Furry friend

Snap, crackle, pop- it's the sound of my autumn. Snapping back to reality- it's half way through term and apparently that essay isn't going to write itself. The crackle of jumping in dry leaf drifts, as my inner Fresher entertains herself on the walk to campus. And popping on the heating...because wearing a scarf and three pairs of socks to bed is never a good look.

But, in case you're wondering, here's a more stylish way to stay snug:

A few cold-banishing classics I'd like to be keeping me cosy with Autumn. There's a few dream pieces there that only a spot of lottery winning will allow, but my faux fur favourite is just about on the right side of affordable. So pop to the shops, crack out the debit card and snap it up while you can...

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Where to find 'em:
Shirt- Reiss
Jeans- Rag and Bone
Coat- Topshop
Boots
Bag
Earrings- All House of Harlow

The X Factor- the style stakes are high...

They’re going to make you famous. To prove it, they’ll dress you up as a caricature of yourself, surround you with scantily clad backing dancers and announce your name in a comically booming voice. On the nations favourite talent show, contestants are poked and prodded, groomed and glossed until their mentors decide they’re larger than life enough to stand up to the spotlights. Then it’s time to face the music…but how many of the contestants are ready?

One of the first casualties of the season was a Miss Amelia Lily- only sixteen, but rocking the crowds in short, tight leather and her blonde-turned-bubblegum hair. Sent home after the first live show, Amelia must return to her pre-X Factor life, with little more than fading pink locks and slight Miami sunburn.

Gary’s new favourite toy, Frankie Cocozza, has had no expense spared (except a haircut. And a wash.) in marketing him to the country’s teenage girls, not that he needs any help. As Mr Barlow relives his youth through the tattooed charmer, Frankie knows fame will bring him even more attention from the ladies. With over 60 conquests under his belt no-one could call him shy, but is he prepared for the scrutiny and criticism that comes alongside showbiz? Upon recently returning to his hometown Brighton, Frankie was greeted by crowds screaming “Everybody hates you”. Beneath his trademark tousled mop, his confidence must be shaken.

Finally, the shyest member of the finalists, Janet Devlin. She might have what it takes to succeed vocally, but with all the pressure and paparazzi, what’s to stop the Irish wallflower from drowning in the floodlights?



They've got their serious faces on and there's fire in the background- so you know they mean business.

But it’s not all doom, gloom and rehab predictions- this year’s new judges are a welcome change. Gary may be a little smug like Simon, but seems sincerely interested in his group of competitors. Seeing dollar signs light up Mr Cowell’s eyes when he spotted a potentially lucrative act confirmed his reputation as cold and calculating. Kelly Rowland has replaced Cheryl as the women of Britain’s dream best friend, and it’s easy to imagine Tulisa making a night out one to remember- getting the drinks in, dancing on tables, and perhaps getting a bit cheeky with the bouncers. Louis remains, seemingly bumbling but undeniably successful, to keep light-hearted comedy in the competition.

Like many career choices, becoming a pop star requires hard work, commitment and determination. However, not so many jobs include sexing yourself up into a media-savvy brand, and potentially completely transforming yourself and the way you look. But then how many accountants get to have thousands of fans screaming their name? It’s not without its glamour, but the fame game is a dangerous one, and I’m not sure all of the contestants are ready to play.



It'll take more than a cuppa to prepare Janet for the pressure to come...

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All photos sourced from Google Images. This was published today in my university newspaper, and I posted it up here for those of you not around to pick one up :)

What's the hold-up with the chowdown?

(This article is currently in my University paper, but for those of you that can't see it, I thought I'd pop it up here...)

One of many...Carbonara pizza in Sicily

How can a nation be famous for both indulgent food and world-class catwalks? Pizza, pasta, pastry and ice-cream- they’re the kind of tasty treats that the fashion industry doesn’t always appreciate as much as the rest of us. I know the Mediterranean lifestyle is meant to keep you spritely and bafflingly energetic well into retirement, but with that much dough involved, I simply couldn’t see the logic. So when I arrived in Padova, Italy, for my year abroad, I was suspicious of how the local ladies managed to live in streets lined with bakeries and still look slinky in their skinny jeans. But after a few weeks of careful observation, I discovered their secret.

I admit I arrived in the sunny boot of Europe with plenty of pre-conceptions of our European neighbours- I was sure there would be lots of passionate hand gesturing (true), impassioned accordion players providing the soundtrack to bustling street café’s (true), and was on my guard for slick-haired Casanova’s prowling the piazzas (pleasingly not true). What took me by surprise was one particular mentality, woven as deftly and naturally through the culture as a Vespa through cobbled side-streets: moderation.

Just one won't hurt...Cream and Raspberry Tart, Sicily

Alright, so it isn’t the most dramatic revelation, but it’s a concept that sets the bar classily high for many other countries- particularly for Britain, often depicted as a country of excess. As many statistics remind us, we love a good takeaway (recent surveys show that 45% of Brits enjoy indulging in fast food too much to give it up, followed closely by 44% of Americans), we love a drink, or three, even more and, when it comes to letting off steam, it goes without saying that Saturday night indulgence shouldn’t end until it’s well into Sunday morning- in the UK, binge drinking accounts for 40% of all drinking occasions by men, and 22% for women. When it comes to food and drink, we can’t seem to get enough of a good thing.

All the while, it seems Italians are almost supernaturally resistant to the chocolate-to-face-shovelling and wine swigging that some of us (or, at least, me and a few of my friends) are powerless to resist. For example, whilst in Italy one of my two housemates carefully cut a doughnut into four pieces, kindly offered me a segment, and when each girl had savoured her piece, the last quarter was wrapped in foil and left in the fridge. For three days. This, apparently, was normal. Alien as this concept of...wait, what's it called again..."saving chocolate for later" was to me, I have to say I respected it. I’m quite sure that even if I tried adopting such a sensible attitude towards confectionary, it’s likely that I would end up cheating outrageously by finding loopholes, such as alleged "sleep eating", or similar excuses.

Sugar-coated... Treats at the Chocolate Market, Padova

The Italian powers of self-control also apply into alcohol- it’s one of the few places where people claim they’re just going out for one drink, and actually mean it. That’s not to say Italians don’t know how to enjoy themselves- they throw a mean carnival, and their food markets never fail to excite and delight. Perhaps it’s just that “fun” doesn’t translate directly between our two nations- each with our different ways of using eating and drinking to make ourselves feel good.

Has the Italian influence affected me? Well, next time I find myself with a family-size bag of Maltesers and some spare time on my hands, I suppose I’ll find out…

Goodies- Out for hot chocolate with Tiger in Padova

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Like a Sunday morning

An ideal Sunday activity? Long chats over cafe cake.

Lyrically famed for its ease. Officially proclaimed The Day of Chillax. It has even been fondly awarded a seperate newspaper to the rest of the week on the assumption that, as you'll be looking to leisure out on the sofa/park grass/bed/beach all day, you'll probably need something to do while you're down there. Glossy supplements a-plenty slink from the broadsheets, soothing 9-to-5-ed eyes with the bright and the beautiful. Sunday might be the weeks last, but least it is not- from inside our snuggest hoodies, we can saunter through arts, fashion, literature and photography from across the globe, without padding further than the newsagents. Culture as easy as one, two, cuppa-tea.

But... it's Monday tomorrow... for many a day synonymous with clock-watching, uniform, railway platforms...  morning streets a drifting panorama of umbrella domes and parapets, weary pinstripes and pencil skirts housed beneath.
 
These artists take the edge off the commute by keeping it weekender all day every day...why save easy-access culture for Sunday best?

Carmen Chang- Before I Die
(have a nosey at her website here. The photos below are from her website.)

It's one simple question with an endless flurry of answers. Carman Chang transformed a street corner in New Orleans into a real turning point (see what she did there...). Leaving chalk for passersby to fill in the gaps, she conjured a charming harmony of the quirky, the cliché, the random and the romantic from what could have been just another walk-on-by.

Demakersvan
(see more gorgeous wire designs here. The photos below are from their website.)

The Dutch design house Demakersvan rejects the idea that basics should be... basic. Under their steely touch, the humble fence becomes capable of so much more than simply splitting apart A and B. It might even distract from the destinations it divides, unfurling and flowering into a sight-to-see in it's own right.

Iepe & The Anonymous Crew

(have a looksy here for more on the film they made...)

Adding a little colour to the commute at an intersection in Berlin, Iepe and his team of guerilla painting cyclists tipped rainbow puddles onto the road, which were spread and stretched onto previously joyless grey concrete by over 2000 vehicles. It was all water-based and environmentally friendly, so hopefully no-one got cross, and there was nothing left to do but enjoy driving through what looked like a giant's paint-ball fight.

Here's hoping your weekend is worth the wait, and Sunday is the relax-a-thon it should be... :)  

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Harrow, Goodbye

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
— A.A. Milne

Blustered and mingling whorls of heeled up, tanned up, tanked up shadows ebb and flow. Road to road, house to taxi, they lace the wet air with the evenings jokes, amplified by lambrini. Looking out from my attic window, I'm about to go out and be one of them, all sparkles and picture-posing and quid-each-to-Broad-Street-yeah?. I can't wait. But, after tonight, I'll have to wait. The year abroad is so near now I can smell the gelato on its breath; the thrill of change so close, its almost tangible. Glancing back at my old, and someone else's new, room, I remember how it's quietly held it's own this past year.

The blue tack blemishes, pin pockmarks: evidence that it, fleetingly, held up posters, treasured photos, cards, decorations- flimsy projections of a personality that worked, rested, played and shortly stayed in these four walls. Housemates joined me here for the lows and the highs:

There's the high-flying Landan Gal, with a faff here and a Gallo there, she'll make the headlines (literally).
Our forever-birthday Performer Princess is the fun and glamorous star of the show, and the boss of it, naturally.
The Fresher's Choice and all-round bloke's bloke (but don't forget, Cameron's HIS main man) is always there to supply logic, reason and advice, fuelled by Coco Shreddies and Pot Noodle (that is unless it's Forrest'O'Clock).
There's the Main Mod, whose media technology, music knowledge, love of Smiley Faces and upholding of personal style remain unsurpassed.
And who could forget Chef Celtic: he's your man for football, films, cooking up hilarious disaster out on the town, and always for a hug and a glass of Papa Murdie's finest.
Last but not least, honorary member Top Tough Cookie, which I now know is a soft cookie really: together we should make bipolar opposing mayhem, but instead, I'm glad to know that her brusque, stylish self is always on the end of that award-winning phone.

So I turn and teeter downstairs to join them all for a drink and a party, altogether, once more with feeling. See you soon 53, you'll be missed.

xxx

Obsessacino to go, don’t hold the crazy foam

So I thought I’d post some of the choicest chat exerts from the library coffee machine queue, which is, quite unwittingly, capable of delivering not only high calibre people-watching, but the latest in close range eavesdropping entertainment.
It’s rather astonishing what people will let slip in public, when no-one around is visibly reacting, which doesn’t however -obviously, one would think- mean that they aren’t paying careful attention. You know how people sometimes say they feel alone in a crowd? Well, not in this one they won’t. If you’re daft enough to talk, we’re shameless enough to listen.
Today’s overheard Star Duo include Nameless Girl- we will call her Shelly, due to her uncanny impersonation of a mollusc, clasping- avid, tenacious and apparently for her very survival- to an inertly oblivious rock, from reference to which, by Nameless Girl, we know to be called Tim.
(Subtitles have been included for ease of translation from HormonalFresher to English).

Shelly: *beams, adhering to arm of Tim, continuing conversation prior to queue* “. . . so I think you’ve got a little admirer! But you know she’s basically a complete psycho” (translation: “Look at me, me, me, I’m attached to your arm so it looks to passers-by like we are togetherrrrrr.”)
Tim: “. . . . . . yeah.”

-pause-

Shelly: “So when did you and Cassie decide you were in love with each other? *giggle*” (trans: “I will not hesitate to stop the circulation in your arm , via intensified clinging, if you don’t dump her immediately and tell everyone that I am an ACTUAL GODDESS.”)
Tim: *long pause, mumble*

-pause, + intermittent smatterings of flirtation from Shelly (“ohmygosh, *giggle* why am I here, I should be doing some work” *giggle*)-

Shelly: “So are you and Cassie having sex?”

-pause, saturated with heated blushing from Tim-

Shelly: “So are you? *giggle*” (trans: “we could get married and I could wear pretty dresses and bake you cookies and we could have a dreamy house in SWI with labradors and a live-in nanny and Cassie has shattered the dream and taken it away WHY WHY WHY, YOU ARE A MALE! WHY DON’T YOU ADORE ME! OVERDOSE ME WITH AFFECTION!!!!”)

-pause-

Tim: “. . . . . yeah, so what do you thinks up with that?” *points at perfectly functional coffee machine*
Shelly: “Are you not, like, seeing other people?” (trans: “AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGRGRGGHHH”)
Tim: *unheard mumbling and glancing around*

-pause, + light vague conversation-

*Tim starts humming a tune to himself, occasionally quietly singing the words*
Shelly: “What are you singing?”
Tim: “The Mariah Carey song, ‘Obsessed with me’.”
Shelly: “Oh yeah” *hums along for a moment* [note: still hard to deduce whether blinding irony was intended, but comic regardless. other apt song lyrics to hum may include Dizzee Rascals’ ‘Some people think I’m bonkers, because I am’ or Bublѐ’s ‘Crazy little thing called Love-me-for-fucks-sake’, or ‘I’m so full of hormones, it’s a wonder they aren’t seeping from my pores and bringing inanimate objects around me to life’. Oh wait, not sure the last one has been written yet. oh yeah, and last but not least:]

Tim: “Shall I get Cassie a Coke?”
Shelly: “Why, to show her how much you LOVE HER?”

University Libraries: where increase in fun is directly proportional to decrease in dignity. Stay in school kids, this stuff’s better than TV.