the dress, the DRESSSSSSSSSS

I am very sad. I want this dress.



This dress is out of stock.


Boo hoo. It would be so perfect for the summer and is reminiscent of Peter Jensen's Autumn/Winter 09/10 collection (which has some amazing Scandinavian folk inspired items) so in the winter I could warm it up with some nice thick tights, some long knitwear and big boots. See I had it all planned.


Alas, it wasn't meant to be. I'm off to take my frustration out on the air in my boxing class...

wonderful ridiculous Britain - an oxymoronic little place

My affection for Britain was given a good old boost this weekend after a wonderful couple of days in the Capital. Sunday was Flora London Marathon day and this year I had a friend running it. Last year the weather paid no tribute to those some 35,000 people participating and it rained cats and dogs. This year however, joy of joys, the sun made a guest appearance! It was GLORIOUS! The atmosphere around the course was palpable and seeing all those people achieve something you know they have been training for for months and months was actually really emotional. People came from all over the country and the supporters were brilliant (even if I do say so myself). No animosity what so ever; everyone made sure that if you had someone coming past the supporter barriers soon, you were at the front and able to shout, scream, clap, wave your banner until you were sure your runner could hear you no more. Then it was a quick dash, challenge Anneka style, to the tube and on to the next point of the race where you'd do it all over again. We were so lucky, we managed to cheer our friend at 3 different points of the race and then wait for her at the end at Buckingham Palace. And for once, I thought London actually managed to organise something really well (I still wait with baited breath to see how on Earth we manage to organise the 2012 Olympics when usually we couldn't organise a picnic for Woodpeckers in Sherwood Forest). In true British style, we then made the most of the weather and headed to the nearest beer garden. Brilliant.

However, I knew it wouldn't be long before something brought me back to reality and if the sound of the torrential rain hitting my window pane today didn't do it then by the time I'd read the news this morning I was confronted with the verisimilitude of Britain.



I'm outraged that this ad would be banned from being aired on TV. Of course the ad is shocking; it absolutely needs to be to raise awareness of the dire plight some women have lived and continue to live through every day. Abuse of any kind is completely unacceptable and if it takes a famous actress and this odious content to make people take notice then so be it. I'm not saying it should be shown on the ad break between In the Night Garden and Peppa Pig on Cbbeebies but after a watershed I don't see how Ofcom can justify the ban.

Oh and of course the British media are doing a stellar job of making sure we all know that we're going to die of Swine Flu.

Art or porn?

I recently read this book, Wetlands ("Feuchtgebiete," in German) , which since its debut in February has sold more than a million copies, and is the biggest selling book on Amazon anywhere in the world. Clearly the novel has struck a nerve, catching a wave of popular interest in renewing the debate over women's roles and image in society.

The campaign for this book centered around the debate: Is this book art? Or is it Porn? An intriguing question if nothing else. After reading it I can say that actually I think it's neither. Not erotic enough to be porn and in my opinion lacking the pure essence of craftsmanship to be art. I'm not doubting that each word, sentence and metaphor within this text has been manifested with the intent to shock, but just because something is shocking it doesn't automatically translate to art. For instance the text of a carefully constructed RSPCA direct mail shot has more than likely been deliberated over again and again in order to ensure the maximum emotive connection is gained, but that doesn't make it art. That's just my opinion though and I really do feel that before one can judge, you do need to experience this book for yourself.

Setting the scene in a hospital room after a shaving accident Wetlands gives a detailed topography of a girl's intimate biology, bodily functions and sexual appetite. At points, the language is so vile, the metaphors so blatant and the scenes so disgusting I had to put the book down and walk away and I'm no prude! Descriptive? Most definitely. To the point where you can almost imagine yourself in the room with 18 year old Helen (the main character) which is probably why I had to stop reading sometimes! Yet, I was intrigued. Finishing the book and getting through the filth was almost a challenge that I had to complete. And once I had, I was left feeling a certain sense of achievement in both my ability to get through it and also in the author’s ability to get me through it. I also felt like I needed a bath.

I should also say that I admire the theory behind such an adventurous piece of writing – female empowerment. Good on this woman who has the guts to write such a thing and at the end of the day, why shouldn't she? If you’re easily offended, don’t read it! Otherwise, pick it up and join the debate!

birthday pressie inspiration

Every year my birthday comes round (quel surprise!) and every year people ask me what I want and I never know! In the weeks leading up to my birthday I randomly see things that I'd like and make a mental note. Well it turns our my mental notebook has a magic eraser with a will of it's own, freely rubbing away all birthday present ideas. Not very helpful! So this year I'm prepared. I've started a blog list of birthday inspiration and I'll be adding to it up until my birthday. So here we go, lets just hope there's no such thing as a magic blog eraser!

Chanel - Coco Mademoiselle


Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour Cream

Estee Lauder Idealist pore minimizing skin refinisher

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Always opt for a short goodbye

Last night I met up with a friend who I haven't seen in 2 1/2 years. Skinny (I say that with 100% affection - she is gorgeous!) moved to Australia once we'd left school after falling in love with an Aussie on her '6 month' visit. Since then I have only seen her twice although we keep in touch via the occasional e-mail. Anyway, Skinny and I caught up over drinks before she flew back to Melbourne and it was so lovely. You know you have those friends that no matter how long it's been since you last saw them, it feels like just yesterday you were prancing around your bedroom, singing along to Mariah Carey's Heartbreaker, or sketching your Friday night outfit in the back of your science book, well Skinny is one of those friends. I absolutely loved her to death and as she left the tube home to go to Heathrow I made sure I told her that I still do love her. It almost seemed a bit too heavy as we hugged goodbye quickly on the tube but I believe that it's important to let the people that you love know that, especially when you don't know when you'll be seeing them again. It kind of overwhelmed me, and as the door alert on the tube beeped and the doors slid shut I couldn't stop the tears in my eyes brimming over as she waved goodbye on the platform.

I've never been good at goodbyes.

It's a dog's life

Working in publishing I'm used to the somewhat relaxed office attitude associated with the media industry. Our building itself is light and airy, open plan, with an impressive atrium that took my breath away the first time I walked through these doors and our dress code summons an eclectic mix of shirt/tie/trouser combos (for those in more senior positions) and floaty dresses, catwalk-Esq outfits, jeans and t-shirts, vintage finds and whatever was clean this morning ensembles (for the rest of us creative types). However, last week I did feel that this 'relaxed' and 'free-thinking' approach has reached a certain peak.

There I am, sat at my desk, busy working away, and I swear I hear a muffled nosing around sound coming from my boss' office. The type of muffled nosing around sound one might associate with a fox rummaging through a bin bag in a back alley way. Now, my boss is not in the office today and sitting right outside it, I know no-one has been in there all day so I sit, slightly confused, assume I'm hearing things and then carry on working away. 2 seconds later, I hear the noise again and it's getting closer. I ignore it and think to myself I must be working too hard and promise myself a glass of wine after work (I'm great at rewarding myself for the slightest thing!).

As it is the week of the major book fairs, the office is deadly quite as most people are out trying to sell our wares and the rest of my colleagues are in meetings so there is no-one around to hear me scream when I feel something small and fury brushing up against my legs under my desk. I push my swivelly chair away from my desk, managing to catch the wheels on the various pieces of crap that surround my desk (Lego, jigsaws, cuddly toys, books, Cd's, boxes of God-knows-what), fall off my chair and land elephant like on my bottom. With my eye level now at a point that offers me full view under my desk (ah, that's where my stapler disappeared to - must apologise to the colleague I accused of stealing it) I come face to nose with a peppy little jack Russel. A dog. Hmmmmmm. A dog. In my office, under my desk. Do you know why there is a dog running wild and free through our building? Because our laid back media attitude to work means that some guy brings his dog to work every day. Ridiculous. This dog has no lead. This dog trots along after it's owner all around the building (I even saw it follow him into the toilet the other day, honestly). With no sighting of the owner I can only assume that this poor dog has finally rebelled, slipped unnoticed past her owner and decided to do some exploring. Under my desk. I am now thinking do I a) ignore the dog rummaging around under my desk? b) pick her up and try and find the owner (I get the feeling from the fact that he brings his dog into work everyday that he's just ever so slightly a little bit protective, the type who would go nuts if a stranger carried his dog around) or c) walk away to make a cup of tea and hope that by the time I get back the dog has vanished and is therefore no longer my concern? Option C. And it works. Not an animal in sight when I return (unless you count that guy who works in the post room and has the social skills of a mole who's just come up to deliver the post). I was slightly worried that I may have aided the dog in a long term vanishing act but that worry was quickly put to bed when the following day I tripped over it in the cafe. Stupid dog.

Love is...

A picture I took of a tree in Tivoli, Copenhagen that reminds me of love


I was reading an article in The Guardian today about songs that remind you of your first love. It made me think of my first love, the realisation I came to that first doesn't mean last and the love that you see and feel every day.

Yesterday my friend, Bo's, boyfriend returned from his first tour of Afghan. They are now spending an idyllic few days together and after being with her through his departure, his absence and his imminent return I was caught up in the excitement and anticipation of his arrival home which inspired me to jot down what love is to me.

Love is....

Not only appreciating someone, but appreciating the person they make you

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A fry up and the paper in bed on a Sunday morning

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The open prospect of the future

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The compromise between being who you are and also fitting together

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Learning someone and delighting in discovering new things about them, no matter how small

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Being brave
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Having someone who will open the door when you slam it shut
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Being proud of someone else's achievements
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Daring to be stupidly romantic
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A risk that makes you feel safe

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The best freebie in the world
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Complete