a dance floor mover would want. The playlist is fantastic; whilst unafraid of old Indie classics for the sentimental, these songs do not define the night. There are plenty of new tunes and an impressive line up is advertised of live music to come, including a visit from The Drums a popular post-punk group from New York early in February.
Sound Control is besides Oxford Road station and as a result the launch attracts some interesting traffic. As well as indie boys and girls, some of whom tell me they were heading to 5th Avenue but thought they would give it a go and were pleased they had, there are middle aged men and even a couple of cowgirls. They all seem united by their appreciation of having found a good music night with decent beer on tap as well as drinks offers. At £3 entry with a flyer and £1.50 for Carlsberg, Alco pops and spirit and mixers you can leave feeling quite tipsy with change from a ten-pound-note.
Formerly a music shop where legendary artists brought the tools of their trade; Sound Control will soon be known as a venue where musicians inspired by such acts will come to play. This is, The Launch Night of Sound Control Manchester, and for the sake of indie-music lovers everywhere I hope it will be the launch of many a great night to come.
For more info and line-ups go to Sound Control
Today I had a wonderfully productive day. ALthough I usually do a lot from day-to-day I also find that I waste an awful energy just faffing and flitting from one project to another. I am crazily organised about what needs to get done but I still continue to do it in an order which makes no sense to anyone bt myself. Yesterday though I was able to focus my mind completely on one task at a time and as a result I was able to get two blog postings done; my sincere apologies for the delay I have had a topsy-turvy week; write two single reviews for citylifer’s website and an article on Manchester’s newest night out, Sound Control. As I had done so well I was about to take my mother’s advice and just “take it easy for a change”, in spite of the fact that this is a concept which I find rather alien and quite frankly somewhat frightening. As I settled down to catch up on my weekly TV treat, (I can’t watch any more than one programme at a time, I get confused and lose the plot and asking what’s going on every five minutes is a quality not many people appreciate whilst relaxing) which was Big Brother as it happens I received a txt from my mother saying she was staying for a fascinating evening lecture and would I mind making the dinner for the giant.
Usually I would have no problem with doing so. The giant likes to think he can cook and most of our family friends think he is a chef of such respectability that he no longer has to prove it by preparing anything but the truth is he would struggle to put together a tuna toasty if it wasn’t for one of us running around after him finding impossible ingredients and wiping up potential bio-hazards. The difficulty with her asking me to cook last night was that as well as having to catch up on two episodes of Big Brother, darn social life, I had also suffered a bit of rejection with regard to the dress project and was feeling a little in need of some love and care myself and as the giant is usually a bit of a grump about what food he eats I knew I wold have to conform to the usual meat and two veg speciality. I am a creative cook and enjoy either following strange recipes with lots of new fangled types of vegetables and pulses you can only get in health food shops or just stirring a load of leftovers together, sprinkling it with balsamic and mozzarella and calling it something foreign. Admittedly this does mean I have produced some memorable culinary catastrophes but generally my food goes down well and I resent cooking dull food.
I forced myself to get on with it however and abandoning the delights of Davina entering the house; I am not even embarrassed of how much I have enjoyed it, I stopped watching over four years ago but this year’s has been brilliant; I got in with making a chicken and mushroom pie, some peas and mash. The giant was still not happy as I do not think he appreciates his wife having become a part time student. He found it difficult enough when we asked if we could go and laze about for three years and thought he was finished with all that jazz when my brother started work. He showed his crotchetiness by asking whether these were some new fangled type of peas I had made, they were petit pois, and by waiting until the last possible moment to sit down for his dinner.
I mentioned to him before dinner that I had a bad day and as is customary he screws up his face and tries to take it in but worry gets the better of him and as he is terribly English he struggled to engage in such emotive talk. I took pity on him and switched the conversation to the business of getting dresses and the possibility of expanding myself as a freelancer. This cheered him up greatly as he has a fantastic business mind and is so good at arguing his point without ever raising his voice that he would have made a fantastic barrister had he not become involved in the car industry. He was so much more comfortable advising me on best practice and with whom I should be talking to that he even remembered to thank me for the tea and did the washing up.
I worry that prehaps’ today’s dress was a bad choice and this is the reason for the rejection or giving that the dress is quite frankly fabulous I think perhaps it may have just been that I have to accept the fact that even though the project is close to my heart not everyone will feel as enthusiastic about it as I do. It was ridiculously cold today and to visit Harborough town I was forced to layer up to a degree which made me look rather round. With a grey cashmere polo neck which the boy has by accidentally shrunk and a pink blazer and thick tights I think I just about made it work for winter but really this is a Summer creation belted and worn with killer heels being as it is a luxurious combination of silk and thin leather panelling. I do not know if it was the result of going to contact the creator of a bipolar website or comment on the forum and finding I could not or that I got my consultation write-up through in the post but in spite of today’s knock back I am feeling incredibly positive about this project. I am thinking I may have decided to go with one charity, a mental health one and though I don’t want to get too excited about it I will be trying to arrange something with them which would mean 365 dresses can run throughout 2010.
The most common thing I tend to hear when I emerge from a bout of depression or even mania is, “Oh Ellie, I’m so sorry why didn’t you call me. The truth of the matter is that I have brilliant friends; they are understanding and supportive and very hard to scare these days after coming to accept the fact that from time to time my life resembles an episode of Hollyoaks on speed without the hair dye or homicide. The problem is that when I get low I go into near hibernation from the world and the oddest thing is that even though one might feel completely lonely and desperate for company when it seems like the hardest thing in the world to pick up the phone or even answer it to concerned loved ones. I find myself in a haze of darkness and I manage to convince myself it is better no one see me this way if they think less of me as a person or more importantly if I bring them down. I love-making people giggle and although I am always seeking feedback there are times when criticism and rejection crushes me completely and can leave me near inconsolable for days at a time.
Sometimes, as with last night I can force myself into going out in spite of being low and when this happens I rarely regret it. Last night one of my friends conducted a mini textual assault on me which convinced me to leave the house and go and meet her and some other old school friends for a meal at Zizis to raise my spirits. It is one of the few restaurant chains to have made any mark on Market Harborough and continues to be packed thanks to voucher offers and the buzz these create about the place. You may have to wait an age for your food and they may give you Shandy when you ask for Chardonnay but they do so with a smile and you don’t mind waiting because everyone is in the same boat and no one makes a fuss if they are recognised doing so by their fellow Harborians. Making a fuss is not one of the characteristics of Harborians who generally prefer to wait till they have left the offending place to moan of poor service than complaining to the propertiers themselves, as this would be impolite.
Last night, or yesterday’s dress even was not entirely well thought out as I was travelling; the zips have a tendency to edge their way up or down without one noticing which is never a good idea when you are sitting opposite bored businessman with nothing else to look at. It worked out quite well however as it was nice to wear something a bit dressy out for dinner and when combined with my Mother’s fur bag (faux as far as I’m aware) felt just fancy enough. My friend, budding filmmaker Master Williams took the photos and assumed some rather arty angles for the images.
I wish I was able to say yes to things more often when I am feeling down, it usually does me good to get away from my thoughts which when I’m down are negative and sluggish but when I’m high are a constant stream of ideas and bright energy which is hard to ignore. In the past when I have been especially ill I have even gone so far as to turn off my phone, too afraid of what people will say if they know how low I have sunk. In spite of the social tools we now have at our disposal it is surprisingly easy to turn oneself off from it all. There is always however the hard-core friends who refuse to take silence lying down and continue to find new and inventive ways of trying to get through to your true self and the friend who they love so well. It is not that these friends or indeed family are necessarily better friends than the others who feel it is better to give one space, it is just they are quite relentless and both less afraid of and less willing to be ignored.
The difficulty of depression is that you do often cut yourself off from the things you love, I do not really understand why this is but it’s probably for the same reason you find yourself staying in bed when deep down you know the sunshine will lift you even if you just open the curtains. When I start to emerge from these spells I can all too often be plunged back into one by my own thoughts of how selfishly I have behaved not to have been around for my friends. It is frustrating because it is not as though I do not want to be there for them, as I have said they are brilliant and without them I would never have this far nor have had such a wonderful life, it just seems easier to hide when you are not feeling yourself and are too ashamed to let anyone know. A good friend of mine who also suffers from the blues once told me that she knew I had had a bad patch because I had been out of touch. She did not prod for too many details she just accepted it as it was and was pleased I was getting back on track. At the time and still to this day her forgiveness for my lack of contact and her understanding why meant so much to me and it allowed me to start turning on once more.
After returning from a hard night’s work reviewing the launch of Manchester’s new indie club night (yes another one, but this one is actually quite good) I was struck down by the blues. It was frustrating because it was entirely unexpected. I had been out partying for goodness sake and me and the boy, or C-Dawg as he would apparently now like to be known, had a really great time. In spite of his usual dread of the dance floor he had conceded to stand around the edge with me as I acted like a female dance yo-yo. I kept spinning and jiggly bopping away off his, occasionally shimmering further afield but regularly returning to his side for a smooch. We had chatted away to near strangers, drank cheap beer and “own-brand vodka” which sounds cool and quite prohibition but is actually just a fancy way of seeing cheaper than the good stuff and bearable if you’re already a tad tipsy. In spite of all these nightly pleasures however there is no denying the sorry mess I crumpled into on returning from our night out.
I would like to blame the tragic legging lovelies I spotted in mass; most were wearing them with flats which is a guaranteed way of increasing canklage potential. Thankfully the amount of smoke did help to hide from view any front rumps but it could not prevent me spotting a new take on the trend involving cheap dimante sown sporadically over the offending article. It would not be fair though however tempting to blame the poor souls, they are only young and perhaps it is a way of attracting indie men of which I am sadly unfamiliar with.
We got through the door and all of a sudden I couldn’t stop crying. The only serious upset I can attribute these unexpected tears to was the thought of leaving Manchester the following morning. It is difficult when your heart is in one place but your home is in another. Though I am lucky enough to have good friends in both cities I often feel isolated and alone when I am in Market Harborough. Though I try to keep myself busy with no regular employment it is easy to spend the day alone and even with blogs to write and dresses to wear the hours leave you craving company and buzz of the office.
I fell in love with Manchester the moment I arrived for an open day at The University; when I moved there months later I would walk around the city with my eyes to the sky in awe of the architecture and the tall buildings, stopping off in a café for a coffee just looking out and lapping up the novelty of it all. Even after deferring my first year, mainly due to my first episode of depression, I still craved a return to the city. It has a buzz and a warmth which just seems accepting of all who arrive and I was hooked upon it even before I met the boy who loves it as much as me.
One of the difficulties with depression, particularly I find with my own is that a lot of the time it tends to creep up on you so fast you are left wondering when it began and more importantly why. I remember one friend asking me again and again what it was that was making me miserable, she was convinced there was something we could do about it if only I could find the cause but sadly it doesn’t always work that way. Some depressions I have experienced have been the result of specific incidents or situations. I had a particularly bad bout of depression after working as an Events Manager for a boss whose behaviour bordered on passive cruelty. I also suffered badly after a messy break up but the majority of episodes I have had have just come upon me for apparently no reason at all. I used to spend hours trying to connect the dots of how I had fallen into it only to give up frustrated that no matter how much I tried to trace it back I could find no cause. Nowadays I try not to obsess too much. It is wasted energy and unfortunately when it comes upon me I don’t tend to have too much too spare.
The dress I am wearing is another eBay purchase which is originally from Miss Selfridge. It is lovely looking but was a pain to get into, the boy had to aid me and I’m sure his poor house mate had to close his ears when he came home for his lunch thinking we were at afternoon delight and not clothing related recreation. It says it is a size 10 but I can only hope it was classed as a size ten a couple of decades ago when a size ten was the modern-day equivalent of a size eight or even six; either that or I better get myself on the treadmill.
One of the difficulties of writing a new blog every day is when you plan to write on a particular subject events will usually conspire to prevent one from doing so. I began the morning thinking it would be appropriate to do a blog on the wonder of YSL touche éclat after looking in the mirror and being greeted with a god awful blemish, it wasn’t long however before I realised it was just a stain on the mirror and after spending an hour on the boy’s new toy, the wiiii I thought this would be an appropriate topic as in spite of the only game I have ever been addicted to being The Sims, I must admit I was rather taken with the various sports and surprised to find out I am a terrific archer. All of my plans were abandoned however when I came across what is surely th most ridiculous statement in fashion to date; joggers are now in vogue. Well I was not about to let such a ridiculous statement go unchallenged and began to scribble furiously. I was just about to post when the boy returned out of breath and babbling about some scally wags who had apprehended him on his way home from the post office. I must admit it my jogging bottom outrage I had neglected to notice he had been gone longer than expected and felt rather guilty.
The naughty boys had turned around to face the boy who had wondered along behind them happily whistling The Shins. Perhaps they were not fans of his musical melody or maybe they are just big fat meanies but either way they turned around and assuming a rather aggressive stance asked him what his problem might be. The boy admits he was rather bemused by the two of them seeing as they were all about fifteen and though tall looked rather malnutritioned. Luckily however he remembered being lectured by both myself and his father on how the best thing to do in such situations is a combination of fight and more importantly flight. As they were not ready to let him pass and responded to his reasoning that he was just out to post his brother’s birthday card by telling him that they were going to, “Rob him up, yeah!”
Well broken down Britain connotations aside I believe the bard would have turned in anguish in his resting place had he heard this grammatically flawed statement. The boy luckily had not been carrying his wallet or prized i-phone and when they refused to move he responded to their cries of “What you gonna do about it, yeah?” by shoving the nearest scoundrel hard in the chest and running a fast as he could. Luckily a diet of crisps, chocolate and Strongbow does not lend itself to athletics and they resolved themselves to call abuse after him than giving chase. Though the boy is I think annoyed at himself for not putting up more of a fight, I must say I am very proud of him for the restraint he showed. He has worked out of late and though I am sure he could have stood his ground my greatest fear would be that the rumours of such naughty boys carrying knifes would turn out to be true and the boy would be no more.
Thankfully he bumped into some community support officers whilst on his way home and told them of the threat which lay ahead for other innocents. This additional patrolling presence is extremely welcome in our area as this is not the first time we have had trouble with scallywags. I find the whole situation extremely frustrating as though a small part of me wanted to go out on the hunt and avenge myself on these toe rags; I admit the archery and sword fighting may have given me a slightly flawed opinion of my fighting strength; there was also a huge part of me which felt painfully sorry for them. To be out on the streets on a cold miserable day than at home with one’s loved ones is a sad state of affairs indeed especially as it was the time I remember as a teenager when I would share the trials and tribulations of my school day with my family. Yes, the dinner table would usually dissolve into a bickering mass but at least we knew we had somewhere to go and someone to go to if we were feeling blue.
When we were dropped off at guides or ATC when we were teenagers me and my sisters would often pass children who would hang out at the bus stops and although they often looked intimidating my overriding feeling when I saw them was that more than anything they looked sad. I am not for a second suggesting one hugs a hoodie or worse still starts wearing this ridiculous trend. They are nearly as terrible as joggers for goodness sake and should exist only in the gym or when running the streets in pursuit of improving one’s fitness or physique. My real problem is that there is no clear answer for how to deal with this problem which is satisfactory to me. Though I detest more than anything the idea that my safety is in jeopardy and walked to the train station by myself at nine last night just to prove to myself I would not be affected by the scallywags, I can not deny I felt scared all the while.
There are thankfully many outreach programmes in the boy’s area which try to tackle these problems but after yesterdays unpleasantness I can not help but feel that the government and we as a society need to do more to stop these children becoming so disillusioned with life that they feel the only thing they have to do is to attack. One of my friends is looking to volunteer somewhere this year and I wonder if by doing so myself I can be of help to such scallywags, even if I can not give them a hug perhaps I can help with a programme which finds some way to engage them in activities which do not involve menacing music lovers.
The dress today is from a shop across the road from 111 Piccadilly in Manchester. I stayed at the boy’s house one night and had forgotten to bring anything for the morning. Having borrowed a pair of his jeans and found a couple of vest tops I was just about fit for going into town but there was no way I was going to spend the day looking like a roughian. I had less than two penny’s to my name so ran across the road to a brightly coloured bargain boasting shop and picked this up for a £5. It has a brilliant drop waist which leaves ones bottom looking rather minimal whilst the cotton material and cut keeps it looking casual. Today it needed a tad of modification to get me through the wintry winds when I went to meet a friend off my course for a drink come the evening so I paired it with a pink jumper from Topshop which my mother bought me eight years ago! With boots and black tights it proved suitable for wiii playing, drinks at Piccadilly station and a night-time walk home on high alert.
Day 24 – manners in motion; indiscretion in the film industry and potential problems of using one’s phone
After conducting the penultimate train journey in aid of researching by article soon to be published on the terror of trains I was feeling particularly positive about my journey. I had managed to avoid buses or delays rand right up until the very last stage of my journey I was able to say I had a fairly pleasant travelling experience.
All that changed however when I boarded the bus to Mauldeth Road last night which would take me to see the boy upon its route to Manchester Airport. As I tried to relax and read the week’s review in The Sunday Times, I suddenly became frightfully aware of a verbal assault on my ear drums. A particularly toffish type character was spouting away about his latest film project in spite of being surrounded by people who were too poor to get a taxi. At first I stuck my fingers into my ear hoping he would get the hint but his dulcet tones still evaded my delicate drums. As he had not get the hint I decided that if he wanted people to hear every details of his film project and his meeting with the elusive Catherine as well as his opinion on Rio Ferdinand and the girls of Coronation Street, the least I could do was give him an extra platform for his drivel and practice my teeline at the same time.
The dress I am wearing today is strangely enough from supermarket giant, George at Asda. I brought it when I was working at McClelland and the boy was doing some recording at blueprint. I was rather poorly and had gone to work looking like a scruff so changed into this dress before going to Blueprint if I bumped into the Elbow boys or Justin Timberlake who had recorded there the previous year. Obviously I wanted to look nice for the boy as well. Today’s photos are once again taken by him and this is perhaps obvious by the fact he chooses to focus more on my legs than the dress but hopefully you can see enough to appreciate it is a cute little number. We took the photos in Fuel again as we had been to a comedy night before chilling out afterwards with some strawberry beer.
What follows is a script of the boy on the bus speaking on his phone to an actor involved in his project which sounded as though it was going to be another zombie inspired apocalyptic reel. The poor actor barely had a chance to speak but I have also left out some details to prevent too much of the project being given away and to protect the privacy of some of the people he mentioned but otherwise it is an exact account of his ramblings. Chris Moyles could have been inspired by this gentleman.
“We are going to blow them up. It’s going to be a full on explosion. Going to be a big blow…
She is living with one of the girls in Corrie’ at the minute and she wants her to have a part. She also knows other people that she knows in that area…
apparently she is doing some singing at the moment at a club that is owned by a United player, what’s his name, I don’t know because I don’t care about any of those United players, Rio Ferdinand that’s it, that was his name. Anyway she has sung at his club and Catherine is going to try to get us that as a location.
She was really positive, she was saying I will get you this, I will get you that. She has done TV, she has done feature films so she has picked up some contacts along the way. As they say it’s not what you know, it’s who you know
I will tell you what, the Romoans now have a mansion to live in.. it has a massive basement and a moat. They found the remains of a priest who lived there and there is a cella which we need
I know, you are a legend for introducing us…
I am going to teach her to fight how to use a gun and get her in the look of being a very interesting character who is also a gun touting maniac.
This is just when everything starts happening and the only way this film is not going to get made is if you or me die or me being completely ridiculous and stupid and not working on it.
Catherine know some people from the BBC so we will be able to get some good interest from the press and get some journalists really listening to us and interested in this film.
I really want to get a helicopter in the scene, I think we need it.
Although I have previously waxed lyrical on my lack of any burning desire to pro-create; thank the stars I hear you think; there are three children who I fear will eventually change my mind leaving me a child wanting wreck of a woman. The children in question are all those of three of my closest girl friends and are also the offspring of some of my oldest friends. The first with whom I chose to accessories with today is Isabelle Faulkner the child of my married friends Sue and Chris. Isabelle ran the risk of being called Smedley by her father but thankfully when she arrived into this world, her dark hair and dastardly cute behaviour ensured Isabelle was a more proper choice. In the photos Isabelle can be seen in the early stages of a fashion addiction which will bring her parents as much joy as it will pain. She became fascinated by my shoe especially when teamed with the shoe song, you really don’t want to know. Unfortunately whilst trying to kiss or possibly chew the shoe; she is teething; she somehow managed to head-butt it and turned from giggly angel to crotch patch in a split second.
The other two children are Ben Slessor, a four-year old who rises about the same time but who has a very pleasant way and who when he is told it is bed-time will go with minimal fuss leaving myself and my friend to gossip well into the early hours of the night; and Olivia Nicholson Steel, the curly blonde toddler who stole my heart back at Christmas when I taught her The Pogue’s Fairytale of New York and carried her with a blanket over her head through the naughty section of an art exhibition I had gone to with her mother at the Tate. She is ridiculously advanced for her age and gives both her parents Niki and Marcus endless pleasure with her sing-songs, sticker art and bed time run about. She is a fashion forward young woman with a wardrobe which puts even my collection to shame and already owns a matching fur coat and hat; gifted to her by yours truly; and a leather jacket with sheepskin lining; all animal friendly of course.
One of the greatest things about these children is that becoming a part of the smug parent clan has not resulted in them becoming smug or horribly mature at all. Though they are all wonderful parents who go out of their way to meet the needs of their child without spoiling them they are still all bloody good fun. Kat in particular is my oldest friend, I was her maid of honour at her wedding and we opened our GCSE results together after a holiday in Lanzarote where I had a rather foolish affair with a Greek waiter called Eric who was utterly gorgeous but had extremely limited English other than “honey vodka?” or “Ellieali”. We still go out on the town on the odd occasion but are equally happy to stay in for a bbq or cook a meal for one another. Kat is utterly hilarious and in spite of being scarily intelligent she never makes anyone feel foolish for being ignorant on any point. On arrival at Sue’s house on Saturday on being asked by my friend Monica whether she had read my blog, she promptly lifted up her long checked shirt dress to show carefully covered leggings beneath. Although I was traumatised I was very pleased to see she had made time to read.
Isabelle’s mother Susanna or Sue is one of the sweetest people one could ever meet. She is a wonderful hostess, relaxed but generous with her home and delicious cups of tea and when wanted pink rosé wine to satisfy both the drinkers of red and the drinkers of white. Katherine and Susanna are as I said are some of my oldest friends, and the fantastic thing about old friends is how well they know you. There is never a need to put on a fake smile or hide how one is feeling. When around old friends I find as I imagine many people do that I can relax and become part of the furniture or join in with the banter and tales of past naughtiness as much as I wish. Older friends are also thankfully never afraid to give you a good telling off if they think you have gone astray; I was carefully questioned by my friend Monica over what my problem was with the legging lovelies as well as my dig at Moyles. They also had no qualms about asking me whether I had abandoned the 365 dress project for the day and was instead going for 365 slightly longer than average tops. I covered myself with a sky blue scarf when sitting down and did all in my power to stretch it out once more.
The dress I am wearing, yes it is a dress, today is by Topshop from their autumn / winter collection 2005-2006. I bought it during a rather large spending spree at the beginning of my last year at Manchester University. It was an extravagant buy at £40 but we were having a cops and robbers themed house party and it seemed worth the green. It was longer to begin with but has I believe shrunk now a little. As you all know by now I am not one to shy away from high hems but I would recommend that if one was to wear a hemlines this short that you do so with longer slouchy boots or perhaps thicker denier tights or dare I say it leggings; so long as you have no plans for front rump flashing.
I shall end the posting with a joke from one of my oldest and bestest friends and mother of the beautiful Isabelle; “Look Ellie, it’s a horse shoe”.