MMx
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Very Very Vera!!!
My new Vera Wang slip dress is so lovely it just makes me want to cry! I know it doesn't look like much in the picture below but in my head it's teamed with silky summer dresses, tank dresses, big chunky leather belts and chains - so versatile! So many options!! HOW TO CHOOSE?!?!?!
And I just know that it will look brilliant with my Marc Jacob wedges (http://missmediaandtheredcurtain.blogspot.com/2009/10/for-love-of-marc.html)
Ahhhhh....I'm such a happy little chicken right now!!!
MMx
MMx
Susie Bubble, j'adore
http://www.stylebubble.co.uk/style_bubble/2010/01/longer-but-not-lither.html
Think I have a bit of a style crush!!!!
MMx
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Li-Lo Sourcing Child for Adoption?
Disclaimer: This is me at my bitchiest!! But in my defence, this girl has annoyed me for so damned long and this is the straw that broke my back!!
---------
So, it has just been revealed that Lindsay Lohan, that beacon of hope and charity in a world spiralling into decay, has been commissioned to front a BBC3 documentary (Blakeaway Productions) exposing child sweat shops and prostitution in India.
Oh, come on.
Let's be realistic here. Lindsay, who is best known for exposing herself to ridicule (not to mention exposing her nether-regions on more than one occasion) is now trying to recast herself as humanitarian and philanthropist?! I'd sooner believe that Russell Brand and Katy Perry are going to live a life of marital celibacy!
Lohan, listen up. I'm sick of this and I have to say, I'm a little sick of you. You've blown it. You were given a peach - childhood success, movie roles other actresses (myself included but definitely no sour grapes here!) would kill for and you buggered it right up. Rehab should have been made mandatory and permanent for you, my dear. For all of you who think I am being a little harsh, let me apologise. I mean no disrespect to 'Li-Lo' or her hoards of compatriots who insist on drowning themselves in booze and drugs, fling themselves out of clubs with underwear exposed then decide to play on the viewer's sympathy in an utterly transparent bid to win back loyalty and respect. But I come from a line of actresses who actually like to WORK. Who respect the system and how it's played and above all, who don't do it for the fame and celebrity but because they couldn't imagine a life without getting on that stage or in front of that camera to channel real emotion and reflect real life. I genuinely feel sorry for you - at the grand old age of 23 you've managed to screw it all up.
So please, go to India, try to squeeze out the requisite tears as you face some of the most incredible poverty in the world. Perhaps before you go you can follow in the venerable footsteps of fellow headline-grabbers and snag yourself a bouncing baby all of your own. By all means, visit child sweat shops (which, by all accounts is like sending an alcoholic to a brewery).
Just pick up a quick knock-off Fendi on your way through, and don't expect me to be watching.
---------
So, it has just been revealed that Lindsay Lohan, that beacon of hope and charity in a world spiralling into decay, has been commissioned to front a BBC3 documentary (Blakeaway Productions) exposing child sweat shops and prostitution in India.
Oh, come on.
Let's be realistic here. Lindsay, who is best known for exposing herself to ridicule (not to mention exposing her nether-regions on more than one occasion) is now trying to recast herself as humanitarian and philanthropist?! I'd sooner believe that Russell Brand and Katy Perry are going to live a life of marital celibacy!
Lohan, listen up. I'm sick of this and I have to say, I'm a little sick of you. You've blown it. You were given a peach - childhood success, movie roles other actresses (myself included but definitely no sour grapes here!) would kill for and you buggered it right up. Rehab should have been made mandatory and permanent for you, my dear. For all of you who think I am being a little harsh, let me apologise. I mean no disrespect to 'Li-Lo' or her hoards of compatriots who insist on drowning themselves in booze and drugs, fling themselves out of clubs with underwear exposed then decide to play on the viewer's sympathy in an utterly transparent bid to win back loyalty and respect. But I come from a line of actresses who actually like to WORK. Who respect the system and how it's played and above all, who don't do it for the fame and celebrity but because they couldn't imagine a life without getting on that stage or in front of that camera to channel real emotion and reflect real life. I genuinely feel sorry for you - at the grand old age of 23 you've managed to screw it all up.
So please, go to India, try to squeeze out the requisite tears as you face some of the most incredible poverty in the world. Perhaps before you go you can follow in the venerable footsteps of fellow headline-grabbers and snag yourself a bouncing baby all of your own. By all means, visit child sweat shops (which, by all accounts is like sending an alcoholic to a brewery).
Just pick up a quick knock-off Fendi on your way through, and don't expect me to be watching.
Friday, 8 January 2010
Will Ferrell and Pearl the Landlord
Will Ferrell, you make me laugh all day long. Pearl the Landlord - I just want to pick you up and cuddle you, you crazy alcoholic!! Or at least share one of your four beers with you. Give me a call.
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74/the-landlord-from-will-ferrell-and-adam-ghost-panther-mckay
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74/the-landlord-from-will-ferrell-and-adam-ghost-panther-mckay
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
The Christmas Season and Subsequent Procrastinations
I'm sitting at my desk not working.
That's right.
I'm on strike.
...well as much as you can be when you're actually at work sitting at your desk. But I'm distinctly not doing any work. No, that would make it too easy for them. Instead, I am reading all my favourite blogs and attempting to stiffle the subsequent sniggering. Just for the fun of it, and to spread more gleeful sniggering around the globe (or to the collective 3 people who read this blog, poor sods), here are my top 4:
1. Liberty London Girl
An obvious choice, her view of the world, while rarely involving anything sartorial, is delightful. Reading her blog makes me feel as though I'm part of her family/world/co-adopter of the beagle puppies. Gives me a happy.
2. What Possessed Me
Damn, this girl is FUNNY! Totally wry, off the wall humour that has made me snort into my coffee cup more times that I would like to admit. One classy operator.
3. StyleBubble
This chic can mix fashion and observation like no one else. Totally brilliant and my main go to for getting in on the ground floor of new and spectacularly quirky designers around the world. Awesome.
4. The Sartorialist
I know. Totally cliche now but that's not his fault now is it?? I don't give up my blog addictions just because the blogger becomes famous. Oh no, I become unbearably smug in the knowedge that I loved him before he was popular. Ahhhhh, smug satisfaction.
Well this certainly was fun and ate up some of the time before I could legitimately clock off.
Thanks for watching.
MMx
That's right.
I'm on strike.
...well as much as you can be when you're actually at work sitting at your desk. But I'm distinctly not doing any work. No, that would make it too easy for them. Instead, I am reading all my favourite blogs and attempting to stiffle the subsequent sniggering. Just for the fun of it, and to spread more gleeful sniggering around the globe (or to the collective 3 people who read this blog, poor sods), here are my top 4:
1. Liberty London Girl
An obvious choice, her view of the world, while rarely involving anything sartorial, is delightful. Reading her blog makes me feel as though I'm part of her family/world/co-adopter of the beagle puppies. Gives me a happy.
2. What Possessed Me
Damn, this girl is FUNNY! Totally wry, off the wall humour that has made me snort into my coffee cup more times that I would like to admit. One classy operator.
3. StyleBubble
This chic can mix fashion and observation like no one else. Totally brilliant and my main go to for getting in on the ground floor of new and spectacularly quirky designers around the world. Awesome.
4. The Sartorialist
I know. Totally cliche now but that's not his fault now is it?? I don't give up my blog addictions just because the blogger becomes famous. Oh no, I become unbearably smug in the knowedge that I loved him before he was popular. Ahhhhh, smug satisfaction.
Well this certainly was fun and ate up some of the time before I could legitimately clock off.
Thanks for watching.
MMx
Thursday, 26 November 2009
StyleBible Pre-Christmas Bash
Ok, so I'm taking this opportunity to vent about last night. Every now and again I make the supreme effort to look Glam on a Wednesday night in order to go out, mingle and mix and generally be fabulous in the city so it was with high expectations that I prepared for StyleBible's Pre-Christmas party. Held in the newest private members club on the beat 'Eight' at Moorgate (confusingly, for my dearest J, not actually at No. 8 Moorgate Rd - an address that lead her to despair last night, rattling the chains that ominously locked the door of this totally unrelated property - not so confusing for me as I'd been to the press opening party a few months back), StyleBible's bash should have been wonderful. It had all the ingredients of a glamorous location, catwalk and vintage areas, manicurists and faux eyelash application experts on hand to make one feel fabulous and pampered. And yet. When I arrived with B and J the staff seemed so baffled by the guest list that we had to explain several times that yes, we are on the list and no, we don't need to buy a ticket - really quite embarrasing!! We also had to try and round up a member of the StyleBible team to get a hold of the little white tag that entitled us to a goody bag (which were admittedly pretty good - I'm a big fan of my new Tatty Devine acrylic Gilbert and George necklace!)
and believe me - StyleBible's people were hard to track down! When we eventually managed to corner one and pry three tickets from her little paws they were down to the last goodie bag! We crouched in the corner like ravenous thieves dividing up the loot, pawing through the remaining spoils. There were people who actually bought tickets to this event that didn't get the promised bags! They had 100 gift bags for an event they had sold 200 tickets to. Not good. But for me, the absolute kicker was the fact that there was no complentary alcohol!!!! Let me clue you in StyleBible - if you want me to buy more beautiful things than I can possibly afford the absolutely foolproof way of doing this is to stick some free champers into my hand! I'll start swiping my credit card through anything after the third glass!! I'M EASY!!! A SURE THING!!! JUST GET ME DRUNK AND I'LL REMORTGAGE TO GET MY HANDS ON THE PRETTIES!!!
So after two hours of mingling with a few incredibly pretentious people, drinking our £11 glasses of champagne (admittedly Tattinger) and realising that the two rather dishy men we were talking to were actually total liars (they insisted that they owned race horses, were 'very rich' (I mean, really!) and were from Newcastle only to later say they were from Wales and looked totally panicked when B, who is welsh, started talking to them about Wales) and waiting for manicures that were eventually timed out because the line was so long, we decided to cut our losses and find somewhere else to have our parting drink. Well.....Good intentions, lousy follow-through - ended up at Catch in Liverpool Street with a group of Canadian gold traders who plied us with Laurent-Perrier until I thought I would float away on a cloud of bubbles at 3am - so a satisfactory end to the evening after all. Especially as I now have a date with one of them next week!
MM x
Friday, 9 October 2009
Tinternet Dating - will it bite me in the posterior?
I'm a little bit nervous. I have my first ever internet date tomorrow.
It has taken months of verbal barrage from my nearest and dearest for me to even consider this rather extreme course of action. It could have been the way I would say yes to any bloke who worked up the guts to ask me out, or the way I started throwing my number at men I was barely interested like the Midsummer Queen on parade day, but for whatever reason those I love and respect the most decided I needed help. Serious help. Internet help.
For me, internet dating has always had a kind of aura about it, a lingering scent of the unrequited, the lonesome-heart-esque; single, (desperate) and datelessness. I know that times have changed rather drastically since internet dating began, that now it is a genuine and respectable way for single people who are either surrounded by married couples with no single friends left, simply too busy with work, or are completely over the whole 'get drunk, make out with a stranger on the dancefloor who I'll go home with and then have to do the walk of shame home the next morning in my stockings and wait for you to call me' kind of dating in the city that at best results in a few awkward dates and at worst some kind of venerial disease (I'm not speaking from personal experience on the last part of that but I've heard things on the street about how these things go down). So when my friends suggested I try a particular website (and no, I'm not going to tell you which one) I submitted with only the smallest of cringes and lamentations of how incapable I now seem to be of enticing a man face to face.
I ummed, I ahhed, I made obligatory sounds of discomfort as my friend and I, with the help of a large bottle of red (she wasn't drinking that evening), wrote my profile and selected my picture. S very kindly had her graphic designer boyfriend photoshop out the drunk man behind me in my selected photo (we felt it gave the wrong impression....or possibly just too accurate an impression) - he seemed amused by the entire process but was kind enough to do it anyway. So there we were. Locked and loaded (or at least I was after consuming the entire bottle of red by myself). Confirmation email and I was in the system. And free to browse the proffered men for myself!
What a pleasant surprise it was to find so many men with whom I would have no problem dating in real life. Yes, there were a slightly larger number of guys who looked as though they had never seen the light of day and possibly still lived with their mothers at the age of 42, but I was pleased to find at least 10 men in my first foray that I could quite happily click to 'my favourites' list. And how gratifying the next day at work to be bombarded by emails from the website to announce that I had likewise been added! (There is little better than a bit of ego-stroking early on a Friday morning when the only thing keeping you for running out into the sunshine and the weekend is a cup of delicious, delicious coffee.)
So here I am, a mere 18 hours from meeting M (a rather dishy financial analyst from Camden). And I am sweating bullets. What if he sees me, thinks my picture was much, much too flattering (it was a very good picture from my recent holiday to Greece - hence all sun-bleached blonde hair and bronzed, healthy looking skin)? What if he doesn't like me? Or worst of all, what if he doesn't even turn up?!?!?!
In seconds, I am reduced from confident, professional actress and media ................ to the spotty teenager who was too nervous to ask out the guy two doors down from me who I had been in love with for the last 3 years. Yikes. Reality shock.
Deep breath. Carpe Diem, be in the now, bull by the horns and other such things that are supposed to help but really don't.
Well, wish me luck. And if you see a slightly nervous, slightly lost-looking and slightly overdressed woman at Borough Markets tomorrow morning, spare me a thought and send some good juju my way. I'm going to need it.
It has taken months of verbal barrage from my nearest and dearest for me to even consider this rather extreme course of action. It could have been the way I would say yes to any bloke who worked up the guts to ask me out, or the way I started throwing my number at men I was barely interested like the Midsummer Queen on parade day, but for whatever reason those I love and respect the most decided I needed help. Serious help. Internet help.
For me, internet dating has always had a kind of aura about it, a lingering scent of the unrequited, the lonesome-heart-esque; single, (desperate) and datelessness. I know that times have changed rather drastically since internet dating began, that now it is a genuine and respectable way for single people who are either surrounded by married couples with no single friends left, simply too busy with work, or are completely over the whole 'get drunk, make out with a stranger on the dancefloor who I'll go home with and then have to do the walk of shame home the next morning in my stockings and wait for you to call me' kind of dating in the city that at best results in a few awkward dates and at worst some kind of venerial disease (I'm not speaking from personal experience on the last part of that but I've heard things on the street about how these things go down). So when my friends suggested I try a particular website (and no, I'm not going to tell you which one) I submitted with only the smallest of cringes and lamentations of how incapable I now seem to be of enticing a man face to face.
I ummed, I ahhed, I made obligatory sounds of discomfort as my friend and I, with the help of a large bottle of red (she wasn't drinking that evening), wrote my profile and selected my picture. S very kindly had her graphic designer boyfriend photoshop out the drunk man behind me in my selected photo (we felt it gave the wrong impression....or possibly just too accurate an impression) - he seemed amused by the entire process but was kind enough to do it anyway. So there we were. Locked and loaded (or at least I was after consuming the entire bottle of red by myself). Confirmation email and I was in the system. And free to browse the proffered men for myself!
What a pleasant surprise it was to find so many men with whom I would have no problem dating in real life. Yes, there were a slightly larger number of guys who looked as though they had never seen the light of day and possibly still lived with their mothers at the age of 42, but I was pleased to find at least 10 men in my first foray that I could quite happily click to 'my favourites' list. And how gratifying the next day at work to be bombarded by emails from the website to announce that I had likewise been added! (There is little better than a bit of ego-stroking early on a Friday morning when the only thing keeping you for running out into the sunshine and the weekend is a cup of delicious, delicious coffee.)
So here I am, a mere 18 hours from meeting M (a rather dishy financial analyst from Camden). And I am sweating bullets. What if he sees me, thinks my picture was much, much too flattering (it was a very good picture from my recent holiday to Greece - hence all sun-bleached blonde hair and bronzed, healthy looking skin)? What if he doesn't like me? Or worst of all, what if he doesn't even turn up?!?!?!
In seconds, I am reduced from confident, professional actress and media ................ to the spotty teenager who was too nervous to ask out the guy two doors down from me who I had been in love with for the last 3 years. Yikes. Reality shock.
Deep breath. Carpe Diem, be in the now, bull by the horns and other such things that are supposed to help but really don't.
Well, wish me luck. And if you see a slightly nervous, slightly lost-looking and slightly overdressed woman at Borough Markets tomorrow morning, spare me a thought and send some good juju my way. I'm going to need it.
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