Tuesday, 31 March 2015

OOTD: 27/03/15

I haven't done an OOTD post in a long time so here's a lil snapshot of what I wore last Friday, along with some selfies, because who doesn't love a good selfie?

It's really not the most flattering outfit ever because this jumper bulges in weird places and the skirt makes me look like I have a hippo bum and stumpy legs. But it's comfy and easy to just throw on so I haven't chucked it all out of the window just yet.

Friday, 27 March 2015

Life as of late

Last Friday morning, I was woken by a text from my housemates downstairs to say they'd got a little blanket setup going on round the back of our house, on the grass. The eclipse was about to happen so I pulled on a hoody and ran out there to witness this supposedly amazing event. We could see it but I really really really wasn't impressed. Honestly, if I hadn't known it was going on, I probably wouldn't have noticed. I am glad I got up though, even if it was just to sit on the grass with my friends in the morning sunshine and have a goss.

That evening, I headed to my friend Sarah's house for some drinks with our friends, before going over to a party in an old hotel which has been turned into student accommodation. Worst party ever. We left after half an hour because the hostess - the only person we knew there! - was absolutely trashed and not in a state to receive visitors, apparently. We walked back to Sarah's to continue the fun and merriment with some hotdogs and a shit "comedy" film about terrorists.

On Saturday, the uni decided to inform me and my housemate that there would be people looking round our house because it was an open day. We decided to escape for some shopping and a cheeky McDonald's meal. In the evening, I went to Sarah's flat again as our American exchange student friend was flying back to Washington in a couple of days. She was throwing him a surprise leaving party and invited lots of the other exchange students. Turns out they were all Mormon and judged us soooo hard for drinking two glasses of Pimms. They didn't want to join in any of the games and left at half ten. Then two gay guys we didn't know that well - but who were friends of the leaving friend - turned up and the fun began. I don't remember much but I know I ate a lot of toast and ended up going for a wee with one of the guys. His makeup was absolutely flawless!

I went to work on Sunday morning slightly hungover but enjoyed a Big Tasty meal on the way home. When I got in at about 5pm, I had to make a start on an assessment essay I'd stupidly left till the last minute. It was due on Monday morning, so I just blitzed it in about three hours on Sunday night, submitted it, and now I'm hoping for the best. Monday wasn't particularly exciting but I made about forty cupcakes with my housemates in the evening and we decorated them beautifully - lots of pink icing and little yellow fluffy Easter chicks. On Tuesday, I had a seminar and practised a presentation I had to give the next day till I was blue in the face.

Wednesday morning rolled around and I had the nervous sweats because I was dreading doing the presentation in the seminar. If it's just a casual chat in front of everyone in there, then I'm fine, but this was a presentation on a project we're about to do that counts for 30% of the module mark, so I wasn't a happy bunny. I think it went okay-ish though, and I had to revive myself with a sandwich from the cutest sandwich cafe in the whole world. Sarah and I go there so much now that they know our "usuals" and which table we always sit at. I think that's a sign I eat too many sandwiches....

Yesterday, Thursday, was also pretty boring. I popped into town to pick up a few last minute things before I go back home for Easter this weekend, and then I watched hours and hours of stuff on iPlayer. Today has just been spent packing for home, and crying with joy that I managed to get 67% on an assessment last month. Everyone I know on my course got in the 40%s so I'm thinking mine was maybe marking mistake because I deffo slipped up on the referencing. If it was a mistake, fingers crossed my lecturer doesn't notice!

Tonight I'm going to a mini house party and I've got a bottle of strawberry Lambrini so it's sure to be a good one. Hope you're all well and loving life! xo

Monday, 23 March 2015


I've made some clothing purchases recently and when I wear these clothes, I've never felt more badass in my life. I picked up a skirt from Asda (of all places!) for £16 and a leather jacket in the Primark sale for a tenner. Obviously it's not real leather, and the skirt isn't like designer quality but I actually feel like a rock queen when I wear them with some chunky heeled boots. My best friend said I look like a member of Haim which is quite clearly the highest compliment I have even been paid.

Definitely have this blogger clothey pose sorted!

Ooooh the bottom is so swishy and lovely!

I feel da power.

I nearly shed a happy tear on this little red sticker!


I can't describe how much I want to be the fourth sister. It pains me.

Flashback Monday (that can be a thing) to when I met the beautiful woman herself. I am totally naming my first daughter Este.

So dressing in a manner that could be considered cool has actually made me feel really confident and elegant and with it. I sound just like my mum! But really, I can't wait to wear this outfit in public.

A song to honour my fashion goddesses:

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

The first haircut in 3 years

Exactly one month ago today, I got a drastic haircut. Before then, the last time I'd had it snipped was December 2011. I hadn't even done my GSCEs, I hadn't had my first proper make out sesh, I hadn't met most of the friends I have now, and I didn't have this blog. I definitely hadn't done A levels or been to Zante with my friends, or been to my first festival. I don't think I'd even been to Camden. My point is - through all this rambling - that these ends I had chopped off have been through a lot with me.

Yes, they were split horribly (honestly, you've never seen anyone with as terrible split ends as me!), and they were faded to a gingery colour from three summers' worth of sun, and they were so wispy it was almost like they weren't even there. But I loved my hair. See below (I'm on the left) for the horrible state of the split ends:

Honestly, the hair from the bottom up to my chin was all wispy and split and horrible, so about six weeks ago, I decided enough was enough. I went home for a few days in reading week and popped along to the hairdressers while I was there. Bonus of getting my hair cut at home means my mum paid for it... woooo, student life! Debbie, who happens to be a bit of a shit hairdresser, chopped off half of it. I felt so liberated!!! Ah, I don't think I've ever felt that happy with a haircut. Until I got home...

Then I was all like omg Debbie, what is this shit fringe, I did NOT ask for this?!!?!?

But I got over it (just about) and started to love it again...

I felt that this was worth documenting because three years is a hella long time for your hair not to see scissors. What's the longest you've gone without a haircut?!

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Dear Ginge...

... Firstly, (because it's pissing me off no end) let's clarify that you are, in fact, ginger. Stop denying it. You're not auburn (as some people are), not strawberry blonde (as, indeed, some people are), and you're definitely not brunette. I have nothing against gingers - of course I don't - but I definitely have something against you. A lot against you, actually. I'm not your therapist, or your private tutor, or someone for you to bully, or your mum, or your friend. I'm not your carer, and I'm definitely not an emotional punching bag for you. I'm not here for you to make me feel like shit or for you to take the piss out of me so you can feel better about yourself.

You tell me that you have anxiety and depression and that you're bipolar and you ask for my advice, for my help, for my sympathies, and then push it all away. Yes, there's a lot going on in your head and I do feel sorry for you, but that absolutely does not give you any excuse to be as much of a fucking dick as you have been. You've been wanting to leave uni for months, umm-ing and ahh-ing about whether or not you should just jack it all in and move back home... and to be quite frank, I think you bloody well should. You've pushed away all your friends you've made here. You reject all of their invitations to come out clubbing with them, to join them for a little trip to Tesco, to go to their flat for predrinks. You refuse all of that so you can invite yourself to my fucking house and sit on my bed and pour out all your troubles to me.

I have things to do, you know. I need to do my food shopping, my washing up and cooking, my laundry - and no I definitely do not want you in my room watching me as I hang up my knickers and bras to dry. I have my own friends to see because you are such shit company, and you leave me feeling emotionally drained and absolutely exhausted after just ten minutes in your presence. You make me feel so uncomfortable yet I don't feel I can tell you to fuck off and leave me alone because you'll always say something about your mental health, and then I'll feel like a bitch for even thinking any of this. But enough is enough.

I see you trying to sneak glances down the front of my top when you sit opposite me in class. Sometimes I look up and you're staring at me so intently that I suddenly feel a little bit sick. I hate that I know if we're in the same room, you're watching my every move, and if I write something down, or get my folder from my bag, you always ask why I'm doing it, what's it for, should you write it down too. I don't know, for fuck's sake, make your own decisions for once in your life. You're in this room too, listening to this lecturer too, so don't act like you've been left all alone with no guidance and pretend you need me to help you with every fucking little thing.

Don't you dare look at pictures of my boyfriend, notice his skin colour, and ask with a nasty smirk on your face if he speaks with an Indian accent, if I can understand him. Don't ask me why I've chosen to be in a long distance relationship, and smugly say you don't think it's worth my time. I'll tell you what's not worth my fucking time; you. You actually disgust me. Not just your thoughts, the things you say, but physically I am repulsed by you.

You lie back on my bed, stuff my pillow under your head without asking, and rub your greasy hair all over it. When you scratch your beard, it makes the most disgusting sound, and I hate when you pick at your moustache hairs, pulling them out and leaving them on my sheets. You put your sweaty feet on my pillows too, and when I ask you nicely to put them back on the fucking floor, you take no notice. When other people talk to me, you cut right across them, interrupting anything they're saying and talk so loudly over them. You never notice the uneasy glances they give you, that I give you, as you speak in a cocky manner about everything and anything, as if to assert your power over them. 

You love being the powerful person in any kind of relationship you have with everyone you know. That's why, whenever you invite yourself round to my house, I'm too scared to say no, and I make sure my housemate will be in, and I make sure both mine and her bedroom doors are open. That's the only way I feel safe when you're around because you can be so aggressive and domineering. But then you'll flip, and be on the verge of tears, saying you don't know what to do with yourself, with life, and that you don't know where you'd be without me.

But I know where I'd be without you. I'd feel lighter, happier, more free, and I'd have a hell of a lot more time to myself. Sometimes you come over and don't move for four or five hours. I ask you to leave and you'll say oh not just yet, and start talking about something new. Just today, I woke up to a text from you saying "I'll come over at 12 if that's okay". No, it fucking wasn't okay because I was still in bed and definitely didn't want your company. Or last week when you wanted to come over at 6pm and then texted to say "It'll be closer to seven if you don't mind". Well, I fucking did mind because I had plans for seven but when I went out, you made me feel guilty for it. Fuck off. Fuck you, you nasty, creepy little dick.

Don't come to me needing help, begging for my time and my sympathy, and then try to make me feel like shit for everything. What I wear is no concern of yours. Neither is how I decorate my room, or who I choose to fall in love with, or who I spend my free time with. Don't question all of my choices. I don't want you in my life but it's really fucking hard to make you see that. I just want you to leave me alone.

Thursday, 5 March 2015


Last week I popped home from uni from Friday to Monday for an interview for a potential summer job, and just to catch up with my family and best friend again. It was a lovely long weekend. On Friday, I got the train down from Chester to Euston and then tubed it across to Victoria in rush hour, absolute nightmare! It doesn't matter how many times I go on busy tubes, I'll never think they're any less horrible than I do now.

I met the boyf at Victoria for a spot of McDonald's dinner, since he was also coming back home from uni for the weekend and had arrived at a similar time! I didn't even have to plan that one! #amazing. We then hopped on the train back to our glorious London suburb and I'd never felt so happy to see those dirty, chewing gum-splattered pavements in my life. The rest of the evening was spent relaxing with my family and falling asleep in my own beautiful bed with a perfect mattress. Uni mattresses will always be shit!

I headed up to Waterloo at the crazy hour of 8.30am on Saturday morning for aforementioned interview. It was horrific and I'm almost certain I didn't get the job but I still kind of enjoyed getting to meet all the other candidates - all twenty five of them (!!!??!!?!?). Afterwards, my best friend - from whom I'd been parted for six weeks! - came to meet me and we walked down Southbank just having a good old goss. We popped into Wagamama for lunch and ordered chicken katsu curries - I mean, what else do girls between the ages of 13 and 25 order?!

We sat in Starbucks for another hour and a half having a merry old time, and then got the train home again. My mum prepared a beautiful dinner of schnitzel and chips, and there was plenty of family banter at the table ("Kate, the banter bus has left and you're not on it! Hahahaha, I'm so witty" - my mum). I actually love my family so much and moving out and being 200 miles away from them has made me appreciate them a million times more!

On Sunday morning, I walked to my boyfriend's house for a day of gorging ourselves on pancakes, bacon and syrup, and watching Jeremy Kyle repeats. Glorious. There was a thunderstorm starting just as I was about to head home, so I had to borrow his size 12 boots for my size 5 feet. I looked like an actual clown, but hey, who wants to ruin cute Charlotte Olympia kitty flats eBay knock-offs? Not me. Sunday's dinner was prepared by my fabulous dad who whipped up a lovely roast chicken meal with his famous Yorkshire puddings. After a Call The Midwife sesh, I crawled into bed for my last sleep on a decent mattress for the next month.

Monday morning was full of a bus journey, a tube ride, and then a two hour train up to Chester. I made it back ten minutes before my lecture started - but not before running over an old lady's foot with my suitcase in town. I am a bad person. And there ends my first proper blog post in what feels like forever - more like three weeks, I think! I'll finish with some photos my beautiful best friend took on our day of Southbank fun. (Fun fact: despite being Laandaaan born and raised, this is my first ever photo by the river, let alone in front of the Houses of Parliament!)

Song of the day: