My very own little rouges

These little red beauties are my current obsession! 

Don't mind if I do...

As my university friends know- I know how to do a good anti-pasti. 

In my time living away from home, cured meats, artichokes and olives were my baked beans on toast. 

Not because I turn up my nose at a Henry J Bean but more for the reason that as much as I adore food, I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in cooking it. And as much as I've tried to force myself, I have come to accept the fact that I really can't be arsed and probably never will be.

So onto the point of my blog post- these little babies.

The perfect treat for the lazy eater, and honestly, they're so good they're better than chocolate!!

Romancing Red Lions and Roquefort

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Ok as much as I'd like to believe that I'm a bit of a foodie (I really am honestly), I have two weaknesses that can take to me nose-diving to the depths of disgusting. My culinary achilies heels...

Eggs and Cheese,

Totally respectable foods in themselves- enjoying the perfect Eggs Royale or delectable cheese board is the height of good eating in my opinion. Cheese is one of the simplest pleasures in life and growing up on the island and living in France, cheese has always been a food very close to my heart. 

But the time it takes me to work through a entire wedge of brie, devour a block of chedder or stuff myself with an eggy concoction paired with a disconcerting amount of mayonnaise is almost unhealthy...I'm like lightning.

SO you can imagine my excitement right now. Not ONLY is it National British Egg Week starting today but ALSO the Cheese and Wine Festival at Southbank Centre the whole weekend.

I genuinely feel like I've died and gone to heaven. 

Eggs & cheese washed down with a glass or two of wine, there isn't too much I can think of that could beat it!! My life-long love of food continues.

A little bit of Blogger Lovin'

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INDIAN SUMMER

The single best news this week for one reason and one reason only...

Now there's an excuse to wear sunglasses all year round without looking like a total arse. Brilliant!

So next time I supress the urge to whip out my sunglasses even though August is loooong gone (taking this act's acceptability with it) I can think again.  

No-longer will I deny myself, no, no more! I shall reach for my lenses and wear them with pride. 

But there may be a particularly strong underlying reason for my enthusiasm this year though…. American 

Apparel’s new Vintage sunglasses range- Deadstock Vintage Eyewear.

I’ve spent many a minute lusting over these little beauties. I can’t get enough, I’m practically drooling. Every pair is so totally babe-ish it’s astonishing how someone has put them so conveniently in one place. 

This pair of stunners is one of my absolute favourites, I mean come on, how could you not!

Take a look and see, I promise they won’t disappoint. 

http://www.americanapparel.com/accessories-vintage-eyewear.html

So thankyou Indian Summer you’re a god-send.

BOOT-ilicous

If any season could be more me its Autumn/Winter

The sun has never been my friend.

Even though I have offered my body up to it on numerous occasions it spurns my advances.

Choosing not to give me the golden bronzed bod’ that I have always craved but a threatening red glow like it has repeatedly slapped me HARD all over- which, once faded leaves me a slither of a shade less pale than before and a few million freckles for keepsakes...

Needless to say getting my pale pins out as I wilt in a heat that apparently no-one else feels, is not my favourite time of the year.

Due to this I have sought comfort in the suggestive layers and casual chic of the winter wardrobe...and if I do say myself...I do it well.

Which brings me onto this post. My task this a/w is the BOOT.

Sadly I will never look lush in a loafer nor will my shape ever be suited to a brogue, as unbelievably unhappy as this makes me as I adore both of these styles of shoe I have come to terms with it. Just! GAH the pains of my genes fail me once more...

HOWEVER the one shining style that saves my sad shoe heart is the boot.

Give me a good boot and I will genuinely be happy for weeks if not years on end.

My collection that sits proudly on display across the side of my room comes in an array of styles: from biker boot, cheeky ankle grazers, sexy thigh-highs or my personal fave -the riding boot.

The boot is my ultimate foot fetish.

Yet as I move to London to start work at an online Women's Lifestyle Magazine hoping to show off my collection, 3 of my greatest treasures break beyond repair.

Gasp i know...

Now in this city that celebrates the cosmopolitan idea of variation, whilst also a English style which is almost indefinable in its changeability and a focus upon unique design, you would think I would be able to find a good boot with ease....

Well think again.

Much to my surprise I've found my perfect match!!

Usually it is incredibly difficult for me to decide on a boot, I have to fall completely head over heels in love before I fish out my rather pathetic looking wallet, preferring to opt for classic investment pieces rather than the impulses of fleeting trends.

But as I skulk around certain Oxford St. stores feeling like I am cheating on my sturdy, reliable bank account getting a thrill from every empty sole that I slide my little foot into I stop as I find THE most stunning pair of boots.

A Carvela Kurt Geiger pair of riding boots in tan and a patent black leather. I am taken-aback-they are possibly the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

As I wait excitedly as the shop assistant disappears to find my size I get that horrible tinge of guilt, staring down into my purse I know that I will never be able to afford them, but surely trying them on won't hurt?..will it?

......

It has been 3 days and I cannot get them out of my head.

And so, I have decided, with a memorable quote from one Oprah Winfrey, that I shall go back, whip out my card and purchase the beauties, after all that I reckon my stunning new lifestyles needs boots that befit it....

"I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes" Oprah Winfrey.

Rag & Bone

Love...

http://diy.rag-bone.com/karolina-kurkova

Booze on the Big Screen

The moment I heard that Johnny Depp was going to star as Hunter S. Thompson in 'The Rum Diary' I knew that the transformation of one of my favourite books to the big screen was not going to disappoint.

After Depp's buzzed performance in 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' and his general kook demeanor I couldn't personally think of anyone better to play the boozed up, drug addicted, emotionally stunted, insane but charismatically BRILLIANT Thompson...

I mean, Babes, booze and the 'Bean, what could be better?

I cannot WAIT.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YUx36yLLu

Sexy Non?

Skimming through the pages of each magazine and website showcasing the looks of this Autumn/Winter made me think.

Really, what is sexy?

For all the attention to erotic chic in the coming season, I tried to picture what I ultimately think are the styles that emulate the certain je ne sais quoi that each woman tries to achieve…

I absorbed the images of models in leather skirts, metallic trousers, outrageous horse bit jewellery and larger than life vampy shoes  and couldn’t help but look back to the women that to me personally epitomise sex…

Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin are two of the women that I have always looked upon as the ultimate of everything an alluring woman should be. Blasting out a combined sexual energy that resembles something of a sensual foghorn, the two not only produce an essence of screaming lust in every single image but also have a timeless elegance that is hard to come by.

It is probably my penchant for France and the aura that surrounds the sensuality of the French woman that draws me to them, even though Birkin is ‘French’ through Gainsbourg. Yet although the international reputation for the female francais as a lascivious femme-fatale come agent provocateur shown by the braless, rear cheek skimming wardrobe of Birkin, and the unimaginable flesh baring curves of Bardot, the main thing that these women share is the sense to know when and more importantly HOW to cover up.

Despite having some of the raunchy-ist auras in history there is something about them which oozes sophisticated sex rather than the outright plastic eroticism of some parts of todays’ runway.

Maybe I’m being blind-sighted by the fact that I fear I will see too much flesh that really ought not to be seen bursting from the seams of the unfortunates that follow trend instead of personal style. But all I know is that this season SEX in capital letters is on the scene and it is a hard one to pull off from runway to reality. 

 

Personally I had a particularly ridiculous wake-up call when clearing my house to find that one entire suitcase was full of sweaters, knits and various jumpers that maybe I wasn’t quite the sophisticated sensual fashionista that I once thought I was.

However I can take comfort in the fact that the styles of these women- particularly Bardot- is quite like my own. Preferring the au natural, a delicate combination of baring all or nothing, so to speak!

What struck me most about the two was the fact that the more subtle and simple the style, the sexier the effect. 

The careful balance between suggestion and overt sexuality kept these two babes smouldering like the suggestive cigarettes lolling between their lips all the way from the sixties. 

The casual tees, plain sweats, subtle décolletage, LBDs, blazers and scarfs made me realise that my unshakeable love of the art of plain yet suggestive dressing wasn't so absurd after all.  

If the sexiest women in the world can get away with a ridiculous jumper, jean and scarf combination rather than going all out why can't I? 

Surely that makes sense?

Finger Fancies

One of the many things that I picked up on from the Autumn/Winter 2011 runway was that this season it was the nail that was gripping the fashion forward.

The Dalmatian spots of Topshop’s canine-inspired show and the metallic talons that permeated others showed that the cutesy craze starting with the designs of Sophy Robson’s displayed in last season’s Leowe show has undergone a transformation. 

Now there was a certain unabashed outrageousness and light-hearted fun that centred on the manicurist’s canvas.

 

The fad became particularly apparent to me when I saw Katy Perry’s tribute to the Royal Wedding in April which only made me love the hilariously cheesy celeb more:

A snapshot of darling Wills on each talon documenting a different point in his life... Oh K-Pez, only you.

But it seems that over the last few months this trend has got so big that I cannot ignore it.

I had always thought that bright nails were a bit tacky if I am being honest, preferring to stay with the safety of a nude, plum or red on my own delicate nails. Not through any sort of manicure snobbery but solely due to the fact that every time a bottle of wine was involved and my varnish obsessed friend was about I’d be forced into donning my nails in the brightest shade of Bazza M’s Coral. Thinking this was a brilliant idea at the time I’d awake the next morning with a stonking hangover and ten of the most glaring headaches blaring from my own fingers, which had been transformed into witchlike tendrils upon my placid skin.

Needless to say, I wasn’t a fan.   

However trawling through the net for examples of nail art I have decided that nails can actually be a massive laugh. Some of the more hilarious taking I-pod Nanos to an even more ridiculously tiny level,  die-hard fans of the nineties repping the Pokemon phenomenon which I rather mistakenly thought had passed with my own puberty, and my favourite, the sexy Aztecs.

 

Rather than looking like a techno freak or an Aztec on Acid I think I will probably stick with the more classic manicure but rather than scratching the walls with my own as I expected, my respect for nails has definitely increased. 

Nice…

Welcome to the Isle of Wight

So I haven't being paying this blog much attention sadly, been filling my time with such great money making schemes as working for Colonel Bogeys for a night, the Island's top night spot, where every teenage mum and fat balding chav loves to let off some steam to a classic set list of Dirty Dancing and Queen.

A shift ending in tiptoeing around shards of glass whilst trying to clear any remaining whole glasses from the sea of shattered daggers beneath my delicately crafted flimsy black pumps.

'Flat shoes' as the requirement my arse, they should have put down '5 inch soled, steel capped army boots'  with the amount of blood hungry weapons strewn on the floor, but ah well, thought i should probably drop in on here.

Last night me, my two hags and a fag went to Welcome in the highlight of the summer season on the island.

'Happy Monday, Love Mondays'....otherwise know as Derek Sandy poncing about on Appley Seafront as any true Islander should immediately recall and hold the memory close to their hearts.

After the opening number of Kingston Town, Bob whacked out the tune that echoes from every corner of the island... 'Welcome to the Isle of Wight'..supposedly now the "National Anthem" of the Island.

And well it should be.

It is probably the most hysterical song ever written if you know about the Isle of Wight, if not then the video should be enough to make anyone laugh.

The fact that a man moved from Tobago to live a life on the Isle of Wight, terming it as 'paradise' should raise a few eyebrows.

But as the music that has flowed for 5 years straight carried on flowing, and Dezza bopped away givin' it his all to a crowd of Appley Bummers, all I could think of is what an effin laugh the Island is.