Everybody in the house of love...

I don't know if you've heard, but apparently some bird called Kate and some dude called Will are getting hitched tomorrow? Tee he he.

I couldn't let the big day pass by without spending a second revelling in the joy. I may be an occasional crusader of singledom, but I can't help swoon over a good old dollop of love on a plate and, of course, a frothy wedding dress. Furthermore, this is a wonderful excuse for everyone to take a day to get together and celebrate: an opportunity us spiffing Britons will never turn our noses up at. And, if nothing else, this is a wonderful opportunity for Taiwan to churn out some incredibly tacky crap, which will only make the world a better place to be honest...

Chill with Will and Kate.. ho ho

Love Pez. LOVE WILL AND KATE PEZ.

Pizza on your face!! Oh no, I mean your face on a pizza.

IN CASE ALL THE ROMANCE GETS TOO MUCH

I think my activity of choice for the day is going to revolve around either one of the fabby street parties my dear friends ingeniously came across or a good old house party (the weather's looking grim people, BEWARE) Whatever you do have a wonderful day :)

IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE WILL AND KATE THEMED T-MOBILE AD YET THEN YOU MUST WATCH THIS IMMEDIATELY!!

Post about post its....

I remembered this as I am currently painting my nails all kinda colours of the post-it rainbow!

SIMPLY THE BEST STOP MOTION VIDEO EVER MADE. Watching this makes me joyful.

I did a project inspired by this at uni and covered the living room in my flat in post-its, ahh I had such wonderful tolerant housemates! Enjoy :)

Get nailed...

SPONGE BOB NAILS?! AMAZING.

Today is my final payday from the old job. Boo.. hooo sniffle sniffle. Snnoort.

Very scary, as I'm not sure when the next payday will occur. I'm determined to be a clever girl though and not blow it all in Topshop, so I am just going to indulge my shopaholic urges by purchasing a rainbow of nail varnishes, in awesomely bright shades - thus giving myself something fun to purchase, something good to do and something bright and wonderful to cheer my soul!

If my funds didn't have such a short lifespan, I would be forking out a little more than the price of a bottle of varnish on the most fierce creative manicure money can buy from the one and only WAHnails, which is based in Dalston and now have a nail bar down in good old Oxford St. Toppers. This is much more than a nail bar, next to the unique hair salon BLEACH, they offer mind boggling intricate and amusing designs, which I can only try to replicate myself.

MORE WAHnails DESIGNS

If I was to go with any design, it would undoubtedly be the tuxedos on the left... dressing my nails up like little dapper English gentlemen?! YES PLEASE!!!

I am going to have to settle with good old trusty BarryM this time... probably in the following colours...

Wow, I just wrote a post about nail varnish... and I thought the Banana Muffins made me sound like a prancing girly girl.

I hereby declare my refusal to hang off the fridge door of Love.... (or unemployment, for that matter)

Having had a lot of spare time on my hands over the past  two weeks (GAH! It's been two weeks now...?!) I've worried momentarily on more than one occasion that boredom could be creeping around the corner. Luckily, as soon as I've felt the first tingles of the dreaded 'b' word, I've used a bit of foresight and done something to keep myself occupied - dabbling in blogging, for example, reading, drawing, cycling, sunbathing or calling on one of my life-saving friends. 

Now, I'm sure this is going to tumble out all wrong and I'm inevitably about to make a few highly questionable statements, but the slightly lost feeling of finding myself jobless can, to some extent, be likened to the uneasy few weeks which come in the wake of a crumbling relationship break-up. Most of us are familiar with the pining and the heart wrenching: neither of these are symptoms I'm suffering at the moment of course (although it is a bugger not having a job I'm hardly pining after it) but there is a similarity to be drawn between the two  unfortunate circumstances as both do tend to free up a great deal of your time.

Mrs Haversham blues are at bay.

Don't panic! This is not a story about to descend into doom and gloom quite yet... in fact, I can glady report, ladies and gentlemen, that I'm feeling quite the opposite. Since my last bout of mourning over a lost love, I've had an epiphany worthy of a Carrie Bradshaw closing sentence in that I have no desire in my head whatsoever to be coupled up and playing the relationship game right now. I realise this comes at a time when I'm perhaps not the best catch for potential suitors (anyone saying this to my face, by the way, will get a sharp slap in the face, male or female) I can honestly say, without even crossing my fingers behind my back (actually, I'm typing so not the best example) or secretly crying inside whilst imagining myself as an ancient Mrs Haversham-esque decaying mess, that I am 100% happy and feel at no loose end in not having a significant other to  pour my affections over, just as I am getting by so far being a little misplaced in the world of work.*

[*I must stress at this point that I am not half way through a bottle Chardonnay right now, flapping my free hand around whilst listening to 'Single Ladies' by Beyonce - promise. In explaining my contentment in being single I don't wish to come across as an expletive spitting, man hating, independence citing crack-pot. Although, if I'm permitted to make one futher disclaimer, it would be to also avoid offending any woman who does chose to celebrate her singledom in this way: right on, sister.]

Beyonce with some 'single ladies'

This well cemented contentment was not just an idea hatched by myself after sitting in front of my computer all day trying to see what mine and every fathomable potential boyfriend's children would look like using one of those creepy websites (I did try to do this once to freak a guy out for a laugh, but you have to register and shit, it's far too much hassle just to see a man faint... if you'd like to give it a go though, just click here.) it was actually a very wise and wonderful woman of the world who I had the pleasure of living with through most of my years at uni who guided me towards the light in this case.

We'd just had an idyllic day of sampling some Brick Lane street cuisine, wandering around Spitalfields market and hanging in the sun-drenched park drinking wine. The weather was fabulous, it was a Sunday and life had reached a pinnacle of bloody brilliance. As we are both currently of single status, the subject of our lack of male co-dependants arose in afternoon conversation, and she made the most wonderful statement about her own autonomous happiness: she said that she has enough things to occupy her time without having to concentrate her energy into seeking out another half, and that perhaps the girls who feel this uncontrollable hunger to snare a man are just too bored in their own company. These, I believe, are the 'mental' girls which I have heard so many guys shudder and bitch about lately - I'm pretty sure I was even amongst the 'mentals' once - the girls who are so desperate not to lose the person they've become so dependant on to provide all of the care, interest and drama in their lives that they would literally transform their otherwise normal, likeable selves into mobile phone wielding psychopaths who are capable of reaching every single extreme of aggression from 'zero' to 'crazy drama hungry bitch'.

And so from now on when I get these little inklings of feeling slightly lost, I think to myself about huger pangs: the kind when you're not really hungry but you have a craving for something and you're not sure what it is - so you open the fridge and hang off the door staring into it.... move a bit of cheddar aside to see what's behind it only to realise you don't want the ham which was hiding there (and that yes you can survive without finishing off the family pack of Crunchies which you know is waiting for you in the bottom drawer) NO - you're just bloody BORED. At which point I will now never hesisate to firmly close the fridge door and just go and do something, for christ's sake. It seems to me it's easy to get into the habit of just hanging off the fridge door of your sometimes empty love life, because you want something, but it's not really there. Perhaps there are more people who need to realise they aren't going to find it in the fridge, or in a bar, or by stalking every member of the opposite sex they're friends with on Facebook, and instead go and do something to interest themselves. 

After all, if you're bored then you're boring and if you're boring then no one will ever fancy you, now will they?

THESE LOT CLEARLY ARE NOT GETTING IT

Yummy bloggings....

I celebrated the mild success of knocking out 3 job applications before lunchtime today by indulging in a full few hours of blog trawling. Sweet bliss. One which always guarantees a stream of enviably tanned and stylish peeps to sigh over is the Topshop Blog, Inside-Out. Today I found it had much more to offer than just temptation to spend my final pay packet though, as it enlightened me to yet another totally spiffing tumblr blog: Things Organized Neatly.

http://thingsorganizedneatly.tumblr.com/

This is a pretty self-explanatory blog roll of kitch pics of objects all lined up in rows: viewing pleasure for manic tidy freaks and (slightly) messy creatures like myself. I might have to swim through clothes to get to my bedroom door right now, but at least I can swoon over regimented perfection on tumblr.

http://thingsorganizedneatly.tumblr.com/

 There is certainly something very profound to be said about consumerism, mass production and appreciating the value of an object's appearance rather than it's use here: as well as many questions about whether something quite ordinary can be morphed into a work of art as soon as you photograph, draw or paint it and whack it on an awesome blog. Hmmm....... Enjoy :)

ALL PICS FROM THINGS ORGANIZED NEATLY:  http://thingsorganizedneatly.tumblr.com

My Marvellous (banana) Muffins....

Just thought for something a bit different, I'd share a recipe. These will sort out any post-Easter blues, and you might even have some left by the end of the week for your Royal Wedding party spread!

I seriously can not abide anyone who still has the remnants of yesterday's chocolate harvest still waiting for them in the fridge, as people with that much self control should be considered highly dangerous and committed under some kind of protection of the people act. Just imaging the millions of fridges which have now become chocolate and shiny foil graveyards makes me shudder inside, so, before you guilty culprits get dragged away to the loony bin, take out a bit of frustration on the sad dishevelled remains of your Easter Egg bounty by crushing em to bits and feed the morsels to my banana muffin mix which is delish and technically sin-free, as anything with fruit in the title counts as a health food, right?

Here are some I made earlier. I took this pic with my vintagey camera-phone app, so it looks a bit greenish. They aren't just old and mouldy though, honest!

Here's the recipe y'all:

3 well ripe bananas (see, this is handy for using up your brown nanas!)

125ml of Veg/Olive Oil

2 Large eggs

A nice, big dollop of honey

250g of Plain flour

1/2 teaspoon of Bicarbonate of soda

1 teaspoon of baking powder

80g of caster sugar

Some nutmeg (depending how much you like spice - you could leave this out if you're not partial)

A bit of cinnamon

150g of crushed up chocolate egg, white, dark - whatever. 

If you're a good little lamb and you've already eaten all your eggs then steal someone else's! Or just use cooking choccie or even little bits of butterscotch or toffee if you have it. I have a theory that these would be amazing with crushed up Crunchies in the mix, but I haven't been brave enough to try it yet!)

Time: As long as you get to it and don't dilly-dally around, it should only take you about 10 mins to mix all the ingredients together, and it takes about 15-20 mins in the oven. So you could go from nought to muffin in the time it takes to watch Enders. Can't argue with that!

[You should be able get 12 marvellous muffins out of this]

First) Don't forget to turn the oven on to about 200c to preheat - it's very tedious making the mixture and then having to wait for the oven to heat up

1) Right, straight in with the messy and fun bit, peel your nana's and mash them up in a bowl using a fork til they look a bit like liquid baby food. YUM.

2) Measure out your oil into a jug, then crack in the eggs and the dollop of honey - so that's all your 'wet' ingredients sorted.

3) Grab a good sized bowl and pop the flour, the bicarb and baking powder, the spices and sugar in there and make a bit of the hole in the middle - because that's where the wet stuff is going to get poured into. (You could sieve all these but I never do and my muffins are usually pretty super and I'm still alive... so it can't be that crucial)

4) Pour in the oil etc.. bit by bit whilst stirring. It will look pretty gross to begin with but keep going and it'll start to make more sense.

5) Then, stir in the banana mush :)

6) Finally fold in all your lovely bits of crushed up chocolate bunny, or whatever you've gone for.

7) Divide the mixture between 12 big muffin cases in muffin tray and pop in the oven for about 15-20 mins at 200 c - if you have a fan oven, like I do, then you'll probably only need the oven to be at about 150c.

Keep an eye on them for the last 5 mins, I know this is usually the best bit of Eastenders, but no one likes the failure of burnt muffins, it's heartbreak.

Once they're done, pop them on a pretty plate and stand back and feel the satisfaction of what you've just created! They're like sex on a plate if you eat them while they're still warm (hello melty chocolate bits) and perhaps with a dollop of ice cream :)

Merry Muffins!!

Happy Chocolate Scoffing Day to all!

Not a long-un today cos I have to run outside and frolic in the Easter sunshine asap...

I couldn't possibly be more in love with this Bank Holiday weekend. We've been blessed with full on scorchio, stonkingly gorgeous weather, my bessies are in the area and off work and I feel slightly less conscious of my lack of job as the majority of the country is off work and settling into the blissful fantasy of an endless holiday (especially for those clever-clog tinkers who booked off the 3 days in between the long weekends!)

Long live the Bank Holiday weekends - and hurrah for making us unemployed feel slightly less alien. God bless Easter and Will and Kate and... May Day? I really need to do my Bank Holiday research... the most important thing I know is that the next one coincides with my Birthday... I never thought I'd turn 24 and not have a job. But  then all my friends will be in unemployed fantasy mode then, so Happy Days Galore.

You know what time it is everyone.....!!!

First boyfriends... and Hanson....

So I don't just spend all my time job hunting, facebooking and ranting about car boot sales on here... I cruised a little further into the internet-o-sphere this morning and found something which made me giggle my socks off and very much reminded me of some good (well, mainly good) old days.

It's a blog post by 3 highly witty girls who all figured out they'd had the same first-song as each other with their first boyfriends. They've each written a little letter to their first crushes and it's a must read, check it out here at the Fabricly Blog.

Now, I too am going get a little blast from the past fired up now, so you should probably play this link while you're reading the rest of this post, to set that 1990's ambience (and for other reasons which will emerge later...)

It got me rummaging around the dusty corners of my memory trying to recall what my first ever boyfriend-song was, as I thought this would be a pleasant thing to share on here: or at least it would give my mates a bit of a laugh (I do believe I made some rather questionable decisions in my school days, and my taste in music was a bit crap too...) 

Now, I honestly don't believe it was due to any kind of scarred emotional mind block of jittery brain butterflies but I came over all foggy and really was not sure how to determine who my first REAL boyfriend was. I mean, pinpointing your first love is a doddle, I can remember that as vividly as the trauma of the first time I broke a bone (vaulting over a gate, aged 12) or had the crushing realisation that we are all going to die... eventually so what is the point in... anything?!?! (watching the film Beaches, aged 11) or failing my driving test (yeah I still can't drive... I'll write a whole post about this heart break eventually). 

But between kiss chase, holding hands and being 'asked out' in secondary school - but never actually going anywhere at all - it's seems it was just as hard to determine what the parameters of an actual girlfriend/boyfriend relationship were back then as it increasingly is now... 

Going with the instincts of my earliest recollections, there was a particular pale, unintimidating boy from Year 6 who I definitely agreed to go absolutely no where with. He never kicked the ball at me full pelt in the playground and didn't blatantly pick his nose and eat it in the class room (although I do have theory that ALL men are culprits for this throughout their lives and once I have the stats and photographic evidence I will blow the lid off this...) so by my 11 year old standards he was a grade-A-dreamboat. As with all men, however, it did prevail that this man possessed one unavoidable flaw: his 1990s polyester Hanson wallet, which was decorated with an image of the three boys, looking vacant and approapriately bored with their lives, printed across the front and back. 

Not the exact item in question, but a very good example.
Oh my, I TOTALLY want one of these now....

Yep, he was a die hard, HANSON fan. All these teeny-bopping Belieber's who think they are unique in their besotted fixation on the young helmet-haired Justin Beiber clearly have no knowledge of the powerful allure of the 1990s boy band. For those who can't recall Hanson, they are those dorky kids who looked like girls with long flowing blonde mops of hair but made music which made you feel like everyday was a Saturday, and who you should be listening to right now if you were obedient and clicked the youtube link above.*

Anyway. Inspired by the brilliant girls on Fabricly, I am going to write a short letter to my first boyfriend, who I will keep anonymous in case by some freak chance he ends up actually coming across this...

* F.Y.I. I'm pretty sure the middle one, you know, the one who was neither oldest nor youngest and always stood in the middle... has now matured substantially into a rather a hot ticket, hair cut and everything. Actually, I'll try and find a piccy using the wonders of the internet.....

NOW: Very Pretty Man

THEN: Pretty Girl

One woman's trash is another woman's treasure...

Teapots, sunglasses, LP's, photoframes, novels, purses, cuddly toys, shoes, sofas....... spangly sequin encrusted conical bras... there is a never ending bounty of kleptomanic joy to be found down the Car Boot Sale.

I can't get enough of them. I can recall sunny Sunday mornings down at the boot sale from when I was a wee thing, still in my matching Aladdin leggings and t-shirt combo, foraging around until picking up an ornament of a pig holding a pitch fork (which, might I add, doubled up as a bottle opener) and marvelling over it like Indiana Jones to the Holy Grail.

I certainly went through a good few years during my spawn-of-the-devil teenage years whereby it was suddenly 'well not cool' to spend mornings scratching around the back of stranger's cars and rummaging through their junk. (Sunday mornings were of course for eating entire packs of Maryland cookies dunked in milk whilst watching T4 and fabricating a hangover after drinking one too many bacardi breezers in my friends garage...)

Thank the heavens that now in ripe old adulthood I am enlightened again to the wonders of the carpark, field, or disused runway which stages these fiestas of orphaned treasures and can now see that a pig ornament is in fact not a 'must have' item, instead concentrating on the real gold which is up for grabs: the weird and wonderful, albeit sometimes slightly musty, vintage clothing.

First things first, get over any 'Eww it's been worn before, someone might have died/vomitted/had sexy times in it' mentality as that will get you nowhere and we all know how to use a washing machine now don't we boys and girls?!

The threads I've picked up down the bootsale make up many of the staples of my wardrobe, and bizarrely get the most comments. I worked in Reiss for a long while and thanks to the stonking discount managed to inject a quite satisfying high quality contingent into my wardrobe - however, it was still the 20p lacey blouse that would get more "Oooooh were did you get that from"s than any £195 Reiss skirt. 

Even more substantial a reason to get yourself down the bootsale is desperate need to stop producing more and more STUFF and start appreciating that not everything is made to be used once and thrown away. Without going into too much of rant, we are all guilty to some extent of cluttering our lives up with more and more things we don't need, rather than investing in things which we adore and will last us a long time. Like the shoes you bought in Primark, which desperately need re-heeling but won't be because it would cost you less to just buy a new pair and throw the month-old ones out?! Of course, I love a bit of a Primark bargain and would never boycott anywhere which sells pretty pants for a pound (a pound, it's amazing!) but there are so many ethical and environmental issues about such shops which I will not bore you all with now as we've all heard plenty about it.

In short, giving something second hand which could be of use to you a good home means one less thing in the landfill and will bless you with that gloriously smug satsfaction when someone compliments the hell out of your thrifted handbag/t-shirt/polaroid camera and you point at it and say: 'This? 50p mate, car boot sale!"
Get in and win.

I popped down to my local just yesterday morning actually, and took these snaps with my handy phone camera (yes, I used that app which makes everything look charming and vintage and green!)

Cheers to the bank holiday weekend....

Last night I attended a 'Doctor's mess' party with one of my all time best friends (when I say attended, I mean tried to sneak in through the side door so as to skip paying* , got all over the 'all you can drink' Pimms**, danced as if no one was watching for an extended amount of time***, and exited in a taxi with my friend, who insisted we went home via the McDonalds Drive-Thru. Win.)

As always it was a joyful and hilarious evening, despite the guilt pangs which seemed to creep up on me every time I poured a glass of rosé. (Yes, ROSE, we've established now I'm a not a girl of the highest class. Sometimes I even put ice cubes in it, how do you like that?!) This guilt, however, does not come from any suppressed concerns I have for my levels of alcohol consumption, as I'm happy to pour as much wine into myself as my dad pours into the pasta sauce (rather a lot) while knowing that my still quite young body can deal with it as efficiently as a Sunny D factory can process the shittiest dregs of concentrated orange and make it into something good again. Well, good tasting at least - the Sunny D, not me. I'm saving up my health concerns for at least another year and then I will definitely start taking care of myself through maturing into a macro-diet eating yoga obsessive butterfly...

But back to last night's rosé; I quickly became aware of how loaded with shame I felt indulging in some evening frivolities while discussing with my friend my lack of employment status and feeling of being redundant: which I now undeniably am, in so many ways. I'm terrified of being sucked into the vortex of liquid lunching, pub garden hanging and vino catch-ups, which are readily available occupations now that I have no professional one and as I am lucky enough to have many friends who are still students or work shifts. I find it hard to say no to a get together at the best of times but after a morning of trawling through job ads and trying to think of new ways to write: 'I'm really great, honestly, give me a job, please' it's near impossible. 

And then the cogs started moving in my brain and I remembered an article I had read in May's issue of ELLE Magazine recently which was arguing that giving ourselves such a hard time about our drinking habits and forcing ourselves in sobriety may not be so productive after all, as we are denying ourselves the opportunity to relax, speak a little more freely and churn over things with friends and colleagues in casual, dimly lit, slightly sticky surroundings. I could reel it off in quotes but I won't, the article clearly goes into much greater and more articulate depth than my synopsis, but you get the gist. (Check it out, it's amazing, written by April Long, p.49 May ELLE)

Ok, I know I said I wouldn't reel off quotes... but here's just one:

"People who drink tend to go out more than non-drinkers - and isolation and loneliness, it turns out, are far worse for the constitution than knocking back one too many G&T's from time to time. One study found that living like a hermit is as bad for you as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and twice as harmful as obesity; another concluded that people who have a wide network of confidants have a 50 per cent higher survival rate than those that don't. It's surely no mistake that so many glasses the world over are clinked 'to health'."

-April Long, May ELLE, p.49 ♥

Something inside me did a little dance when I read this, because it all just made so much sense. I am simply at my happiest when I am engrossed in a good rant or laugh or cry even, with a great friend, wine glasses clutched and remainder of bottle in bucket. The wine is clearly not the clinching factor here, although it is handy in aiding the slightly freer flow of conversation and coaxing out of well kept secrets; (I was blessed to be born void of all addictive tendencies and have to try hard to get myself that deep into something, perhaps facebook and past boyfriends as exceptions.) it is my friends who I can not live without, and these hours of laughing hysterically at the once unamusing, tragic incidences and then methodically dissecting every fabricated, pointless (usually man related) issue which we've flustered ourselves over that week. These are the times which generate the incredible ideas, most brilliant realisations and cement the most priceless of friendships and I doubt I would be who I am without this education.

So I feel no shame in accepting that a few glasses of wine at lunch, or a night dancing with my eyes closed to Rihanna or losing an evening in a pub garden will, rather than lead me into the unemployed gutter, quite possibly keep me sane, keep ideas flowing and possibilities endless. 

What's more, I could of bagged myself a Doctor at last night's mess party: which would potentially be a most excellent solution to my little redundancy problem! I didn't though, unfortunately. Must have been the dancing...

*Don't worry I didn't get away with it... come on though I'm facing cold, harsh unemployment here everyone. Times are hard.
**Which subsequently got all over me
***They definitely were, with pained expressions


Here's one more wise ELLE snapshot for my friends, because I love you all and you've been simply wonderful since my world started going a bit wonky.

Girl. Made Redundant.

(so here's the start of the story...)

Friday's are my absolute favourite. Large bag stashed under desk (mainly full of too many pairs of pants, multiple mini-skirts and a badly judged number of magazines for an hour's journey to my friend's house and one weekend of joyful dancing and greasy brekkies...), multiple enthusiastic tea rounds, more than usual due to that elated Friday Feeling and a general cheeriness in the office as the well deserved weekend coaxes us towards it, hour by sunshine filled hour. These are what I like to call Good Friday Times. Or at least they were, until the fifth day became associated with much darker feelings. Enter: Black Friday: "Oh my lord, I've been redundant for a whole week now *break into sobs* " and (possibly soon) Job Centre Friday.... Oh heavens!

Yes, last Friday I started with all the best intentions for a productive day and a blissful end to the week, anticipating a jolly good catch up with the girls over 2-4-1 cocktails that evening and forgetting the 9am meeting which was looming downstairs in the HR Dungeon at work.

Now I had known for sometime this was surrounding possible redundancies, and being fresh out of uni and not yet experienced in my fashion buying role I was expecting the worst: a month's notice and then the dreaded boot.

I was right on most accounts and found myself being told that, unfortunately, my role had become redundant. Oh marvellous. But then came the real bombshell: I would not be expected to work my redundancy and, just like that, my beloved Friday had just become my shock-you-to-the-core final day at my first proper fashion job, re-contemplate my life and see no future, F.M.L. Dreaded Friday.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of the following: strange bemused sobbing, "Oh my god, are you kidding?", pub lunch, double rum, clear desk, strange bemused giggling, 3pm wish I could just leave already, eat about 5 double chocolate cookies, (then imagining myself redundant and at home, eating cookies forever more), saying goodbyes, realising how much I will miss my colleagues and trying hard not to cry. Again.

It then rapidly sped up into a whirlwind of 'bogof' cocktails, slightly slurring to all friends that I 'was guna be jushhh fffine...' and then furiously dancing to Rihanna and thinking that I would embody the strength of Ri Ri in every possible way and then perhaps, if I got angry enough at the world for doing this to me, then I would somehow end up a similarly awesome Pop Star, preferably with motorbike and one side of head shaved.

Spent next two days nursing hangover and contemplating tatters of professional life....

Still have not lost faith in Rihanna though, you big ledge.