Posts Tagged ‘Funny’

Sixteen Exciting Fiction Titles Containing the Word Girl for 2016

| Writing

 

gone_girl_on_the_train

 

The Girl on the Tram

 

The Girl on the Penny Farthing

 

The Girl on her Period

 

The Girl with the Dragon Dictation Software

 

The Girl With the Military Tattoo

 

The Girl Who Played with Fire Retardant Sofas

 

The Girl Who Kicked the Door (by accident)

 

The Girl Who Swore

 

The Girl on the Pain-killers

 

Gone Grrrl

 

Scone Girl

 

Wrong, Girl

 

The Girl Off Her Tits

 

The Girl Who Was on Deadline

 

The Girl Who Ate all the Chocolate Covered Teacakes

 

The Girl On The Train – You Know, the One Who Had the Batshit Tights On?

 

With apologies to Paula Hawkins, Stieg Larsson, Gillian Flynn et al.

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The Princess Monologues, at The Bread & Roses Theatre

| Reviews You Can Read In One Minute

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Once upon a time, a plucky theatre lover travelled to the magical kingdom of Clapham in search of a top night out…

4345308_origAs soon as I heard about The Princess Monologues my mind immediately turned to the many articles, memes, and quotes deploring Disney princesses as bad role models for little girls, as good role models for little girls, arguments against buying pink toys for young girls, the story of the little boy who goes to nursery dressed as a princess, how princess is a compliment, how it’s a slur, colour, gender, identity. When did princess become such a loaded word?

Director Tessa Hart has seized on the multiple nuances ‘princess’ holds and commissioned a brilliant, blisteringly funny, sometime sad, twisty, twisted, and very prescient collection of monologues. A fantastically engaging sprint of an hour long show you’ll laugh, possibly cry, and certainly think on once the glitter has settled and you’ve left the theatre.

Eleanor Dillon-Reams is a revelatory tour de force, moving seamlessly on stage and in front3902158 of the audience, between the six characters of the six monologues written by the diverse and talented Tilly Lunken, Tina Jay, Claire Booker, Simon Jay, Amy Bethan Evans, Tessa Hart, and Eliza Power. Dillon-Reams’ accent, tone, posture and entire body shifted so fully to inhabit each character it was as if they were there: six different people. A staggering performance, she’s certainly a talent to watch.

Simon Jay’s Home Made Princess squeezed my heart tight with it’s incredible switch. Dillon-Reams expertly making the most of the emotive subject, and causing this audience member to have to blink away tears. Claire Booker’s Princess Frankenstein is a darkly, comic gem: one of the funniest things I’ve seen this year. And Eliza Power’s #Shame, sharp as a knife, effortlessly cuts through multiple meanings and associations of the word princess, of words and names themselves, pulling together Disney, Kim Kardashian, and a depressingly familiar situation too many women find themselves in, in a final punch I didn’t see coming.

The Princess Monologues are strong, tight, multifarious and gleeful inspections of what ‘princess’ means in 2015. This show deserves to go far. I wouldn’t be surprised if it transfers. Catch it if you can. You’ll live happily ever after.

The Princess Monolgues is on at The Bread & Roses Theatre in Clapham until Sunday 22nd November at 7.30pm. And at the The Space on the Isle of Dogs on Sunday 6th December at 6pm.

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The Wharf: The Sex Toy for Bankers

| Journalism

leloSomeone has designed a sex toy for bankers. Because of course they have. This gave cause for me to email my Wharf editor the legendary question: ‘Can I write about a cock ring?’ The answer was: ‘Yes, as long as you don’t call it a cock ring.’ You can read the full article on the link below:

http://www.wharf.co.uk/2014/12/blondes-eye-view-the-bankers-s.html

And here’s the frankly amazing advert for the product. Just about safe for work, but not safe for your soul:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8qTN6__RAg

 

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Confessions of a Festivalnista: Camp Bestival Backstage Bites

| Uncategorized

Bestival 1

Yeah, yeah, I know festivalnista isn’t a proper word, but neither is fashionista and I published a book with that in the title. It’s that same book that saw me invited to appear at Camp Bestival, which took place in glorious Dorset this weekend.

I’ve been to festivals before, but never one this big, and never as an artist. It’s rather lovely having an ‘Artist’ wristband. My mates (who from now on will be referred to as ‘my entourage’) pitched their tent next to Katy Hill and calmly watched Mark Owen stroll past without squealing. I’m proud of you, girls. There’s a swanky backstage bar area called The Lucky Cat. It was decorated with opium den style slouch couches, Chinese lanterns and me, reclining in various positions, sipping gin coolers. And there really are nicer toilets in the VIP area. You know you’ve arrived when you have guaranteed access to loo roll on a festival site. I was so spoiled it almost made up for feeling like a loser for most of the ten years I spent working in the fashion industry. Almost.

Lucky Cat

The Camp Bestival site is a glorious sprawl of fun and colour, spreading around and away from Lulworth Castle like a fete on hippy crack. There were some big name acts that were lapped up, got down too, and generally screamed at by my entourage (told ya), including Grandmaster Flash, The Levellers, and the quite unbeatable Horrible Histories (I’m guessing the average age of our group was a shade older than their usual audience). But for me the true joy of festivals is found away from the main stage, in the unexpected gems you stumble across. The disco tent, the inflatable church with dancing barefoot vicars, the small child in a monkey onesie chasing and leaping after a bubble. It’s what you see on the way to the big stage that you really remember. Festivals are like life in that way.

I was very lucky to do my own turn in the Guardian Literary Tent. I regaled all with my powerful insight into festival fashion tips: get a gel manicure, get a blow dry, get your eyelashes tinted…only joking. As I said on stage, I always feel so happy when I’m at a festival, is it the alcohol? The communing with nature? The fact my entourage are all with me? No, it’s because I spend four days without mirrors. At best you might come across a small shiny plastic square stuck to the back of a portaloo door, which is so fuzzy and unclear it’s like looking at an Instagram of yourself. So my true festival fashion tips are: wear what makes you happy, and what you can pee easily in. Unless you’ve got access to those artist loos, in which case go for as many complexly fastened outfits you have to fully remove to wee in, as you like.

Thank you, Camp Bestival. It was a pleasure.

Bestival

 

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A shameless act of self-promotion: why Confessions of a Fashionista is the perfect Mothers’ Day present.

| Uncategorized

 

COF packshot

In the brazen pursuit of trying to launch my book-writing career, here is my argument for why Confessions of a Fashionista makes the perfect Mothers’ Day gift. Confessions of a Fashionista is a mum-loving book. It features a real life mum (mine), who is always ignored and always proved right. It is even dedicated to my mum, ‘who didn’t want me to write about [her] but let me do it anyway.’ How mumtastic is that? It is also, allegedly, funny. Here are three mum bits in my book for you to enjoy.

 

Mum picks clothes off the floor and drops them neatly folded onto my legs. They say genius skips a generation, but in this family it’s tidiness. Mum cleans instinctively, obsessively, like a Stepford Wife on speed. She has declared jihad on dust. Our house is free from books, ornaments, excessive soft furnishings and, often, people. She’s a pioneer of OCD. The say minimalism began in 1960s America, but I have a strong suspicion it was born in 1950s north Hertfordshire.

 

 

‘That’s a nice top, where’s it from?’ Mum appears with more newspapers.

‘Specialist shop. Only a hundred and fifty pounds in the sale.’

Mum grips the sideboard to steady herself. ‘You spent a hundred and fifty pounds on a cardigan?’

I forgot I’m not talking to fashionistas. ‘It’s cashmere.’

‘It’s immoral!’

 

 

[On discovering my mum trying to throw away the one of a kind Elizabethan costume I bought from the English National Opera].

Mum is shoving the ENO dress into her rubbish bag.

‘Mum! That’s Tosca’s costume.’

‘Well, she can either have it back or we chuck it. It’s covered in white powder.’ She rubs her fingers together and wrinkles her nose.

‘It’s plaster of Paris. It glows under UV light.’ I make a snatch for the bottom of the dress but she’s too quick.

‘Why on earth would you want a dress that glowed in the dark?’

‘I use it for fancy dress.’

‘What’s this?’ She holds up a hot-pink leather skirt. ‘Fancy dress too?’

‘No, that’s Harrods’ own brand.’

 

 

Don’t forget to write your own mum loving dedication in the front of the book – your mum will be thrilled. Tell her I said hi. Happy Mother’s Day.

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