Just a quick update:

MAC Makeovers are amazing.

Obligatory Duck Face.

I went for one last weekend in the Mac store in South Kensington and it was great. They charge £25 which may sound steep but - it is redeemable against products! Amazing. So, whenever you need a new lipstick and eyeliner, or a foundation, it really is worth having your make-up done professionally for effectively free. A lovely girl called Navine, who had just got back from a LFW show where she had been applying make up to those more genetically gifted than myself, did my make-up and she was really chatty and easy to get on with. I was asked what my plans were for the day/evening and what I was planning on wearing so that we could choose a look that was appropriate and co-ordinated. Navine gave me some great make-up tips, I picked up the items I needed anyway and I walked around all day with a flawless face. 


In all honesty, I hate that I rely on make-up for confidence and all occasions that entail me leaving the house. I think it's a shame that it takes up 20 minutes of my morning everyday and that I'm essentially smothering chemicals deep into my pores on too regular a basis. I resent giving money to cosmetics companies when the man in my life is saving his cash. But, I am also really thankful that I have it to rely upon and it really is astounding what effects you can achieve with make-up. I only went for something fairly subtle (save giving the go ahead to massive eyebrows and lots of eyeliner because I'm into that kind of thing) as I was having a fairly casual day ambling around Portobello Market and having dinner with friends, but apparently you can have diamante and false eyelashes and all sorts of amazing bits and bobs attached to your face in the name of glamour.

I recommend! 

Valentines

So I missed the Valentines Day Rush. Or, as I like to call it, Singles Awareness Day.
But, in case anyone's interested, I had a fab time waking up at the Mr's and then ambling down Chiswick Highstreet to grab brunch before getting the train back to Cambridge. I also received an invite to St. John's Super formal, and how could I say no? So here are a few pictures from that night:

Check out how amazing the ceiling is.

Mary Katrantzou for Topshop

A lot of people have been getting, understandably, more than a little bit excited about the Mary Katrantzou range for Topshop that launched on Friday morning. Word on the street was that if you aspired to purchase anything from the collection before it sold out then you'd best be online before the 9am official launch. They weren't joking. I took a look at about 8:30am and pieces were selling out quickly. As soon as I added something to my bag I was immediately informed that that size had sold out... 

... I was really keen on getting hold of the jersey dress and blouse but alas it wasn't to be.

And now I am actually thrilled.

You see, the bandeau dress and tunic I managed to sneak into my basket have just arrived and they are gorgeous! Strikingly beautiful and very wearable. The dress is especially well made, which it really ought to be for £300, but the tunic's print is just wonderful and a perfect length to wear as a casual but oh so stylish dress, or to simply throw over some leggings.


I'm not sure how I'm going to wear the pieces yet. I think keep it simple with the dress but I'm imaging a slim fit long black coat with the tunic and killer black heels for some reason. Maybe because I'm a stealth goth. The kind that wears bright floral prints by Mary Katrantzou.


Anyway, I really just wanted to share with you some up close and personal shots of the pieces as there seems to be a paucity of images available online at the moment. Enjoy and please do tell me what you think.

 Bandeau dress:

The tunic:

So, what do you think? A load of hype over nothing, or an amazing opportunity to get some beautiful clothing from an outstanding designer at an almost affordable price?

Also, how would you wear it?

I will follow up with a photoshoot in the dress but that probably won't be until the weekend, suggestions appreciated!

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

I would just like to take this opportunity to share with you my love of breakfast.

Brunch is even better.

Do you have any favourite foods to eat or places to visit for breakfast?

My fave breakfast foods are eggs, marmalade, melon and a strong coffee. In terms of places to go, when I'm in London I love Chiswick Balans (currently being refurbished), the Breakfast Club in Hackney, or this amazing greasy spoon in New Cross Charissa showed me. Or, good old Tatties is always good if I'm in Cambridge. Even if the decor and service is naff. 

Images courtesy of tumblr.

The misadventures of a Northern steel erector's daughter down South.

That which has annoyed me recently.

Now, I am in absolutely no doubt whatsoever that I live a more than privileged life. Truth be told, I live a wonderful life. I have a supportive family, attend one of the greatest universities in the world, have a strong academic track record, am not hideously ugly (or so I am told), nor am I in a financial position that would render doing all of my food shopping in Marks & Spencers unreasonable. Put to one side the whole education at a state school near Hull, the summers I spent donning a hairnet to work in a packing factory and the couple of years spent living in New Cross, I've lived a very comfortable life. So far. I mean to be honest, as I type this I am also debating whether or not it was wise to eat that bag of M&Ms and popcorn a couple of hours before attending St. John's College's Valentines Superformal Hall. I probably could have just waited seeing as I'll be dining on at least five courses this evening. And I so don't want to look bloated in my new dress from Reiss, especially as I already ate out so much this weekend in London.


Ok, so why the above? Well, I just wanted to clarify before I begin my petulant whinge about that which has annoyed me, that I am truly very appreciative of the lot I've been handed thus far in life. I appreciate very much that I enjoy a somewhat decadent life at the moment. So let's take my sanctimony with a pinch of salt shall we?


Here goes.


Not being explicitly told what the dress code is for events.

If only I had an assistant to guide me in such matters.

I hate it when this happens and I get it wrong.
Take this weekend.
I was supposed to be dining with my partner and some of his family/friends for a birthday at the Ivy Club in London this weekend. I was informed of this fixture about a month ago and asides from really looking forward to it, and the novelty of me attending such a venue providing an inappropriate amount of excitement for my grandmother, I had worked out my outfit down to the earrings, nail varnish, shoes, jacket, scarf, dress, perfume, the particular false eyelashes, you name it. I'd even booked in for a MAC makeover to assure that my make-up was perfect.

You see, the last time I dined with this group I wore a sheer red blouse with a black bra, over-the-knee boots and jeans that were too tight. It was not in keeping with the venue or everybody else's attire. In my defence I didn't have a lot of notice, or clothes with me, and I panic dressed. When I showed my mum later what I had worn she a) laughed, then b) pleaded that I must have been joking, where was the real outfit? And this was from a woman who thinks it's acceptable to wear a Juicy Couture handbag in her late forties. 
So. Given my poor track record with dressing (in)appropriately, I really wanted to get it 
right this time.


Unfortunately a few days before the event we heard that for an awfully sad reason the event was cancelled. Given the circumstances I never gave the Ivy Club another thought.


Day of what had been the Ivy reservation.
Phone call.
"We've decided that we're still going to meet, it would be nice to see everyone and we're just going to go for a casual Chinese. No dress code, we'll let you know where we're meeting later once we've made reservations."


Now, given that it was freezing cold, I had spent the day at Portobello Market, we were going for "a casual Chinese" and I hadn't really packed much else save pyjamas, fresh underwear and a t-shirt change as I was only staying for one night, I didn't think twice about just going in the boots, skinny jeans and v-neck jumper I'd had on all day. I swapped my hold-all for a clutch but all-in-all, I dressed in a manner befitting a casual Chinese.


I should have known.


We met for a drink first. Now when I hear 'let's meet for a quick drink,' I don't automatically assume that we will be meeting in a private bar that smells of rich mahogany and leather with champagne on tap and our own French waiter. The 'casual Chinese' we partook of on a similar note was in the only Chinese restaurant that I've ever been to where you can choose your own lobster. Or where they slice up your duck at the table in front of you. Or where I've got to dine at a table in a private room for that matter. I'm apparently very uncivilised. Both venues were fabulous, with excellent service and glorious food and drink. BUT...


IF ONLY I'd known that everyone else was going to wear dresses, heels, diamonds and fur stoles I might have looked like less of a twat in my winter boots and a jumper. Bloody hell. No dress code my arse.

My college bar and what I imagine when someone says let's grab a quick drink before dinner.

Kind of place I actually get taken to.

Being an embarrassing drunk.


In addition to dressing inappropriately I also like to embarrass myself by spilling red wine all over my partner's father and offering him a blow dry in the bathroom. When I suggested this I genuinely meant to use the hand dryer to dry off the sleeve of his shirt...


ebay


I hate ebay. I HATE ebay. And yet I can't seem to abandon it as my main source of income. The bastards. There is just no end to the manner of ways in which they never cease to do me over.


Recently I sold a Reiss leather shearling jacket. The winner of the auction bid £2 more than the second highest bidder. The winning bidder got in touch to say that she would pay in a couple of days and couldn't wait to receive the jacket. A week passed. "Oh sorry, I'm definitely paying tonight" she responded when I asked if everything was alright. Five days later, still no payment. Three weeks after the auction closed ebay closed the sale and refunded me my fees. The winning bidder had managed to bid for, win and pay for a range of other luxury goods in the mean time. What the hell?  Main problem: with the £200 the initial winning bidder had bid, I'd already bought a load of other stuff. As the adage goes, don't count your chickens...

Recently, I bought what was described as a 'genuine Louis Vuitton pochette clutch.' It arrived. It was fake, and in addition to being fake, it was broken. The zip pull was missing altogether and the strap was torn apart. So I contacted the seller to inform her that unfortunately I would need to return the item, detailing what was wrong with the bag and asking if she could please provide me with a refund upon its return.


Her response: What the hell have you done to it?!
Me: Absolutely nothing save carefully remove it from the packaging.
Her: What the hell?! Send me a picture of the strap
Me: Ok - there you go
Her: OMG I have called ebay to tell them that you have intentionally torn apart the bag! You've broken it on purpose - you've unstitched the strap and torn it apart you bitch!
Me: The strap was not stitched for me to unpick it. It was quite clearly stuck with poor quality glue and that is one of the many reasons that I can tell the item is fake. Louis Vuitton do not glue their handbags together. On that note, you have yet to confirm whether you know that the bag is authentic or not.
Her: I have been made redundant, how could you do this to me?
Me: Honestly, I just want a refund. I'll send it back recorded delivery today. It's fake, it doesn't zip up, the handle is broken. I'm very sorry that you are out of work but it's really not my problem.


The conversation kind of continued along this narrative for two days with her accusing me of being a bitch who had intentionally torn apart her fake handbag and that no one else would want it now and that I was effectively ruining her life and the worst person that had ever lived and that she could no longer sleep at night etc...

Recently I  tried to buy another 'Louis Vuitton Authentic Pochette Clutch.' Now, perhaps it would be fair to say given the previous experience this was stupid. But, this one included the original receipt and was from a seller who had excellent feedback for the purchasing and selling of a range of luxury goods. Three days after payment, "sorry, I can't find the bag. I think I must have thrown it away. Can you just take the refund yourself from my paypal account?"
a) who just throws away a Louis Vuitton clutch?
b) If I had the ability to take whatever money I wanted out of people's paypal accounts I wouldn't be a poor student buying second hand designer handbags on ebay. I would be a millionaire. In jail.



Recently I sold a pair of skirts I had purchased from Topshop. Buyer left neutral feedback claiming that they were not from Topshop. They were from Topshop.


Recently I sold a ring on ebay from Topshop. I detailed in the listing that it was small. Received neutral feedback because it was 'beautiful but too small.'



Recently I sold an All Saints shirt. The buyer got in touch to say that she wasn't too keen on the colour, could I offer the top to the second highest bidder. So I did. Second highest bidder was thrilled and asked if I could forward contact details. Original buyer decided that she liked the colour after all.


Recently I sold a pair of Russell & Bromley boots that had been worn literally once in the house. I received an angry e-mail from the buyer claiming that they were in unwearable condition and completely broken. I knew that this was utter bollocks but there's not too much sellers can do on ebay save apologise, issue a full refund and pray for no worse than neutral feedback. Received boots back, as good as new. Took them to a cobbler, he confirmed that they were good as new. Purchaser insisted in feedback that the sole was missing and that they were completely unwearable.


It just goes on and on and on. I could think of dozens more examples like the above but why bore you any more than I already have.


Having a NSFW blog and under 18's following you.


Buying anything in the sale only for it to be reduced further the next day.


Swapping your Spanish Class because you get 50% off at Cafe Rouge and Strada on a Monday night with your union membership card and you don't want to miss such an offer just for a Spanish Class. New Spanish class is supposedly the same level but appears so advanced that it makes no sense whatsoever. Sits between star pupil who already has an A-Level in Spanish and the girl who cries each week because she can't do it.


Gets beautiful watch for 21st Birthday. Younger sister by two years feels she is entitled to a watch 6 x as expensive come her birthday because "she's worth it." Parents seem to agree.

Portobello Market.

I've had the pleasure of spending the weekend in London with the Mr. Even though it was freezing Portobello Market was packed to the brim yesterday with people clutching coffees and crepes, draped in vintage furs and indulging in a spot of antique browsing. I took the opportunity to play voyeur with relish, many an excellent hat and charm bracelet was spotted. Unfortunately I couldn't manage carrying around the SLR but here are a few instagrams. I know it sounds cliche, but if you've never been to Portobello market, you really must!

Liz Jones in need of a jizz loan.

(Is that a tad too far?)

This is rather belated but here's my take on something that has been annoying me for a while now.

Liz Jones. How utterly useless and repugnant the woman can be. One is almost tempted to treat her with sympathy, to excuse spermgate as the brief folly of a psychologically deranged maverick. I’ve even considered condoning the fact that she then felt it necessary to publish an article detailing the sordid act of her scooping sperm out of a condom and into herself as sheer altruism. At least she’s taking the precaution to warn other men (if not all of humanity) to avoid approaching her even if armed with an arsenic coated flaming barge pole. And yet she had to go and make it personal. You see. Liz Jones is not content to accept her life as a desperate spinster forever determined to mar her own reputation by revealing horrendously inappropriate details about her obscure personal life. No, Liz Jones always feels the need to accuse other women of being as utterly ridiculous, when in actual fact I would hope that she is a rare breed indeed.

Though Liz Jones may like to console herself with the excuse that her actions are similar to that of other women’s, quite simply, they are not. Skipping a day (or few…) of the pill is not equivalent to scooping sperm out of a used condom. It just isn’t. Neither acts are appropriate or advisable, but the fact that Liz Jones’ very own husband (notably ex-husband now) felt the need to wear a condom in the first place suggests something of a trust issue in that department. That or a smattering of STDs made it a necessity. Both entirely plausible. Anyway, where was I? That’s right, she always goes to the extra trouble of implicating other women. Urging men to be wary of women in their 30’s and making ridiculous claims such as ‘a life without a child is a failure.’ Now, perhaps some (key word here: some) childless women approaching the ages of 30 to 40 are looking for partners with whom to have children. So what? Good for them! Each to their own and all that. These women should not be avoided like the plague. And men, to any of you that have given it a second thought, I genuinely do not think that you ought to waste any time dwelling on the idea that all women over the age of 30 are considering rolling around on your bathroom floor frantically shovelling stolen sperm into themselves. I think we need to be realistic here, providing you’re not taking Liz Jones home (and you should be able to spot her – bit manic, bewildered looking, too much cosmetic surgery, most commonly spotted prowling around notorious red light districts clutching used condoms) then chances are you’re safe. Also, let’s be perfectly frank about this, not everyone wants to have children or are able to have children. In no way would either of one of those situations render any woman or man’s life a failure.

I knew she'd be a cat person.

But wait, there’s more! What most specifically bothered me about Liz Jones recently was the argument that she presented at the Cambridge Union debate on the motion: ‘The only limit to female success is ambition.’ Liz Jones’ side, which included a bloke spouting questionable science I rapidly stopped listening to in order to accord my cocktail more attention, and the rather more impressive and articulate Rachel Johnson, were in favour of this motion. For the record, I am not. But, what especially annoyed me about Liz Jones was her insistence that she herself had not been especially ambitious, nor had her family especially encouraged her. What had in fact lead to Liz Jones’ success, in her own words, was the fact that she had managed to amble her way to the top of her field (confessing to stealing sperm?) by the sheer force of other women becoming distracted by motherhood along the way and dropping out of the race.

Now, correct me if I’m mistaken, but that is not an argument that proposes that women equipped with sheer resilience, determination and doggedness can achieve all that they aspire to become (as I had imagined would be the thrust of Ms Jones' panel's debate.) It was more an attack on those women less insufferable than Liz Jones who had somehow managed to find that elusive partner from whom one wouldn’t have to steal sperm. Now, I don’t begrudge Liz Jones her success in her chosen career, I am sure that she has worked very hard, suffered plenty of late nights and persevered where others have thought, ‘no, it’s probably not a good idea to publish those personal details about myself, maybe I’ll just pause and reconsider, let the Mail find another troll.’ But, I do have a problem with the fact that she accuses other women of being essentially useless. At the Union debate she made the complaint that women don’t care about their work, that they are slow to respond and begrudge having any tasks set of them. There is so much wrong with that statement I do not even know where to begin. I’m not sure what to take more offence at, the idea that all women are disinterested in their profession, the implication that men inherently do everything in the work place in a manner superior to women, or that some poor sods have to work under Liz Jones’ direction? All grossly unfair portrayals of the reality of the work place I am sure. 


Moreover, the inherent implication in Liz Jones’ argument, that women only succeed by remaining single, ambling along and revealing sordid details about their private lives, is a horrendous and irresponsible example to present to room full of young women and men. I know for a fact that plenty of the most professionally successful women, and this is ascribing to a very narrow conception of what constitutes success and profession, have attained their position through resilience and determination (let's not forget a smattering of class capital) irrespective of the number of, if any, husbands they've married over the years or children they’ve borne. There are many restrictions to women's success that continue to uphold that glass ceiling, but not for the apathetic reasons Liz Jones suggests. What I think is really a shame is that an arguably successful (though utterly ridiculous) journalist such as herself proactively takes the time to justify the asymmetry between female and male professional success by spouting from her public platform such nonsense as, 'I'm not surprised that women don't have good jobs, I'm more surprised that they have any at all.' In fact, it's really quite sad. I appreciate that she's made a career for herself out of playing the victim and being provocative, but I can't help but fear that she actually believes her own nonsense. Love her or loathe her, can we all just take a minute to be thankful that she's taken to adopting turkeys rather than children.

Turns out she's the menagerie type. What a surprise.

Snow

Let's be sporting and start on a positive note with something that has amused me recently. Namely, this hat from Reiss, and the snow.

Less amused by the boots, here's an open letter to their maker:

Dear All Saints, 

Thanks for making such fabulously furry winter boots. They look so sturdy and appropriate for the snow. Also, thanks a lot for not bothering to put any grip on the soles. Perfect for walking on all the ice.

Regards,

My sprained ankle.

All photographs of me were taken by this gorgeous lady. Congratulations on your acceptance to do your clinical med training at Imperial!

Also, my home looks pretty neat in the snow.

Looking good home. 

View out of my bedroom window.