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...