pharrell. please can you make my storm feel bright blue? cheers.

woah.

so i just had to send a password request for this as it had been THAT long that i've not written/ been stupidly slack/ completley abandoned my aggy soap box, leaving it well and truly high and dry. to be fair, it was probably 24 hours away from shutting down as virtual cobwebs formed and dust mites ate away at it, only for me to be left with a pop up message saying "you're a lazy fucking SHIT corinne, noone even reads this anymore, we've locked you OFF. LATERS."

waaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.

but i'm back. and so much has been going on since my last moan fest. i mean, you turn on the tv on a saturday night now to find essex's finest airheads getting 'vajazzled' on 'the only way is essex', which in fact is NEVER the way. for anything. you get to squirm at x factor's katie "if i wear more and more ridiculous fake eyelashes every week maybe people won't notice my shit hair or how fucking irritating and untalented i am" waissel, mugging herself off and BEGGING it live on tv every week and much to the delight of most girls, we can see chezza really always has been a chav. theres the tacky cherry coloured hair extensions cascading down her back plus she's wearing dresses that wouldn't look out of place in the window of river island. not that it matters to simon cowell who is still itching to bone her, agrees with everything that comes out of her little dimpled mouth and is blates fondling her tango orange thigh under the judges desk. and shes bang on it. according to the man himself she has him "wrapped round her little finger". sorry where's your wife to be simon? not shipped her off to a private island somewhere so she can't see you salivating over tweedy? SURE.

anyway, i'm feeling a bit rusty after my 3 month sabbatical *ahem* and my fingers are turning a nice shade of blue as the arctic weather outside hasn't stopped anyone in the office from cranking on the air con whilst we all sit in our full winter gear. not to mention, i am finding it extremely hard to get back into the swing of things at work after a blinding week off consisting mainly of tea drinking, bitching, gossiping, wine drinking, 2 in a row eclairs eating with my mate gemma. such is life.

but now. the only way to celebrate my own long awaited return and of course to brighten up this excruciatingly boring tuesday afternoon is simply done.

one man.
in a shower.
lathered up in imperial leather soap suds.

send.



hypnotized is not eeeeeeeven the word.

enjoy one and all. i know i am.

been a while crocodile.

crikey.

it's been an age.

seems like summer has swiftly been and gone...and it's only august. gotta love british summers. the black opaque tights have been pulled out from underneath the pile of unworn summer garms, my brolly is vast becoming a staple in the bottom of my bag, my holiday tan is fading by the hour despite daily slapping on copious amounts of 'tan maximising' moisturiser and i am finding it increasingly hard not to launch my computer out of the window after seeing everyones holiday/ travelling/ "i'm having the time of my life and you're not. MUG" photos popping up all over my facebook news feed.

kill me.

so yes. i am still a moany bitch. i still find most people really annoying and extra and they therefore get hidden/ darked/ mugged off on facey, still spending more than i actually earn, still continuing to beat up my liver till an inch of it's life and still want to murder the hairdresser that fucked up my hair. so yeah, clearly still LOVING LIFE.

tis not all a bag of shit though. got some stuff to look forward over the coming weeks and i will tell thee all via some pictures. because it looks pretty and well, i might aswell:

in just under a month i will be going to BARCELONA for a wee bit to see my krazy (with a k) irish belle michelle for 4 days of boozing and bitching. my kind of holiday. OLE!


i am currently awaiting these beauties that will see me through into the blisteringly shitty winter thats no doubt upon us. i cannot wait to till they are on my size 4's.


my bestest friend jim (she is a girl by the by) is soon to be a wifey and i one of her bridesmaids. excited isn't the word. 'scared' probably is. we are yet to choose the dresses and i do fear that she has the power and capability (seeing as it is HER day. GAWD. what a bitch) to make me look like a 12 year old fairy, fabulously highlighting my lack of 'boobage' and all coming together in a colour that will make me look ill and jaundice. CAN'T WAIT.

despite an array of delayed flights, dramas and deaths whilst on holiday with the girls at the end of june, with so much shit going OFF you literally can only be hysterical in disbelief, at what can only simply be described as 'all a bit touch and go' i have finally put down all the depressing beyond words books i was attempting to read on the beach before getting distracted with the bat and ball. you know all those 'daddy, don't do it...i said no' and 'uncle sam...i thought you were my friend' kinda books and have finally swapped them for a classic and a fave of mine:


say no more on that anyway...

carnival is ever nearing and i can't wait to be stuffing my face with jerk chicken, banana fritters and anything else going. if last year is anything to go by, i will be on the tube early doors with my flatmates, necking luke warm malibu and pineapple juice from old coke bottles at around 11am and being those annoying pricks who blow their whistles as loudly as humanly possible. because it's carnivaaaaal! what i wouldn't like a repeat of however, is nearly being suffocated to death by being LITERALLY held up smack in the middle of a dirty grime sound system as i came off the beaten path to try and find the loo. i was hastily ushered through the crowd of sweaty, angry 'dutty winers' with my feet not actually touching the ground and my bladder being on the verge of exploding in the blazing heat. only to then finally reach a queue 20 people deep to use a toilet in the back of a kebab shop. FANTASTIC.


so that's it for now.

i'd forgotten how good it felt to rant and rave. i've missed it :)

"let's get right ok?"

it's world cup fever. everywhere you look there's chavvy freebie england flags with love from 'the sun' flying out of cars, greggs filling their window displays once again with cup cakes and gingerbread men disastrously decorated in red and white icing that have the ability to send footy mad brats running loco with the amount of additives oozing out them, hoards of men with not a girlfriend in sight because they have lost them to the honduras v chile game (sorry who?) and wouldn't be the slightest distracted if their women were naked, draped in just an england flag and stilettos lap dancing around their tables covered in chips and beer.

so what are the girls left with? yes. the newly released pics of ronaldo sleazing it up in armani y-fronts awkwardly reclining on a chair sporting a back to 1995 gelled mohican. PROJECTILE.

i will promptly pass on those thanks.

however, what you CAN leave me with is this. EVERYTIME.

the 'hot n fun' new vid from pharrell... and the other two. how is it possible that he can ride around in the back of a car, in a gilet of all things, a furry russian hat and still manage to look like SEX personified. and the gold toofs have gone! i'm a happy happy girl. oh and sozza for the turd quality but needs must...



but, forgetting the slimy portugese and the OTT americans (not generalising AT ALL) tis all about 'engerlaaaand nah nah' tonight and i'm sure we've all got everything crossed that robert 'i can't believe i've got butter on my fingers' green does us proud tonight. and doesn't balls up again- pun DEFS intended. because no doubt the cruel tabloids have their cut out effigies waiting in the wings for poor greeny. in the space of a week, the england team are the best thing since hovis, then one mistake and they have to go into hiding in fear of being beaten and egged for being shite. us english fans, we're as patriotic as they come.

i have to say though, i am getting slightly peeved at having to watch the SAME fuzzy black and white footage of the winning 1966 england team on all channels as they try to convince us all to keep optimistic about our chances this time. because you know, it wasn't like it's coming up to nearly HALF A CENTURY ago that we won it last time is it? noooo. the ye old highlights from that game are wearing a bit thin with the match looking so ancient, the players were probably kicking around a ball made of elastic bands and fans paid no more than a 'tupence' for a ticket. but i'll still be out tonight cheering the lads on and wishing the fab man a happy 64th birthday.


COME ON ENGLAND!

it's about time...

it's about time for a lot of things... like me posting for starters. it's certainly been an age since, that i've probably grown a couple of inches and sprouted some grey hairs, more grey hairs shall i say- i have a 'tuft' of the shitters underneath my thankfully heavy fringe which in the wind pops out and says an uninvited embarrassing hello to the world. my hair saga continues.

what's really been a long time coming though and so far the highlight of my week... the long and overdue axing (fingers crossed it's a bloody, gruesome brutal one) of eastenders finest devil spawn, ben mitchell. now i know he is merely a fictional character but it is moreso his really irritating and annoying face, facial expressions, voice, generally him as an unfortunate being that has me raving 'ding dong the wicked brat is dead'. this is the best bit though, the character itself isn't being ditched...just the actor. how JOKES is that?! blatently the producers are thinking EXACTLY the same as me and has taken them a stupid amount of time to realise how SHIT he is at acting. not to mention they probably feel really guilty now after making ben prance around the living room in a makeshift lady gaga outfit made from tinfoil in front of his staunchly homophobic dad phil while the audience looks on fully cringing.

now i don't condone violence but i did grin from ear to ear when ben finally got a clout from his dad after being a little monster to yes, his just as irritatingly bad acting little sis. and yep it's only a soap, but you have to get your kicks from a few storylines (defs NOT the one involving pat, peggy and the creepy perve harvey who recently suggested a cheeky threesome. christ) but you know what i'm saying?


now to find a way of killing off fatboy/ fatz/ whatver. it makes my skin crawl everytime i hear him say 'braaav' 'babygirl' and 'two two's'. who does he think he is?! can you imagine him even holding a conversation with easties veteran dot cotton? i don't think she could manage raising her eyebrows any higher during her "oooh i saaaaay" look that is constantly slapped all over her mush. saying that though, she probably does need an update from the latest urban dictionary as i swear she still speaks about shillings and the plague.

regardless, prattboy needs to GO asap, preferably by getting runover by his own van, saying his last dying words in full clad rocawear and adidas shelltoes. que the douf douf.

this is what happens when you take the girl out of london

originally a north weezy londoner and now residing in lord alan sugar's part of town, the 'cor blimey guvnor it's only the bloody eastend', there isn't much i don't love about the place. i rarely seem to think about or notice the rumoured bad stuff that goes down despite yet another speeding ambulance nearly knocking me for six as i amble up mare street with a burger and can of red stripe in hand, but hey, at least it's never quiet. however, as much as i love bar hopping around shoreditch on a friday night, enjoy seeing the crowds filling out onto the streets as they neck the dregs of their beer before dashing the plastic glasses into the nearest over flowing 'in need of a change' bin, i feel the 'scene' can be become a tad repetitive. it's torturous being exposed to yet ANOTHER ear bleeding night of progressive-acid-broken beat-trance-techno chilled ibiza tripe. and quite frankly, my night can quite quickly turn shite and i wanna jump on the n55 home before i let loose my uncontrollable urge to strangle the dj with the cord of his own diamante embellished headphones.

so when my mate asked me if i wanted to partake in a night out in her neck of the woods in northampton last saturday, i said 'why aye' in my best attempt at a newcastle accent (she's a geordie) and boarded my train at euston, happy to leave behind a shit filled night of tunes that wouldn't sound out of a place during an episode of 'eurotrash'.

upon arrival, the first thing on my mind was FOOD. standard. when and where and how we were getting it were the only questions that needed answering. and being a true friend, it seemed jodi had these all prepped, informing me that we would indeed be hitting up the ever popular 'imrans balti house'. i had a fat curry to look forward to, a bring your own booze policy to strongly adhere to and would be experiencing the famous family naan. "get me there NOW" said the chicken bhuna loving beast.

now i don't joke. but this naan was HENCH. could definitely feed a family...for about a month. it was truly immense as was my ridiculously huge curry which sat happily in an authentic balti bowl the size of a dinner plate. that was sex right there. after we finished up, chanting continuously "im soooooooo full" whilst rubbing our protuding korma and carling filled bellies, we were chauffeured into the town of northampton....and so it began.

teetering down the cobbled streets keeping our eyes peeled for the nearest cocktail bar to dive into, we could count on BOTH our fingers and toes, 10 times over, the amount of looks, sniggers and guffaws we got from simply wearing supposed 'on trend', fashionable clothes. now i really don't mean that in a pretentious, dickhead fashionista way OR am i saying that i have the belief that every trend, just because vogue deems it fashionably acceptable (come on, socks and sandals? i was never on that) is automatically stylish. what i mean is we were simply wearing items of clothing (a maxi skirt and harem pants if you're interested) that unfortunately weren't either of the following:

- a mini skirt or dress that rode up our arses so as to expose both buttocks
- sky high see through stripper platforms combined with rank french manicured toenails and some form of jewel/flower design/chinese symbol in the corner of the big toe
- a ridiculously fake tanned complexion that had been caked on with a trough fit for an oompa loompa

talk about baffled.

drinks in hand, we casually made our way upstairs as to avoid the sniggering circus in cahoots behind us, found ourselves seats on the balcony deck so we could commence our long overdue chinwag/bitch, only to be be disturbed by the oncoming rowdy bunch of knobs proudly parading around in their 'i can make your bedrock' tshirts and officers club white plimsoles. the ringleader and slurring drunken slob who referred to himself as 'jimmaaay' just about managed to gurgle: "so what made you wear these trousers? what were you thinking when you decided to wear them?"

i could ask you the same thing. prick.

the comments continued throughout the night, mostly from men. the lovely ladies of northampton decided on just blatent pointing and eviling us from head to toe, like a scene straight out of mean girls; of course naturally they were all sipping cheap wine out of straws and wearing their finest jane norman ensembles. evidently, i had a clear reason to worry...


whilst waiting in a queue for the club, we let out synchronised jaw drops as we observed one boozed up bird, displaying an outright homage to jodie marsh who literally fell out of a bar and onto the floor in her ever so sexy fancy dress army outfit. we weren't to worry though because she would soon be helped up by her just as wasted mate in a backless, frontless, crotchless dress. it was like watching one of those cack living tv shows called booze britain or something...LIVE.

after sinking a few more jagermeisters and enjoying a ridiculous amount of boogying on down to a bit of timbaland and timberlake, we called it a night at around 3 and headed homeward. over a cuppa and leftover curry we discussed at length how strange the evening was in regards to our 'too out there' outfits. why had it caused such a hoopla? because we weren't donning corned beef legs in lipsy dresses and tramp stamps, we were in the firing line for some digs? it's laughable though. i'm not one to take myself too seriously and didn't take it personally.

but as i arrived back in london on sunday, it felt good to be back. and as much as i loved the change of scene, imran's and shimmying my way through the pop chart, i'm looking forward to a weekend in the sun, a couple bevs in london fields and going out in my jazzy jeff trewsers again...no doubt skanking out to the newest electro beats. JOY.

too hot to trot?

the main part of the election drama is now over. hurrah! i was getting seriously bored of the awkward conversations at work; people talking policies and prats, snobs and stats, but it also meant i was forced to kinda keep schtum the whole time because to be honest i didn't know enough about the snooze fest that is politics.

yeh yeh yeh i know it's important and all that jazz, but when you are bombarded with links to quiz websites falsely telling you which party you are most suited to because you tick the 'i prefer a chinese to a traditional english roast' box or the sites that basically tell you, according to where you live, how irrelevant and unnoticed your vote was going to be, it was hardly motivation to take the whole thing seriously was it? as cynical (and admittedly a tad ignorant) as it may sound, it just all seemed like a bit of sham in the end. what with nick clegg, or 'cleggy' said the chants of his gaggling bunch of horny OAP fans, revelling in his new found fame, signing autographs in a swarve pair of oakleys (not cool) being jumped and humped on by horny ethels, mauds and mabels who were embarrassingly dying for a toothless, gummy smooch... you couldn't help but laugh at the circus that was.

in saying all of this though, i do have a sneaky reasoning behind the unfortunate fall of gordon brown. check out the wifey's bad boys:


we just couldn't bear the thought of these monstrous trotters stomping around downing street for another 5 years could we?!

anyhoo, like i said, my political knowledge is that of a 3 year old probably so i'll leave it there and take this opportunity to salute my mates that used election night as another excuse to get on the sauce! i knew there'd be a bit of fun in it somewhere...

i couldn't help but wonder...

so i finally let my hair down at the weekend.

but you see for once, i'm not talking THAT type of hair release, when i say to the girls: "lets go out, i need to let my hair down" (in other words) "we are going OUT. i need to drown my sorrows with the help of whiskey and wine because shit has been hitting the fan ALL week, work has been nothing but soul destroying, my life is verging on meaningless resulting in an addiction to akinator.com and i still act suprised and clap like a demented seal EVERYTIME the genie man gets the correct answer, i've been so unbelievably bored that i have the keys F5,F6,F7 imprinted on my forehead from smashing it relentlessly on the keyboard and i seem to spend my entire life counting down the minutes till lunch at 1pm only to feign excitement over finally getting to eat my soggy homemade cheese and tomato sarnie and a pack of crushed up hula hoops" 6 packs for a quid in iceland if you're interested...

what i mean is, after 3 weeks of wearing the mop in a ballerina bun perched on top of my head from dusk till dawn because i couldn't bare the sight of it in all it's boring, mid length, averagely shite glory since it got hacked away, i decided at long last to wear it down. don't get me wrong, i still can't look in the mirror and face the reality that my boobs no longer have a homegrown brown gilet to keep them warm anymore but in all honesty, i had to give myself a break from the semi essex facelift i was making for myself.


oh and miraculously my headaches have stopped...funny that.

other than this ground breaking news, my weekend with the boy was pretty chilled. a near enough full day of being forced to watch football/sky sports tv which is essentially a really boring busy screen with a monotone speaking OAP who probably played for bromley back in 56' or something, repeating the SAME football news over and over again along with 'breaking news' (really??) rolling beneath him as he jabbers on about the dry teams...basically, the ones that aren't in the top 4.

BORE OFF.

my end of the bargain was much more satisfying. i got to sit cosily with a cuppa in my bubble of all things singing, dancing and generally nauseating for most by watching over the rainbow and glee...oh and some SATC re runs that he didn't mind seeing cos secretly he's learning a thing or two about how us women work/need lots of shoes/clothes/cocktails bought for them. however, i think it's safe to say i've worked out who his favourite character is after his ears pricked up (no pun intended) during this delightful quote from samantha:

"i will wear whatever, and blow whomever i want, as long as i can breathe and kneel"

need i say more?

payday schmayday

for most, payday is their favourite day of the month. you treat yourself to a grande (not tall) starbucks in the morning, a hench lunch because it's the day you can rejoice and not feel guilty about not having to eat your 30th homemade tuna roll, you go down town after work and pick up those shoes you've been oggling online all week and then you're off to paint it red, hitting as many happy hours as poss before you pass out and forget your own name. you wake up the next morning, dragging your sorry hanging arse to mcdonalds to gnaw on a rock hard muffin, you start to hack into the splat of congealed scrambled egg, still not getting used to the fact that the sausage resembles a pattie (because you are basically eating a burger at 10am) which is smothered in sweet sticky syrup from the american-esque pancakes. finally, it's all topped off with a piping hot cup of water that tastes remotely like tea and burns off about 4 layers from the roof of your mouth. just me?

FANTASTIC.

however, my newly imbursed bank account doesn't stay flush for long. cos those couple days after payday is a complete wipe out. i have direct debits and standing orders coming out of my ears, i check my account a week in and i've gone depressingly back to square one.

POOR. BROKE. BRASS.


and as the month flies by, all before i can even sing:

"can you pay my billlls, can you pay my telephone billlls?"

the same scenario plays out like a broken record. (a really annoying catchy one). every month. without fail.

i sit and stare in disbelief at my online banking balance: '1am, £40 cash withdrawl: shoreditch' here, '2am: card payment for a ridiculously expensive round at a pub' there, yet all the while i'm scanning the 'new in' page on asos.com, profusely clicking the 'add to basket' button on jumpsuits, shoe boots and belts. but it's the cheeky tenners that really dent the wallet. the 'fuck it' tenners that are withdrawn on a random tuesday night for a cheap bite to eat and a few bottles of heineken cos it's 2 for 1 on 'beer of the day' at juno. i'm a sucker for a bargain.

but i don't ever learn.

take the weekend just gone for example. i spent a 80 quid in less than 24 hours. 40 going on munch, a couple bottles of rank tesco's own rose for a girls night in and yeh erm...ahem...hmmm. another pair of shoes.... BUT LOOK!


absolute crackers aren't they?

yeeeeahh so...

the other 40 quid might aswell have gone down the bleedin' drain after a shocking haircut. the crazy bitch hacked off about 5 inches of my mane after me telling her specifically i wanted to keep the length. she was clearly deaf aswell as dumb and basically left me feeling naked. and with a face like thunder. i've been wearing up it in a bun ever since and will not be letting it down till it's back giving rapunzel a run for her money.

so payday can get stuffed. for all the joy it brings for the first 5 minutes of friday morning, it only brings sadness and inevitable unstoppable spending. oh... and don't be alarmed the next time you see me, if i'm stumbling round the joint sporting a french crop, wolfing down an egg mcmuffin bought with my last fiver and shouting obscenities at the dick that chopped off my locks...but all in my new heels of course.

my new bff. lol. ttyl.

i am currently coffee'd up to the eyeballs and have basically been asleep (just unfortunately have to have my eyes open) since being back at work on tuesday. i am in utter disbelief that i've sadly had to return to the grind, feeling like we deserve more 4 day weekends right?? not gonna happen though is it? dev.

and lets not stop there. i am also seething at having to return to what can only be described....as hell. being forced to listen to bbc radio 2 ALL DAY EVERY DAY, whose playlist include the crooning warblings of katherine jenkins, a fine mixture of terrible old school michael bolton/simply red/m people album tracks and an incredible amount of cheese infested 80's power ballads played on the hour, every hour. and don't get me started on jeremy vines daily 'takeover' at 12. lets take a look at todays glorious line up:

"Jeremy discusses National Insurance, Lionel Shriver, Darren Day and heckling".

that's entertainment right there.

who the hell is lionel shriver and why is darren day up for discussion...ever??

FML.

so whilst the sun beats down on my back, beckoning me to rinse out my full lunch hour and cruise the kentish town chazza shops then moan to all and sundry about how broke i am only 7 days after payday, let me first introduce you all to my new bff.

we're tight. like 2 peas in a pod. like punch and judy. sooty and sweep....

not that i've ever met him like.


AMAZING.

ok so he has got a slightly irritating face and the bit about the video case was a tad OTT but the rest had me saluting him all the way! if he was even a little good looking, he'd be a man after my own raging heart.

we just love to hate.

april FOOL

i am hungOVER. because i basically thought my long easter weekend started last night. in the boozer.

shucks.

in my defence, i was watching the incredible arsenal game in a pub in finsbury park with a boozy bunch of gooners. i'm a girl so don't worry, i'm not going to harp on with football chat cos quite frankly, i don't know enough about it to do so. although i'm pretty sure i could give jamie redknapp a run for his money in the commentating stakes because he is utter TURD. but anyhoo, i think it was quite obvious to see that we did get ridiculously dicked on in the first half, embarrassingly so but we jumped straight back on the comeback trail with a little help from theo:

"theooooo, theooooo, theooooo"

and a cracking pen from fab fabs. but in all the excitement, jumping up and down, having a three way hug with the boy and our mate ben, my back all of a sudden became drenched in stella as an over hyper lager lout basically dashed a whole pint onto me.

LET'S PLAY SPOT THE DICKHEAD... he's behiiiiiind you!

but i let it go and in true romantic style, the bf gave me his shirt and promised to buy me some chips after the game. SOLD! to the girl with sopping matted hair and beer stained jeans. it's the small things.

so as my hangover proceeds to get worse by the minute, i gladly nominate myself as the april fool for today. was a silly mistake to get wrecked. on a wednesday. a school night. knowing full well i have 4 days and nights of wining and dining to get through somehow. it's ok though, i started the day with a mcdonalds hash brown, a mug of sugar with a couple teaspoons of tea and have already filled my water bottle up 3 times.

"i'm gonna wash that beer right outta my hair"

literally.

have a EGGcellent easter, hope it's spEGGtacular (yes, i am LOLing to myself even if you're not) and eat your body weight in chocolate.

lots of love from me and my mate below; this being the last time you see him cos he is getting munched, annihilated, exterminated.


oopsy.

theres things i want, theres things i think i want....

and coming straight in at the top spot...

1. alexandra burke to grow/buy/weave on a fringe.


quicksticks.

before her hairline reaches the nape of her neck.

2. trying to find this following item is as hard as trying to track down where robert pattinson is hiding from his crazy freakish fans. i am not one of them. ahem *cough cough* ANYWAY...


3. call it what you will: primarni/p-boutique/primes/primarche/prida, we have all bought something/ basket loads of primark stuff. we've trundled round, flooring fellow shoppers along the way, trying to find the last size 8 in the dress that EVERYONE has, only to be confronted with a beat up size 16 with a broken zip (but you take it anyway cos its only 30p). i like the garms, i really like the shoes although they have a taken a dip in goodness recently as they seem to think £2.99 plastic fluorescent green, toe separating, multi strapped sandals are acceptable. AND deem it ok to charge 15 quid for a pair of gladiator sandals. anything more than a fiver is a bump. however, primarni jewellery is a no no for me. i'm peeved at buying a set of bangles, half of which are averagely ok, the other half shedding the gold covering onto my arm only to be left with what now looks green...toxic almost. so i'm branching out. i'm going top of the market. top of the bangle chain to this...


its 400 smackers mind, so realistically i ain't purchasing it because i've got rent to pay and beer to buy. but you catch my drift? i want to start learning to invest in nice fings, rather than looking at my bleak bank balance at the end of the month and having nothing to show for it but a shrunken bobbly floral dress and a de-sequinned pair of hotpants that now, after one wash, resembles a thong.

4. last but not least.

not least AT ALL.

the abolishment of people wearing those ridiculous clear glasses. your eyesight is crystal clear. don't lie.

it is unnecessary. and really really annoying. and the joke of it is, is that the even more irritating twats are wearing them...WITHOUT LENSES! are you joking me?! its incomprehensible to me as to why they would want to partake in this pathetic 'trend' in the first place but then to my amazement, they think it's cool. to look budget and broke.

YOU ARE JUST WEARING AN EMPTY FRAME YOU DICK.


it's just calling out for a double jook up in the eyes isn't it?

"i don't see nothin' wrong, with a little bump n griiiind"

so the sun finally decided to put his flat cap on this weekend and send us some rays. about time afer an absolute arctic friendly winter. but people need to chill juuuuust a little bit. i'm down for sporting the sunnies, it's bright and without them i do spend most of the summer in a constant state of squinting, worrying that if the wind changes my face will actually stay looking like a tard. but i wouldn't say it was exactly the time for flip flops, board shorts (not acceptable in any season really) sun hats and for the lily whites out there, the slapping on of factor 50 before morning has broken. it's mid march. it's still chapping. you are not going to frazzle. stop being extra, put on your north face fleece and take a brisk walk to the newsies and pick up your milk. you will make it back alive with all layers of skin intact. christ.

i'm sorry but you are equally as annoying as those people who proclaim they are: 'a wheat intolerant, bread intolerant, dairy intolerant vegan veggie who can only eat gluten free tofu quorn sausages and sunflower seeds'.

GET A GRIP. because we all know you secretly eat out at pizza express, get tucked in head first into a creamy lasagne dish and mop up the dregs with the last of your garlic bread and dough balls.

anyway, back to the weekend. i felt i used it quite productively. yeah... no, lets not actually include saturday. that was a complete write off as per, except for getting dragged from my toasty warm pit by the boy to go and watch arsenal in the dolphin pub in hackney. it looked so unfamiliar in the daytime, complete with a crazy half deaf pirate looking irish bar man who took about an hour to make me a concoction of lemonade and lime. believe me, i wasn't ready to let in any more alcoholic beverages into my already JD fuelled bloodstream from the night before. i am alright for a top up. the thought of alcohol was making me heave and i didn't think it'd be nice for me to puke up my breakfast (eaten at around 4pm) into the basket of bar snacks nearby containing a mixture of stale bacon flavoured crisps and blatent leftover crimbo nuts. as the final whistle blew, we stumbled back home, my boyfriend leaving me to suffer a somersaulting tummy as he pissed off to go and pack for his skiing trip to france.

prick.

despite all of this though, this standard saturday feeling was a result of a super friday night out at bounty:



we walked in, pushing past the heaving crowd of indiesters bopping around to the smiths probably and stumbled upstairs to who'd have thought it, an old skool r'n'b night on the top floor of the old blue last! i was in my element, shackin out to koffee brown, kp & envyi, bit of mase and diddy, jagged edge, next and some crackers from aaliyah with not a whisper from chipmunk or tinchy! bliss. as the nostalgia was beginning to build, my bank balance was taking a tumble at the bar...

the mini stage area welcomed a variety of people with the only similarity between them being: they were all waste. we had the girl from the city, who'd blates been boozing since the end of her half day at work, frantically trying to grab her friends to join her but unfortunately was quickly shooed off and was the star of many an embarrassing photo instead, a lady (of the night), who felt it necessary to writh around the floor in a neon pink lycra dress, a black thong (that may aswell have had flashing fairy lights sewn onto it, it was that visible) topped off with a delightful pair of knee high patent dm's. so as you can tell, it was a mixed crowd of bump and grinders.

all in all, it was a good night. some old skool slow jams to booty wine to and a hefty amount of party bangers to...i don't know what actually, just definitely not any kind of body popping.

for those of you who missed out, here's a piece of nostalgia cake you can munch on, cos i'm well and truly stuffed:

pop it like it's hot

i've just got back from a blinding weekend in the haven that is centre parcs with my uni gals and currently sporting a shitty toni and guy esque lopsided fringe, as my booze induced double vision on saturday night advised me it would be ok to give it a little trim with the kitchen scissors. oh dear. you know the ones where you see 55 year old women bussin a diagonal fringe starting at the left temple, cascading down to the right cheek bone, gourdy blocks of peroxide blonde highlights, a mullet at the back and heart shaped tramlines shaved in on one side having been told they look a spit of rihanna.

when in fact they look like shirley from easties.


i'm also croaking from copious amounts of bitching, non stop gossiping from friday night through to monday afternoon, have trapped wind from not wanting to add to the contamination already built up in the lodge from boozy poos, farts and burps due to the hench amount of food and vino we demolished and now back at work. hurrah.

but. i was greeted with some gourmet popcorn corns and a smooch from my luverly boyfriend as welcome home presents. i'd like to say i should go away more often but it turns out he spent most of the weekend in either a grimy drunken haze or was just straight hungover, has somehow bruised his spine and is currently walking around like the hunchback of notre dame. so then again, maybe not.

anyhoo, as i'm enjoying a well earned bear hug with him, catching up, well, me relaying jokes and tales from the weekend which he politely laughs at even though i know he's thinking "i guess i had to be there", bless, bombarding him with my pics i've already uploaded to facey after being home for only 30 seconds, we get sidetracked and our attentions turned to mr williams. mr pharrell williams. his vid pops up on youtube...and i'm mesmerised. in fact i think i repeated the words the boy says whenEVER he sees megan fox.

"words just can't describe".

so simply because he is a beaut and has swagger for DAYS, here he is in all his "i love myself, but hey, i am pharrell. so i can" glory.

enjoy.



ahhhh.
i am GOOD.
great actually.

you uggly

i was once a hater. (my mate kat will no doubt rinse me for this and say "once? you still hate. on everyone and everything. you hate your life love.")

and she's not wrong.

to me, they were affiliated with poker straight straw like haired girls, covered head to toe in tiffany necklaces, bracelets and rings, wearing hideous diamante embellished pauls boutique parkas and sickening jack wills/abercrombie trackies tucked in to them, for the ultimate in 'house of the rar'.

"what choo talkin' about?" i hear you say. like you don't know already. uggs innit.

i ended up getting a pair SIMPLY because my housemate could get them for cheaps and as the usual british blitz came upon us last year, i thought my teeny size 4 trotters could do with a daily cotch inside a furry sleeping bag, instead of squelching and swimming around in my shit ballet pumps from primarni. i'm not gonna lie, they're warm and cosy. but they don't reeaaalllly go with much and as soon as i put them on i feel my personal style takes a little nose dive into... chav. for the sake of comfort do i really want to channel the kerry katona look? my survey saaaays:

eh uhhhhhh.

now, i want to explain the importance of the classic purchase. when they initially came out they were in 4 colours: the beige, the caramel, the chocolate and the black. classics. but...

'hold up, wait a minute'.

why are we now being bombarded on road with leopard print ones, shiny gold metallic ones, ones with beads and bangles hanging off the back, buttoned up, zipped up, ones with added external fur, ribbons, bows and buckles?! what is going ON? not to mention the poor mans chanel clogs they have put pride of place in the covent garden shop window. they look like heeled crocs. so it's a no from me.


the same applies to converse. fearne cotton has 'designed'/put her name to a range for them saying:

"they are definite styles i would wear myself and i've always got a pair in my bag for after a night out!"

really fearne? of your new zebra print or polka dot or faux lace ones?

sure you do.

i've got a sneeeeaky feeling you'll be keeping your louboutins on for the rest of the eve won't you cotton?

although then again, she is designing for very.co.uk, in other words- littlewoods catalogue. so maybe we should take her word for it.

what i'm saying is, it's all about the classics (no, not reeboks.) why you would want to walk around in emblazoned union jack vans or emo skull & cross bones converse is beyond me. it's all a bit extra for my liking. it's unnecessary. it's not original or up and coming. it's straight uggly.

"he had it comin...he only had himself to blaaame"

so apparently dappy from 'nah nah niiiiii' n nubz has been sparked in the the chops by his girl.


1. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

2. it's about friggin time he got told he's a prat.

3. just look at the picture.

4. tulise/tuloose/tuleesha has said:

"it takes a lot not to hit a girl back - i wouldn't have been able to control myself"

what a lovely lady eh? hmmm how about you go back and write some MORE lyrics about how we should be "stopping knife crime and violence and like you know, we gotta come togeva as one innit, united front and all that, get me?? cos i know yeh, being from the streets, its haaard and we just wanna write songs that reach out to the yoof yeh??"...

and then blurt out a completley contradicting statement like the above.

ridiculous.

old 'papi' ain't gonna be so proud now is he?!

oh and i guess:

5. does anyone actually know what the other wasteface does in the group? nah. me neiths..

does anyone actually give 2 hoots about...

another couple of scandalous weeks in celebsville have flown by, with more and more z listers gracing the red 'allied' carpets in hope of revelling from their "pap me! pap me! i'm a fame hungry dickhead!" picture in the daily star. danny dyer, you catch my drift innit? you ain't a cheeky chappy cockney. you're a knob.

we've got a cheap and tacky wedding to cringe at, another classy photoshoot spread of rihanna with her baps and tattoos out again and yet another poor ed hardy bikini wearing (yep. sympathy stops RIGHT there) WAG toni terry gets her heart stampeeded on by, whaddya know- a cheating scumbagging chelsea cretin. now, you wouldn't see any of wengers boys say for instance thomas 'gavalaaaaaa' vermaelen getting up to dirty deeds like that. cos arsenal have got class. oh and they wouldn't wanna mess with wenger and get their balls cut off. standard.

jordan (yes, i'm reverting back to calling her jordan cos she's a disgraceful dirtbag)and alex reid get hitched in the ever so subtle, non attention grabbing city of las vegas. i'm so sorry but as much as alex came across as a nice guy in cbb and nowhere as annoying as 'far from a' lady sovreign, he's still really butters. the cauliflower ears, the beat up nose, the tangoed tan, the 90's esque french crop. i can't cope. although i do feel a tad sorry for being married to a poor mans pammie and he also has to look after little blonde cutie 'princess'. who looks uncannily like a frog. come on, she does. team peter, team katie- she is toad worthy.


so now, is it just me or are people getting fed up of seeing rihannas boobs and backside spread across a magazine or other? boys, you don't have to answer that, i'm sure you're having a cow over it. but seriously, she did one big built up interview demurely dressed in angelic white claiming it would be the only time she'd be discussing the chris brown saga then guess who's popping up all over the joint, straddling male models on leashes, her wearing nothing but nipple tassels and louboutins claiming she's "still really hurt by it all". really? seems like nothing but a bit of s & m can't cure eh rhi rhi?

anyone see nicola 'the ginger one' roberts from girls aloud make her bbc3 debut about fake tanning and sunbeds? it was eye opening for sure. but i couldn't help but think about how well they've all been doing during their 'year break' from chart topping. i mean, we've got kimberley becoming the latest face for 'new look' (ahem), sarah harding just out on the lash (no change there) and starring in...hmmm i forget the name of the film?? nadine over in LA putting all her hard earned wonga into property (good move nads) and then we have nicola having a cry and a cuppa with burnt to a crisp blondes who stupidly use sunbeds 7 days a week. and lets not forget cheryl, who is smashing it up. and you know in her ditzy little head shes thinking "new look? l'oreal darling. and simon cowell wants to hump me too. muhahahahaha"

comebacks and go backs

so its the start of a new year and i'm excited to see what we're all going to trapsing up and down in throughout the seasons. i say seasons, i mean the majority of the year facing rain, wind, sleet, rain, bit of snow, rain...did i say rain? followed by a bout of around 4 days of a so called summer in july/august. bussin out factor 20 with the whole of hackney and their dogs in london fields cos you know you've gotta get your 2 hours of sun. tan me UP.

and guys, let us NEVER forget festival season that comes with the pre made must haves 'festival look checklist' i've made for you:

- straw trilby hat
- scarf covered in skulls
- ray ban wayfarer imitations, preferably in yellow/red/neon pink
(or look like an even bigger knob and wear the cut out kanye sunnies in white)
- ONLY hunter wellies and knee highs
- the standard hippy headband to compliment your 'just got out of the tent and haven't showered' bed hair. hmmm, you didn't wake up like that. you backcombed it...still.

(que shouting 'got got got' or 'need need need badly' like you're trading for POG's).

now you are good to GO girls. peaches/pixie/sienna eat your heart out. you've got some stiff competition from the heap of urban outfitters clones dahlings.

listen, i like fashion, i do. and i do spend half my wages on garms, shoes and the like, the other half on burgers and becks, but i'll tell thee now- i'm not going to be writing one of those fashionista blogs, you knooooow the:

"i have to say, quite frankly, i was disappointed with christopher kane's collection this season, you know, i just feel he hasn't progressed, he promised romantic meets futuristic and it was just empty...so empty". humph.

shut up.
however, i will sometimes comment on stuff i like and stuff i think is rubbish and generally dry. K?

comeback

bumbags.
heard through the grapevine they're coming back. i'm down! gonna fish out my mcdonalds neon rainbow collection complete with matching sunnies. tell a lie, they were actually my older sisters. jels. back when i was a yoof, i always got lumbered with a happy meal, then used to bawl to my mum cos they'd always run out of the girls toys meaning i had to make do with 'hot wheels' for boys. then came the inevitable "you'll get what you're given"!! from my screaming mother. cool. i walk off sheepishly and give evils to the little girl next to me playing dress up with barbie. THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN MINE!! wench. but yeh anyway (i'm not bitter) bumbags, i wouldn't mind seeing what they are saying, you gotta have something to hold your trousers up innit?

go back

justin's S curls.

dear oh dear LORD justin. lets get one thing straight...s curls have never been cool. ever. not only that, you're wearing a denim shirt with a bow tie...

but back to your mop of greased up-tight, verging on ginger-blond highlighted curls. gone are the days of days of dating hotties like cameron d and destiny, the skin head, the 'rock your body'ing with pharrell "i look butters now i've got 2 ridiculous gold teeth" williams and co. this is geek chic at it's worst and i am no longer a fan. my advice is go shave your head like your nutter of an ex britney and bring some sexy back cos it's long gone at the moment love.

drama rama/ pet peeves volume 2

its been a while but i have my excuses yeah. ok so of course i haven't beem snowed under with work or anything, lets not get ahead of ourselves eh? but just a case of more school night boozings, a whole heap of hair of the dogs and enough hangover tv watched to last me a lifetime. and now this week all i want to do is drink rosy lee refills with a bowl of m & s macaroni cheese (which by the by, has gone from £1.99 to £2.04 recently. bastards). and watch glee. perfect.

anyhoo, another week has gone by for me to notch up another list of daily annoyances i have had to endure. its a never ending story.

amber rose

sorry what is it that you do?? other than look like a bigger dick than your shorter than you boyfriend kanye west? you're annoying.



jay sean

apparently the asian version of justin timberlake. righty oh.
but OMG, he is blates the ultimate bad man cos he screeches out ALL his songs with lil wayne AND he wears revolting louis v diamante belts along with gem encrusted crucifixes/rosary beads AND speaks in a ridiculous faux american accent when really he's from bolton. AMAZING. i am defs "down, down, down, down, down". to my last nerve.

the "old school garage wasn't around when i was 13 but i still love it" girls

after sneaking in through the 'artists and press' VIP queue at SOME night at the den last week (apparently i'm with the gentlemans dub club. dont WORRY about that. suuuuuure i am), got to the bar to see a bazillion offers about vodka redbulls along with 3 hench pyramids made out of red bull cans only to be told... there was no red bull. fantastic.

it was ram jam and as i tried to make my way down to the dirty dubstep room after having to escape the funky house/ uk funky (as my boyfriend says, anything that has to use the word 'funky' is just wrong from the get go) tripe that had started to infiltrate, i was getting stilletoed left, right and centre by 18 year olds in topshops latest platforms.

get out of my way.

cos i'm actually alright for 'glam grime' raving attire, 8 inch heels, batty riders and a new era hat. go on, bap on an ed hardy hoodie and you really COULD be in the next tinchy stryder video. dream a little dream.

moving swiftly onto the next room. old school garage pumpin and on comes miss dynamitee-heeee. look, just sing 'boo' and then go...we don't know your new stuff and we don't really care. you ain't making a comeback. anyway what really peeved me was the singalong crew behind me. after the mc's were telling us to "throw your hands up for aighty aighty" (thats haiti to you and me)the 'we love garage but were actually only 10 when it came out' girls were screaming and "when i say, you say, we say" ing in my friggin ear for the rest of the night. ohhh maybe, i was just being a grouching party pooper cos in the back of my mind i had 4 hours of sleep to grab before work and all these young guns had to think about was their 1pm lecture that they had tomorrow on conceptual art but were inevitably not going to go to. the life eh?

so yeah, thats all for now folks. do keep your eyes peeled for more wooly condom wearing pics of miss rose, i'm sure shes got an array of retarded costumes to showcase in the coming weeks.

for charidee

doing my bit for the haiti charity and get to have a dirty shack out skank out to boot.

on a wednesday.
don't worry.

when i grow up i want to be....

you've all seen it. and i know you are all thinking the same as me but think its too deep to say out loud. well i don't.

the absolutley cracking new kfc ad.



would i be right in saying that it's changed ALL your views on working at the classiest, healthiest establishment in town? made you more open minded about future career choices if the recession really fooks you over? thought so.

the budding chef, all smiles for the camera, harping on about his love of food, how its "all about the 'secret' fresh ingredients", yeah, i bloody bet it is. like "what secret ingredient of fingernail dirt, pube or ball of earwax shall we hide in your twister wrap today"? sorry guys, but thats what goes down behind the chip fryer when all you see is his chef hat/baseball cap bobbing up and down, laughing to himself because according to him "if a jobs worth doing, its worth doing well".

cut to the close up of the plastic looking salad, 1 tomato if you get lucky plus the guaranteed stale carrot shreds and it is looking FRESH. he really has learnt a lot from working there. bless. the menu is hard to beat.

look, i'm sorry. but it will forever and always.... be KFC. where people sit hunched over the latest bargain box, ripping apart a miniscule hot wing with glistening greased up fingers and their mouths slobbering all over an oily corn on the cob smithy and nessa style. and then you whip out the coveted kfc anti bacterial cleaning wipe that cleans aaaallll the dirt away.

it doesn't. go and wash your hands.

but it is the king of all chicken shops! and i could never take that away from the colonel and his minions, who on a daily wear ACTUAL kfc branded tshirts, caps and jeans....yes jeans. but theres no getting away from the simple fact this advert tries excrutiatingly hard to try and persuade us all that working at kfc is like working in the bustling kitchens of ramsey or oliver or blumenthal- actually maybe not blumenthal as his gaffs did get shut down by the health services for food poisoning claims. but then thats what you get for being EXTRA whipping up a rinse out £200 scoop of egg and bacon ice cream nonsense. i'm alright for it heston, just send me a steak and chips please with a slab of fatty fudge cake for afters. saaaaaafe!

finger lickin' good it may be. fingers getting licked whilst cooking it- higher possibility. don't get me wrong, i love a fillet burger with cheese, i do. however, i don't think i will EVER be convinced otherwise that kfc workers couldn't be happier than when they are coating 2 week old chicken breasts in breadcrumbs.

shock a bloc

now, i've never been into brawn. ever. and i've also never been into the greasy-slick rick-kebab shop working-slime ball type either.

so while i'm still in the middle of picking my bottom jaw up from the floor, mouth wide open in amazement about how hot megan fox looks in the new armani ads, it's a whole other level of 'wow' after seeing cristiano 'do you want chilli, garlic, mayonaise with your chips?' ronaldo this morning in his kegs.

no word of a lie, i actually nearly threw up into my bowl of weetabix seeing the RIDICULOUS adverts...the preened eyebrows? the danny suko hair? the horrific waistcoat and jeans ensemble making him look like an extra out of an old new kids on the block video?



i'll pass thanks. give me the fox any day of the week.

bootielicious

so now that santa is cotching down somewhere for another 300 odd days, probably hitting the beach in the caribbean or summin, i spose its down to me to start getting my save on for these ss10 vivienne westwood booties.

too cute.

pet peeves. volume 1.

there are some things in life that are just unnecessary. or more to the point just straight up annoying and need to be dealt with appropriately. a slap in the chops usually suffices. the following are things i have seen; while on the tube, in shops, in restaurants and after trying my hardest not to screw my face up in disgust without a care in the world if the certain 'dirty person' sees me or not.

dawdlers

picture the scene. saturday. oxford street. its ridiculously busy. ram jam. sales are on. thick parents trying to steer their pushchairs with overwhelmed screeching babies in tow through the sardined packed crowds. wannabe WAGS teetering around in heels, head to toe in sequins, holding a venti-mocha-locha-extra double shot-dry-extra hot-frappe-no coffee-frothy-no froth coffee from starbucks, trying to manage the whole of topshop and all saints over their shoulders. however, at least they are in a rush. which is essentially by far the better option in london. we got things to do, people to see, places to get to making us feel really important. "sorry sorry, can't chat so ping me on my BB yeah?"

but, what really makes me want to stop in the middle of the street, stamp my foot and scream FOR CRYING OUT EFFING LOUD is the dawdlers. the irritating, infuriating people that think its the time and place to take pleasant summer strolls up and down the streets?! WHY ARE YOU WINDOW SHOPPING?! why are you walking so friggin slow mesmerised by the budget window display in debenhams that stops you in your tracks?! GET OUT OF MY WAY before i push you into the glass and make you a real life mannequin.

mcdonalds munchers


ok. calm. deep breaths. right.
i love mcdonalds as much as the next. (yes you do too, all you secret 2 bites and its gone cheeseburger lovers, you love it). especially when its fresh. 2am. hackney central branch. big macs made that actually look like they have layers not just 2 slabs of beef pattie, with the secret big mac sauce squelching out all over the shop. BUT, believe it or not there is some golden arches etiquette that alot of people seem to forget:

- the sauce is for the chips, NOT the burgers. why do people think its ok to dip the burger in the obviously teeny pot of sauce specifically MADE FOR CHIPS.

- you do NOT use a chip as a make shift knife to then smear your ketchup/ curry sauce all over the burger... it has its own sauce if you hadn't noticed. but no. you probably didn't because you were too busy:

- cramming a fistful of chips, INTO the sauce and then forcing the dripping bunch of fries, into your mouth, taking a large swig of coke to mush it all up with. you can breathe you know? its not going anywhere.

- you do not need to eat like its your first meal in 5 days. wolfing down the chips at the till, before you've even paid and they are piping hot, burning the roof of your mouth. JUST CHILL. its butters and greedy.

so all i'm saying is really, you go get yourself a bargain in the crappy sales, i really hope you do find something still extortionately expensive that was never on the shop floor previously anyway but has been brought out to get rid. and by all means enjoy the wonders of ronalds gaff but remember you are in a classy, michelin starred establishment. not the zoo.