God I miss chocolate

I have embarked on an epic journey of self-deprivation. Fact.

In the quest for a better, leaner, stronger body I've decided to partake in the first "controlled eating regime" of my life and boy do I not like it one little bit.

It's strange as whilst it's entirely my choice to enter into this challenge I can't help but feel cheated (tricked even) out of the things I love and look to for a carb-loaded lift on a daily basis.

But whilst avoiding delicious crusty bread is hard, the whopping great elephant in the room is chocolate. I know it's such a cliche that a girl can't live without chocolate but I believe that nature has chosen cocoa as my methomania and that soft-centred dark chocolate trunk keeps tapping me on the shoulder at regular intervals... PISS OFF DUMBO!

I will try, however, to perk myself up with the smugness that eating well permits. Why only yesterday I managed to spend £18 in my local greengrocer (where it's impossible to spend more than a tenner) and took home my very own harvest festival, imagine my joy!

However it's only day 2 and already I've folded on the no-alcohol rule (but on the flip-side red wine reduces your risk of a heart attack so it's cheating to save my life) but I will self-regulate and eat nothing but steamed veg and a portion of "protein" tonight and no doubt go to bed smug, hungry and a touch more windy than usual.

When OCD met M.E.S.E. (a modern day love story)

Picture the scene; a simply beautiful flat, original features lovingly restored to their victoriana days. Painstakingly chosen colour schemes, fabrics and accessories. Not a spec of dusk in sight, a place for everything and everything (i mean everything) in it's place.

I am the first to admit that i have a healthy smattering of OCD, in the sense that i can't sleep until everything is either back in the wardrobe or the laundry bin, the wardrobe doors have to be fully closed, the curtain-tie backs level with each other and the bedside table meticulous arranged in order of expected importance in the night (phone-water-tissue-book).
 
However this harmony has been distrupted by an alien body, one so intent on spoiling the right angles of the coasters and the hair-free environment of the bath that it hurts to even say it's name.... chris (ouch).

This said the positives are that i will never again:

1) Abandon a too-tight jar
2) Stare longingly at high things in cupboards 
3) Stay out of a room because a spider has moved in
4) Talk to myself (as much)


But on the flip it's going to make it tough to find a moment to bleach facial hair, sing to the glee soundtrack and wax my bikini line as these things are not meant for sharing...

Onwards and upwards
 

Is it just me who gets bored at exhibitions?

Today, in search of more culture than our normal sloth-like Saturday, we met some friends at the Wellcome collection on Euston Road in London in search of some enlightenment and mental stimulation.

Now the thing is that much as i think i like museums and galleries i'm starting to realise that my attention span is not where perhaps it should be, especially given that this was something that i chose to visit.

I think today, however, i finally accepted just what does manage to hold my attention, and quite frankly it's not pretty or girly...

From a child i've always been fascinated by forensic psychology, crime thrillers and fairly gruesome stuff, even though I don't have the stomach for it. For example my favourite film is The Silence of the Lambs and i must admit to enjoying a Patricia Cornwall autopsy-led thriller (not exactly taxing fiction i appreciate). So today when i found myself ambling through an exhibition on Modern Medicine trying to force myself to read articles on god knows what there was one thing that stopped me in my track. And that was a glass case full of amputation saws. Yes yes i know this is wrong on so many levels but item R15 -"finger amputation saw with bone handle" made me return to the case several times with wide-eyed and tight-stomach'd fascination.

Now i don't think i have a problem, more an "interest" that i find hard to explain to decent, non-gore loving individuals. However thinking about it this is certainly not a one off as the exhibition i've enjoyed the most in recent-ish years (after the annual BP Portrait Award - which i know doesn't fit my hypothesis) was Dr Gunthers BodyWorlds at the O2. For those who didn't visit this exhibition had people fainting with shock - but to me yes it was at times yucky to look at but overall was bloody fascinating! (no pun intented)

So i go to bed tonight afriad of spider, burglars and injections but knowing that when it comes to exhibitions the more dark the material, the more i enjoy it - charming.

www.wellcomecollection.org
http://www.npg.org.uk/index.php?id=6757

Hair and pelt, not hairpelt

Not at all helped by the fact that fur has been huge this season, recent weeks have seen the emergence of a horrible horrible fashion faux-pas: matching your hair to your clothes.

Now we all know that coordination, done in moderation, can make an outfit however when that co-ordination is between your barnet and an animal (faux or otherwise) that has got to be a serious no-no, mais no?

Take the lady to the left, captured on the 73 bus near Angel. She was my first "spot" but from that cringe enducing moment i've begun to notice it more and more. From a more subtle fur trim of a hood to a full on snood of pelt, it's just completely unacceptable!

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not averse to blondes wearing cream and brunnettes brown, in fact i think this can look super-sophisticated, it's just matching human hair to mammal hair - really?!

So i'd like you to join me in a crusade against hair matching. Next time you see this crime against fashion (and believe me you'll notice it now) and crime against all that is decent in the world, rise up and shout "hair and fur should never match, you womanimal!"

Until next time..

Jx

Fringe update

It's got longer

I've had my first under-fringe spot

I definately don't like it first thing in the morning - very odd angles

It looks better with makeup

It's changed my dress-sense - i'm a bit more quirky now

And finally, my mum still hates it... She came around yesterday, could hardly look at me and kept saying "Ooh it's horrible, where's my little girl gone".. Jesus, build a bridge mum!

Fringe benefits

I've been considering a change in appearance for a while and given that i'm petrified of needles and scalpels (and feel it would be spitting in the face of my mother to defy my genes too much) my hair was one of the few tools I had to play with.

Growing a moustache was out (give it a few more years) so back through the family albums I went to glean inspiration of what might have suited me once upon a time.

My answer: a fringe. My logic: i looked cute with a fringe when i was 6. I did however ignore the fact that I looked hideous with (or indeed without i imagine) a fringe at the age of 12, but hey the brace has gone and the spots don't command eye contact these days.

Off to the hairdressers I poodled with a rather optimistic photo of Zooey Deschanel and a dream of a better life to follow. Snip snip snip.

Now is it me or is it a bad sign when people either hesitate when asked if they like something or choose not to even mention the fact that you've had a radical appearance-altering haircut? I ask because these were my first 6 encounters post fringe (here-on-in refered to as PF). Granted my hairdresser has an obsession with straighteners so it was more Worzel than Zooey to start but still, i'd at least have liked a big of feigned fringe-appreciation.

                                             Zooey - The girl who launched a thousand fringes

Over the next 3 days fringe-loathing took up my every waking thought: it's too hot, it's wonkey, i'm going to get spots, i look 6 years old... but as my hair came out of shock and i went back to work for the first time PF the bang loving began. It certainly helps that i work in advertising where fringes are super cool and it's almost good to look odd/ugly/androgynous whereas i have no doubt that had i worked in another industry (or indeed not in London) i would have been met with silence or refused acknowledgement.

I am now almost embarrased at the fringe love, it's raining down like a torrent of petals every step i take (well kind of) however on meeting my mother the other day, the women for whom i disregarded botox or a chin implant let us not forget, pre even "hello" I was met with "i hate it, it doesn't suit you". But give it time and even she'll find it hard to remember life pre-Fringe.

Dog Judo anyone?

A playful little something has entered my life and brightened my working day.... "Dog Judo"

http://www.dogjudo.com/

I can't remember how i came across it but all i know is that i'm hooked. Is it the awkward animation, maybe. Perhaps it's the sadistic Rexley, or could it just be the fact that i tweeted Roy (yes, i messaged a fictional dog) and am now the proud owner of dog judo badges, t-shirt and a postcard of Roy's dad - Rik Mayall.

Yes yes this all sounds a bit mutts, sorry nuts, but check it out and if you don't like it you must be barking.

Over and out

(Team Roy)