The VMAs: The Very Mundane (and standardly annoying American) Awards

The VMAs. Uhhhh.

Yet another meaningless awards show where nobody actually cares who wins what award because the charts are crawling with over produced, bullshit Calvin Harris garb anyway and another show where all you want to see is who is wearing what and walking the red carpet with who. What you DON'T want to see however..is Miley Cyrus. A gyrating, (I'm not saying 'twerking'; I've had it to the back teeth with hearing twerking) flesh coloured latex wearing 20 year old, who has a tongue so long and big it could rival that of a horse. She spent the whole song trying to essentially lick her earlobes and quite frankly, I would absolutely love to stand by and watch her tongue be ferociously rolled up like one of those metal measuring tapes and listen to it snap as it hits the back of her throat.

Soz, but can you STFU? Like literally, shut your mouth. 

I just wonder who is telling her all of this attention seeking and slutty inspired behaviour is actually okay? Seemingly, there is no one around (her parents included) who haven't thought to have a quiet word, telling her rather bluntly to just rein it in a tad. It was the unnecessary boob gripsing, crotch grabs, the dry humping with a foamy Mickey Mouse hand (oh the irony) and the winding up against Robin Thicke's groin in a pair of rubber undercrackers and white creepers that just really funked me out. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?? I mean, from the off I've always thought that Robin looks a bit like a creep anyway but even his face screamed "Jesus Christ, I can't touch her back... SHE'S A CHILD!" Everyone from Will Smith to Rihanna didn't have a clue either as they sat with literal looks of agonising disgust and disdain. And don't even get me started on the fact that she jacked Pharrell's part in 'Blurred Lines'. And hashed it up royally. Back the eff off Miley. Seriously. Don't add insult to injury, love.



I'm also glad she turned up in bejewelled lycra black leggings and a crop top. It's good to see her stylist has lost the plot also.

Whilst I still haven't shaken the cringe shudders, I think it's time to move on. Before I sound like I'm trolling. (Yeah, I know I already probably am but whatevs).  If we're talking highlights of the show, and I use highlights loosely, I guess we can take some time to appreciate the one off and muchly anticipated return performance of *NSYNC. Or for clarification: 'Justin Timberlake featuring *NSYNC'. (Think Beyonce allowing Kelly and Michelle to make a six second appearance at this year's Superbowl. PAH!) Anyway, headed up as per, by Mr JT (who for some reason still thinks it's cool to wear a trilby...really?) it was good to hear a medley of all their old bangers. I've no shame in admitting I was a big fan of the them way back when; my first crush being a peroxide blonde, S-curl sporting Justin who could sing really high and do the running man in dungarees and Timberlands. Taking centre stage, he was backed up by JC and the 'other ones', who let's be honest didn't have their microphones switched on (and probably have never had) as they all body popped to 'Bye Bye Bye'. A nostalgic trip ensued but there was no denying you could see that collectively they'd put on about three stone, Lance at one point forgot the dance routine and Joey Fatone (LOL) looked like he was going to keel over about 30 seconds in. But it was great all the same. Without a doubt, my favourite part was when the performance had completely finished, Justin did a 'thank you' shout out to the applauding audience when JC then felt it necessary, out of nowhere, to belt out a warbling and out of tune 'baaaaaabbbbyyyyyy'.

Cheers JC. The song definitely wasn't over. (Skip to 1.44. It's LOLZ)


If I'm honest, I turned off after that. They did an announcement that Macklemore (who?), A$AP Rocky and Katy Perry would be on next so I switched over. I was also super bored of having to watch the camera pan to Taylor Swift and Selena Gomez for the umpteenth time as they tried to grind against each other singing along to Yeezus himself. Even Rihanna was bored of it all. There wasn't a side boob, navel or arse crack on show from Miss Ri-Ri, instead turned up looking glum as shit in a bland ensemble of jeans, a tee and a circa 92' diamante choker. Oh, and a gum piercing in between her two front teeth that looked like a silver piece of trapped spinach. So all in all, her 'giveafuck' metre was at an all time low. Much like mine by this point.

On a whole, the whole thing jarred me. Despite disappearing for a while to work on her 'artpop and music', (WHAT?) Lady Gaga's predictable comeback was just her once again pratting around the stage like a noob, in yet another ridiculously stupid spread of insane wigs and outfits. I'd rather rewind and take a trip back to 2001. To Britney Spears and 'I'm a Slave 4 U'. To THAT green bra and THAT stomach...and a casual snake appearance. Sure. Just the right amount of sexy, the perfect amount of surprise and a great pop song. She smashed it. Much like the car windows she did in a few years later. But still.

That’s it guys… we’ve seen enough.

I’m pretty much done being bombarded with Instagrams of Helen Flanagan’s pushed up cleavage, Miley Cyrus’ side boob, Kelly Brook posing in suspenders in a changing room, and Rihanna rolling a doobie in a gold encrusted g-string and not a lot else. It’s just a bit much I feel. Do we really need to see that much skin exposure? And more to the point do their mum/dad/ dad’s pervy mates need to see it? I'm going to go with a probably not. As pointed out above, these are the ones that are currently on overkill across the net. Oh, and The Sun newspaper if you count Flanagan posing for a risqué snap with a gun on the day of the Sandy Hook gun massacre. “It's the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life” sobbed Helen on her appearance on Daybreak. No shit. You fucking moron. So here’s my top three worst.

Helen Flanagan (SPOTTED: Flanagan teetering around Manchester city centre in spindly heels,jeggings, and a top knot, shopping (again), definitely NOT spending her footballer boyfriend's cash)



She first graced our screens on the cobbled streets of Corrie as angelic looking schoolgirl Rosie Webster; spawn of veterans Kevin and Sally. Overnight, she was swapping pinafores for PVC and was seen swanning around t’Rovers in a negligée, screaming about a cheating boyfriend. Oh how they grow up so quickly! And by ‘they grow’, I'm pretty sure you know what I’m referring to. Where the heck had they come from and why do we know so much about them already?! Making the executive decision to leave Corrie only a year or so back to pursue other opportunities AKA to ‘get it out for the lads’ on the covers of classy reads ‘Nuts’ and ‘Zoo’, her next bold move was to appear on ‘I’m a Celebrity’. OF COURSE. It was the natural progression right? Hands up who would not want to leave a well-paid acting job on one of the UK’s biggest soaps, to go live in a jungle in the Australian outback until the fickle British public got bored of you and voted you out, eat kangaroo testicles, guzzle rat piss, and share a hammock with a pervy TV host from an obscure 80’s game show on live television? RIGHT. All she managed to do was prance around in a range of teeny weeny bikinis wailing her eyes out, not having a clue what to do other than frantically apply lip gloss, pout, and then cry a bit more, and then couldn't understand why the public would want to keep making her do all the humiliating bushtucker trials when she was just trying to ‘be herself’ *wail wail waaaaiilll*. There’s your answer princess.

Miley Cyrus

The once rootin’ tootin’, cowboy boot wearing, creepy dad hugging, former Disney starlet has now made the stunning transformation into crayzee wild child complete with rock star tattoos, a wardrobe of studded ensembles (for extra rock star swag), fuck loads of creepers, and a video of her ‘twerking’ in a unicorn onesie with no underwear on. Isn't daddy Billy Ray the proudest father around huh? I’m going to reserve judgement on the hair and just say…really? Have you really just lopped off your glossy hair extensions for a dyed peroxide blonde, short, back and sides number? Sure. Ok then. Whatever floats your “I’m not a little girl anymore y’all, I’m a badass bitch now ya hearrrrr” (said in her annoying Texan twang) boat. Course you are Miley, course you ARE. As of late, Cyrus has made some show stopping statements by swapping Sugar magazine covers instead for spreads in more grown up editorials V Magazine and Elle, wearing nothing more than a pair of buttock peeking denim shorts, all while her ‘tweeny’ sized hands precariously cover her boobs. Maintaining some class though. Obviously. Speaking about her private life in the SAME magazine in which she is the cover star, Miley says:

"Like on my Twitter, I’m much more... not conservative, but you don’t see a picture of my dogs. You don’t get that personal stuff anymore."

Ah but Miley. You spoil us! What do you mean we don’t get that personal stuff anymore? Does you wearing leather slacks complete with a backwards belly chain drapsing into the crack of your arse not mean personal these days? I must be unfortunately mistaken.*



Kelly Brook

Ok. So she has a banging bod. There is no denying it. But I’m juuuuust a bit confused as to what she ACTUALLY does? Being the butt of Keith Lemon’s dumb jokes doesn’t really cut the mustard. Nor does appearing in ‘smash hit’ movie ‘Pirahna 3D’, where I’m pretty sure she just wore a bikini and awaited her death as thousands of flesh-eating fish were released into the sea with a hungry set of razor-sharp teeth. I mean, it’s got ‘Best Leading Actress In The Shittest Film Ever’ written all over it. Bravo! Moving on... So she has a line of bikini and underwear sets under her belt for High Street fave Topsh.... no no sorry… New Look. We’re talking big guns here. She bags herself toyboy sportsmen, posts endless Twitter photos of herself in bed with them looking oh so au naturale only to then finish with them and then get back with them, all in the space of about two weeks. To top it all off, she then has to look on as her action hero ex Jason Statham walks around with new girlfriend Rosie Huntington-Whitely (nuff said), the (super) model he upgraded to. Quite literally. What is your life? What is it?



So there you have it. My top three worst attention seeking, cut out Lipsy dress wearing, talentless fools who continue to just well…piss me off. And I just had to get it off my (fully covered) chest.

*I may or may not be a little bit jealous that (my husband) Pharrell has just produced her new album. May or may not.

Have a Krak at Krakow... no really, it's great!

Deciding on not your average city break.... so not your Barca, your Dam or your Berlin, myself and three friends just returned from a cracking (I'll stop soon but not yet) weekend in sunny Krakow, Poland. And by gosh, we had a hoot. Recommended by a friend, we were told it was cheap, beautiful, cheap, not too touristy, and cheap. This was going to be our place. The place of dreams. And that it was. After a six hour stint at Stanstead (Wetherspoons), a few beers, a bottle of Prosecco and a sharer pack of Revels later, we were ready to board our luxurious Ryainair flight, taking nothing more than a suitcase to squash on as hand luggage (NO Ryanair, I will NOT at any point be paying an extra 70 euros to check my bag in, reserve a seat, wee, poo or breathe on the flight) and a couple of cheapo celeb magazines selling yet another Kerry Katona life story.

As the majority of this holiday was a culmination of really stupid and babbling private jokes, x-rated conversations about sex, deep and meaningfuls about families and babies, and a fuckload of pizza eating, I'd like to break down Krakow for you generally, in hope of really selling it.

1. The currency

The zloty. Or as we were hell bent on calling it: lev/ lira/ euro/ quid/ pound. Due to none of us being able to remember what it was OR pronounce the real deal, we thought it best to just replace. In all seriousness though, the zloty is an absolute touch when it comes to the exchange rate. We worked it out at just under five zloty to the pound. So when a beer is about six... you do the maths (yes, I am adding an 's' to math as I am not American and or annoying). Don't get me wrong, we did get bumped the odd time. Namely by taxis. At just gone midnight, we jumped in a taxi to our apartment from the airport, giving the driver our full address, word for word, number for number, who told us the ride would cost 80 lev. Sweet, we thought, not bad between four. Around 10 minutes later, we had arrived at our 'destination'... I use that loosely as it turns out door number 27 equates to door number 'other end of the street'. Having all just withdrew massive wads of cash from the ATM, none of us had any change or small notes so I just handed over a 100 zloty (baller) and span out my best 'thank you' in Polish. A smile and 'thank YOU very much' from the cabbie, he smiled, got back to his car and took off! No change for us! Cool. Thanks for the blinding service. We found out later that when it comes to tips, if you utter thank you after paying the bill, it basically means they can pocket the change. Our lips were sealed shut after that escapade.

2. Pronunciation

Accents for me mostly go down like a shit sandwich. Imagine Delboy Trotter doing the 'mange tout, mange tout' act...but in every country and with the same over-cockney 'woiii oiiii' tinge to go with it. It was no different in Poland. Deciphering the map was a hard feat on its own, let alone then trying to find the street names and THEN trying to pronounce them when asking someone in what direction they were. To help ourselves, we ended up calling the things just names that we could make up from a couple of letters. For example, Meiselsa Street became Melissa Street, club Piekny Pies became Pickney Piez and the Jewish Quarter itself Kazimierz turned into Kazmir/ Cashmere/ Kazzymier/ something Borat would say. Needless to say, we had to get around with hardly no help at all. It was mere gobeldygook to the locals.

3. The bars

Were so cool. Most were decked out in what could only be described as the result of a trippy grandma having had a field day in a charity or antique shop. There was no real set style just an amalgamation of vintagey looking stuff with some modern day artwork or posters. But the vibes were always spot on. A personal fave was the Singer bar where real old school Singer sewing machines were stuck to the tables and you drunk around them. So cool. Another, was a little secret bar that was just off the main street in the square, hidden away behind a tattoo parlour. Creeping downstairs with low ceilings, you arrived at this basement cellar bar playing quite grimy electro and serving ice cold beers. It also had this treehouse cubby type place to chill which we quickly nabbed and we all chortled at how great it was. Living it up quite literally.



4. The food

Hmm. Food wasn't actually going to get its own thing here because actually it wasn't THE best. On the good side of things, we did enjoy the traditional Polish dumpling, also known as a 'pierogi' (or to us a peroni/ perogni. Sure). These were a bit like dim sum and were filled with potato, spinach, beef or cabbage or a combination of a couple. They went down a dream... unlike the famous pizza bread 'zapiekanka'. What looked like from afar a banging, open Subway foot long topped with anything your heart desired, such as, chicken from hell and growing ham, (we were 100% unsure too) and they did in fact turn out to be...gross. The base was made from some sort of mushroom puree, the tomato sauce was basically thinly applied ketchup, and the toppings were sprinkled on about one every five inches. More to the point, they tasted like shit. Apparently you are supposed to eat them 'after midnight' aka they taste better when you're drunk. I'm not too sure any form of alcohol would knockout the taste of one crumb of those terrible eats.



5. The booze

The beer was dreamy. Tyskie beer, yep you know the one...it's the can thats always in your newsagent; the one that you get as a last resort if Red Stripe has sold out, was delicious. Not too gassy and always cold and refreshing, we necked quite a few of this throughout the days and nights. Feeling a little bit woozy after only two pints in the day, we later found out the beer is served in half litre glasses. Not pints. Course it was.... and to that, we'll have a CHEERS! As for the vodka. WOW. Think of Vokda Revolution bar menu...but better and with much better vodka, better flavours, and better clientele joining in on it. Ordering our first of the weekend at a tiny bar off Plac Novy, all four of us were ready to raise a glass and clink a drunken slur of "waaaayyyy..I LOVE YOU.... to the best holiday everrrrrr"before necking them, we were quickly told these were not shots to down in one and were in fact drinks to sip. *Ohhhhhhh* ricocheted four times around the bar as we handed over a mere 50p per shot to the bemused looking barman. As for the flavours we tried, you'd have to ask someone else. I simply could not tell you.

6. The people

Ok, so we didn't actually integrate with many Krakowians but we did have a whole heap of love for our landlord for the weekend, Greg. We booked his apartment on Air bnb and for three nights, his swanky swish apartment was 40 quid each! Seriously cheap. Prior to our arrival, he sent us emails saying he couldn't wait to see us (less creepy, more friendly, honest) and that he would meet us at the flat on our arrival. Four girls and four really noisy wheeley suitcases later, he was there waiting with our keys. He was THE loveliest guy ever! So sweet. When we got to the flat a bottle of wine was waiting for us as well as a bunch of leaflets and brochures about what to see and do during our time there. He told us we could call him any day at any time if we needed anything. AH GREG! The next day while we were out about just checking out Da Vinci's 'Lady With An Ermine' (yes we DID do culture and that), he text us saying:

"Hello nice girl team. My wife will try to meet you at 4pm. If she is not there at 4 just lock the door. Put all keys to bag and to letter box nbr 21. Everything ok? Greg (currently in sunny Hungary)"

How cute?! We were the nice girl team! And it felt great. We text him back saying we'd double locked the door and thanked him for being the best. Signed off 'nice girl team'. Obvs.

So there you have it. Krakow. Pronounced Krakov. (See, we've learnt). I could go on about how beautiful the old town was, how pretty the main square was and how stunning the architecture was but you have to see it for yourself. It really was a great place and a great time and I am itching to go back and explore more. So go! Who needs Dublin when the kraic is popping off in Krakow?!...Ok, that was the last one. Na drowie!

"meal deal or no deal?"..."no deal"

I'm blaming it on the weather. I'm British... I have every right to blame anything and everything I want on the weather. The drear and gloominess of late aka forever, has made me even more lazy than ever before and I can't summon the energy to do much at all at the moment; be it from putting my pyjama bottoms straight over my tights when I get home because it's long to take them off to not even wanting to finish a sentence. However, my laziness came round to bite me on my arse at around 8.40am this morning.

Living only an 8 minute train ride to Liverpool Street station, a 10 minute walk to work in Monument, and a quick stop off at the Sainsbury's local en route, I have recently been finding this journey both annoying and quite traumatic. Traumatic might be a bit strong but weaving in and out of an angry, militant, and marching fleet of suits every morning, avoiding briefcase bashes and cigarette burns can take its toll. So anyway, this morning I thought I'd switch things up. Stick it to the proverbial man in the suit and instead take the four stops bus journey from the station to work instead and for added bonus points, venture into the huge Tesco en route to pick up my lunch. MISTAKE.

Walking in, once again through a heaving wave of banker wankers, you have to walk past the greasy chicken wing/ cheese and onion pasty/curry aisle to get to the lunch section. It's exactly what you want to see, smell, and embrace all before 9am. I was thinking meal deal, seeing as I was missing my usual dip into Sainsbury's and so I thought I'd see what it's competitors had to offer. The selection looked bright from the off with its shelf upon shelf of sandwiches, rolls, wraps and salads. But I was to be quickly disappointed. In amongst it all were the Tesco's 'Finest' sandwich selection and I clocked quite a few corkers... there was the New York pastrami number, the Mexican chicken special with guacamole, the caviar and truffles (ok, maybe not the last one)...but much to my dismay, these weren't even included in the meal deal offer. Sorry...but seriously? I'm used to Sainsburys' spread of 'Taste the Difference' sarnies with salt beef, brie and cranberry and probably caviar and truffles sandwiches to sort me out! But no, not this time. This time, I got lumbered with a beaten up, cheese and ham (not entirely sure rubber constitutes as ham) sandwich squashed into a dog eared, damp card board package. Gross. To top it all off, you were allowed a choice of a mere three chocolate bars: a Kit Kat (I hate wafer), Wispa (Really? Do people still buy Wispas?) and a Snickers (my favourite all round....but they were sold out). CHEERS. Course they were. Picking up the Wispa, I walked over to the drinks and decided on a (luke warm) bottle of Coke. At this point and to my gut wrenching realisation that I had made a terrible mistake, I couldn't help but think that Saino's really had got it spot on. They give you the option to pick the smaller sized bottle, the little "I'm the perfectly sized bottle for lunch" option. But not Tesco. No. Not unthoughtful and inconsiderate Tesco.

Let down, disappointed, and now running 10 minutes late due to disbelief and trauma, I quickly paid and left immediately to a waiting and unbelievably rammed number 48 bus. Pushed up against the window and trapped in between an over packed rucksack and an awkwardly positioned buggy, I began to majorly regret my journey cop out short cut. I realised I should have just sucked it up and done the 15 minute walk to work, despite the early doors feeling of tiredness and laziness. It's healthier and really can count as my exercise for the day. And more importantly, I shouldn't have switched supermarket teams and missed out on my trusty dip into Sainsbury's for an undoubted lunching feast.

After posting on Twitter, the lovely guys at Saino's tweeted me their appreciation!

See It Through- The Transparent Trend

Cast your mind back to the 90s. Back to your see through bags and rucksacks filled with everything from the latest Jacqueline Wilson book, a tin pencil case complete with bendy ruler and multi-way coloured biro, a Dairylea dunker and a pink, glittery lip gloss you got free from Bliss magazine. They were the must have bag, the Mulberry ‘Alexa’ of our time… hmm. No? Ok, maybe not. But they were popular nonetheless. Fleetingly they came and just as fleetingly they went, but are now it seems, making a comeback; very much like the long awaited return of Atomic Kitten and 5ive. Naturally.

Back in those days, we didn’t have a care in the world about having it all on show. The more stuff you could pack in and show off, the better. Now, its all: Iphone. Check. Designer purse. Check. Really old lip balm on its last legs. Check. So we have to be that tiny bit more careful when we’re flinging ourselves around the dance floor with the whole of our lives possessions on show. Quite literally, at first glance, it doesn’t look like the best and safest way to cart your stuff around but if handled correctly (and responsibly), this Spring catwalk trend can look super cool. To put minds at ease, the bigger bags such as the totes and shoulder bags have their own mini purse connected inside, making those more valuable items that little bit more safe. Making even more of a statement, the colours appear far from shy as they stand out in neon pinks, yellows, and purples, much like those seen on the catwalk of the SS13 collections from Stella McCartney, Gucci, and Burberry.





The see through craze is making bold moves across a range of other accessories too including heeled shoes, pointed flats, chunky necklaces, and even umbrellas. And by gosh, we need one of those right now… in this lovely season we like to call Spring?

Borough Wines, Hackney Downs: Who knew?

Having lived in Hackney Central for nearly four years now, you would have thought I was pretty in the know of where to eat, drink, and get merry around these joints and would have also come to the realisation that there is more to life than the Mare Street Spoons. (No really, there is...).

For years now, I genuinely thought that the tatty looking 'Borough Wines' place next door to the Hackney Downs Tesco Express was merely a ye olde wine shop, that had probably been open for yonks, entertained maybe a couple customers a month, and was more than likely on the brink of shutting down due to poor sales and no love. A poor man's 'Oddbins' if you will. But how wrong I was. Turns out, it is in fact a once railway engineers' warehouse and now, an unassuming, kitsch little wine bar and shop. Last weekend, some friends and I after weeks and weeks of saying "we should pop in after work...it's only there right?", us all nodding in agreement, saying our goodbyes and tottering off in the opposite direction of the bar, finally took the left turn out of the station and went for a few glasses of red.



At just gone 6pm on a Saturday night, the place was already buzzing. Dimly lit, the narrow looking bar was flanked with long, wooden benches, occupied by chitter chattering small groups, large groups, and couples, all in good and quite boisterous spirits but the bar still invited us in to its open, homely feeling arms. The bar area had a back wall of wine bottle layered upon wine bottle and the white washed walls were lit up by long, teardrop shaped lights, hanging from the highest of ceilings. A lady welcomed us in and sat us down to a table, decorated in tea lights and a massive A3 sized wine menu, ready and waiting for us to peruse its list of 30+ vinos. Now, I'm no connoisseur when it comes to a glass of rouge or any other wine for that matter, so we thought it best to take the waitress' recommendation after she clearly caught us all faux pondering the menu and putting on our best "I want something with a fruity blend but an oakey scent" faces. She clocked that we knew diddly squat and so pointed out to us the South of France 'AC Cahors, Chateau les Croisilles, Prestige 2007', (we were obviously still none the wiser) which she said was a "dark red, sweet black cherry flavour, creamy with hints of chocolate and a leathery finish". Sounded divine.



And it was. It was exactly as she had described and after a monster catch up (a friend had flew in all the way from South Korea), we ordered the bottle. Glasses ranged from £4 to £5.25 and bottles from £20; a good price for a particularly great tasting wine. And that's coming from Jacob Creek's number one fan... Feeling a little bit peckish but with dinner plans elsewhere, wine and chat got us all fancying something to pick at. The menu had a selection of tapas and light bites, all of which had been matched up with a potential love interest in the form of a recommended wine but we eventually ordered the cheese board. This came with a rich selection of four cheeses and a pot of sweet chutney, plus a basket of warm, rustic bread and toasted slices too.



Red wine stained smiles and appetites satisfied enough for the bus ride into Islington for dinner, it was time to make a move. A super cheap bill, an unpretentious, chilled and relaxing atmosphere for catch ups, and a slightly hazy feeling in the head, it was a all in all a lovely evening. The same lady showed us out and wished us a good night and we headed back out onto the bustling Wilton Way road.

january: cheers for hanging around like a bad smell

oh hi january! good to see you're still here. have you not left yet?

january? or shall i say banuary? the month where all things fun, exciting, tasty and beer inspired...have been banned. all of which have not been darked out of choice but out of force. pure brutal, cold and unsympathetic force. and i'm trying to figure out where it all went wrong as i'm sat here, after yet another night in and after yet another bleak dinner of crinkle cut chips, peas from a bag that never seems to decrease in size and some form of frozen 'meat' substitute. yeah i'm talking chicken dippers, yeah i'm talking birdseye classic 'chargrilled' lookalike chicken.

i'm going back to that fateful day. payday. friday the 21st december 2012. aaaaaallll that time ago. waaaaaay back when in 2012. the day that i'd decided that even though we were getting paid early, i was going to be sensible and make it last...spread out my spending evenly so that i wasn't left up shit creek without a paddle come mid jan aka the first week of jan. it was the day that instead of keeping to my consistent packed lunch routine that i'd been doing really well at throughout the whole of december, i was going to bosh out my card like money ain't no thing and treat myself to a slap up lunch down the pub, leaving me down 15 quid plus a cheeky pint no less. this, all of course, took place just a mere 4 days before christmas and equally the same 4 days left for me to actually buy the remaining 80% of my christmas presents. come the 24th, i'd knackered myself out doing a last minute spurt around the shops, picked things up way over budget and kicked myself that i should have bought most of that shit online. and i don't even like christmas.

i managed a relatively cheap new years. i was 40 notes down from the ticket i bought early december (even though that was paid for time ago so doesn't reeeaaaallllyyyy count anymore) and i had a little cash at hand to spend at the troxy in shadwell with oneman, jackmaster and a special guest bunch of obey cap bussin, new balance wearing 19 year olds who were blitzing their student loans on drugs and £2 glasses, yes glasses, of tap water. but then shit turned sour when my purse got jacked from my bag and the dickhead that nicked said purse took pleasure in pocketing my remaining evening's cash, cards and even had the cheek to check in my coat ticket at the cloakroom and make tracks with my relatively new vintage leather jacket... on new years eve... at around 5am. leaving me to walk home in a invisible coat of disbelief and a scarf, feebly wrapped around my shoulders in the minus degree weather. HAPPY NEW YEAR to you too troxy, happy new year. i mean, i personally couldn't have asked for a better way to start 2013.

and so it was back to work on the 3rd of jan. back to the darkness making an appearance at the ungodly time of about 3pm so you feel like its time for bed and a mug of horlicks. but most worryingly, it was back to the time where you make that stupid mistake of checking your online banking to find that you are more broke than ever and spend the rest of the afternoon reeling at the ridiculous amount of 'cash withdrawal at 1.30am' and 'paid by debit card' notifications on your account, realising that all those times you've pressed 'cash and absolutely NO receipt' have now come back to bite you in the arse. repeatedly.

now here i am, having to endure another 5 whole days of this horrendous month. i've stayed in all week, had a groundhog night situation come dinner time for five nights straight and have watched everything under the sun on 4od and iplayer from the latest jungle scuffle on 'Africa' to yet another baffling channel 4 documentary, this time about american kids in the deep south who genuinely believed they were either a werewolf OR a vampire. sure you are. sure you are definitely one or the other. stupid fucking pricks.

so bring another fun filled weekend without cash monies and another 3 days of channelling what some may call 'hermit chic', which simply consists of finding comfort in the bottom of a cold tin of beans whilst wearing a onesie that hasn't been washed since christmas. but fear not! i'm glad that come payday on monday, i've definitely not got to pay rent, bills, deposits on two holidays and finally, after 5 years, pay the tv license after receiving what i can essentially call blood written death threats. nope. haven't got to pay out for any of that at all...

girls girls girls girls...'girls' i do adore.

so who isn’t a fan of the tv show ‘girls’?? boys maybe? Carrie Bradshaw obsessives who still believe writing a column for one magazine in New York really can pay for shelf upon shelf of Louboutins, fancy pants breakfasts with the girls and racks of couture chanel suitable only for walking the dog… or maybe people who just haven’t seen it yet. so for those folk...



i don’t know what it is that makes it so good, but theres something. or some things shall i say. its the rawness of it all. the straight up and down rawness. the swearing, the crudeness, the early on touches on STI’s, abortions and golden showers, the mugging marnie gets at the gig (SO DEEEEEEP) and the feeling that you can almost smell Adam’s musty scent when he’s sat around in his scabby boxers watching porn… yeah. gross. but most noticeably, its Lena Dunham, the creative genius behind it all, who seems to have grasped the nearly tangible realness behind how girls think, act and say things off the cuff, the complicated friendships that sometimes seem fucked up but you accept those parts of your mates’ personalities regardless and just the plain funkiness of relationships (not so much the exploitative, verging on violating, but kind of funny, role play, sofa sex scene Hannah has with Adam) but she grasps it nonetheless.

i wouldn’t even go as far as to say that i relate to one of the girls or that my best friend is just a mirror image of another of the girls. its not about the ‘sex and the city’ type comparisons and the ‘oh em geeeee, that was just such a Shoshanna thing to say’. its just that every episode seemed to touch a nerve, bring back a memory or made me revisit a feeling that i’ve experienced before…be it the back and forth or ‘grass is greener’ drama of Marnie and Charlie’s relationship, the make up or break up sex that you genuinely thought could change things or remembering a crazy night you’ve had with friends probably involving loads of booze, some randoms you’ve met at a house party and an open mind to see where the night may take you all (ok that sounds a tad dodge and like a nightmare night if read wrong) but you catch my drift.

i’m not touching any new ground here, i realise that. and i say i don’t make comparisons to the characters but i guess in some aspects i do. but i just thoroughly enjoyed the whole series. in the space of 10 episodes i went from finding Shoshanna ridiculously irritating to then experiencing an overwhelming feeling of endearment and empathy towards her, from being in awe of “face like Brigitte Bardot but with an ass like Rihanna” Jessa to then realising that she is just extremely fucked up and to feeling elated when Marnie goes nuts at the end in the season fianle and has the cake fight with the fat guy, finally unravelling from her uptightness and letting her prim and proper hair down.

(not the physical act of letting her hair down though cos that crimped, perm look she had going on in the last episode was NOT the one)

so i’m looking forward to the next series. i’m looking forward to watching it on my own with no girly sleepovers, face masks and nail painting, talking to my mates about it the next day and cringing with embarrassment at something i never thought could be shown on tv… but loving the fact that it was.