Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Smile And The World Smiles With You

You know when you're in one of those "lets experiment with the world and people" moods (no? okay .. just me then that gets that haha). Well I was today, it hits me mostly when I'm going somewhere and will be spending a significant amount of time waiting around or on public transport.

Now I know my appearance in itself often generates a reaction when I go out - I'll either be pointed and laughed at or someone will very kindly let me know how I look nice; so those reactions are interesting in themselves when reading people but I like to push the button a little further in sometimes.

I love getting on trains even if it is to bloody Nelson to see my dietician to be lectured about milk decomposition for the 4 millionth time (...rant off). The journey is about an hour long on account of the fact the route is a stopping route calling at every station along the line but rather than be irritated by the lack of fluidity to the journey I like these changes - as it refreshes the calibre of persons to observe nice and frequently. On each ride I like that there are the "regulars"; always students wearing hoodies and thier iPod on texting away, the suits having what appear to be important phone calls and sat with on leg on the opposite knee revealing Simpsons socks that you so know some relative bought him for Christmas, the young harrassed mother with a toddler in a pram with a chocolate smeared mouth and another youngster playing hell running up and down the carriage and then the mixtures.

I have been in a positive mood all day so today's testing of people came very simply in the form of smiling a big warm smile at the people who's eye I managed to catch. I like to connect with people that do look a bit wrapped up in their own worlds or I'm sensing stressed or worried vibes from to see if they react to my bit of warmth. And it does tend to be a very split reaction - people either look away awkwardly like "okay.. I'll just avoid this manic looking ginger chick" *shuffle shuffle* or they do smile back - and that gives me a lovely inner glow. I actually said to one girl at one point (as she had been rather aggressive looking so I felt the need to reinforce that I wasn't some weirdo and therefore she didn't smash my face in) that it was so nice when someone smiled back and after that for the remainder of her time on the train she carried a little half smile and smiled at me fully when we looked at each other.

I also happen to be a fan of knitting on the train and a dear friend of mine and I have a little giggle about me being Nana Ruby, beady eyed watching over people over her knitting haha - and I can't deny it's true. Like I do at work with customers when I am on the checkout I like to make up little stories about them, their names, occupations, where they're going and then try to tune strongly into their auric field to see about their energies and weigh them up generally. I suppose this could be classed as being a bit stalkerish but they never know and I find that it is rather enriching soul food absorbing people.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010


It's been a day of life organising - well it was after 11:30am after I'd spent about 45 minutes deciding which hat to wear just to drop some forms off at the estate agents.

Today has been dedicated to the art of packing - and a bloody art form it is too. I am now currently lead in bed in a room that is absolutely littered with bits of shit and overflowing boxes - the job still is only half done. My half of the flat in my head suddenly merged from being a wonderful fashionista paradise into a giant over clothed jigsaw. Trying to fit the explosion of millions of bits of my life paraphernalia into just a few boxes was a rather more arduous task than I had first anticipated. Still, I got into the swing of things and rather amused myself thinking that not many people when they move house would have an entire box just labelled "hats and feather boas".

The strangest thing now though is going to bed and looking at my empty walls. I do have rather a fetish for postcards and images cut out from everywhere and every bedroom I've had since I was 15 have been covered in this way and my walls now just look naked. I'll go to sleep without the eyes of Vivienne Westwood looking down on me, my pregnant ladies are sleeping, feather boas, fairy lights and baby birds are now stuffed into boxes having been removed from my mirror. Instead I shall drift off tonight surrounded by drawing pin holes and remaining blu-tak stains (the landlord is going to love that...). The room has been stripped void of my personality and it really doesn't feel anything like my home anymore.

I'm enjoying this transition of packing in some ways though because it's making the move feel closer and closer. I've moved many times in the past few years and so it's been difficult to feel settled anywhere but I have good feelings about my new residence and I think I will finally feel at home there so that's made this packing process much less painful (though my joints disagree). I'm so excited about it all, the vibes in the new house are just so wonderful (as I said in my previous blog and as I'm packing the memories of this place up and looking forward to getting the bits of me out of these boxes again and having them dress a much lovelier space.

Monday, 25 January 2010

Sylvia Says:

"I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one... by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet". -Sylvia Plath

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Solitaire Revisited

I don't know whether you would call it chance, co-incidence or possibly even fate but I was reading through my old journals and things earlier and just so happened to come across my Solitaire poem. I have it written on my wall anyway but it was just nice to see it sitting there loosely scrawled in my diary from when I was just 17 and then I noticed date it was written - 24/1/06 - four years ago exactly today.

The ideology of cards and the associated games and gambling symbolise a lot to me. I take their forms as a representation about many of my beliefs in and about life, which is why I had the suits tattooed down my spine. I feel that life is a game and we're all dealt a hand - it's how we choose to play it that determines our destiny. It's all about chance but with a touch of skill.

The Solitaire poem was very much about the internal battle in my head - specifically relating to my relationship with anorexia but I've held on to it because it's true of many of the internal dialogues in my head that have been less than harmonious...

Solitaire from 24/01/06:

Your cards all lie in taunting piles,
So you strike a deal with the joker,
But she only wants to steal your diamonds,
Whilst she claims to teach you poker.
Her magic tricks deceive you,
She knows every rule and cheat,
Her hand will play inside your heart,
But she's the queen - she can't be beat,
She'll take your dreams and shuffle them,
And drive spades into your skin,
So you'll raise your bet and gamble harder,
But it's too late - you'll never win.
She'll bruise and break you with her club,
Then convince you that it's fair,
You can beg and plead for game over,
But you were always playing Solitaire.

Saturday, 23 January 2010


Then every so often I'll hear of something that completely catches my breath, stuns and silences me. Such tragedy that it penetrates right through me, all the way through.
Sometimes life can be so cruel. Naturally I feel we all as human beings are affected more by tales that we can to some extent empathise with - it taps into something very deep. There will always be certain topics that will touch a raw nerve with me and as we all know I am no stranger to that vicious, manipulative disease that is anorexia nervosa.

I didn't even know the girl, I don't even know her name but I was reading mooching around Facebook today of a person a friend of mine knew of who had died of her anorexia. It's such a fucking god awful illness, only profanities seem fit to describe it. It leaves me feeling a real seething burning hatred right to my core when I think about what it steals from young lives.

I feel I lost enough of myself to my own experience, it sapped the life out of a sizable chunk of my teenage years, and I consider myself to be a lucky one - relatively I got off pretty lightly (save a tad of this and that damage) and (regardless of whether I "should") I never spent time in an inpatient unit.

It just eats it's victims from the inside outwards - quite literally, a parasitic leech. It makes me want to weep, I've seen too many truly beautiful people being chewed up by it, watch their soul erode, see once bright eyes fall beyond dull - to just lifeless black pits. Vivacious, gregarious young women become just shadows of their former selves.

I know how it feels to live within it's brutal claws. How impossible it seems to ever get out of it's seemingly impenetrable bubble. Nothing matters but the pursuit of impossible levels of thinness, it makes you believe that your only purpose for living is to starve yourself to absolute nothingness. Such a sickening irony - living to die. I understand how hollowing and harrowing it is to live that way- just being so desperate to be good enough, to be acceptable, to conform a standard - but such standards are impossible - it's a level of delirious perfection that is simply unattainable. You live feeling nothing but worthless. And beneath that deep seated self hatred, at the epicentre of it all is fear - a terrifying fear of being alone, not being loved or being rejected. An immense childlike insecurity, a longing an ache – a need to be loved and looked after.

I was fortunate to find a sense of love and strength from somewhere, I found a light, I had an epiphany and have been able to fight through a build a new life for myself - which isn't to say I don't have off periods but reading today about this poor young person's death just brought everything home to me again - you HAVE to keep fighting, being strong and surviving as a beacon for those lost to this terrible disease. I'm standing tall with my beacon and sharing with you all my fellow fighters and survivors, a light of hope, a light of remembrance and symbolic of a true determination and will to move forward. We can't bring back those who have been lost - but I know I walk and fight everyday to show that to some extent their death hasn't been completely in vain - we live on in their memory - living and breathing where they no longer do - showing that for us the fight wasn't for nothing and we survive carrying their spirit along with us.

Monday, 18 January 2010

Red or Dead

Being a red head really is such an essential part of who I am - I really do feel that if I wasn't of the carroty variety I would be a completely different woman.
This blog has rather been inspired by the fact that I have just dyed my hair - although naturally a shade of red - this time a deep crimson.

I love being a ginger ninja even if it does mean that I end up being told I look like just about every red haired celebrity in the media, including Florence Welch, Nicole Kidman, Kate Winslet, Princess Beatrice, Isla Fisher and most frequently Paloma Faith - all of these women look nothing a like and nothing like me - except that we are all red heads. Though I do share a similar style love with Paloma ... though as I like to point out - I am not like Paloma, Paloma is like me and I was doing Paloma before Paloma was doing Paloma honey.

I am not a vain person, yes I am victim to spending hours in front of the mirror but I think I can owe that to insecurity (being a teenager in the twenty first century and more than several years with an eating disorder can be thanked for that), but I am very proud of my ginger roots *ber-bum-ching*. I really like my natural colour but being an ever evolving creature I do get bored from time to time - I like to experiment and play with styles frequently and naturally my hair adapts too - but always a shade of red. It gave me my nickname - Ruby - I can't ask for much more than that.

It surprises me really just how many red heads hate their hair - I suppose endless childhood teasing would account for some of that and every chav down the high street shouting "ginger *insert relevant expletive*" (observant creatures that they are) helps much either. But we are a minority and I feel we should all stick together and be ginger and proud within our predominately gingerist society. This is not my paranoia either might I be quick to point out - ginger support groups actually exist and there's even websites selling ginger merch - as if we need to reaffirm our greatness with naff paraphernalia (says she owning a "Red Heads Rule" t-shirt). Pfft. It rather winds me up that you can't buy proper ginger hair dye (I have looked endlessly) and with the exception of larger stores it's very difficult to come across red head specific hair products where there are rack and racks of blonde and brunettes items.

There is a flipside too though - red head fetishes are not uncommon and obviously you look at some of the great art movements inspired by we luscious locked beauties - what would the Rubens and Pre-Raphs be without us eh? We are, however a dying breed, so I feel that you all should do your bit for society and sleep with a ging - we need to reproduce our population. *goes off to make "Do you bit - sleep with a ginger" banners but feels this may not be helping matters*...

Friday, 15 January 2010

Daydream Believer

Watching children a play is a wonderful thing, pretending, dress-up, creating games in their heads. It's something I never really grew out of - and I think if most people could admit it they'd probably realise they haven't either. The "pretends" may evolve and become something more sophisticated but the principles are the same.

We all have hopes and dreams, all fantasize about something we'd like to be, would've liked to have been or situations we love to imagine ourselves in. Whether it's career related, sexual fantasies, conversations, people we'd like to meet, things we'd like to own, skills we'd like to possess, dreaming of another level of happiness, being reunited with people and so on. I spend a great proportion of my life living in my head, it's quite often preferable to the "real" world and it's comforting.

There are quite a few studies within modern psychotherapy about the benefits for patients with particular anxiety issues or with a history of trauma being able to mentally create "safe places". Methods of mentally being able to escape reality for a short while and take yourself somewhere outside (or inside if you see fit) of yourself and feel a calm sense of being somewhere else without actually going anywhere. strongly believe in the power of the imagination and the importance of dreams. Though I suppose it's quite important that you can come back ... may become a little bit sticky if not!

I feel fantasies are a vital part of being human, they're healthy and also something that essentially can just be for ourselves. I catch myself several times a day just dreaming of places I want to be 5 years from now, the person I want to be and I feel content having that hope and wanting it is a strong enough drive to make me go out there and make it happen, though I feel it's also incredibly important to not invest everything into dreaming - it's all about finding a fine balance. Of course I have my far fetched and ridiculous visualisations too (usually aided by more than several glasses of my dear friend le vin rouge and a musical soundtrack orientated iPod playlist) and these too are just as important - each little mental mirage has it's time and place and functions to carry me through the more mundane parts of life.

Thursday, 14 January 2010

Be Italian!

In my opinion lately there has been a distinct lack of pickle tickling musicals to come out the cinema but that's certainly now been rectified. A sumptuous Chicago - meets - Moulin Rouge with a pinch of Italian seasoning - il musical magnifico - "Nine" (which co-incidentally has the most amazing film title in the history of the world ever).

It does rather have a mouth watering line up which was hardly going to fail to impress - Nicole Kidman, Penelope Cruz (half naked frequently might I gleefully add), Marion Cotillard, Sophia Loren and Kate Hudson to name but a few.

It checked my boxes on every level; a brilliant musical score, passion, European accents, the sixties, sex, a Vogue journalist, emotional despair and most importantly breath-taking costumes by Colleen Atwood.

As my darling best friend Laura pointed out as I frequently squeaked "Oh would you LOOK at that dress" - it is something I can't turn off. Atwood doesn't really ever disappoint, doing the costumes for Chicago, Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd and Sleepy Hollow, Nine was, as expected, a corset rich visual orgasm. From the raunchy garments fantasized by lust filled lead Guido Contini , to the luscious and rich Folies Bergère costumes, I practically died and went to wardrobe heaven. It was quite literally all I could do not to go up and lick the screen - though I feel this may have slightly disturbed a few of our slightly more aged viewing comrades.

It had my tongue hanging out from the first peek of lace to the last diminuendo. Little more I can say really - go see it!!
I am already counting down the days until the dvd release.

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

The Questionable Geometry Within A Certain Cereal Based Snack

I have rather become addicted to eating Rice Krispie Squares of late, however they have been somewhat a source of disturbance to me for a while. What I wish to know is why the hell are they called Rice Krispie "Squares" when they're not bloody square?!!! They are rectangular .. in fact they're not even rectangular they're cuboid shaped. Admittedly "Rice Krispie Cuboids" doesn't quite have the same ring to it - but it's still rather irritating.
Especially as we all know I am rather a fan of a nice proper square. It's just rude.

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

Alphabet Spaghetti

Words, words, words, words!

I am most excited to be setting up a publication at college reporting on the ongoings within our lovely arts campus and local arts events. It was refreshing to pitch an idea and have my hand nearly bitten off for it. Small as it may be I'm really looking forward to being the editor of my own little project, sink my teeth into combining my dual loves for fashion and language. I'll even get my own little desk and my own little Apple Mac on which to do it all *giggles annoyingly*.

I have spent the day deliciously bound in the library with a buried under notebooks and a dictionary (9th edition) just scratching around for a good name - which I have yet to come up with. Just happily oblivious to the world lost in lexical fields, synonyms, playing with rhymes and bending grammar rules and even if it didn't result in anything tangible it still felt good to get lost in a wordy world for a purpose other than my own again - alphabet spaghetti head (which incidentally I had for my tea this evening).

Not so hot was the follow up of being a grammar whore for personal statements (not mine) but I was surprised to find that the skills haven't really left me - just been lying dormant for a while. My new year resolution to keep this blog has served me well just 12 days in it's helped to tickle my writing taste buds again. I'm thinking in words all the time, playing with linguistic tricks an so on. I found myself wide awake at 5am this morning with things just swimming around my brain - slight inconvenience but I'd rather have an alphabet spaghetti than a cabbage soup brain any day.

Monday, 11 January 2010

Ruby's Cube

I love forms of 9's, cubes, square and the likes. It is obsessive - I can't help but count things at times but I find a lot of comfort in my nice 9's (we we've already established I'm odd - no need to point this out). Feeling panicked or uneasy I can often find much comfort in mentally rearranging patterns into 9 formations or counting things.

Therefore I was most excited to discover the work of Sol Le Witt whilst doing some research for my current textiles project.

Now not being one to really understand modern art (I will not be claimed to be cultured at all where it is concerned) I was most excited to find somebody's work I could really connect to, though admittedly it had little to do with the art. As far as I'm concerned though, there are no rules when it comes to how you find inspiration.
I filled hours this afternoon (not exactly productively mind) drawing and painting squares feeling most content and now have wonderful ideas of how I am going to turn these wonderful angular visions of symmetric perfection into a fascinator.
I shall keep you all updated as I know you're just as excited and as rivoted by this as I am.........

Sunday, 10 January 2010


In the absence of feeling much enthusiasm for anything today and with a brain that has all the gumption of cabbage soup I just can't find inspiration anywhere or in anything.

But like a good cabbage soup - it soon passes.

Saturday, 9 January 2010

No Frills: Guilt

Well yesterday I managed to epically fail at posting - so bang goes my perfect blog, posted in neatly every single day for the full 365 days of the year. The intention, however, was there but then things happened through the day and the time I had allocated to write got taken over by other things. Why am I trying to explain myself to my own blog? *pats and soothes blog* ... sorry for neglecting you.

1. the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, esp. against moral or penal law; culpability: He admitted his guilt.
2. a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.
3. conduct involving the commission of such crimes, wrongs, etc.: to live a life of guilt.

Freud describes guilt as, "The result of a struggle between the ego and the superego parental imprinting. He rejected the role of God as punisher in times of illness or rewarder in time of wellness. While removing one source of guilt from patients, he described another. This was the unconscious force within the individual that contributed to illness. The victim of someone else's accident or bad luck may be offered criticism, the theory being that the victim may be at fault for having attracted the other person's hostility."

I don't know exactly what it is built in me that makes me feel guilty by instinct, I always have this sense that I'm doing something terribly wrong if I'm not doing something perfectly. Nobody will die if I don't post this blog, nobody will really care - except for me. Without justifiable cause guilt (which in absence of justifiable cause is probably more correctly "shame") is an empty emotion, it seems to serve no function other than making it's victim feel terrible. That in mind and not being a practising Catholic it beggars the question - why indulge in it then?

Having had several peaks and troughs in my life with my mental health and particularly concluding that guilt and the pursuit of perfection is the driving force behind my eating disorders, I have spent significant time doing extensive introspective work and external exploration into the concept of feeling guilty.

I struggled a long time whilst I was ill being void of all emotions except guilt. It's such a forceful emotion that it just couldn't be cut out. I struggled for a long time to return to allowing myself to feel exposed to those disassociated feelings particularly the "negative" ones- worried of their consequences and not seeing the point of subjecting myself to pain if there wasn't a reason for it. One by one I learned the point to having certain feelings and how actually they are vital to our survival as human beings in relation to our interactions with others, but it took me a lot longer to understand the functionality of guilt. After years of unpicking I have been left with one simple conclusion as to why that feeling of guilt is so powerful and also actually why it is important. Stripped bare without guilt I believe it'd mean that we didn't care. Now I am not going to spend hours going into the psychology of it but it doesn't take Einstein (or Freud for that matter as we're on the topic) to understand that as a species if we had no remorse the human race would be pretty diabolical.

At the risk of sounding like a over theraped andriod - I am learning to love my feelings of unjustifiable guilt (shame) and try to take them into my stride, understand and accept them. I used to get angry and incredibly frustrated at the hours of my life I devote to worrying and feeling guilty and whilst I don't seem to be mastering the art of not being ashamed just yet I am certainly getting there. I'd certainly rather live devoting hours of my life to feeling this way and suffering the mental battles than live a shame free, guilt free life and never give a shit about anyone or anything other than myself...

Thursday, 7 January 2010

If You Lived Here You'd Be Home Now

Today we put the deposit down on our beautiful new home. I am rather ridiculously excited about having my first house to live in independently, suddenly things like shopping for curtains becomes enthralling and I'm already mentally mapping out which of and where my images and postcards are going to go on the walls.
I've moved many times in the past few years but I have a feeling I will settle nicely in our new home. It is a pretty Victorian terrace town house, with a quaint little hedge and iron gate. The features are still original, including the late Georgian windows and fireplaces.

Having lived in both modern and older properties I must say I much prefer the latter. Old buildings have character, they have vibes - having housed many people's stories. I like the idea that old walls have heard much laughter and seen much sorrow - it appeals to my ridiculously romantic nature and I like the idea that my occupation will also add to the history.

Wednesday, 6 January 2010


Tripping pace
Sonic race
Rock 'n' rave
Rhythmic wave
Synthetic sounding
Eardrum pounding
Losing time
Thoughts sublime
Pulse roaring
Euphoric soaring
Beat pelting
Head melting
Brain implosion
Mind erosion
Mental tug
Electric drug
Floating space
Drum 'n' bass.

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Wearing Josie's Mum's Skirt

Clothes have magical qualities - yet another reason to love them.
When I get dressed I choose clothes by being drawn to how they reflect how I "feel" about my garments not so much what I want to wear. Certain clothes eminate certain moods for me and as a result getting dressed each day is always interesting and reflection of self.

This morning I was just getting dressed for no real occasion - my friend Josie was coming over to watch dvds and generally procrastinate from doing sketchbook work for college.

Without really realising it I found myself putting on a long ethnic style skirt that once belonged to my own mother (which I subsequently stole when she moved across the Atlantic) and once wearing it remembered that Josie had told me that her Mum also owned the skirt.

I love Josie very much - I have only known her a while since September but I instantly gravitated towards her as someone on my wavelength and getting to know her certainly hasn't let me down. You know instantly when you make a friend for life. So when I chose subcontiously to put on a skirt that belong to both our mothers at some point I felt it rather symbolic - like somehow we were drawn to be linked.

Monday, 4 January 2010

Listening to Love Stories

I am a sucker for a love story and I was rather treated to a feast this evening sat on my sofa.
I sat back head in hand and listened to a friend of mine retell her very own version of the Notebook - but without the happy ending ... just yet.

I think in life we are all too often overfaced with the negative - there are too many stories of heartache and heartbreak - a number which seems to far outbalance the stories of successful love. I prefer to think of this as being because once you're in love you're far too wrapped up in the euphoria of it, devoting your life to being love that you don't feel the need to go around writing about it - much too busy experiencing it.

I have never been the relationship type, I'm not for playing the game, I am (as my dear Julie Walter says in Mamma Mia) the "lone wolf *howls*" but I am a ridiculous romantic. I think this is part of my problem - I want my life to be like a soppy ending romantic film and anything less won't do. Madame Cynicism here knows that's not going to happen anytime soon but listening to my friend's story tonight rekindled that little bit of hope in me. Romantic films have to be fuelled by real life - the best story tellers write from the heart, from experiences... I shall remain living in hope.

Sunday, 3 January 2010

More Chic Than Geek

Finished shots from my recent wardrobe styling project.
Model: Nusi
Photographer: Ian Austen
Make-Up Artist: Ruth Marcella.

Saturday, 2 January 2010

Do You Have A Clubcard?

Mundane as it could seem, I actually rather love my job working in Tesco - particularly so at the moment working on the checkouts. I suppose you could call me a nosey bugger, but I prefer the term "curious". I find it absolutely fascinating having a 5 minute incite into somebody's life, weighing what they're purchasing, their interaction with you, their appearance and the people with them.

By nature I am a people watcher, actually I'm probably more of a people absorber than a watcher. Those close to me and those I have frequent crossings with I take a lot of time to read their signs and absorb their auras. I pride myself really on not often getting it wrong - but that's when I have time to watch hidden signs (usually over my knitting) but at work it's completely different and exciting. I have but a few seconds to read someones profile and decide how to react to them - how friendly to be, how chatty to be and when to shut the hell up for fear they might just thwack me around their head with their Tesco Value £7.97 kettle.

I find myself wanting to empathise with them or at least have them feel someone is on their side - each customer becomes a mini challenge - I just want to make them smile before the infamous "Do you have a clubcard?" question. I create roles for myself in return; I can be the dry witted cynical girl friend stressed out wives need, the red lipped young lady calling you "honey" that generally tends to appeal to lone men between the ages of 30 and 130, the giggly type with young girls complimentary and charismatic, the sweet granddaughter to old couples, the diva to the gays and depending on what is in their shopping basket I become a sudden enthusiast for everything from thermal knickers to toilet brushes. I don't always get it right, some people are rather insistent on being miserable bastards but c'est la vie.

I suppose really what surprised me most and rather made my day, was that at 7:57pm, 3 minutes before I was about to clock off, the lady being served on the till next by my collegue caught my eye and said, "You look like a creative type". I gave her a big smile and smiled even more on the inside - and not even because of the compliment but because I realised that whilst all day I've been reading and weighing up people that someone just did the same to me in return and it did genuinely feel lovely to feel like someone had taken notice of the small things about you. Baring in mind that I do just wear a Tesco uniform like everyone else it felt lovely that this lady could read my aura despite the uniformity of the surroundings. I told her I was a fashion student and upon leaving she said she'd look out for me in the future because she said she could tell I would go places. Whether she meant it or not, I know she said it in some part to make me feel good about myself and I hope that my customers today went away feeling that something I said made them too feel good about themselves.

Friday, 1 January 2010

Zero One Zero One One Zero

Well best keep to at least my one resolution this year - keeping a blog.

I saw the turn of the new decade with my head down a toilet bowl - which I could read as an omen but I'm choosing not to. I've decided it was a symbolic (if not exactly attractive) final clear out to say goodbye to 2009.

Unfortunately this rendered me rather too hung over to write anything of substantial interest and certainly not intellect or wit.

Happy 2010!