Monthly Archives: November 2011

The Sleepover Dilemma

Staying out throws up a lot of decisions that you have no real time to prepare for. If it’s a last minute thing you might forget your contact lenses or emergency nighttime medicine (??) I don’t know what it is you need, but there’s always something. To prepare a bag before hand can sometimes be presumptuous. What if you’re not invite to stay? Then you’re just a fool with pyjamas in your handbag.


I wanted to put a picture of people in bed here but forgot safe search was off. It was pretty traumatic so instead here's a picture of a killer barbie

Of course, there are times when it’s pretty hard to avoid staying out. If you accidentally find yourself in a relationship one of the conditions tends to be that you will share a bed. My biggest problem with this is not the lovely bed sharers insistence on having the window open or the radio on or wearing a watch that ticks so loudly it makes my brain rattle. It’s that sometimes he wears a t-shirt. Not all of the time, just sometimes. All of the time would be okay. I could get used to it and provide my own sleep time t-shirt. But every now and again it’s there. I don’t know how to deal with it. On days where I am wearing a dress does that mean I should pop it back on so’s not to offend? Is my fluffy jumper welcome in bed? I don’t know! I know it might be cold really; a bit of warning really wouldn’t hurt. Just a little text: ‘Tonight while sleeping I will be wearing a blue t-shirt, please pack accordingly.’


The big staying out drama that makes me probably maddest of all is this: Why at 3am does it feel like a good idea to wake up your boyfriend and demand that he lets you in? I can’t pretend I’ve never done this but in my defence it was the same bus route and 15 minutes closer. Definitely and issue of convenience. What I mean is the ‘yeahhhhh I’m going to go to my boyfriends house and like, totally have sex with him now at 3am’. I’m sure there are some people who like this but I don’t. There’s a problem with being drunk that means you tend to think you look amazing when actually you look like shit. You’ve got sauce all down your dress, you spent an hour crying and a lot of time hanging out in toilets. This is never a good look. Go home and have a wash.  Not even the nicest person wants to be woken up in the middle of the night to let in a makeup stained girl who smells like piss.


Don't be this girl

Then there is the late night wee drama. What is the right thing to do? If you’re unprepared and pyjamaless which I shall assume you are, as I often am do you get dressed back into your clothes, or do you risk it? A quick dash in your pants and hope for the best? ‘Babe, I’m really sorry but I just flashed your dad’ isn’t something anyone should have to say to their friend or boyfriend. The alternative of squeezing back into skinny jeans and a jumper doesn’t seem much better at 3am though. The dad flashing moments seem unavoidable. I think it’s best we all just stay at home from now on.




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Time to dust off the Ugg boots


Not my actual boots (but just the same anyway)

For the last few weeks I’ve been eyeing up my Ugg boots, sitting neatly on the shelves looking lovely and warm and tempting. I love those guys. I’ve taken good care of them, they’re a lovely inoffensive brown and I’ve been extra careful to walk well in them to avoid the dreaded Ugg slouch. You know the one, when people walk to the side in their boots and they look like they’ve dislocated their foot.
I’ve got none of that going on, but still, every time I look at the lovely boots I have a flash of bitchy fashion magazines saying how disgusting they are, and that if a man ever sees you in them they will never ever be able to see beyond the boot, that you are now just a giant pair of ugly shoes. Admittedly I’ve not done much research but I have seen men’s Uggs, and while I wouldn’t want to get to know any of them I don’t blame that on the boot. I mostly blame it on Joey Essex.

If I’m going for a quick walk to the shop or just running out to get a present of go to the post office I am not going to dedicate time to lacing up a lovely pair of brogues or tottering about in a pair of heels. They are a convenience item. The fashion crowds knocking about near the shops just need to understand that. Don’t give me a dirty look, you don’t know how much of a rush I’m in, if you’re going to judge do it because I’ve got no makeup on, because I haven’t brushed my hair or because the buttons on my coat are all done up wrong.

As far as men finding them ugly, the kinds of men you find midday on the streets of London standing outside the post office don’t tend to be the type you’d want to take home so I’m not worried about them either.

The weather is shit, it is cold, there is no need to get made up and overdressed to walk to the shops. Pop on your ugly boots, feel lovely and warm and walk with pride. Just be sure you’re walking properly, no one wants a slouchy shoe.


Oh dear

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