Half The Truth

So, I lied. Well, I didn't intentionally lie. It was an accidental lie. I said that my article would be on the Brighton Frocks website tomorrow; tomorrow meaning yesterday. It's not. It will be up there within the next few days though, I promise (and what reason have you not to trust me?)

In other news, I'm going to a hen's night tonight. 'Strippers, booze and drugs?' You might ask. No, in fact, we're a civilized lot. Dinner and a drink in a pretty pub in the next town over. And, completely untrue to my style, I have already planned what I'm wearing. I know, organised, right?

Speaking of which, sorry there haven't been any posts of the outfit kind of late. Despite the suddenly sunny weather, I've been hiding in the black and greys of my wardrobe. And that's not much fun for anyone really, is it?


I got a new camera from a charity shop in town yesterday (above). It's a '70s Kodak Instamatic 25. I doubt I'll ever find film for it, but I'm liking the collection of old, mostly unusable cameras that's building on top of our drawers. It's almost as good as strippers, booze and drugs. Almost.

It's Oh So Quiet

I'm keeping my lips sewn shut Frankenstein-style until tomorrow, when my article will be published. Drop then by to read all about the chaotic weekend that was Brighton Fashion Weekend. In the meantime, here are some pictures and a song for you (sung to the tune of Bad Boys).

Bird flu, bird flu,
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do
When you go tweet twoo?

I think I might have an addiction to owls. Seriously, heroin schmeroin. Wandering around the charity shops in town yesterday, I found these kids to add to my collection. The pretty white one's head comes off. I'm considering filling him up with little owls but I don't really support cannibalism (I totally just wrote carnivalism which is like a cross between cannibalism, carnivore and carnival. Can you imagine such a thing?) Maybe I'll fill him up with heroin instead.


P.S. I just Googled 'lips sewn shut' and I really don't recommend it. Unless you don't intend to sleep tonight, so that you can be the first to read my article. In that case, Google away.

I Wish, I Wish

Late last night, all thanks to your crossed fingers, no doubt, I found myself dubiously answering a call from an unknown number (I'm this weird Australian girl with very little social skills living in a foreign country, who's gonna call me?). Fortunately it wasn't a serial killer and/or someone breathing heavily into the receiver. Instead, on the other end of the line was the lovely Claudia from Brighton Frocks very eloquently saying something about me having won the competition and being the writer for Brighton Fashion Weekend and backstage access and free booze (I was kind of too busy squealing "AWESOME, WONDERFUL, FULLY SICK MO'FO" and so I may have imagined that last bit. But if there is I'm totally getting trashed and, article? What article? 'I went to the Brighton Fashion Weekend and got super trashed and hung out with tons of models and it was awesome.')

So, with less than 24 hours notice, off I'll jet this afternoon to spend my Friday night clicking, recording and scrawling away.


Now we just have the tiny problem of where Bobby and I are going to sleep tonight. With the last train leaving Brighton before midnight, and not enough notice to find a friend to 'couch' us, I'm taking votes: Will it be a dodgy motel? The train station? Heroin park? May the best venue win.

Disclaimer: If you're reading this, Brighton Frocks, my sense of humour isn't always in very good taste. In truth, I have been sober all my life and am a very good writer and shall take this job more seriously than a polar bear takes global warming.

Whistle Past The Graveyard

Pere Lachaise is a beautiful, morbid and particularly Gothic cemetery in Paris. It's home to Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Edith Piaf, to mention a few. It's nicknamed the 'City of the Dead' due to it's sheer vastness. There are even streets and districts. It was stunning.


However, that said, don't feel like you have to venture all the way to Paris to take it in Pere Lachaises beauty. Whilst on their website, finding a link for this post, I saw that you can go on a VIRTUAL TOUR. Like Star Trek except less spaceships and more zombies (to any film producers listening: Yes, I would be willing to write and direct such a film).

This was the breathtaking crematorium. Each tiny square you can see on the wall to the left under the arches, is someone's ashes. That wall continued behind the crematorium and up the right side, almost every square filled.

Scarf: Bought for €1 from Free'P'Star in Paris. Unfortunately, I lost it somewhere in between packing my bags and arriving back in England. I was pretty devastated. To lift my spirits, Bobby got us tickets to see Kimya Dawson in Brighton on Tuesday which definitely has me feeling at least 76% better.
Dress, belt and broach (worn as a necklace): From various charity stores in Eastbourne, England.
Holy stockings over plain black stockings: D.I.Y.

I found these two friends for a couple of euros in Paris, just around the corner from Free'P'Star in a little Asian shop. The one of the left has been named Toowit and the guy on the right, Toowoo. They're sitting atop a comic book written by the multi-talented Jeffrey Lewis, another Paris acquisition (the comic, not Lewis) from when we went to see Lewis and his band play at La Maronquinerie. Bobby's review of the show is much better than mine could ever be so I'll point you over here. But basically, the first support was almost too weird to mention, the second (Casiotone For The Painfully Alone) very Bright Eyes and very enjoyable, and the main, Jeffrey Lewis, brilliant.

Winner Takes It All

I won! I'm almost certain that, apart from Scratchies, this is the first time I've ever won anything. Unless you count arguments (and that's not at all due to my debating skills, only my absolute stubbornness). So, not only for me to win, but for me to win a beautiful felt hat courtesy of the lovely Audi from Fashion For Nerds, well, it would be an understatement to say that I'm very much excited. I just hope that, when I recieve the hat in the mail, I look as cool as this kid.

Image courtesy of Amanda Keeys Photography.

How Sweet It Is

Parisians, it feels safe to state, love their vices. Cigarettes oft (it's like often but older) haphazardly dangle from lips, wake-up coffees are replaced as the choice of drink no later than the early afternoon by red wine, cheese is bought by the kilo and, of course, macarons are enjoyed for every occasion one could think of. Wedding? Macarons! Baby shower? Macarons! Thursday? Macarons! And a good thing that is, because otherwise Laduree perhaps would not still be around today, some one hundred and fifty years after it's establishment. Laduree is the most famous, and certainly the best, patisserie in Paris for macarons. So famous in fact, that Laduree sells 12,000 macarons a day.


I first fell in love with the delicious clouds a few years ago, in the days when I often spent my evenings leafing through recipe books. It became my dream (well, one of my many dreams) to travel to France and try one of these magnificent looking creations. Of course, regarding myself as a little cook, I made numerous attempts at baking them. Alas, they all failed miserably, leaving me with flattened lumps ofmacaron and bowls of runny filling. Having never tasted or even seen one in the flesh certainly didn't help my exploits.


So, last week, it was with a huge smile on my face that I skipped into Laduree in Paris, and bought my very own box of six macarons. Actually, Bobby bought me my very own box of six macarons. We've already established that I have next to no money. But oh, they're wonderful! They're fluffy little clouds plucked from heaven which melt in your mouth better than M&Ms ever did. Melt in your hand not in your mouth my arse, M&M. Laduree make these macarons in all the colours of the rainbow and enough flavours to have you dizzy. They're made freshly each morning and with each box of macarons comes a little leaflet, containing a brief history and the date you're box of mouth-watering goodness was made. They're worth every cent and, even if you're as poor as I, I absolutely insist that you treat yourself to one (or six) next time you find yourself in Paris. Or get your boyfriend to treat you. Or a stranger. I saw a man put on a puppet show on the tram and, you know, he got a fair bit of money from it. So that's an idea. I'm just saying, given how delicious these things are, I know kids who would go to further lengths.


Paris, if this is what it feels like to love your vice, I'm with you. Just watch out for the withdrawals. You might just end up on the cigarettes and alcohol.

All Apologies

Excuses pour mon absence! We have spent the past week in the dirty romantic city of Paris, sans internet. Alas, I'll be blog blog blogging away (in English, thankfully) sooner than you can say baguette with words of our adventures and photos of shiny things, new and old.


A bientôt, mes amis.

Cross Your Fingers

Brighton Frocks are currently holding a competition to find a writer for Brighton Fashion Weekend 2009. With much encouragement from Bobby, I sent through my entry this afternoon. And voila. Give me your verdict folks.


"Burgeoning British fashion label, Preen, have managed to encompass all things covetable in the AW09/10 shows into one beguiling ensemble. Cutouts? Check. Body-con? Check. Leather? Hell yes. The only thing missing was strong shoulderpadding which, lets admit, isn't all that flattering anyway. Preen's collection, like many others of the season, was dark; colour peeping through in only a fraction of outfits. A palette that is sure to have pleased the colour-allergic It Girls and fashion editors of today. The Preen muse, it feels safe to assume, was the beautiful misfit who sat at the back of class, smoking a cigarette. Now, all grown up, oh my, how she has blossomed.

With more than a nod to Sean Young's character in Blade Runner, this '80s-reminiscent, thigh-skimming dress hugs the body so tightly it probably has restraining orders against it. The cut and fabric lends a futuristic edge that screams androgony and brings out the Pinocchio in you. Only, in this case, you're not wailing to be a real boy, you're wailing to be an android. The leather chest panels let way to exposed skin and the twist of fabric at the midriff is a style also seen in Alexander Wang's SS09 collection and will be, no doubt, a major trend with girls in the know come Autumn. The tight neckline of the dress and long sleeves help to reinforce the power-woman image and balance out, well, everything else. While it makes little sense, when you throw all these features - generally best left to dominatrix types - into the pot, what you get is a painfully cool, dark, motorcycle riding woman.

If the top fashion blogs and next season's trend forecasts are anything to go by - which, obviously, they are - by the time the SS10 shows roll 'round, we'll be bombarded by bold colours. So, while it's in fashion, I recommend you leather up, strap on the studs, cut a few holes into your top and put some L.A. Guns on. Actually, that's not a bad idea regardless of the fashions."


So, basically, now I'm asking you to cross your fingers on both hands, wishing that I win a beautiful felt hat AND a job reporting on behalf of Brighton Frocks for Brighton Fashion Weekend. I hope, for your sake, that I don't enter any more competitions, or I might ask you to cross your toes too. And we wouldn't want that because then you couldn't walk properly. And when I asked you to come up to the stage during my acceptance speech you wouldn't be able to without looking a bit weird, and that would be sad.