The Work Pardy

My office can be pretty lolz when it wants to be. Ply us with some booze, a long lunch and an early finish and you'll have us whooping, slurring and huddling round a table bitching collectively about all the other departments in no time.

"OMG... you hate her too? We should like, definitely hang out more"

Friday 10th Jan was our Christmas party aka 'It's a New Years party because it's cheaper this way' day and boy was it a riot. Finishing work at around 5pm, beers/ wine/ pina coladas in a can in hand, the girls went off to the ladies loos to get glammed up (in the worst lit toilets known to man) while the boys did a swift trainer-to-loafer swap. A quick trip to the Golden Arches for a stomach lining Big Mac and fries, we then departed to our swanky venue round Bank way to mingle with the wankers folk in suits.

On arrival, we were greeted by basically one of these: Avici/ Calvin Harris/ Guetta (all the greats) as we waited to collect our neon orange wristbands laden with four free drink tokens. We then made our way down to our PRIVATE PARTY BETCHES area where we were met with a glass of champs. Now if you were clever enough or just plain skanky enough, the trick was to do a quick lap of the downstairs before coming in through an alternative entrance.  A couple of "ooooo it's nice down here isn't it?'s" in your best "I've just arrived" tone, you then hid your empty glass behind a pillar with one hand and picked up another cheeky flute with the other. A few glasses in and a little bit piddly at just before 8pm, everyone was well on their way.

So down to where the real paaaaardy was going on, it was time to get those tokens out and get guzzling. Now while our booze tickets included cocktails, it was clear to see in about 0-5 seconds that the bar staff could whip up maybe half a mojito in the space of around an hour? Feeling the wane of their unbearable slowness, my mates and I decided wine was probably the best option in terms of the 'getting served to getting smashed ratio' and so had to unfortunately bypass the Long Islands. Boo. This coupled with queues five people deep, it was time to keep a beady eye on the drinks situation. I spotted a space at the bar for me to squeeze into...just around the same time that said space was covered in vomit. Absolutely EWW. Turns out it was the by product of one of the newbies. He then decided to embarrass himself just a tad more by falling over in his own sick, all before he was escorted out like Bambi on ice by two burly bouncers. This couldn't have gone down any later than about 8.30pm.

LOL.*

"YOUUUUUUUU W-W-W-WASTEMAN"

Moving on from the moronic party silliness and finally getting served two drinks a pop, my mate and I, in fits, made it over to the empty dance floor to shake our things; myself in a pink PVC skirt (sure) and her in really high red heels that she could definitely walk in all night. I can't begin to tell you what we were thrusting, jiving and doing the running man too, but it was fun. Sweating my absolute nuts off, we danced the night away with the rest of our department, the odd sleazy sales rep and the guy that sells the office soup.

After a session of strutting, yelling and tangled up twirlings on the dancefloor with whoever came into our sights, we also found the time to do a drunken 'HAPPY NEW YEARRRRR' glass clinking cheers with my ex and his friend alongside a slurred mumble of: "Are you having a good night? Yeah? Kewl. Ummm sweet, umm.. Ok byeeeee".

So it was good to feel no awkwardness or anything in that situation. Definitely a highlight. FOR SURE.

For a change of scenery and for some hope of finding a gasp of real life oxygen, we made our way to the upstairs bar. Once again, you had to try and nestle in and claim your rightful space, even if it meant resting just your little finger on the sticky surface using  the odd elbow if need be. Taking the edge off,  the DJ took a turn for the better and we got stopped in our hustling  tracks by the sound of sunshiney bashment vibes. In the space of two seconds, we'd gunfingered our way out of the queue so as to get low to a bit of 'Whine and Kotch'. The suits looked on in shock, in pure disbelief that 'The Wanted' had stopped playing.

And so as the lolz continued into the early hours, it was time to call it a night (at around a time I can't remember). Picking up our coats from the cloakroom, we spotted heels in hands and broken feet plus various 'one night only' inter-departmental couplings.  In search of late night chicken, a few of us left and took a drunken amble towards Liverpool Street not before taking a quick detour up to the 39th floor of the Heron Tower to Duck & Waffle. Of course. One wrong lift stop off, three cocktails and 40 quid down, we’d managed to annoy the hell out of everyone having their quiet night cap as well as the waiter who looked like he was going to burst into tears after having  to look after three really irritating little children. After a blurry couple of selfies with the London skyline in the background, it was time to head home. Needless to say, it was too late for chicken at this point which was a bit shit.

"Let's just go for ONE. LAST. DRINK. GUYS"

* We later found that he had stolen few bottles of spirits from upstairs  earlier in the night. After being chucked out, newbie then spent the rest of the evening outside, on some form of makeshift stool, IN THE RAIN, begging to come back in. At one point he tried to kick down the entrance rope. So that was really really kewl to see. 

"THIS IS MY YEAR". Course it is.

Monday 6^th January 2014. 

YAY.

Supposedly the most depressing day of the year. There is no supposedly about it. It’s straight fact even with no proof and no statistics. 

Today is the day you reflect on those blissful 10 days off; most of which you’ve spent hungover, demolishing a cheese board or dicking your early December pay check up the wall in the sales or down your local with all your ‘friends’ back home.  You’re back at work about three stone heavier, by 9.45am you’ve already bored  yourself to death after telling the same dry “Christmas was good thanks yeah… really chilled, ate loads, drunk loads, you know… the usual” story to people (you don’t ever really talk to) at the coffee machine and yeah, you’re back at work, actually having to ‘work’ Jeez. It might just be worth ending it all at lunch right? 

But WAIT. 

That would be silly wouldn’t it? Because, how on earth are you then going be able to carry out that life changing bunch of New Year’s resolutions you made?! Guys, we haven’t thought this through at all. 

So for those of you who truly believe ‘this year is going to be your year’ (because obviously, it WILL be), I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that we’re in the same boat. The same ‘half-hearted, half-inflated- on the verge of collapsing before the end of January’ dinghy boat we can call life.

Here are my resolutions: that I’m not at any point going to keep. LEZBEHONEST.

1. To be less agg  

C’maaaan. Unroll those eyes and hear me out. I’ve realised, after a mere 28 years, that I do indeed have a short fuse when it comes to a few most  things. The current plan is to stop those nasty thoughts going through my mind; those ones that involve wanting  to punch people in the back of the head when they try and tap in with their NON-TOPPED UP oyster cards five times in a row and then dilly dally at the gates in a tizz wondering why ENTRY IS DENIED. Others include wanting to scream “YOU’RE A RANK HUMAN BEING” at the gannets that lick their yoghurt lids like it’s their last meal on earth. Not to mention wanting to lamp those who put up #nofilter #nomakeup #justmyarse selfies on Instagram. So what I’ve realised is that in order to keep this resolution in place and to lengthen the fuse if you will, is to hope people basically start being less fucking annoying.

2.   Make more packed lunches

Pret, Eat and all the other rinse out fast food joints are parring my whole entire life. You’re looking at about £7 for a sandwich, drink and a half full packet of really weird flavoured crisps. It’s crippling my bank account and the food’s not even that good. So the plan is to make more lunches to take into work. It will mean having to stop sitting on the sofa in my coat for two hours after I’ve got in, finally getting up and popping in a ready meal/ potato waffles and beans/ pizza and instead, make two (healthy) meals to save me money and improve my diet. Sure.

Can't wait for lunch.

3.   Read more, watch less Netflix 

My excuse for my lack of reading of late is not having a lamp or bedside table. It’s true. It’s nothing to do with spending all my time with my new, current hunky squeeze… Netflix.  Nothing at all. It's not like it's becoming increasingly more difficult to switch off from Netters when it starts up the next episode to that new unknown HBO series I’ve already caned 15 episodes of just as the credits start to roll on the previous. One more episode isn’t harming my social life, causing me an inability to leave my bed/shower/talk to other humans but I’m thinking I should probably swap that shit rom com that went straight to DVD for a book instead…. after I get my table of course.

4. Bosh the shit I don’t wear on Ebay

While (both) my wardrobes are bursting at the hinges with jumpers, jeans and crop tops I haven’t worn circa 2000, the possible death by smothering doesn’t stop me from staring at them all blankly as  I say to myself “BUT I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR” every morning because clearly, I do. So this needs to stop and an Ebay session needs to happen. Having the initial Sunday clear out on a disgusting hang, then taking photos of all the items, followed by uploading them via iPhone, adding prices/ descriptions/ bullshit buzzwords like 'vintage', 'retro' and 'Alexa Chung' to every item and then finally sending them out across the UK will not be a detterent at all.

"I've literally got nothing to wear. NOTHINGGGGGGGG"

So like I said: this is my year, your year, the year for change, new beginnings, more lolz and less mugging offs, more saving, less spending, more acting like an adult, less of being a dick.

I’m excited… aren’t you?

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?