Lets take a walk...

So......I have recently discovered that I am not as attractive as I once either believed I was, or actually was... The extensive night life has clearly taken its toll, and I've decided to spend a fortnight being wholesome and good (and boring).

At ten past eight on Friday morning, my super fit mum burst into my bedroom and declared that we were going on a seven mile hike- with sticks. Who am I to argue, I thought...?

I dressed, with my mum's guidance- I am rarely seen in anything but a dress, so needless to say my hiking clothes are of a limited selection. I ended up in a pair of white and gold Adidas trainers, that were a last minute purchase at the airport on the way to a yoga retreat in Greece. A pair of red and black Scarface jogging's- which were given to me during my time at Touch Magazine, as a novelty rather than a fashion statement. A burnt orange hoodie, one of my usually fashion-wise father's few fashion indiscretions (just because he's gay doesn't mean he will always be on point now people!). My mothers brown puffa jacket and two stunningly shiny and gold walking sticks- DEAD. (Lol).

Anyway, we jumped in the car, zipped off to Richmond Park and went on a two hour and seven miles, hike around the park.

Honestly, it's one of the maddest things I have done in a long while- it really is a different world. Everyone says hello to each other, the cyclists, the runners, the walkers, the deer....

Total jokes, the jokest part being ME, of course.

For part two of my fabulous fortnight tune tune in on Wednesday, when I explore the world of marches, exhibitions, revolt and anarchy- and join the crazy socialists in an exhibition against the G20 summit. I'm excited, reports say that police are on 'red alert' and that 'violence will be met with violence'- I'll be ok though, I'll be with this cool bloke, Chris Knight, revolutionary, anthropologist and grandad to my niece and nephew.

Eat The Bankers, Ya Dun Know...

Get bored much? Ever...?

Well- If you do, then this ones for you!

I fell across a fabulous solution today- although it might only work for the ladies... 

Part 1- Make sure you have terrible time keeping- this is a KEY point. If you are usually on time then don't set an alarm in the morning, or maybe have a long bath, with Lavender and candles,  instead of a quick shower, or even get lost in my blog... 

Part 2- Make an appointment in a busy part of South London- integral as South London is full of hungry men and feisty women. A shopping centre on a Saturday would be preferable. 

Part 3- Throw on a dress you have only worn once, years ago, at night. If you must look yourself over, make sure its in a very badly lit room. 

Part 4- Run out the door, down the road, jump onto the tube- all three of them in my case, and don't allow the realisation to hit home that your dress is totally see through until you're at London Bridge. 

Honestly, shopping in Canada Water has never been so much fun...

So, I'm in Brockley, storming down the road to playgroup with my nephew, who insist on shouting 'HI BOB' (as in, the builder) to every builder we walk past, he has also taken up a new past time which he exhibits at the top of his voice in between the regular builder sightings. Single Ladies, Beyonce's girl power anthem, is his latest favourite song. When it comes on the radio his little feet get tapping, his arms get shaking and ten little spirit finger come out- he now knows the words too. 

So not only do I look like a mother who has trained my two year old son to chirps builders for me, but I also look like a bitter, man hating, young mum who has taught my son the words to a Beyonce single, by either listening to it on repeat or making him learn the words for my own twisted satisfaction.

Either way, I'm embarrassed. 

Play group was joke as usual, Emanuel is quite clearly the waviest child there, and bosses over everyone- even the older kids. 

Today it was all about being a Rock Star. 

A Thousand Revelations, A Drink Up, A Party, 

A Bowling Alley And Two Little Shots Of Vodka In My Slush-Puppy Please....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUANE

What a weekend, Duane- Co-D, best friend and complete Lifey, turned 24 on Thursday.

To mark this wondrous occasion we had a drink up on Thursday, a party on Friday, and a wholesome game of bowling on Saturday. 

Thursday took place at Duane's house, after strongly suggesting that no one would bring a bottle, everyone brought at least two and we had enough alcohol to open an offie. Rhian and I arrived, to find the house full, the whole of New Wave was there with their respective others, aside from Naf who spent most of Duane's birthday laid up in hospital. Duane was yet to arrive (to his own party, in his own house)- and was apparently on the very important mission of getting pizza. 

The drink up was absolute joke, Duane got totally smashed on WKD and Smirnoff Ice (looool- and a couple of stiff ones- no homo- before hand apparently). I made a poor attempt at initiating a drinking game, and was basically booed out the building. Rhian proved herself to be the most attractive, but most awful cocktail waitress. Marshall complained about being totally, completely and utterly licked, and then happily polished off another bottle of champs. Bodz, aka- Peter Parka, current hottest photographer, turned up with a view to catch everyone slipping, and clearly succeeded. It wound down at about 3.30 am, only to recommence the next night in Dagenham, at Flex. 

House Arrest, a night famed to be fabulous, took place at Flex and we turned out in our droves to celebrate Duane's birthday. If I'm honest, which I always am- I didn't really enjoy myself. 

The music was just a little too intense, Duane seemed stressed, I didn't feel very beautiful (if we're real with ourselves, that does put you on a downer...) and some guy kept OVER troubling me- backing up every 'I fancy you' with an aggressive 'you think you're too nice you fucking little bitch'. Considering he spent the whole evening at the entrance of Duane's cornered off area every time I wanted a drink or a dance I would have to walk past him. 

I met some very lovely girls though, which is always nice, because lovely girls are hard to come by. Not to be too cryptic but, I hope we see more of one lovely girl in particular. 

Fabulous WAG Charlotte was there, unfortunately MY beautiful Colette wasn't- but like I always tell her we have forever (You love that innit Chase, Lol). 

Helen, Jennie, Steph, Steph, Rhian and I came to spend the night with Duane, and that is exactly what we did. 

Roll on part 3- which was at the bowling alley in Kinston, there really is nothing like good clean fun, and Saturday was definitely that. Rhian and I cleverly deduced that if we put vodka in our slush puppies we could make a lovely cocktail- and then run around the bowling alley taking stupid pictures and playing all the games, without actually playing any. Duane's bowling game was a bit shit- and he looked very displease by this notion, me and Rhian tried to explain that there were worst things, but he didn't have any of it. 

I hope Duane had a lovely weekend, I know I did.

A WEEK IN PICTURES.

The Morning Commute.

I got on the train this morning at about 8.10 am, everyone poured onto the tube from every possible entrance, shamelessly pushing each other out of the way. I rarely get the tube, especially not at this time- people are CRAZY, but today I had no choice, so I decided to use my journey (through hell) as material for my blog....

So- I look around at the early commuters all desperately trying to cling onto some personal space and notice some familiar faces. Not necessarily familiar to me, but I'm sure if anyone else has been on public transport you've seen these people too.

Women are definitely the more interesting specie, and much more fun to watch. 

My gaze lands on a twenty something brunette- clearly still a firm believer that hitting the sack before 1am is the epitome of UNCOOL, regardless of how early her start is. 

She sits there yawning, clutching a latte, all tired eyes and thick mascara, already praying for the day to come to a close, so that she can do it all over again. 

To the left of her is the 'I just turned 30, and after a hundred failed relationships I am still a single woman'- she is scribbling something in her wacky patterned note book, and with a flourish has just removed the sixth pen I've seen in 20 minutes. Each one has been pink and fluffy, they all sprinkle glitter, and potentially magic, and are all supposed to highlight how cute and feminine she is. She keeps looking out the corner of her eye to the pale, exhausted form which is the 20 something woman to her right, her mind battling with itself about her unthoughtful seating arrangements- I can almost hear them, "honestly Janie! Of all the seats on all the tubes, you would bloody sit next to a fucking teenager?!!- You'll never find a man if you continue flaunting your old age in public!"

Standing above her is the careless teen, 17 years old, a body like a Maserati, which she has of course decided to drape in 'vintage' rags and rusting silver jewellery. Her music is loud, and her clothes are purposely falling apart, luckily the gift of youth allows her to pull it off. 

On one of the single seats sits a woman in an immaculate mac, typing furiously on her Blackberry. All the women in the office hate her because she is beautiful and fabulous and carries either a Mulberry or a Chanel handbag. She is lonely though, none of the woman like her, and all the men want to sleep with her- as for settling down, she'd like to but for some reason something about her power pencil skirt, stiletto heels and high paid job makes the weird lady from floor 6 who thinks bathing is an unnecessary luxury a more attractive bride. 

There is the shy one, the loud one, the one who wears vests all year round, the mother of three who hasn't applied a lick of mascara since the birth of her first child (who is now 22), and a couple of librarians thrown into the mix, all beautiful and wonderful in their own way....

The men are a lot easier to group- aside from the occasional sprinkling of flair, Ed Hardy who disappears down the escalators, VA-G who slips through the doors, Forreduci who's hidden behind The Metro- they are usual grouped by suit colour. There is the one in the black suit, the one in the dark grey suit, the one in the navy blue suit, the one in the dark grey suit with black pinstripe- they've all already faded into one for me, God I'm glad I'm a woman- even if I turn out to be the 30 year old with the pens. 

Which one are you? 

Bed time, is surely the same as PARTY time?

Sunday night, at about 9.30pm I decided I'd had enough of the day, which had incorporated my niece and nephew, and trip to the Tate, two games of Black Jack and Mexican Salsa chicken, and went to bed. 

Lying in bed, I had taken all my make-up off, brushed my teeth and had a little Teedra Moses on to send me to the land of nod. I was just about to log off facebook, when I noticed my friend Rhian was online, I confessed, rather stupidly that I wanted to go to Fridge Bar (knowing she would be ON IT, also knowing I really shouldn't be going), anyway she gave me the hard sell and picked me up a little over an hour later. 

Fridge was fun as ever, but if you bare in mind that it finishes at 4, and I had to be up by 7 am (at the ABSOLUTE latest), no amount of fun is worth falling asleep in my Radio Lecture... 

Obviously I had a fabulous time, was asleep by 5am, up by 6.30am and at my lecture by 9am- JUST CALL ME SUPER WOMAN!

I didn't make it to therapy though, or to dinner- an hour and a half of sleep is not enough to go and convince your professionally trained therapist that you lead an exciting 007, double life, or to go and gossip over Holla bread and Earl Grey tea with your Godmother... 

Maybe next time, eh? 

Fun with my Therapist!

So, you may be aware that I go to see a therapist once a week- for a variety of reasons, none of which actually need attending to. 

My therapist has a long, slow voice, and his mode of practise seems to be a mixture of repeating what I say to him, and drawing my feelings on his white board- (which are usually represented in an artistic scribble...) 

ANYWAY! I've tried to get out of it- but it seems people are so convinced that my perpetual happiness (nod to co-d :D ) is a facade that if I leave, it will only convince them further that the only place for me is an insane asylum (do Gucci do straight jackets?).

So, last night, after a few too many drinks in Watford (of all places!!?) I came to a most fabulous conclusion- I must make therapy as fun as possible. 

How?! *insert wicked cackle here* 

Ever played dress up when you were a kid? Or used your extensive imagination to suddenly become a fireman, a princess or something equally exciting? 

Well, tonight Matthew, I think I'm going to become a sexual deviant, a vixen, a drug dealing, fur wearing, cigar smoking minx. I CAN'T WAIT. 

I will walk into his office on Monday afternoon, looking glamorous and supremely unconcerned and tell him about my fabulous weekend hanging out with the mafia in a speakeasy, drinking moonshine. 

I'll keep you posted! ;) 

ex oh ex oh

Its been ANOTHER week.

The last week has been SO busy that I haven't had the opportunity to do my favourite thing in the whole world, which is, to write, about ME, obviously. 

So it's the end of a VERY long Wednesday. I got in this morning at about 5am from a surprisingly successful night out at Funky Buddha, for a young man named George's 30th. I was awoken about two hours later, on my brothers sofa, still completely intoxicated, to take Vera Lily to school. 

The joy of children is so intense that they are the only people in the world that can make you do THE MOST STUPID things- this morning was no exception, if anything the fact that I was still a little tipsy added to my foolishness. 

So I make Vera-Lily (who is my 4 year old niece, by the way) a pack-lunch, some breakfast, I get her washed and dressed, suited and booted and all wrapped up and ready to face the world. We walk out the house, I have her lunch box and book bag in one hand, and her tiny little hand in the other. 

We skip across the road and begin to discuss her birthday, which is this month, we're having a 'Mr Maker' party- a day of d.i.y. activities, paintings and drawings etc... obviously excited by this prospect we both decide that 8.30 am, in the middle of Brockley, is the perfect time to start singing. LOUD. 'The Sun Has Got His Hat On' was definitely my favourite from our little rendition. Then to the races, every lamp post, bus stop and tree was a finish line, and I had absolutely no choice but to join in, shouting and waving my arms around in delight as builders and mothers alike looked on in horror. Vera-Lily kindly let me win one race, shouting after me 'you can do it Holly, see how fast you can go!'.

We then got to the park, which we have to walk through to get the V.L's school, its up a steep hill and then down an even steeper one. On the way up Vera-Lily fearlessly picked up worms off the tarmac in order to return them to their muddy homes. We reached the top of the hill, and decided (wrongly, I suspect) that we could see the sea, parts of Paris and my house- none of the above seemed likely, but if you were there you would've been convinced of it too. 

We then ran, top speed, down the other side of the hill, giggling madly and screaming as loudly as possible on the way down- surly teenagers and irritable old age pensioners moving out of our way in shock. Vera-Lily beat me, of course. 

We got to school, late, the trips activities had set us back fifteen minutes, but it was the most fun I'd had in FOREVER, and have decided that taking yourself seriously is crap and rubbish and boring. 

I wish Vera-Lily didn't have school, and then me and her could just hang out and save worms everyday. 

Its been A WEEK.

Actually, it's been more than a week, and for that I am desperately sorry. My page looks so empty.....

The last 10 days have been busy as hell, apparently its a bustling metropolis down there, and I haven't had time to even think about what I might write, let alone actually write about it.

It's a Tuesday, which is a late start day for me, so I thought that lying in bed and filling you in on 'the latest' would be a fabulous idea, if I can remember it all...

I'll start with yesterday, Monday, the aftermath of another night in Fridge, funky house all night, and the potent mix of Alize, Sambucca and Vodka meant I spent the majority of the day strolling around in a drunken haze. 

Jennie and I slept a little under 2 hrs, got up and ran to uni, which was basically unbearable, big shades and large cups of coffee aside. 

Once our uni morning had come to a close, we came back to mine, slept for an hour, jumped out of bed and Jennie drove me to therapy- my third session, and still desperately boring. 

I go and see a therapist at the Priory once a week, for a variety of reasons, none of which will ever be published, I can't help but feel pessimistic over it all.

So I sit there, with this man, he must be about 50, and he has a low, soft voice, he also elongates every word he says. 

Now therapy is not cheap, and I expect to be made a better human being in a matter of sessions, and I can't help but wonder how that is ever going to happen if all he does is repeat everything I say back to me but in a lower, softer voice, and taking double the time to say it...?!! 

Ah well, we shall soon see- he may just become a useful source for Valium...? 

I then went over to my incredibly wonderfully great God-parents house for dinner, which was warm and yummy and fabulous. 

Sunday, a failed trip to the zoo, and my first screening of the Goonies was followed by Fridge bar in Brixton, which is where I left my beloved blackberry this time last week- it is dearly missed.

Fridge was jokes, a little tuggy-er than usual, bare man with grizzly beards drinking Alize from the bottle and doing the migraine skank whilst simultaneously screwing every man, woman and child (there were a few, trussss) in sight. 

I was molested by a group of lesbians, which made a nice change from the usual... Then on went to Bagel King to  continue the party, which according to Duane is the same as Fridge anyway....

My weekend was fairly quiet aside from this outing, I watched Goodfella's on Saturday- which I should NOT have done, it only reminds me of what I can't have. 

Thursday, of course, was celebrated (we always celebrate Thursday, duh..!?) at Hunkz and Honeyz- the reasons why I actually attend this shambolic event are becoming fewer and fewer by the week. Its now a nice mix of boredom, Duane, Stephanie, Bodz and uhm, well that's it. 

Thursday is genuinely as far back as I can currently remember.... I think I'll throw a few pictures up for fun, and possibly to jog my memory....

ex oh ex oh

You know you love meeeee!