Well I wonder.

Romwe is one of the most genius and lusted after online shops in my mental list of all-time-favourite-sites. In fact, I am going to go a little further, and say it's probably my favourite. The prices are extremely reasonable, (don’t get me wrong, it’s no Primark, but then you don’t have to endure the dreadful ear-splitting screams of several dozen McDonalds-pumped children or trail 0 miles an hour in a stream of, ahem, ‘undesirable’ people, to get to the escalators, and that’s worth paying a little more on its own), and unlike similar priced sites (I won’t mention any names, all I’ll say is sometimes I think boo when I have to look through pages and pages of tacky shit before I go ohoo that’s lovely- see what I did there? I know, clever) I don’t gawp in horror at some of the catastrophes they call clothes, I usually drool with longing. So that is all good. Oh and did I mention there’s free shipping? Oh yes my friends. That is a huge incentive for me. I am quite frankly beyond bored with thinking I have found something for £8, and by the time I have gone through the agonising process of convincing myself that, yeah, it is okay to spend a little of my wages on something actually for myself, I find out that it’s actually £14 with shipping. Well I’m sorry but I’d rather not. I understand, having sold things myself over the internet (and getting seriously, seriously screwed by shipping costs), why it is necessary, but c’mon, I’d rather just drag my arse into the blinding lights of Primark and endure the said sufferings (I actually love Primark, so I don’t know why I am hatin’ so hard).

I must tell you though; I have never actually ordered anything from Romwe. I don’t ‘do’ internet shopping. The only reason being is that I am shit scared. I am an extremely indecisive person and tend to be drenched in guilt if I spend large chunks of cash, so my shopping ‘sprees’ tend to result in me coming home, trying on everything I have bought and A) selling them (at a discount) to my little sister or B) returning them, and I know myself too well to trust myself to return an item that I bought over the internet.

However, as you all should know by now (if you don’t, I will now proceed to choke you with my Morrissey obsession) that I love (just a tad) The Smiths and Moz, so you can imagine my excitement when I found this little gem. I genuinely almost wee’d my opaque’s. I have been thinking about it ever since I discovered it (yes, I discovered it, no one else in the world is allowed one). I have mentioned before that I would like a Smiths T-shirt, and why I am yet to buy one, but this just, I just really, really want it. I did prefer the blue one, which is, to my absolute horror, sold out, which is why I am posting this right now, because I have literally just found this soul-destroying news out. So I must dust off the ol’ debit card and stomp on my voice of reservations (repeatedly, mind you, he’s a stubborn little bastard) and buy buy buy! I mean, it is £9 (£8.98- lets not lie to ourselves, it is £9) and there’s no shipping costs. Fully justified; a job well done, if I do say so myself.

EDIT: Also found this Strokes tee on Ebay that I am thinking about buying. But I would much rather get a plain tee and jazz it up Gem Fatale style.

LISTENING TO: Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers- The National

WARNING: Word-heavy and a bit all-over-the-place. An Update.

Firstly, I have to thank all of those who have visited my lil’blog, and even though I only have a few followers, knowing that people are actually taking the time to read it means more than you could know. I find myself quite pathetically over-joyed that people are taking an interest.
I have to apologise in advance to all those who prefer pictures to words. I am a great lover of the latter. Due to this blog being fairly new (or maybe it’s just shit; it’s up to you), I have very little followers, and so I haven’t really mastered the technique of determining the difference between what I want to write, and what you want to read. The problem is, I am not an aspiring blogger, I am hopeful writer. But I suppose, if all the words you wanted came in the form of a small caption, you would be on Tumblr (and certainly not on my blog ahaha).

No matter how personally reserved and unbiased you try and be, a blog is essentially always going to be an echo of the blogger themselves, and this one is no different. My intention isn’t to gain thousands of followers and be presented with sponsors and masses of free gifts and clothes (although that would be rather lovely), it is simply a place to put my thoughts. There is no need to worry though- I won’t be posting about every time I need a wee or I’ve cut myself shaving. They’ll be as well filtered and relevant as I can make possible (which, as you can already see, isn’t going down well). I find I am more comfortable and uncomplicated when I write as if it is only to myself, so I do apologise to anybody who finds this blog goes somehow a little off-topic. I think ‘fashion’ blog is much too vague of a title.



Anyway, enough of that all that, I have some news; quite a lot of it, in fact. As I have previously mentioned, I have recently quit my job. Now, it was a decision that wasn’t easy to make, and when I got home from my last shift on Sunday I spent a good few hours of going between “fuck, what have I done” and “I have made the right decision”. But it was the right thing to do. So I am now unemployed, and if you could all give me a few quid a week, I could make this blog my profession, and we can all be happy. No, seriously now, I am feeling a little lost without it, but I’m sure it’ll pass.

Next! (I have so much to tell, my head is spilling with things to say and so it’s all just coming out in one terrible smack of the keys). The reason I have quit is because I am going home! Yes, Liverpool, I am returning to you. I am bizarrely nervous. In the last 4 months I have only been home, perhaps Four times, for no longer than two days, and those two days have been shifting between friends and family constantly with no time to entertain but a thought. I feel so disconnected to the person I was when I left; I am disturbingly different, and yet it as though back home everything has been motionless. This why I am pretty terrified- my family and friends haven’t had a chance to adapt to how I have altered. They’ll all be expecting the return of the girl who left, when she no longer exists. I no longer know how to be myself. That’s the untainted truth: I am petrified of going home, because I’m not sure who I am, or who I want to be.

So, not to get emotional or too caught up in creating a self-fashioned physiological profile, I will divulge mine and Kyle’s flawless and previously undisclosed, well guarded plan, aka. A seriously chaotic series of snippets from attempted conversations we’ve had about what the f*ck we’re actually doing. Basically, I am going home for a month, to try and ‘settle’ myself before I go to college in September, and then when I come back we’re moving into his Dad’s. Problem is, I am going to Liverpool on Saturday, the same day he is going on holiday for a week, and the room we’re moving into I haven’t even seen yet, never-mind inflicted with my taste in interiors. So we are a little panicky (well, he’s not, but I am panicking for us both).

Kyle and I, since we have been together, have only spent 10 days without seeing each other, and we both didn’t appreciate it very much, so a month is going to be hard, but I think we’re both looking forward to it. We need to miss each other. (And he needs to realise how much I do for him. Oh God I wish I could watch him try and keep up with all the shopping, washing, ironing etc. It would be so gratifying). So that is that very vaguely explained (which is what we all want because I’m already on 850 words).

Right, what else... When I go back to Liverpool you will no longer have to suffer with these self-indulgent, seriously poorly structured and irrelevant posts, because I will have a camera. It is also going to help that there is actually shops. Oh fuck I can’t even tell you how animated I am every time I think of the shops. Until you move to a small town, you will never fully appreciate the need for hundreds of corner shops, or a local H&M. So basically, it will be what you signed up for, rather than ‘what is this girl on about? Why is she posting essays?’. Which should be good.


Now for a more relevant update. The Purse, Podge and Pores detox is actually going really well. Last month I got paid about £40 less, and I ended up with about 10 days at the end of the month where I didn’t have a penny- this month I have about £80 of my wages left, and I am owed £67 by friends (which I will get back-mark my words). To put this in perspective for ya, I (did) get paid £3.64 an hour (I know, you don’t have to tell me how shit that is, I already know) and I’d work about 25 hours a week on average. I have to pay for our food, toiletries, cleaning products etc. etc. (remember I live 90 miles away from my family, who can’t afford to give me any money, and that I am not a sixth-former who has a job to cater for their Thursday night partying). So I got paid £345 last month and I still have £147 left. I didn’t even realise, it wasn’t (admittedly) a conscious decision, I was just more careful this month (ie. I realised that just because I had money in my bank doesn’t mean it’s limitless). I have also had that horribly expensive night in the Malmasion, and went to the RiverIsland sale, and generally been a lot more socially active this month. And to top it off, it's payday on Friday, and I am going to get about £100 more than last month, (and going home means I get free food, which is going to taste so much better). I am genuinely so proud of myself.

Since I started drinking more water, and moisturising every night, my skin has almost completely cleared up. It is so much better. Even Kyle has noticed. It was really so much easier than I thought.

Now regarding the ‘podge’, I have been tackling it, but it is more to do with the fact I have completely lost my appetite so have only been eating to stop myself from feeling weak. (I intend to do a separate post about this).



Now, thanks to all you sexy people, my technique of saving for a camera has allowed me so far to save £17.50 (which is in cash, so is in addition to my amazing money saving).
Luckily for you all, that’s all I can think of. If you have read all of this, you are either mental, or an extrememly lovely person, and you should comment so that I know who has suffered because of this tremendously word-heavy post. (I promise as soon as I get home there will be photos!). Lots of love.

LISTENING TO: Louder than Bombs- The Smiths

Hello, FOREVER21.

I'm sure this post is self explanatory- it is simply my choices from Forever21.

I have recently found out that many share this peculiar little pastime, which is comforting, as it makes me feel less idiotic! But I spend an absolutely absurd amount of time scouring the many clothing sites of the internet creating huge ‘carts’ spilling with clothes and accessories (but mostly shoes- I’ll put my hands up to that) that I would buy in a perfect world where I had money. (To let you get a scale of this bare-inane obsession of mine, I once reached a limit on the River Island site- with the limit at £3000, I know, scary).

It has come to my attention actually recently that many no longer save your lil’ cart of dreams, which is frustrating because then I have to do it all again. So I recently rediscovered the genius that is the Amazon Universal Wishlist, and now I save it all to that (a wish list is more fitting, I think).
Obviously I am aware that many, many “fashion” bloggers post these, and I have been making little ‘boards’ for ages with all my picks from fashion retailers, so I thought I may as well share them on here, as it makes me feel less pathetic about the fact I spend so much of my time doing them! I can now convince myself that it’s actually very productive. It’s for the “Greater good” (how sacrificial of me).

LISTENING TO: Good News For People Who Like Bad News- Modest Mouse.

Stella.

Cardigans by Stella McCartney

Since I began noticing clothes- back from the very first day I discovered the thrill of dressing in my 90’s signature of “inside out, wrong-way-round” dressing-up-bin-couture (it was a revolutionary move)- I have never been so stunned, nor besotted, by one item as much as I am with this Stella McCartney cardigan. It is an absolutely remarkable piece of woollen architecture. It’s just so bloody interesting and the texture is so rough and yet so beautiful. It’s one of those pieces that you wouldn’t (believe me I have scrutinized the net for a cheaper version, but with no avail) find anywhere else. It’s versatile in how you could wear it, but it’s a statement. (It’s a cardigan that I can’t even call a cardigan- it’s a ‘piece’).

Every fashion week, I flick through pages and pages of bollocks sloppily written by fashion journalists underneath pictures of catwalks teeming with absolutely nonsensically priced, inexcusably un-wearable (and I don’t mean just Paris) “ready to wear” garments, that are only lusted after by everyone from Anna Wintour to your neighbour because of the flappy label with someone’s name on. I appreciate the difference in quality, design and time between H&M and Chanel, but it still doesn’t explain the ludicrous difference in price. Unless Lagerfeld has personally stitched each seam with his own silver hair, I just don’t understand how someone can pay so much for something that in as little as 6 months time, will no longer be valid as appealing in the Vogue editorials.
I admit, I too would love a Mulberry Alexa; I would shiver with pleasure if a Burberry trench was on my shoulders, and would feel like the most powerful, chic, woman in this side of the bloggersphere in a Chanel Tweed suit, but come on, is this something that you’re going to want to keep for your daughter one day? It gives me the same sort of emotions as reading the Daily Mail; a dangerous mix of loathing, jaw-grinding anger and a wave of absolute hysteria at the farcical claims they make. This is just that. It’s pathetic. And anyone who can afford, and are willing to pay, that much for such an, frankly, embarrassingly hideous, piece of clothing, deserve to be stripped of their assets; wealth and wardrobe and left with nothing but their lovely pvc investment to survive in.
I have fell victim of label lust; you pay the extra for the trust in the brand, and the feeling of eminence you get from owning it. You’re essentially paying for heritage. You wouldn’t savour a River Island smock as an heirloom, but you would a McQueen. And my point is (yes, I did have a point), just as my Grandmother has saved a wardrobe full of her favourite pieces from her life time for my sister and me; this is something that would be in mine.

FACT: It would take me 60 days to earn enough to pay for this cardigan
I would have to starve for 70.
No cardigan is worth that, lets be honest.

PURSE, PODGE & PORES DETOX

I have been meaning to write and post this for a while now, but me being me, every time I went to do it I have been heavily diverted by irrelevant paths of links upon links. I wanted it to be well researched and refined, but, again, me being me, I have, since occupying myself with the idea for this post, have came to the senseless and counter-productive “justification” that until I post this blog, I can spend, eat and do the general opposite the title. And now I am just getting increasingly penniless, plump and imperfect- which is bad.
I am going on holiday (to sunny Devon) on the 5th of August and I have decided that, at the elderly age of Seventeen, it is about time I pop my bikini cherry. With holidays comes wet hair, no make-up and terrifyingly tiny and tight pieces of lycra. So that means that having hair that only comes out of a top knot once a year (I push the boat out each birthday), skin that is seriously deprived of anything good (my lips only see Pepsi Max, Coffee and cigarettes and the occasional OJ- water is something that is seriously lacking in my life) and a belly constantly pumped full of Morrisons crisp and sweet deals (Oh Hai £1 pringles), is generally not going to work in my favour.
I have gained a gruesome 14lbs + in the past Six months- I think moving in with your boyfriend is possibly the worst thing anyone who has a tendency to think “all or nothing” regarding food(/everything)- and it makes me uncomfortable. I can’t sit here and claim I don’t know how it’s happened- my diet has gone seriously downhill since I started earning my own money (thus being able to afford, and convince myself that I ‘deserve’ copious amounts of chocolate and crips). NOTE: I don’t want to focus too much on the weight side of things on this blog as I have had eating problems throughout my adolescence and this is (admittedly) my first non weight-loss focused blog.
I will no longer be in employment from this Sunday (24th- will talk about this in another post), and so I need to stop being so reckless regarding spending. I rarely ever buy anything I actually want (clothes etc.) and I am very careful with shopping, I just tend to leech my account dry by spending little bits here on there on sh*t I don’t need (Pepsi Max, Quavers, I hate you).
The beauty of this all is that they all flow beautifully into each other: If I stop spending money on food, I save money and loose weight and my skin will improve and vice versa.

(Will do a more ‘atheistic’ and in depth version tomorrow) Basically I am just going to drink a lot of water and stop eating such rubbish food.

I will keep everyone updated on how this is going. I hope that the fact that I have to post it in here will force me to keep on top of it. I have literally 17 days (Oh Jesus) to shatter my appalling lack of body confidence and squeeze myself into a bikini. This could be interesting...

A pouty picture: 8/07/2011

I thought I'd do some sort of 'Portrait of the week' al la one of my faves, LLYMRS. Because I think it's a really good idea. I think it makes it makes a blog a little more personal. Plus I don't have a (working) camera to do outfit posts, so you're stuck with my face for now!
.Here's me in a my friend's 21st in the Malmaison Leeds(classy bathroom pic). It was a really good night and a beautiful venue, but Magners cost £3.80 a pop and a medium glass of wine was £6.20. Made me really appreciate my usual haunt, the beautiful (prices of) Wetherspoons. But I came up with the flawless (except not, as I still ended up spending £30) plan of purposely mixing my drinks in order to get more drunk. So it was wine followed by cocktails and then finished off with some nice cheap (or not) cider. It worked, I ended up slapping Kyle in front of all his friends and storming off to the girl's toilets (or should I say 'ladies powder room).
.I wore my Chelsea Girl (Riverisland) white smock (that I got for £12.50 in the sale), my River Island Kimono (that cost me £10 in the sale), my Mum's old shoes and a pair of my very own bruised and deathly pale bare legs (it was a terrible sight).
.I'm about to make dinner (yes at half 11 at night, that's what life comes to when your boyfriend is a waiter). It didn't cost me a penny because Kyle's Dad has very kindly put a tab on the local fruit and veg shop for us (because we eat too many crisps). Lifesaving stuff for two poor Vegetarians. I am making Pesto roast potatoes, chedder stuffed mushrooms and lemon and garlic asparagus. It sounds healthy, but it ain't; about a ton of Vegetable oil (rip olive oil) is about to be used.

I must go, because Kyle's on the train now and I haven't even started!

THEY'VE GONE ON SALE!

The shoes I fell in love with, which were, much to my crushing disappointment, were not in the BANK sale. BUT NOW THEY ARE. For £19 pounds! My heart genuinely skipped a beat. I have butterflies. And a horrible urge to whip out my card and spend spend spend.

WANT (found!)

Found it already! These pleated shorts are just perfect. Although again not as A-lined as the French Connection skirt (last post), they'll do fine for a reduction of £16 off it's £20 original price tag (yes, £6!). Now £6 is more my price. All there is left to do now is try and convince myself that I am 'allowed' to buy them.

GO HAPPY, GO HUNGRY: Pleated Skirt

I really love the pleated skirt. At first I thought it to be a bit to close to the classic School Uniform (a thing I rebelled against and have longed to escape since the tender age of 11- hello stripy black and red long sleeved goth top under short sleeved shirt- I was a fashion icon). And then I thought of Hermione Granger, and anything remotely related to Harry Potter is good in my books, so lets all wear pleated skirts! No, I'm kidding (a little bit...). But I have fell in love with them. And really want one.
So I have chosen two. To be fair, I do much prefer the French Connection one (right). I just think the cut is much nicer; much more A-lined, the Matalan one (left) looks like it would make your hips look slightly more rounded, which I honestly don't need. But it is a decent cheaper alternative.
I think the French Connection skirt is now on sale, reduced from £62 to £24, so a bit of a bargain there. But alas! Me being as poor and as reluctant to 'treat' myself as ever, I still wouldn't fork out that much on a skirt (I did once, in American Apparel after I got my Christmas Money, I bought a skirt for £33 and then got on the bus home and was literally shaking thinking 'what have I done, what have I done' and took it back the next day because it looked horrible on, only to fall victim to the horrible American Apparel returns policy- no refunds, so ended up getting the, I think now discontinued, skirt that can make a, very short, strapless dress and a skirt and then having to get a £7 piece of purple plaited string, how they can charge that much I don't know, to spend the rest of my skirt return. Nightmare).
I don't think I'd even go for the Matalan one. I really am that stingy.
But I will be on the look out for one I would be willing to hand over my hard-earned cash for and will post it when it (and it will) comes along.

(Warning, (really) long & pretentious post) A long over due 'Hello'.

(It’s going to be a very busy night for me. Hardcore blogging is about to commence in Flat One. Be wary).

Contemplating on how to go about this Blog with an (horribly unfamiliar and uncharacteristic) actual readable structure, I have come to the sensible (again, very unlike me) conclusion that I should actually tell you who I am. I have put this off ever since I started this blog, and have never done this on any of my various other blogs over the years, purely because I’m not a fan (in fact, it’s one of my biggest hates in life) of egotism, and an ‘About me’ type-post is highly likely to portray (anybody) as someone, to put in bluntly, who is very up their own arse. It’s mostly accidental and yet, unfortunately, largely apparent that when you write an ‘About me’ you can end up giving the effect of ‘advertising’ yourself as some brilliant young master of words. But hey, isn’t that what an ‘About me’ is essentially to do? To promote yourself, and thus, your blog, to potential readers? Anyway, in writing this sort of prologue to my ‘About me’, I have already achieved telling you three things about me; I constantly and consistently over-analyse everything; I ramble on like the English diction itself will no longer be valid after I stop; I have a serious soft-spot and an over tendency to use semi-colons (I just think they’re pretty). And so, I will now go forth and sell myself. (Eurgh, how cringy).
I’m not going to tell you every gruesome detail in my life’s history, like the date of my first period or what occurred upon my first sip (and those that followed) of Vodka. It’s not been the most sober and comfortable ride so far; forgive my ‘Oh woe me, no one understands’ emo-like air now, but I have struggled through traumas in my life that would shock even the most sombre of individuals. I will leave it at that. Maybe, the classic ‘Who; what; where’ will do the trick.

WHO: Jessica Elizabeth Baines. My Mum called me Jessica because she liked the name Jessy, and named my twin Brother Lewis because she favoured the name Louie, however, she has never called either of us by these names, and I have unfavourably have come to be adopted as ‘Jess’ by everybody (lil’ fact for you).
My Mum had my Twin brother and I in January 1994 at 22, later followed by my Lil’ sister in 1998. My Mum and Dad spilt when I was about 7 and my Mum later had my brother Reece in (Oh Jesus, I actually don’t know the year he was born!)...2004? He’s six anyway. And he’s witty as f*ck. My Dad got married to my Step-mum, Janet, in 2009(?) and they recently had my lil' Angel Jasmine in January. My family is so dis-jointed it’s hilarious, but I love them.

I am Seventeen years old, I left school last year with suspiciously good GCSE’s (I only had 40% attendance in my last two years of school and faced a lot of horrific situations in that time, so when I got my results I almost cried, but instead I got drunk and gloated).
I met my boyfriend, Kyle, in September on Last.fm over a mutual admiration for Morrissey and The Smiths. We met for the first time on the 11th of September 2010 and although I would take great pleasure in kicking him where the sun don’t shine some (okay, a lot) of the time, I love him to (his bruised with my footprints) bits.


WHAT: I went on to Liverpool Community College where I began studying AS Government & Politics, English Literature and History (I had one short, shockingly mundane art lesson where I was instructed that I was ‘never to draw another line again’ by a very disorganised and eccentric woman who expected me to go out and spend a non-existent £80 instantly on Art equipment). After another unfortunate event in February I dropped out of college and moved to Ilkley.
I am starting my AS levels again in September in Leeds City College and am taking the same subjects, and debating between Art and Sociology as a Fourth. I intend to go to University, even with the (f*cking ridiculous, don’t even go there) rise in tuition fees. I won’t mention my grades (I sound egotistical enough), but they’re good enough to get into Oxford if I try, which is where I have where I have wanted to go since I can remember, and now it’s actually cheaper than ALL of the other Universities (Ah! The little perks of being from a lower-working class family) I am going to work my arse off. I want to become a journalist; I adore writing and the world of literature has stolen many, many months of my life so far. However, I’ll probably have changed my mind after I’ve got myself in £27,000 debt to start out on this path (sods law, as they say).

WHERE: I grew up in Liverpool’s inner city, ‘just off Penny Lane’ (yeah- never go there, it’s got a closed down pub, a Londis and a chip shop that never opens and used to have a very naughty drug farm upstairs). Liverpool will always be my home. Like a true Scouser, I will never say a bad word against Liverpool to anyone who isn’t a fellow Liverpudlian, but to anyone who also pronounces their ‘R’s with the distinctive harsh ‘rolling’ sound (as long as they’re not a wool, of course) Liverpool is a shithole (but still the greatest place on Earth).
I moved to Ilkley in February to live with Kyle (I won’t go into why but it was a choice between that or living in a hostel). Ilkley, is a small ‘spa’ town almost smack bang in the middle of Bradford and Leeds. The people have a tendency to be openly racist (which I cannot stand) and are a largely white, middle-class who-the-f*ck-are-you breed, which makes having them as customers at work a real pleasure sometimes. To allow you to get a better picture of Ilkley, I, as you know, from a lower-working-class family in Liverpool, once stared, with everybody else, in shock at the sight of a black family pulling up at the local Tesco (which is the 2nd most expensive in Britain-great when you’re on a brilliantly tight budget). Yeah, Really. So that’s Ilkley! I might be being unfair; it’s a beautiful town, I can see the moors from the supermarket and my house, which is something I never got in Liverpool, and some people are lovely, it’s just not my beloved L’pool.

WHY: I made this blog because after blogging for 4 years, I decided to finally write one people want to read, and that isn’t a literal substitute for a paper personal diary. I also love clothes, shoes, beauty and shoes (I really, really like shoes). But I’m on a tight (and I mean can’t-afford-heinz-beans tight) budget, and I want to learn, and share, how to still look good and indulge (gulp) on little-to-no money.
It also gives me the ‘hobby’ that everyone from my psychiatrist (I’m not a crazy person, I’m just ‘fragile’ 8l) to my boss have been persistently telling me to get for the last 6 years. Score.
I simply enjoy writing, fashion and Art and as I am one of those irritating and hateful people who have an opinion on absolutely everything, so I thought it would be good to voice it constructively rather than ranting it at Kyle at 2am.
I do hope people like it, but if not, I suppose that’s just the reality of humanity; I’m not for everyone. And that’s fine.

NOTE: Even though I have wrote a lot more than intended, I am sure I have missed (arguably more relevant) things out, so feel free to ask me anything, and I will answer whatever question you may have. I think I truly avoided my preconception that I would manage to sound up myself on this...NAWT.
Twitter: here.

Blog name: Tried many, I have always, even since MySpace (those were the days...), gone by the name as 'sheoncewasadoll', but one of those annoying bas*ards who steal URLs and then don't blog for 7 years already has it, so I tried my usual halfaperson, girlafriad etc. etc. but they all had Blogsitters resting their big fat arses on, so after going through (what seemed like) hundreds of Smiths & Morrissey singles/albums/lyrics I finally found one that was available. I'm aware that it confuses people when the URL and title are different (especially as I am not sure if will be 'signing' as Sister, I'm a poet' or not yet), but that's just how it's going to have to rolllll.

(There were supposed to be GIFs of all my delicious friends and family down here but they no move!)

So here's me instead:

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO: High Violet (album)- The National

What's the point in being a Fashion Blogger, when you can't afford clothes?

. I'm lonely tonight. They've made Kyle stay over at work- which I find really strange because he is (not meant to be offensive) only a waiter, so it's not as if he has to be there or the whole business will collapse/the apocalypse will begin. He's staying in a £90 a night room though, and I bet he hasn't brought his toothbrush or pjs. What a waste. So I had a meal for one from the new Mlocal (Morrisons version of Tesco Express)and am now just trying to kill time.
. I have used Blog Lovin' for ages now and decided to finally try and get some followers for this blog (I know, why would anybody not want to write to nobody?) but it's not exactly helping my case! It says on the top of it when you click on my blog "This blog has no followers so won't be updated very often". Er, sorry but how can BL possibly know that it won't? They're just putting people off my ickle blog before it even gets started! Meanies!
.I spent £30 on alcohol last night. Yes, the girl who will spend (honestly) 2 hours in Superdrug/Boots debating on what makeup to buy, and whether she can possibly justify spending £12 (I am cheap) on foundation, decided that an £8 cocktail was a bargain! I think at one point, what with the cocktail themed attire and the amazing hotel, that I was in fact a cast member of Made In Chelsea, and thought I can afford to spend almost a tenth of my monthly wages on alcohol. Need. To Start. Budgeting!
. I keep coming up with ideas for this blog, but then I am always restricted by my lack of camera (mine broke miraculously whilst sitting untouched on a shelf...RIP). So I thought, there is no point me spending a sh*t load of money on a camera for my blog, when nobody reads it (I know, I am Logic Central). So I have devised a master plan, my non-existent readers.
For the first 10 followers I get, I will put £1 away (per follower).
For the next 40 followers, 50p (per follower).
For the following 50 followers, 20p (per follower).
And 10p per every page view.
Hopefully, that will allow me to save enough to buy a camera (and help me justify buying one, if it is to improve a blog that people actually read!).
So for now I am just jotting down ideas. I am not setting out to become enormously successful and end up having a cult following across the globe, I simply want to write a blog that people will enjoy reading, even if it's just two of you.

P.S. Kyle laughs at me everytime I run through ideas with him, or write a post, because he says "What's the point in a fashion blogger, when you can't afford clothes?". To which I replied, "because there are lots of us out there, who read fashion blogs, but can't afford clothes", doesn't mean we have to all run around in pillow cases and recycle bottle caps to accessorize (which there is actually nothing wrong with). I will never understand men.

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