24 Days and Counting

There really is no way of describing the freaking panic and nauseating excitement of realising that my trip of a life time down under is less than a month away. I'm now forced to count down the remaining time in weeks and days.

3.233 Weeks.
24 Days.
576 Hours.
34,560 Minutes...

Amidst this panic, which left me rapidly inhaling my own carbon dioxide out a paper bag, I started realising all the things I needed to do before I left. At first all the obvious stuff came to mind such as packing and saving enough money and purchasing the strongest bug spray money can buy.

But then I started to think about all the little things I was going to miss about home; all the things I needed to do one last time for the next 6 months, and I only have 24 days to do it all!

I've made hundreds of draft to do lists for things to pack, things to buy, things to remember (passport/visa/insurance details etc.) but haven't even considered the things to do before I leave.

I tore myself away from the paper bag, flattened it on the table and started to scribble a list of all the things I needed to do. My pre-adventure bucket list.

So here it goes...

• I need say goodbye to the friends and certain special people who I haven't said goodbye to yet. I was forced to say an early farewell to most of my friends a few weeks ago because they're all at university, but there's still some serious buddy time to squeeze into the next 24 days. 
• I have a gift card for a shop in town that runs out in 2 months that I seriously need to use up. I'm not going to need jumpers and jeans for almost a year and that's all they're selling but I need to spend it!
• I need to eat a Cornish pasty... I know Warrens delivers to Brighton, but I doubt they deliver to Sydney.
• I need to visit Praa Sands. It's my favourite beach in the world and if I'm going to be adulterous and spend six months on the golden sands of the east coast then I should probably say a proper farewell.
• I need to buy one last large latte from my favourite coffee shop with the sexy barista I've crushed on for about 2 years, because his coffee is fantastic and his smile makes my day.
• Passing my driving test would be totally radical. It would be totally awesome to go pick someone up from somewhere and take them somewhere else just because I can. It would also be dramatically useful in Australia. Give me that van!
• I want to make sure my kitty gets plenty of cuddles so she doesn't forget me in her absence and me and the dog will have to go for one of our crazy long walks to who-knows-where.
• Last but certainly not least, I need some family time. It could easily be argued that I've had far too much family time since I decided to take a gap year and live at home 3 months longer than recommended for someone my age. However, my Mum and I have a tradition of going to the big M&S in Hayle for coffee and toasties and I'd like to do it again before I fly off to an M&S deprived country. I want a movie marathon night with my sister and a night in cooking for my Dad, because he bloody loves my food and he'll probably miss it in the next six months more than me!

Realising that's a lot to do in 24 days, I've resumed the hyperventilating position with my all important to do list inflating and deflating in front of my crossed eyes.

I think I'm going to go and lie down.

If anyone can help me complete any of these bullet points I'd be very appreciative and if you have anything else to add... fuck off! Can't you see I'm freaking out enough?!

Peace(?) Out ♥






 

The metaphorical new leaf of doom

Turning over a new leaf. It's a cliche adopted by many.

A promise from a son to father that he won't fail his next exam because he was hungover. 

A promise from boyfriend to nearly-ex-girlfriend after he betrays her trust again. 

A promise to yourself to start a fresh and leave the past behind you. 

Sometimes it's not that easy. When reading a book, you don't turn the page and totally forget what was on the previous page. You'd never finish the story and if you did, you wouldn't understand the plot or concept and you certainly wouldn't have learned anything from whatever moral might be hiding between the lines. 

How does anyone ever move on completely, cut all ties and pretend like everything that happened before that moment was just memories and learned lessons? 

Before diving into any new relationship, I always scroll through my Facebook friends thinking "who needs to go to make this relationship work?" The answer's usually pretty simple; estranged exes, previous booty calls, any friends I've accidentally slept with that one time. You name it, they gotta go.

Of course, that's quite a plunge to take. Turning round and looking at this guy and deciding he's worth burning your black book for, knowing you'll have to buy a new one and start all over again if it turns out to be a mistake. 

Do men do the same thing? Do they rid their past of threatening evidence before diving in to a new relationship or do they just hope for the best, knowing they have back up just in case it goes to shit? 

Men are a mystery. 

So this metaphorical new leaf is never as easy as you might hope, no one wants to throw out their previous exploits, take the plunge and, God forbid, actually trust another human being to do the same. 

In my experience, the new chapter in your life go two ways. It can turn into a book or barely last two pages before you decide it sounds like shit, select all and delete in a heartbeat and start the chapter again. Kind of like this blog post actually.

In light of this discover, I've coined a new phrase: the metaphorical new leaf of doom. Because no matter how many times you turn over a new leaf, take the plunge, burn the black book and, here it comes again, trust another human being (!!!) it could always be doomed.

So I leave you with no conclusion but a mere 'to be continued...'

How do you know when it's right to take the plunge and when it's doomed to the 'lessons learned' chapter of the book? 

And can you ever really burn the black book of doom? I mean it's all online now baby.

Peace Out ❤️

Qualms and Resolution

When I decided to take a gap year, I think it's fair to say I didn't consider all of the obvious hiccups I may face before I reach Australia.

It's October. 68 days before I fly out to Aus for six months (and live on my own and attempt to not fail and hopefully get a sun tan) and the summer has officially come to an end in the UK. The tourist season is over and my plans for 30 hours of work a week have jumped on the First Great Western out of Cornwall at a speed far quicker than any Cornish train.

On top of my dwindling budget, I didn't consider that not going back to university resulted in me having to stay at home. Watching all my friends run around on Facebook, making in rain with bare student finance and #lovinglife.

Meanwhile, in Cornwall, I'm getting wasted at work drinks while desperately searching for another job and seriously considering selling an organ to pay for the rest of my trip. Moaning into cheesy pasta and watching Bridesmaids and finding way too many parallels between me and the main character. 

The mid youth crisis continues but not all hope is lost.

I've been filling my time with eating out. Cornwall may have its short comings, but great eateries is definitely not on of them. 

With this in mind I've started a new blog: What's Up Dog

It's a food blog where I rate all the places I go and eat PLUS me attempting to improve my own cooking skills! 

Link and more info to follow 

Peace Out ❤️

My Outrageous Decision

To: Hope Smyth
From: University of Brighton Admin
Re: Gap Year Enquiries 

Hi Hope, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a chat with Jo MacDonnell regarding this decision, and if you have not already done so I would also get in touch with Lorraine Roberts for further support and guidance, (I have copied both into this email). If you decide to go ahead with the gap year, we can intermit you – this means that your record will go on hold until you decide to resume your studies. Please let me know if this is what you would like to do once you have sought further advice from Jo and Lorraine. All the best, Amanda.

_________________________________

So here it is: When life gives you lemons, sell those fuckers to pay for a well needed break from reality.

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this post, justifying to everyone I know why I've made this outrageous decision. But the truth is, why do I need to? 

I've worked so hard for my education and have never needed more... until now.

Last week I woke up and realised that I was so utterly lost, I didn't know up from down. Life had lost it's muchness and I was left wondering what was the point of it all? 

Cliche's aside, I was miserable and I have been for longer than I can remember and I've worked myself into a rut as a result, locking myself away and pushing people away, scared of something happening that would ruin the very little mental stability I had left....

Basically, it was pretty shit and I think it's about time I burst out of that rut and get my fun side back in gear. 

So here it is: I'm taking a gap year.

Yup, you read that correct. I'm packing a backpack and going to Australia for six months starting in December. I'm going to work, travel, eat, pray, love and all that other cheesy shit our generation feels the need to do. 

Most importantly, I'm going to find me. Because once apon a time, I was really good fun and crazy and I loved every drop of life and you know what? There is no point going through all this crap if I'm not going to enjoy the ride. 

This is my fucking ride and I'm sick of not knowing whether life is passing me by or trying to run me over.

My soulmate sent me a poem from her hostel wall in China:

Hope is the thing with feathers,

That perches on the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never speaks at all, 

- Emily Dickinson 

So I'm flying away and my blog will document my outrageous ride on this journey.

One more thing, whatever you're thinking right now about why I'm doing this, you're wrong.

Peace Out ❤

Game. Set. Match.

Okay boys, listen up, because this one is for you...

Figuring out the opposite sex has always been the million dollar question that's plagued the dating scene since the year dot and quite frankly, it's getting old.

"Does he like me?"
"Why wont he ask me out?"
"He said he'd call, why hasn't he called?"

The exclamative's get more and more frantic the longer the whole process goes on until we're nothing but a psycho mess. Single or not single in the end, the dating stage of every relationship leaves men and women whirling in a gnarly enigma. And do we ever actually find out the answers to any of those psycho-fueled questions?

In light of this, I've reached a conclusion: we all need to drop the bullshit.

Who said dating has to be a tennis match? Constantly fretting over who has the ball in their court; in a constant rally of witty remarks, casual flirtations and hints of interest. But not too much because then your opponent might think you're too keen and "OUT!" 15 love to him.

Personally, I prefer to go to Wimbledon for the sunshine, scones, and fabulous dresses; I'm not so interested in the game.

30 love.

[Top tip boys, write it down]

So let's get down to the nitty gritty. My own do's and don'ts when trying to impress that particular problem: The basic 'high five' rules to the game of life... well, dating.

1. No one likes a drama queen.

• That girl walking down the street is not a bitch who once spread shit about you for no reason and now gives you evils every day. And if she is, we don't care. Keep it to yourself.
• That girl also isn't your crazy, psycho ex-girlfriend out to get all of your new bae's. Chances are you drove her just as crazy with your love tennis as you're driving your current bae and everyone really just needs to chill the fuck out.

2. You wanna meet? Then arrange it!

• When a guys says "I really want to see you!" and then two weeks later you're still wondering what his face actually looks like when it's not edited for Facebook, are girls really suppose to believe he's so totally into us? 
• True, the us girls could arrange the date but WARNING: If we're doing the organising, it's probably because we're fed up of waiting for you and it's a fucking good job you're pretty. Deuce.

3. HELLO!!

• This one's for the guys and the girls. Are you sat at home, bored, wandering why there's nothing on TV at 3 o'clock in the afternoon? This is what is called THE PERFECT TIME TO TEXT! "Hello" will do just fine, it's how villagers used to greet each other before technology became a necessary barrier between humans and the real world. Advantage, male.
• Also, if you're the one receiving a "hello", don't ignore it for hours just because you don't want to appear to be on your phone all the time. It's just stupid. 90% of people our age are glued to your phone so your possible future girlfriend/boyfriend is going to know why you aren't replying. Before long, replies will be days apart and that's just not conducive to a healthy conversation. 

4. Bruno Mars isn't far off the mark.

• There was a time you boys could get away with murder, because us girls loved a bad boy. Some girls still do, but those stunts aren't working on the majority of us anymore, "Dark and mysterious" has just become "confusing and exhausting". 
• I'm not saying you have to buy us flowers, you don't even have to hold our hand. But give us your time, take us dancing and we're yours for the summer (after all, even Wimbledon doesn't last all year).

5. Compliments are brownie points.

• No, that does not mean you have a better chance of getting laid if you call us fit. Come on, boys, think! What do you really like about us? [say 'pussy' and I will climb through your computer screen and slap you].
• A guy once told me that I had a cute pout that was "subtle and hot" and I thought "Wow, this guy must have actually looked at my face long enough to notice that." The fact that he was useless at 1, 2, 3 and 4 is irrelevant, the lad gave a good compliment. 

So there it is. It really is that simple and it all boils down to one golden rule: Don't mess around!

Let's leave the tennis to the professionals this summer and just enjoy the sun, scones and maybe even some snogging. It's all about the summer lovin'.

Because when you've had the best, you have to be cynical about the rest of the men out there.

Peace Out ❤

That Inevitable Election Blog Post

With the big day fast approaching, it's hard to ignore that this time round, there's something very,very wrong with first time voters. They're not voting.

After the burn of the Liberal Democrats in 2010 (need I say more) we, who are stereotyped as inactive and uninterested in politics, have been left scorned and somewhat unable to trust a political party again.

For the more political bunch out there, the problem isn't whether or not to vote, it's who to vote for. Who is worthy of our vote? Which party will actually benefit our needs now and in the future?

Before this election, it's fair to say I had a lot of opinions, but very little knowledge on politics. Now I know what I'm asking for for the next five years.

I want to be able to leave university and still be able to afford to live so a higher minimum wage (or to actually be paid minimum wage) would be much appreciated.

I want to get onto the property ladder as soon as possible without being turned down for a mortgage because I decided to get a higher education.

I want the country to realise how much it could potentially continue to destroy the beauty that we live in. Stop fracking, stop covering up for the damage we do to the environment and step up to a cleaner way of living.

I don't want my country to be so in debt that my taxes take away my hard earned wages.

Finally, I want the area I live in to be protected from heavy development in all the wrong places and for localisation to actually work and for us locals to get what we need from our council.

It's not about tuition fees anymore, I think we, as a collective, have accepted that no matter who promises reductions and scrapping them all together is in some kind of fairy land. Even if they were scrapped, it would probably be implemented in a few years from now by which point I would have finished university and still be in debt.

My demands maybe selfish, but no more so than the person asking for more benefits to feed their two dozen children and no more irrelevant than the lawyer asking to scrap to the mansion tax.

I am still one vote.

We are over six million votes.

We may live in an ageing population but who in their right mind could ignore the needs of six million people who are begging for just one party to make our decision that little bit easier?

Who are we going to vote for?

Who are you going to use your human right on?

By voting, we have the power to sway the entire election in a different way. Our way. Just look at the Liberal Democrats this time round.

We've heard every government claim that we're the future of this country. The future leaders, the future company owners, the future builders of this country and without appealing to us, then who is left to vote for?

Shall I vote so my grandparents get a higher pension? So the shop I work in pays less tax? So one day if I ever become rich, at least I can own more than one mansion?

By voting, we are also voting for democracy. We are voting for the continuation of our right to have our say.

Our vote can be tactical, or it can be honest but it's never been more important to prove that we do deserve to be paid attention to.

So if you've registered, then congratulations, your university has probably given you a free night out.

If you still don't know who to vote for on Thursday this check out this link: ISideWith

It's a free quiz to help you understand which party aligns with the things you want for the next five years.

Peace Out.

Magic Numbers

What's your Magic Number?

Definition: The number of people one has engaged in sexual intercourse with. Usually a secret number and nearly always lied about to seem cooler/less of a slut.

This blog post starts where so many others have been started before; a coffee shop. I'm here for a last minute catch up with badgalryry before I head back to uni and there's an important topic on the agenda.

"What is an okay magic number for a girl our age?" 

The answer should really be open ended. Women died so we could vote and celebrities became sluts to make it okay for the rest of us, but we all still hesitate before answering. 

Girls, if your number is genuinely 5 or below, congratulations, this post is not at all directed at you. 

Girls, if you've never had a one night stand then believe me, this post is not at all directed at you.

Childhood sweethearts? Dated since 16? Married by 20 and kids by 25? Together forever? I'm not even sure how to address you.

This post is for my girls out there who love did well to avoid. My girls who were the centre of every party and have the magic numbers to show it.

We have no regrets, no shameful nights we wish had never happened... until that fateful day we do meet someone to love, and they ask THE question: "So how many people have you slept with?"

Shit.

It's true that we should never be ashamed of our past. It all happened before we'd ever met said person standing in front of us with a quizzical look on their face as we hesitate and stumble over words trying to find an appropriate number. If we'd known that said quizzical person was going to be an angel sent from God who had only slept with 10 people or less... then believe me we would have adjusted ourselves accordingly.

No one wants to appear slutty. Even though we believe that women are just as modern and forward thinking as men; just because we believe we have the right to decide how many people we sleep with without being labelled as a slut or a whore, does not mean that said angel from God will think the same way.

"They should just love us for us!"
"But it's hard not to be intimidated by a head strong girl who's seen more free drinks than a skint student at an exhibition opening..."

The conversation continues and as it does, our minds wander to a particular question we've avoided asking ourselves since that historical summer: How many names have our theoretical black books actually accumulated?!

Badgalryry stares at me, I can see she's trying to calculate an estimation in her head. The notebooks are out. We're down to business.

An hour later, we've laughed and cried while walking down the nostalgic road to those hilarious nights. Memories of the morning after, sat gossiping about the night before. There is no one better to discuss this with, than the one person who remembers every single one with you.

We're still left shocked by the result. It's easily said that there are people out there who've racked up double the notches on their bed post compared to us (and no, these people are not porn stars or hookers) but it's fair to say that neither of us are sure about confessing.

The Mr possibly-judgemental-quizzical-angel-from-god that will inevitably fly into all of our lives at some point or another, may need an adjusted version.

So who to kill off the list?
Who do we scribble out of our memories forever and condemn to the junk folder at the back of our minds?

Do any of those fabulously, hilarious nights that have just given us an hour of hilarities and crimson cringes really deserve to be bumped off our lists?

That guy we dated who turned out to be a jackass? But then taught us so much and made us less naive...

The one night stand with a friend that really shouldn't of happened? But now it's become an anecdote used against each other as an 'in-joke'...

The tall, dark stranger that swept you off your feet for about 24hours of passion and then never saw him again? But the memory is one too good to be forgotten...

The one you could have loved if the timing was better? Surely not...

The simple fact of the matter is, none of our "conquests" have ever brought shame. No one was ever "just another notch on the bed post" and we'll never be sorry for one or the other. Not the bar-tender who smiled the moment you walked into the pub or the fancy dressed Mexican with too much tequila.

And definitely not Mr possibly-judgemental-quizzical-angel-from-god that is staring at you while his chin hits the table as you confess your very magical number of fantastic memories. Because that's all they really are: fantastic memories that will dwindle in comparison to the memories (sexy and otherwise) that the love of your life will give you, and he can just praise his lucky stars that you've gotten the experience to truly make him happy in the boudoir.

After all, practise makes perfect.

Peace Out.

When in love... Do as lovers do #1

The sun is shining through the linen curtains when I awake in our little bit of paradise.

He's left me sleep in again, which I hate him doing because my time here is so precious and I don't want to spent it sleeping.

He's on the balcony drinking coffee. I can just about see his shaddow reflected on the drapes. They'll be a cup there for me too, there always is.

"Morning" he murmers as I shuffle out onto the balcony in one of his vests I found discarded on the floor between here and the bed; "last day today..." This was his way of saying that he'll miss me.

"Mmm..." I groan back, squinting as I try to adjust to the blinding tropical sun. 

I stretch myself into awakeness, reaching out and scratching the top of his head in the process. 

He states up at me, smiling out of the side of his mouth and using his head to beckon me over.

I take my usually morning position on his lap, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my feet on the gap of chair between his legs. 

Sinking in to his loving embrace, I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder; attempting to stop a single tear from crawling down my face.

I couldn't tell you if it would be a tear of pure happiness and bliss, or a tear of devastating sadness that it will all be over soon.

He gently kisses my shoulder and neck before resuming his coffee slurping and I do the same.

We sit for a while, quietly muttering about the events of the day ahead, both shrugging at suggestions for dinner plans.

"Right, I need a shower" I proclaim as I ease myself off him and start moving towards the door. 

"Not looking like that you're not." He's referring to what I'm wearing, grabbing the inside of my leg and pulling me back towards him, only to stand up and kiss me. Passionately, as always, because I don't think there is any other way for us to kiss.

With one hand running through my hair and the other clutching my bare bottom, he guides me back through the French doors and picks me up like a rag doll. I wrap my legs round his waist and throw my head back in giggles, he always liked me in nothing but one of his vests. 

After, we lie on the floor of our tiled apartment, my body flat on top of his as I stroke his hair up from his face as his runs his hands up and down my back. 

"Hey..." I say, only half looking at him, "I love you."

Whispering this, my eyes dart to his to see if he is as equally shocked by what I've just said.

Nothing. His face remains still; his blue/grey eyes staring back at me.

"I love you too."

.... And then we smile. 

Losing my phone was a disaster...

This was going to be a picture of Morrab Gardens
but the ones on Google were crap and it's not like I took
any that day...

Sat in Morrab Gardens, with the sun shine beating down on the bench I have perched myself on with a welcoming cup of coffee, I can't help but make an observation: absolutely everyone is on their phone. Two girls sat on the grass tanning their legs, conversing through snap chat instead of talking to each other; the old lady residing in the shade, staring blankly at her Nokia; the skater boy managing to multitask skating, listening to music and being on the phone (probably to his Mum), the two girls take snap chats of this boys "mad skills." This is flirting in the 21st century.


Of course, this hardly comes as a shock. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the world and all it has to offer, is so much beautiful through an Instagram filter, including these stunning tropical gardens that's nestled away like a secret in the centre of Penzance.


I wish I could go on to rant about how this is wrong: "People should put down their phones and open their eyes to the beauty around them. They could be missing out on a chance at love" and everything else mentioned in 'Look Up', that ground breaking, ideology shattering poem that, funnily enough, went viral last year.


Sadly, however, I am jealous. So brutally jealous that I'm tempted to ask the lady next to me if I could borrow her phone to check my Instagram/Twitter followers. Do they miss me? Probably not. Just last week I was sat here, taking sunshine-on-palm-trees pictures without a care in the world. Then one night changed everything.


I blame karma of course. It's definitely, 100%, not my fault.


How do I know this? A few days before I had been reading an article about how a tech entrepreneur and her husband gave up their luxurious Silicon Valley life to travel the world. Never staying more than a month or two in each destination, living out two rucksacks, discarding their mobile phones to replace with surf boards and hiking boots. I wanted to be these people. I vowed that one day, I would get up, quit my job, throw away my phone and live this nomadic life.


As I was vowing these amazing things to myself, my phone buzzed at me "low battery". I went to put on charge, only to discover that my charger had broken. The fifth charger in 18months had broken. How was this possible?! It's like Steve Jobs died thinking "wouldn't this be a hilarious way to make money?" and without getting too explicit, I may have rambled a few ill-wishes on the mans eternal soul and all that. Nothing too major.

Selfies used to be my life... apparently
more so than tidying my room

Karma hit hard. Mainly in the form of £1 drinks and a bag with a broken clasp, but it was karma's fault all the same.


But that wasn't enough. Clearly karma had been paid off by Steve Jobs to really wreck havoc on my life because it can't just be a coincidence that two days later, we moved into a house with no broadband.


Yes, you read that correct. A university student, with a 2000 word essay to write and no phone, moved into a house with no broadband. I believe the word you were looking for was "doomed".


I've spent the past few days checking my Instagram on my sister's IPad, texting on my Mum's phone and using my Dad's phone to go on Facebook and catch up with the world... and those on the other side of the world.


So how does this story end?

It ends with me sat in Costa, watching the world go by while connecting to the WiFi on my laptop. Would I prefer to be sat outside in this glorious sunshine drinking better coffee? Yes, most definitely. But in this quiet corner during peak time I can wish a special happy birthday, listen to some great music and forget all about my lost phone.

Losing my phone was a disaster, but there are much more important things worry about, like plane tickets and a degree to finish.

Phone's come and go, but some things are forever... and I'm much rather throw away a million phones than give up days in the sunshine, walking bare footed across the sand, or just sat in a little coffee shop, passing the time with some cheeky conversations on Facebook with you know who.

Besides, my new phone will come in a week or so...

Peace Out <3

Homesick

"I don't wanna go out!"

"NO! It's stupid!"

I sound like a five year old having a tantrum. I want my Mum and my little single bed with my giant lion teddy in Cornwall and nothing else will do. Today, I am a five year old.

Today I am homesick.

It's coming to the end of a university term and I've finished all the work I was scheduled to complete before the Easter break (that's Spring Break to all you Americans). I'm skint, exhausted and the days are getting longer.

I'm fed up with everything and my whining has reached such a level of unbearable that I'm surprised many of my friends don't hate me by now.

Does this happen to everyone?

Beyond acting like a spoiled child, there is little else to discuss. Being penniless is definitely an outstanding reason behind my yearning for home (and my darling Mother to pay for her daughters undying happiness).

It sounds ridiculous but before you think I'm going to storm my Mother with requests of extravagant outfits and wild nights out; I promise a coffee and croissant will do!

#firstworldproblems

I probably wouldn't turn down a bottle of wine either...

In recent months I've gone from being your average uni student to being as close to an adult as possible for a nineteen year old who still throws tantrums.

I organised my life, got a work experience, helped start a society and started choosing revision sessions over late nights in student bars.

Personal growth at it's best, thank you very much.

Of course, I've never been much of an all work, no play kinda girl (I think this blog demonstrates that in a nutshell) so it comes to a point when I need to be a child... just for five minutes... or ten.

"Hope, are you actually going to come out or not?" My friend eventually asks after what feels like an hour of silence while I sit facing the wall, cross legged with my make up half done.

"Fine..." I grunt.

It is only four more days until home time after all.

Peace Out ♥

Balmain.

Fashion posts aren't usually my thing, but I feel like to say nothing about the marvel that spilled out onto the runway this week in Paris is absolute genius.

At 27 years old, Olivier Rousteing has done more as a designer than many wish to achieve in a lifetime. This new collection does more than "channel 70s and 80s Saint Laurent; it channels power and sex appeal without the need for a grotesque amount of skin on show.

In a time when it is considered acceptable to send men down the runway with their manhood on show - yes, thank you #dickowens for that fine display of fashion, we certainly won't find that on the high street - it's blessing to see the seductive subtlety of translucent lace and pulled in waist lines on some of the worlds most beautiful women. 

The pleated flared trousers in art deco colours were flawlessly elegant and paired beautifully with minimal make up and hair which kept the clothes the main focus of the show. Surely that's the point of a fashion show?

Of course, as a side note, the soundtrack that had me dancing along cannot go unmentioned. Fall out boy, Mary J. Blige, Maroon 5 and even some opera thrown in there. So there, it was mentioned, and I loved it - shout out to iTunes please!

Everyone wants to own their own bit of this collection; and they also want to strut down the street in their new favourite piece of clothing listening to the mix we all wished we owned.

Click here for the full show on Grazia Daily.

Peace Out 

That can't-be-avoided Valentines blog post...

I know what you're thinking; just another generic valentines-bashing blog post... Well you're correct.

[Insert overused argument about the ruined sentiment of valentines day due to mass consumerism here] 

I've never boasted the kind of stomach to handle the influx of cheese on valentines day. The pressure to compare myself to other "lucky" girls around the world is enough to make me explode. The colour red makes my face look flushed and kind of like a tomato and I definitely don't own a complete matching set of underwear. 

The list goes on as to why I am such an inappropriate candidate for Saint Valentines blessings [the man this entire holiday is about. Dear God google him if you're that ignorant of life before capitalism]. So why does the whole event bother me so much? Why do the haters feel the need to lie in bed 'till midday, scoffing their faces with junk food while watching sad films and pathetic chick flicks as if they've just been dumped by the love of their life? 

Surely it's irrational?!

Last night on my way back from a sober night out at 4am, decided to purchase myself an American-sized cheeseburger with enough [full fat] mayo to drown myself. It was the best valentines present I could ever have dreamed of, all for £3. 

But as I sat at home, feeling the calories pouring into my unexpecting digestive system, I realised I was fitting a stereotype, and a rather pathetic one at that.

I was suddenly that single-and-hating-it, lonely woman I pitied so much on valentines day; and I had been every single year. 

"I've lasted 19 years without a Valentines so far, I can last another one..." 

My Belgian friend had a point. So at 12:30pm I crawled out of my pit of sorrow, (which still smelled like burger) threw on some clothes and headed into town for coffee. 

The Nero Discussion of the day? You guessed it! Valentines day, and our favourite couple out of all out friends. 

As we sat their and gushed over their adorable (but not too cheesey) love for each other, the way they act round each other etc I started to feel a weird feeling bubble up inside me. Was I about to throw up or.... Oh God!! Was I about to cry?! 

Belgian gave me the "get a grip" look I needed and swiftly changed the subject. Because the truth was, we did need to get a grip. We're not 60 year old spinsters in the Victorian times that never found love and were shunned because of it. We're 19 year old students, who, for whatever reason, were each other's valentines this year. 

We live together, we cook together, we drink together; we're basically a couple as it is. So as it happens, there is no one in this country I would have rather spent my valentines day with this year! Thanks Babe, the gnocchi was great! 

So, my fellow pessimists: put down the burger! Grab your best friend and a bottle of wine and fuck the system! 

Happy Valentines Day

Peace Out ❤️

Do relationships have to be a blogspiration?

Inspiration is a funny thing. It literally fuels everything you've ever been passionate about, and is probably the reason you're not passionate about that thing anymore.

Take blogging for example: I LOVE IT... When I have a great idea for a blog and I feel motivated to get it done in just a few hours.

My posts are usually inspired by a coffee date with a friend with a guy problem or a massive night out/festival that I consider worth sharing with the world. My ultimate blogspiration is Vogue's Karley Sciortino or Sex and The City's Carrie Bradshaw (the fact that she's fictional is irrelevant). But even when either of these started posting about love and the ins and outs of a deep and meaningful relationship, I felt the need to throw up.

I know I've done it many times before, blogged about how in love I am with my boyfriend of the time and "maybe cheese isn't so bad after all" but it's hardly the outrageous life I promised with this blog.

So recently I've been quite uninspired. Between having a million and one deadlines for university and keeping my private life on the down low, how many outrageous things can truly happen to one person right?

Writing about relationships has always bothered me because I'm still not sure how comfortable I am with sharing that information. I mean what do you want me to say? "Another normal day in relationshipville, woke up in a relationship and despite a small discussion over whether a chai latte contains coffee or not, I later went to bed still in a relationship."

By the way, depending on the coffee shop in question, some chai's do contain coffee and others don't. The verdict was to agree to disagree seeing as I'm team Nero, while he is team Costa.

The fact of the matter is, is that no matter what way you spin it, my situation remains unclear and my life put on hold somewhat while I finish my degree. Another possible topic for 'my outrageous relationship' could be "I ran away to Brighton today to escape university before it ate my sanity. Walked round the lanes and poured my heart out to my significant other because I'm a massive softy when my mental stability is compromised."

So after agreeing with myself that I wouldn't become a wet blanket cooing over/moaning about my love life, I thought I'd just have to stick to what I know. Talking about sex/sexual problems my friends were having.

A coffee with a friend sums up everything that is right with the world. Sat in Nero with my chai latte (with a shot of espresso in it) I decide to get to work. Another month WILL NOT go by without me posting on my blog.

Let's try this one last time: possible topic #3 for 'my outrageous relationship' is "WiFi shut down so went to Nero with a friend so I can talk to my travelling lover and gossip at the same time. Turns out little red has been living the lifestyle I used to and doing a fucking good job of it too."

My anti-monogamist friend sits people watching, taking snap chat's of my face and filling me in on what she's been up to. Her not quite as significant as he would like other is truly the king of this new breed of needy, suffocating men that will probably pull a Bruce Jenner in the future.

The result of dating this kind of man goes without saying; secret visits from men who know how to treat a woman is something I'm all too familiar with. It's not that you don't have feelings for the person you're with, it's that it's possible that they respect you a little too much, and every girl needs to be disrespected every now and then (in the best possible way).

Luckily, I'm now with the kind of man who can see me as both an angel and ... well... you get the picture.

Good sex is crucial to a good relationship; and so is the right amount of space being given (not gunna lie though, nearly 6,000 miles is a bit too much space but no biggy; I'm in love) and boy/man/girl/woman will go elsewhere if you're not doing your job properly.

Anyone will tell you that the key to a good relationship is communication but some things are better left unsaid. If you know you're thoughts are that of a crazy psycho girlfriend/boyfriend, it's probably best that you keep them to yourself.

Or better still, go for coffee with a friend and complain about your lover behind their back until your friend turns around and tells you to shut the fuck up.

So there, I conformed to the demands of writing about relationships and I hated it just as much as I thought I would. I hope it's less painful to read.

Peace Out.