Day 53 – Rose petals recycled and an unusual series of searches
The problem with 365 dresses; the Mind project, is not so much the difficulty of sourcing the dresses; this is tough but if all else fails I’ll get out the old Singer and get creative with some bed sheets or become an expert in towel wrapping; the main difficulty one has is trying to think of interesting photo-shoots day after day.
This then is why I found myself today lying on our bed like an eejot trying to emulate one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood.
Since being informed about this piece of good news, the boy has unsurprisingly been having an almighty sulk. Whilst putting together the shoot for today he made a few sarcastic comments one of the best being, “I bet Dave Musson would have ironed the bed sheets before letting you lie down on them.” Bless his heart, he is a big silly at times.
Although the photos shown here are the best of a very bad bunch, putting the scene together was a giggle. The boy kept teasing me throughout, telling me I was not allowed to move unless he said so whilst throwing random buds of petals at me; at one point a particularly large posy hit me square in the nose which was hardly romantic and I muttered under my breath about how I was sure Dave Musson doesn‘t physically assault his models. We came to the conclusion at the end of the shot that Hollywood sets have a larger budget and that someone other than starlet or photographer throws the petals.
Today I had one of my most busiest blog visit days receiving almost three hundred hits. One of the things that happens when you begin a blog is that there is the potential for you to become an extremely sad person, especially when one’s feature requires regular posts and daily photography. Luckily it has been a pleasure to post and when I became aware of having regular readers I nearly cried with gratitude. The problem is however that wordpress allows one to monitor one’s statistics throughout the day, week or even year; because of this it is very easy to become a tad obsessive about one’s ratings and on more than one occasion I have been left disheartened when having spilled my heart into a particular posting only 40 people log on to read it.
- Thin Bra
- Busty women
- Market Harborough Job Centre… very nice
- trouble in my mind notation
- Cumbyea
- Catholicism in Lost
- Rio Ferdinand’s Summer Outfit
- Designer dress transvestite
- Does a woman dress for attention
- Chav wedding
Day 39 – The vices of a polka dot vixen
Today I am wearing a dress from Marks and Spencer which I wore to my graduation. I was a tad tubbier back then so it feels lovely and loose over my skin and I wish it was the summer so tights could be a thing of the past. I am also wearing a hat and some velvet gloves from accessorize which make me feel both french and a bit of an idiot at the same time.
I decided today; or maybe it was when I crawled into bed feeling rather tipsy la-la; that the time has come to challenge myself over my drinking. I am not as the kind young gentleman previously suggested an alcoholic, but of late I seem to be having a glass of wine too often and seeing as these tablets are ripping into my liver as it is it may not be a good idea to combine the two. I drink too much usually when I am low, to give me a lick of confidence its silly because it inevitably has a negative effect on my mood the next day and yet I love alcohol; particularly wine and Belgian beers. I love having it with dinner, I revel in locating a good wine on offer, and I especially love the warmth I get from Krupnik and blackberry vodka distilled by the boy’s mother at Christmas and the taste of rum on hot chocolate when I have had a life threatening fall on the slopes in the alps.
I love these things but I am trying to love myself and my family and friends more and I need to keep a check on my drinking. My personality has always been of extremes and so I find it easy to become hooked on things. This is why I stay away from gambling all together and why when I took up smoking at 21 I went straight to 20 Marlborough mediums a day with little trouble. I don’t do things by halves.
Partly because of how I got carried away and had a glass too much this evening, partly because of health and poor finance and also just because I need to prove to myself I can, I am thinking of giving up alcohol over lent. I may make an exception for our anniversary and the boy’s birthday but other than that I think it will do me good to give something up and with cigarettes a thing of the past alcohol, coffee and loving are the only vices I have left, and no one is taking away my coffee.
Day 33 – Socially unacceptable faux pas in the fashionable world of social media
Today was an incredibly exciting day for me for two main reasons. Firstly because I went to a meeting of Manchester’s social media café, (yes I know it sounds silly but they have quite interesting lectures and debates and a lot of very nice people go) which was held at the BBC building in Manchester. 
I heart the BBC, quite the opposite of the visitor to Craggy Island on Father Ted who was sacked by the BBC and therefore hated them with venom, I am the complete opposite, I love the BBC, nearly as much as I love JLS. They always do really great news coverage on their website and in spite of the occasional ill-judged decision are still putting out really interesting intelligent shows. As a result when I arrived there yesterday wearing what is essentially a slightly long T-shirt dress with a chiffon see through long black frilly short-sleeved shirt for smartness sake which I got from swap shop yesterday, I was feeling a little nervous; so nervous in-fact I tripped on the way in to the building and then gushed to the staff about going to the “mocial seedier cafe” meeting and giggled like a school girl when the man let me through the gates and escorted me up in the lifts.
I was in such a flutter and admittedly so nosy that I missed the room all together deciding the people inside didn’t actually look particularly social and carried on walking through the corridors in search of Jeremy Clarkson and the cast of The Wire; eventually however I forced myself to face facts and returned to the venue ready for networking and lectures about media cities and charity fund-raisers through the medium of twitter. The café is actually a really cool idea as it links up bloggers, business people, charities and journalists and is a way for people to give and get advice on various topics. 
I must admit me and the world of social media had a bit of a shaky start. When I went along to the first meeting I was very much set in my ways about wanting to be a print only journalist and thought twitter and blogs were for people with too much free time, a point which admittedly is hardly contradicted by my own posts and at times somewhat trivial updates about funny stories and the delights of dresses.
In spite of meeting some really nice people who were up for a giggle and a good old debate I just couldn’t shake the idea of a blog as being far too self indulgent and undisciplined; a bit like feature writing, which I love because it gives one so much freedom to write creatively within boundaries less strict than in newspaper copy which has to be to-the point and simple which is an art if you can do it. I was especially pleased when I passed my news-writing exam as I have an unfortunate tendency to get a bit carried away with long sentences, extended metaphors and ever so slightly off topic ramblings… What was I saying? Oh yes. Last nights social media cafe, well it was very good overall. There was a man who was explaining about the advantages of having an open data city in Manchester and the positive knock on effect this could have for our life. There was also a girl who is trying to raise interest and support for her charity project seven wonders of the world in seven days. Information on this can be found at http://www.7wondersin7days.com/about/
The one difficulty I have with social media in general is how much it tends to tie you to one place and how available it makes us to the outside world. Obviously this has its advantages for blogging and promoting charitable causes or for magazines or companies trying to generate interest in their product. For me however I have never been really that interested in my phone. I generally keep it on silent and just call people back when I have the chance. I like to concentrate on one thing at a time and if I am out with a friend I don’t bring my phone out of my pocket unless I am sat alone for a long period or if I am expecting a call on something which is time sensitive and even then I will only have it on discreet. I hate being tied to anything, especially a piece of technology and I must admit that although I recognise the necessity of people within the world of social media providing regular updates about their activities there were times yesterday evening, particularly when the lecturers were talking that i felt uncomfortable about how attached a lot of people were to laptops and mobile devices. 
I understand why they were, people had been encouraged before the event to tweet and video log the conference for those unable to make it, I just still can’t help but see it as a little unusual to not give a person your full attention especially when the person is speaking on a topic close to their heart. I guess this is the world we live in and maybe I am just programmed into paying attention for long periods of time from standing to attention during ATC marches and feast day masses so I shouldn’t judge but it does seem a bit sad at how much we are tied to a tool of communication which can at times seem to be more adept at blocking our social interaction than it is at enabling them. I remember walking out from having a drink with a friend once after she spent the time texting, she later apologised but when I had too much respect for myself to be second bested by someone who wasn’t even in the room.
The other reason for my excitement yesterday was that for the first time in what seems to be years, I, was chatted up by someone. Not just anyone but a boy who I’m pretty sure I could have realistically given birth to in biblical times. I took it as coolly as possible; as the incident occurred whilst i was in the middle of reviewing a band at Ruby Lounge where I was very conscious I was having to take photos whilst getting a feel for the music, making notes and making sure I didn’t show too much leg due to the dress I was wearing; but inside I was all giddy and couldn’t wait to tell the boy. It may have been something to do with the way I applied my make up yesterday. I came across a whole set of MAC brushes on the internet, ebay, for £20 and snapped them up quickly. 
One is a foundation brush which I previously thought was just another money-making venture but it really does work and I think the young man had no idea I have lived in four decades and haven’t even lived them in a particularly health conscious way.
The last cherry on the icing last night was the moment I realised that generally, most people in Manchester are actually quite nice after all. As I started bopping around trying to take photographs and get little snippet quotes I reached for my phone to txt the boy to see if he fancied coming out. After foraging in my bag, my coat and even my bra (well you never know) I started to get the horrible feeling which only comes when you know you have lost something irreplaceable. In spite of my reluctance to become too attached to my phone, it has all my best friends numbers, fantastic photos and sentimental texts. I scoured the venue and just as I was about to start crying and go home I came across two boys sitting on a sofa who had found it and were looking to find out who it belonged to. Admittedly I may have scared them slightly with my gratitude and considering that they may well have been underage I probably shouldn’t have offered to buy them a drink but the two of them restored my faith in humankind after the meanies from yesterday and I left the gig with a spring in my step which even the scallys smoking dope smiled at.
Day 32 – Swapping clothes, stroppy men and a really rather good gig
The dress I am wearing today is one of the boy’s favourites; he has been a bit of a grumpy of late ever since he realised many of the dresses would be sold. He has a bit of a thing about me lending my clothes to people as it upsets him as he then struggles to look at me in them without the memory of happy times of me wearing the dress; anniversary dates, meals out, summer days etc. are apparently tainted by someone else having worn it. It is strange but he assures me it is a boy thing. It is perhaps because of this I am unable to persuade him to go with me to a clothing swap shop in Manchester today. 
It is being put on at the 8th day by some students, one of whom has assured me they can set me up for dresses for the year. I am wary however as I have been fooled before by such gushing support so I try to approach the evening as cynically as possible for a person who loves the idea of getting newish clothes for free. I smile as I enter to see a swarming mass of foxy, feisty, women, trying hard to look as though they are not waiting for the whistle to break from their friendship groups and fight as politely as possible for frocks, tops or the ever coveted brand new with labels designer item. These sales are a great way of getting money for old rope and if you are lucky or selective about visitors you can get some really good finds. I have heard an awful lot about swap shopping but at first thought it sounded a little too much like swinging; however, desperate times and a lack of dresses mean I have no choice but to investigate.
In credit to the volunteers who have put this evening together every effort is made to aid visitors; strong sustainable bags are re-distributed, clothes are laid out nicely and in relatively well organised tables and they even make a flawed attempt to filter the hoard. The problem with a lot of the things available is the quality of the clothing; there was more Prada-mark than one could believe, and though I should have been more wary after seeing the waddling shuffle of ugged hooves I had carelessly handed over my bag of high-end well washed barely worn finds before seeing the state of some of the clothing. A lot of it is from the lowest possible end of the high street and some of it is neither washed, pressed or even unstained. I would be embarrassed to put my washing out in this state let alone give it to others in return for a new wardrobe but many people seem quite happy to hand over questionable clothing with no scruples.
Interestingly there is no limit to the amount of items you can walk away with which is quite good as in spite of feeling rather forced together the lack of rules means the atmosphere is fairly relaxed. I find most people reasonably polite, many of them excusing themselves after shoulder barging you or ripping a vest from your finger tips, which is unnecessary in this shop but sweet nevertheless. 
I end up with one or two dresses and a horde of tops but all will need some level of adjustment or dry-cleaning to make them blog worthy but I guess that’s just part of the fun of swapping.
I am considering organising my swap shop with tea and home-made cakes where people can bring unwanted dresses and swap them for luxe items from my extensive wardrobe or for other items of clothing brought by other swappers. There will be a bit more enforcement on the door as I will not have dirty hockey tops messing up my home and though we usually run a shoes on in the house policy, any Uggaly wearers will have to leave their slippers at the door and legging lovelies showing front rump will be provided with a modesty pashmina for their own good.
Today I am feeling a little bit vulnerable. It may be a result of the flimsiness of the dress which is pure silk from Topshop unique and which once gave everyone on my NCTJ course a rather raunchy display when I entered our office after being caught in a rain storm. 
Never forget to check in the mirror when you come in from outside and if wearing a thin dress such as this make sure you pop on some French knickers and a covering cream bra or even a slip. That is unless you think you might enjoy a day spent blushing as red as your underwear.
I think the real reason has nothing to do with the dress which is transformed easily with thick woollen tights and cashmere cardigan; it has a lot more to do with the attitude of duplicitous and down right rude men and women. Yesterday a horrible person, stole my friends wallet whilst she was dealing with the baby on the bus. What really upset me and her is they must have kept an eye on her to see whether she became distracted so they could swipe the bag from the pushchair. I don’t really understand people who rob mothers, perhaps it is because they are on crack and think of them as an easy target, or maybe they have childhood issues. Either way it seems rather rude that they take from their fellow bus riders and not going and getting a bit itchy fingered in HMV. 
Not that I am advocating a shop lifting campaign at this establishment for crack users, but one must admit it would be a lot better than stealing from a Mummy. I find myself thinking today that I hope rumours of the power of karma which us Catholics are kept ignorant of are true and the person in question comes back as an assistant for Naomi Campbell and gets regularly beaten and exposed to class A drugs they are not allowed to touch for fear of punishment. Obviously none of this would be the result of them being around Naomi who has apparently softened in old age like a mature but tasty brie.
I like to think such incidents of crime are isolated but two things which happened yesterday made me realise that not everyone in this world or indeed in Manchester is a nice person. I know this will seem obvious to the majority of you but I have always been a bit blinkered when it comes to spotting the b-words of both sexes. Yesterday whilst at a cash point I saw a man who looked like a student, carrying a blackberry and wearing expensive sports gear barge into a woman as she walked away from the cash point only because she had taken too much time. I muttered abuse under my breath but other than rip out his headphones and demand he follow her to apologise I wasn’t sure how to make him see that pushing a girl half your side in the chest is just plain rude.
The other incident occurred later on the same night at the students union. I was killing time after the swap shop and feeling quite pleased with myself for managing to rescue back my Next suede coat from out of the clutches of an Ugg wearer, in my defence i am saving it for the theatre starlet when she returns from London this weekend and as a reward I thought I would treat myself to a coffee/ beer in the students union whilst transcribing an interview. I have never actually been into the students bar since I was at Manchester University four years ago and fancied seeing whether all the hype about its splendour was for real. It turned out that it was but it took me such a ridiculous amount of time to get inside that the novelty was a little lost on me after a run in with a horrible bouncer who refused at first to let me in. I tried to explain I was reviewing a gig and I had a student card still but in the end let him continue his unending rant whilst getting out my sd card and silently flashing it at him at which point he backed off a bit. I tutted at the grey giant and muttered the offensive statement, “for goodness sake” at which point his uglier even larger friend decided to join in with the fun and told his friend he had made me an unhappy lady. 
The charmer responded crossly he didn’t care whether he had upset the stupid cow or not. Well, I was so upset I ended up telling on him to the girl behind the bar who gave me a drink for my nerves where upon I went off to hide until the boy arrived. We crossed paths with him before going to see Adam Green only to hear him threatening to blow the place up because he hated students. Now I must admit I am not the biggest fan of students myself. It is probably because I am a bit jealous of their freedom but I also get annoyed when I hear the horrible ones on the bus who dress as though hey are wearing clothing from the original fifties, not the nice fitted flattering stuff but the clothing my grandmothers mother was probably wearing whilst saying the word like a lot and asking over and over if their long-suffering friend knows what they mean and slating the North. In spite of this the majority are quite sweet and even the annoying ones don’t deserve to get blown up by a grey student despising giant.
It is horrible how some people feel they can treat others and I do wish my general response was a lot more effective than the occasional mutinous muttering. I am going to have to work on quick responses to amateur terrorists and cash point cjawhatsits or else I will run the risk of ranting for eternity without ever making a stand against them. Watch out for your handbags wear them in front of you where possible and keep your phone out of sight. Make sure you build up your arm muscles so bank barges bounce back off you and if you go to a gig at the academy make sure you do your best to avoid the wrath of the warlord.
