Posts Tagged ‘humour’

Wharf column about butt monkeys who play misic loudly from their phone on public transport

| Journalism

logo“There I was, quietly erasing a day’s worth of work encounters from my mind on the DLR, when Satan’s ass trumpet shattered my reverie.

Since when did it become publicly acceptable to play your “music” out loud on the tinny speaker of your phone?”

For the whole column please click the link below:

http://www.wharf.co.uk/2013/10/blondes-eye-view-unwanted-comm.html

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Confessions of a Festivalnista: Camp Bestival Backstage Bites

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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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The Italian edition of Confessions of a Fashionista: I Love Fashion!

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Hungover, I cursed the courier who rang my doorbell early this morning, waking me up. I cursed my husband who’s order of printer paper was no doubt the cause of this disturbance to my (much, much, much needed) beauty sleep. Oh how wrong I was! Instead of dull stationary I was the joyful recipient of a copy of the gorgeous Italian edtion of Confessions of a Fashionista titled, I Love Fashion. Like the sexiest Italian sports cars I went from grumpy to gleeful in 0.2 seconds. I could have kissed the courier. Luckily for him I resisted, nobody wants to be embraced by an old t-shirt wearing walking hair ball with morning breath. Now the super stylish Italians are on the case I’ll have to buck up my ideas. Shopping trip to Milan, anyone?

Italian Book

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

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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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