Why I Hate Festivals 3rd June 2015
I love music. I love dancing, regardless of how mental I look. I love screaming my heart out to my favourite songs. I love the sun. And I love to drink. Put that all together in one big field? I fucking hate it. They’re just not my thing. The crowds of quirky wannabe’s, the luminous hair colours, the bad food, the over-priced alcohol, the never-ending toilet queues, the undoubtedly un-inviting British weather. I know before I’ve even left the house that I’m not going to enjoy myself. I used to fancy myself as a chick who can sleep it rough in a dirty tent, not shower for 3 days and keep drinking to avoid a hangover so I can listen to the music that I’ve never heard of.
But it turns out, I’m just not.
Summer’s my all time favourite season; pretty swing dresses, cute sandals, tanned skin, trips to the beach and my dad is the barbecue king. But I also like to be comfortably close to a proper bathroom and heating incase the sun inevitably disappears behind our friendly English clouds. Yet every year it’s the same; someone in the group makes the ugly suggestion and then we’re trying to get tickets to every single music festival we could possibly think of. How can we not afford a £80 taxi back from a classy night out in London but £400 before even drinking is totally okay? Hmmm.
So, here it is, 15 reasons why I hate festivals.
1. I don’t like being cold. I really can’t stand it.
2. Does my hair like the rain? No. No it fucking doesn’t.
3. There’s nowhere to pee apart from disgusting tiny plastic boxes and I will NEVER think it’s okay to use a she-wee. No. Never.
4. I’m not expecting champagne in 18 carrot flutes but if I’m paying £9.50 I don’t expect to be able to crush it with my hands.
5. Why am I spending £9.50 for a watered down single?
6. Hey you, with the lilac and pink striped hair, I did not spend that long getting ready for you to throw your half pint of quirky strawberry cider over me.
7. I don’t like what anyone’s wearing, yet I feel so out of place and so not cool because my clothes are neither multicoloured, fluffy or luminous lycra.
8. I wish my style was more boho right now. Why is everyone cooler than me?
9. How come everyone knows the rules about festival fashion? and why does EVERRRRYONE look the same? I must have missed the memo …
10. It’s just not fun to sleep on the ground
11. I can’t dance to anything techno or dubstep
12. Where’s Taylor Swift? Where’s the Disney sing-a-long? I’m used to blaring ‘Shake it Off’, I’m not used to this shit
13. I don’t have shoes that I’m okay with ruining, walking in a muddy field? RUINED.
14. I’m more of a princess than I ever realised.
15. A cocktail bar, with good music and good people and a table where we can order countless bottles of wine and my shoes won’t get ruined is definitely my preference.
20 reasons Blair Waldorf slays at life 1st June 2015
1. She taught us never to give up; she knows exactly what she wants and sure as hell won’t stop until she’s got it.
2. Never steps back from being a lady, until the right moment comes along to become a total sex freak
3. Not only does she know what she wants, she doesn’t expect people to just hand it to her, she plans and works her arse off to get the results that she wants, hence why she’s always winning (in the end)
4. Her wardrobe. I mean, it’s verging on overtaking Carrie Bradshaw in the fashion department. And Chuck Bass is waaaaaay sexier than Mr Big, so she’s even beating SJP in the men’s section too
5. She speaks French. And not fake french where you know a few words and put on the most horrific accent to sound like someone from an old film *cough, cough* – no no, she pulls it off in such a beautifully, sophisticated way, it sounds like she’s singing everything she says. Envious? Me? No …
6. Her minions. She shouts, they come running. She’s like Regina George but she’s much worse and we love her.
7. She believes that the answer can always be found. And if not, take a break, have a cocktail and you’ll find it at the bottom of the glass. Or at the bottom of the 6th.
8. She’s refreshingly honest. If Blair doesn’t like you, you’re 100% going to know about it. If she doesn’t like your outfit, she’ll tell you that you look awful. If she thinks you look rough, she’ll make it clear. If she thinks you’re being stupid, she won’t try and hide it. Honesty is a rare and important find.
7. She’s not afraid to say how she feels. When she’s upset she explains it in a way that most people find so difficult to do, but it doesn’t come across as overwhelming or too much, it comes across in a way so that everyone understands and empathises with. We all know this feeling …
8. She’s not scared to admit she’s a bitch. Every girl loves to be sometimes, it’s in our DNA.
9. She rocks the independent woman deal and makes it look not only glamorous, but totally possible.
10. She’s forgiving. Yes, she’s the most scandalous of them all but Blair’s had her fair share of back stabbing BFFs, and yep. After much revenge plotting, and silent treatment, she always forgives them … particularly when it’s easier for her to pause the argument and have her friends by her side.
11. Her self confidence. She knows she’s fucking fabulous and she owns it.
12. She explains every feeling every girl has ever felt in a way that none of us ever could
13. She was a normal teenager … a very rich one
14. She is unbelievably coldhearted until it comes to the people she cares about.
15. After her and Chuck’s roller coaster, she just gets it.
16. She knows what her and her BFF deserves and won’t settle for ANYTHING less.
17. She knows that the most important person to trust is herself, and won’t allow anyone else to make decisions for her.
18. She adores Paris.
19. Her BFF is everything to her and no matter what, they’re ALWAYS there for each other – whether it’s serious retail therapy, choosing what to wear on a first date, advice on how to cover up a horrific spot, a bitch about a co-worker or just for a hug and a bottle of wine.
20. She knows when she’s right, and even if she’s not, she’ll stand up for exactly what she thinks … not so apologetically.
50 things you can't help but think when you go for a run 14th April 2015
1. I really. really. don’t want to move from my bed
2. oh memory foam, why do you have to be so beautifully squishy?
3. I did eat a whole easter egg last night though …
4. How hard can it be? I know I’ll feel better once I’m up
5. I still don’t want to move
6. Okay, when the clock hits half past I’ll get up
7. *so cosy* ah shit, it’s 31 … okay 35 past *checks Twitter for 4 minutes*
8. omg how the fuck can Natasha Oakley be so perfect? I refused to believe you look like that when you run
9. Run! okay I need to get up, Twitter hasn’t helped my self esteem
10. Right I’m up. I’m awake. I’ve had my pint of water and green tea so that should make me feel suuuuper energetic – this will be easy
11. Running’s seriously not even that hard, I should really do it more often
12. oh fuck do people go running without make up? That spot is the size of a fucking planet …
13. I’d just sweat it off anyway, who cares I’m exercising, I don’t need it
14. *leaves front door and starts walking down home road* okay need to start picking up the pace
15. When I get to that lamp post I’ll start running
16. hmmm .. maybe the next one
17. okay okay that tree, definitely that tree
18. aaaaand we are running. I actually feel alright, yep I can so do this. I feel great.
19. I must be so fit, I’m not even out of breath
20. holy mother of tits my chest hurts
21. shutup, I must have gone further than that. How can I still see my house?
22. I already stink
23. omg there’s people … do I keep running? Slow down and act nonchalant?
24. They’re definitely looking at my spot. I knew I should have fucking covered it up
25. Just keep running, just keep running … I really hope people can’t see my belly jiggling
26. Pull that serious face, like those really fit gym girls who know what they’re doing, their faces always look so focused and composed
27. Smashed it.
28. No I don’t have enough breath to look composed, I look like I’m dying
29. Keeping my mouth closed when running is so hard
30. Definitely dying, how the hell can people say they enjoy this
31. OOH! I made it round the block, yesssssss
32. such a champion, I should apply for a marathon
33. training can’t be that hard?
34. If I do this every day I’ll totally have the body I want in like, 2 months?
35. 100 percent feasible
36. I’m hungry
37. Really fucking hungry
38. That’s like the longest I’ve gone without food
39. I’ve definitely lost a few pounds just in that run
40. I’ll be able to see a difference already
41. WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SIX PACK?
42. After that train crash I may as well just eat more easter eggs
43. No I’ll be so annoyed if I do that, I’ll have a salad for dinner, chicken salad or something yeaaaaah
44. Grandma’s chicken salaaaaad
45. Seriously, I’ll have a healthy dinner
46. I feel so good now, maybe I’ll do that ab workout app I have on my phone?
47. hahaha hello Netflix
48. Steak and chips for dinner you say? I’ve basically earned those calories, I’ll have salad tomorrow
49. food baby and bed, I love me
50. I hate twitter.
Shopaholics Anonymous 8th April 2015
I used to be so good at budgeting. I’ve always loved shopping, but I’ve always been good with money. Always. Until I came back from travelling and hadn’t be shopping for nearly 4 months, I’m pretty sure withdrawal symptoms took over and they’ve never really gone back to normal. I had zero money when I came home (turns out the “finding yourself across the world” idea is shit the bed expensive) so had another month of not only not shopping, but not going aaaaaanywhere.
Then I got paid. Holy mother of tits, that money came in and out of my bank account faster than the quickest shag you’ve ever had. I mean literally, with the beauty that is online shopping I spent almost £350 in the space of 10 minutes. On summer dresses. I live in England … and I bought little summer dresses. Which of course meant I then had to buy summer shoes to wear with them, plus cardigans and jackets to ensure I didn’t freeze my tits off in the Arctic conditions us Brits call ‘summer’. And that was only the beginning …
I then seemed to gain this ‘I have nothing to save for so fuck it’ attitude and went out for lunch every day, dinner most days. Not our old-fashioned drives to Cobham services to get a Big Mac, nope, we went for proper meals, in restaurants that I suddenly felt like I belonged in due to my new wardrobe that I absolutely shouldn’t be buying. Like I said, I had nothing to save for.
You see, I made myself a deal. Coming back from travelling I’d decided to become fit and healthy (seeing pictures of yourself in a bikini holding your stomach in and still having a roll that you didn’t know about has a big affect) so I went to the gym every day. If I did a good workout, I bought myself a gift. or two. or six.
My loan came in and I decided I didn’t have any autumn clothes so had to buy an entirely new wardrobe to make up for all my summer dress and skimpy shorts purchasing. I spent over half of it in 2 days. But then I got my tax repayments from the previous year plus my birthday money so it was like I hadn’t spent any money … surely that means I can get some snuggly clothes for winter?
December? Coats. I need coats.
January’s loan comes through and just under a grand is gone on my boyfriends Xbox and my holiday, plus a couple of pairs of shoes and jeans that I had to get. Some money left over? Let’s send my BFF and surprise gift to make her smile – it’s valentines day after all.
March. Fuck … I have 6 birthdays and a serious lack of money. The hooker lifestyle is seeming like my only option. No, no, I may be a shopaholic, but keep some of my class now.
April. I haven’t even got my loan through yet and it’s nearly summer again so it’s basically gone. Impulse surprises, and far too many deliveries arriving at my door (the delivery girl knows my name, I even gave her a cup of tea last time she arrived).
Champagne taste on beer money. Shit … my problem’s worse than I thought.
What you learn from losing 'teen' 18th March 2015
At 20, I’m still pretty young and have a lot to learn (and a lot of mistakes to make) but since leaving school, there’s definitely been a massive change from no longer having ‘teen’ at the end of my age … *sobs*
Early nights. For real, this is cool. I used to do anything I could think of to stay up until the early hours of the morning, and if I did it without my parents finding out it was a bonus (even though I’d be the only one who knew). Now it’s like half past 8? Time to cosy up with a cup of tea and the 174th episode of Pretty Little Liars … Am I embarrassed? Am I fuck.
Kids stories are actually so useful. Every one of your childhood faves, has some ridiculously deep hidden message that you’ve only just figured out. Apart from every Disney film giving us unrealistic hopes of what our hair will look like in the wind, they also teach us valuable lessons.
You’ll cringe at the clothes you loved. I heard this time and time again when I was younger. I went through so many phases of wanting to be different or ‘quirky’ … tomboy, emo, and mess were all on my list. I once went into sixth form wearing a baggy black laddered jumper, tights with ladders and holes in them (yes, on purpose) and Converse with Jimmy Hendrix on the side (pretending like I didn’t have the High School Musical album on repeat every evening). The sad thing is, it wasn’t even that long ago.
Clubbing is not fun. The floors are sticky. The guys are desperate and sleazy. The girls are desperate and slutty. The drinks are expensive. And usually end up being thrown over you. Now your outfit is ruined. The outfit you spent hours putting together and you just have to accept the fact you look like your boobs are leaking because you can’t go home. The music is so loud you have to shout to speak to each other and even then you can’t hear so just nod and laugh in time with the beat. You can’t move without bumping into an angry girl who keeps elbowing you with her mental shapes or someone with a reaaaaaally sweaty back. Your feet hurt & it’s not socially accepted to leave before closing. Taxi to a cocktail bar with a booth and music I actually know? Let’s all vote …
If you want your stuff to be clean, you have to clean it. Shock, horror; if you put clothes in the washing basket, it doesn’t suddenly disappear and come back all shiny and new. You actually have to take it to the washing machine and do it yourself. Same with dishes, they tend to pile up and up in my room until I’m eating beans on toast out of a saucepan and wondering what I’ll have to use next … I took my mum for granted.
Revising is a good idea. Every. single. year. I’d say the same thing; “I’m definitely gonna revise this year. I’m gonna keep on top of everything so that when it comes to the exam I’ll be so fine” ha. It’s more than laughable. It’s sure a nice idea, but now I’ve got to uni and realised you can’t just write a load of bollocks and still pass. Start early and do a little every day, then you still have time to reward yourself with a large glass of Pinot and have zero stress spots appear. Dreamy …
Using big words doesn’t make you smarter. It’s definitely good to improve your vocab, but if you don’t know what a word means? Don’t use it. I used to think that’s what my teachers wanted in essays, but I’ve recently learned they just want to know you understand what they’ve taught you, no matter how extravagant your language is. Although it is difficult not to care when your 10-year-old sister asks you what you think about antidisestablishmentarianism …
Time flies. Really. When I was little I agreed with my parents when they said it, but I never really got what they meant. Now though? Wait, really? It’s nearly summer? But I’ve only just finished buying my winter wardrobe and I’m so not ready for the constant leg-shaving season.
Celebrities are getting rich quick (and young.) Kendall’s the face of Estée Lauder, Justin Bieber’s net worth is $130 million … and I’m starting to wonder wtf I’m doing with my life. I’m also not okay with how Kylie Jenner has a Bentley and I have a bus pass.
You can’t look like the models in magazines. Sure, the ad looks amazing and they look perfect, but I’d look like that too if I knew how to Photoshop myself to beauty. That doesn’t stop me staring in the mirror and attempting to stretch my chipmunk cheeks far enough to create prominent cheek bones.
Good friends are hard to find. As I’ve got older, I’ve much pickier as to who I want to spend time with. Whether it’s someone offering you their last Galaxy counter, or your bonding over last nights antic with a hangover, you don’t just find BFF appropriates anywhere.
You don’t have ‘seize the day’ everyday. Sometimes, you just need to stay in bed all day and watch the same episodes of Friends over and over. Maybe live every other minute of every other day …
(Some) Teenagers are annoying and scary. I finally understand why we were all hated so much. I feel like I should send a letter of apology to half of my secondary school teachers, especially for maths … turns out he was right, you do need maths GCSE, for everrrrrything.
Your parents were right. About everything. Countless arguments and bitch fits (incuding throwing a belt buckle at my sister’s face) about the rules I had growing up, only to now realise I’ll raise my kids in basically the same way. It took me 19 years to realise that my parents are actually amazing, and it pains my stubborn self to say they told me I’d say that.
A Trip Down "WTF WAS I THINKING?" Lane 22nd March 2015
You’re feeling reminiscent, thinking about how fast time has gone since your sports days at play school, your first crush in year 1 (I can’t be the only one … ), your favourite so-in-style bob haircut in year 6 and super quirky fashion attempts at parties aged 15. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be able to relive these years again? Well, luckily my friends and I loved to capture every moment we ever had … ever. And all those years we believed we looked decent enough to leave the house, we thought that every member of Facebook would like to be a part of it too. Turns out … we didn’t look as vogue-esque as we thought.
The ‘dress over jeans’ look. Why was this ever a thing? I’m pretty sure it was never included in a catwalk at London Fashion Week so why did nearly every 10-year-old girl think it was a good look? I went for a white halter-neck dress with multicolour spots all over it and 3/4 length jeans. Standing on a beach doing a very awkward pose with my BFF, neither of us having learned the ‘hold your stomach in’ technique for every photo. Nope, I went for a different flavour and looked like an 8 month pregnant child-mother. Brilliant.
The greasy-enough-to-fry-chips hair. Okay, so this one may not have affected the majority, but it sure hit me. Right in the face. With a rock. On fire. I went through this phase at about 7 that I just hated getting my hair wet and soapy … which made washing it a tad tricky. I had two older sisters who endlessly tried to lovingly sort me out, covering it up in ways like ‘let’s give each other make-overs, starting with our hair?’. Each time ending up with me having a screaming fit telling them I liked my hair and I was fine. The sad thing is, each morning looking in the mirror and tying my disgusting locks into a messy low pony tail, I actually thought I looked good.
Magnetic earrings. Ohhhhh I just might have been their biggest fan. I never had a jewellery box as a kid, but I did have a mini chest of drawers that was full of dolphin earrings, those rubber spikey earrings that only the popular kids wore and dice earrings when I was feeling totally one-of-a-kind. I’d wear them for a day and somewhere in the midst of watching Tracy Beaker or making walkie-talkies out of cereal boxes, I’d lose the magnet and cry. I love me.
The hundreds-of-butterfly-clips hairstyle… Remember these? My mum must have spent hundreds on packs of these (especially after having 4 girls) and I’m sure some kids looked cute with one on each side to clip back their fringe. Then there was the other way of using them. Me and the girls in my school used to turn up to parties with a smug look on our faces as everyone complimented our home-made hairstyle. We had about 67 slips holding up random pieces of hair in absolutely no order whatsoever, some with an added extra brightly coloured hair extension from Claire’s.
…combined with our “especially for parties” makeup. Not only could I really really not too catflicks, I also had orange eye shadow, blue mascara and shimmery bronzer that was 4 shades too dark for my skin tone. That mixed with my greasy low ponytail, just imagine the state of it. Only for parties of course …
The beads. No matter what outfit I’d put together, it would always finish with a long beaded necklace wrapped around my neck twice, one longer and the other slightly shorter. I had one in every colour as well as a plastic pearl version. Why? I don’t know. I wore them every weekend, along with a black polkadot skirt, a stretchy waist belt and multiple ‘friendship’ bracelets … There’s a 13 year old girls’ outfit if you ever saw one.
Scrunching up your face and looking towards the ceiling in every photo. It wasn’t quite a pout, but it wasn’t a smile either. In about year 10 (yes, I know, we should have grown out of this by 15) we did this weird pose and I still can’t quite figure out why we thought we looked good. I remember thinking we were so cool when, quite frankly, we look like we’ve seriously botched botox. And why the fuck are we looking up at the ceiling? What is so interesting up there? I can’t decide what’s worse, that or what year 9s are doing these days where they put their hands over their mouth in a kind of claw shape … tricky one.
Geek glasses. I never actually bought this, I just kept the 3D ones you got for free when you went to the cinema and popped out the lenses. Which I’m aware is even more tragic. Every photo for at least a year we all wore them thinking we were ‘so jokes’ … really?
Going round each others house for ‘webcam sessions’. Nope, I don’t mean video calling someone on MSN (basically FaceTime for all you MSN virgins). I literally mean I would go round to one of their houses and we’d sit in front of their computer taking photo upon photo, with different filters. Not to mention how often we’d spam Facebook with an entire album full of over 200 photos with no more than 3 different poses … everyone cared, okay? If we were feeling extra comedic we’d add a roller coaster background and pull screaming faces, or an ocean and pretend we were swimming. Bantersaurus-rex level: maximum.
Baseball caps. I rocked this look. Who doesn’t look good wearing flared jeans (embedded with glitter) , a baby blue Gap hoody and slip on adidas trainers?
Glitter. School disco you say? This called for days of preparation and finding every coloured sparkling hairspray, eye liner, eye shadow and lipgloss. Of course this would be matching our sparkling tights, sequin ‘disco’ skirt and shimmering top mixed with .. sparkling shoes? Nope, us girls weren’t that predictable, we went for the sensible choice of our Clarks school shoes. Seriously, my eyes are hurting just thinking about it.
Making up dance routines for no real reason. It got to the point where it wasn’t even fun anymore, us girls took it so seriously. Let’s be fair, the entire dance was probably made up for 4 different moves repeated. I was one of those kids that was so impressed I could do one move (that actually made me look I was having an epileptic fit) that I constantly did it -whether the other girls wanted it in the routine or not.
The Little Blue Box 21st March 2015
727 5th Ave, New York, NY 10022, United States. I’m standing in New York City, a place I’d only dreamed of visiting as a child, gazing lovingly into the beautiful Christmas display in the tall glass windows, bordered with silver and fairy lights. The happy faced elves pushing the gifts of Christmas through the sprinkle of fake snow. Each tiny flake glistening under the artificial street lamps placed down the miniature road. The enormous white mansions complete with diamond windows and little blue doors. I know I don’t even need to buy anything, just looking is enough to lift me up for the day.
At 15, and on a school trip, I’ d had my eye on a ring that I’d be saving my £20 monthly allowances for that year. All my birthday money I’d saved specifically for this trip. I loved shopping, and New York is definitely the place to do it. Tiffany’s was the last store of the day and I’d been patiently waiting whilst all the other girls threw themselves at the models outside Abecrombie & Fitch. All of them fluttering their eyelashes and giggling as they asked for photos and not-so-subtly placing their hands and gasping at their abs (just in time for the flash).
Of course I enjoyed it, I mean, have you seen the models – who wouldn’t? But I’d known where I wanted to go the moment we’d stepped off the plane, and finally we were here. I’ve practically forgotten I’m not actually alone and 11 other students and 2 teachers are staring at me wondering whether to interrupt my romantic moment with a shop window.
As I approach the two huge glass doors, with ‘Tiffany’s’ written in swirly silver writing, it’s impossible not to feel like a princess. Two incredibly well-dressed men, suited and booted in tuxes, ties and hats, place their immaculate gloved hands onto the handles before I could touch the door, gesturing with the other for me to enter. They seem friendly, albeit slightly confused as to why a group of teenage dance students (evident from the ‘Dance GCSE’ so sophisticatedly written on the back of our hoodies) wearing a mixture of Uggs and Converse, were entering their store.
After describing the ring I was head-over-heels for, I’m directed to the second floor for silver jewellery (they wouldn’t dare put silver, gold and white gold on the same one). I’d like to skip straight the next bit but I can’t ignore the lift. That’s right, I’m excited by an elevator. I feel like I was in Pretty Woman, only dressed a little less hooker, a bit more homeless (although I’d much rather have looked like Julia Roberts). The spongey carpet is thick beneath my feet and not a speck of dust would have been found had I been bothered to inspect it. The soft, cream sofa at the back looks too perfect for anyone to actually sit on, as if it’s just an ornament for the short journey up or down each customer would take.
The doors open and I see it. Right in front me, there resting against a petite, white cushion, the well-known silver heart is glistening next to it’s other sparkling friends. Standing behind it, a beautiful woman, dressed in an elegant black dress, finishing just below the knee and paired with the classic Lou Boutin black leather heels, her long blonde curls falling perfectly just passed her shoulders. She had her pearly white saleswoman smile on, convincing me to purchase it, and telling me how made for me it was. I didn’t need any persuading and $255 and 5 years later, it hasn’t left my finger since. I wanted to wear it straight away but I couldn’t leave NYC without my little blue box so the kind woman behind the million-dollar-worth glass counter carefully put together an empty one for me – white ribbon neatly in a silky bow and placed it in the matching blue bag. She winked as she passed it to me and said “It might be your first time, but I can tell it won’t be your last”.
She was right, of course. At 15 my cousin presented me with a Tiffany’s charm bracelet, when I turned 17 my sisters bought me a key chain (a tradition for the four of us when we can drive), a necklace from my aunty was given to me for my 18th birthday, and a bracelet from my boyfriend for Christmas 2014. Everyone who knows me knows I love a label – Carrie Bradshaw’s walk in wardrobe please? Yes, yes, I know it’s just more expensive because it has a name written on it and don’t get me wrong, I love a bargain when I see one. You don’t need a black tote that has ‘MK’ in gold letters marked on it, but Jewellery is different. I think most people would prefer a real gold ring, as apposed to one that’ll turn your skin green. Tiffany’s is Tiffany’s. Whatever’s inside, after 175 years, you can’t go wrong with the Little Blue Box.
“I’ve never thought of my jewellery as trophies. I’m here to take care of it and to love it, for we are only temporary custodians of beauty“ – Elizabeth Taylor