another year, another cheer, another beer

I don't drink beer, but vodka and pink lemonade doesn't have the same ring to it. I also nearly wrote bear which would have made no sense at all.


My brain is almost completely frazzled after an hour of cramming every possible idea I had into an essay plan before I go away for the weekend for a 21st birthday/ new year piss up, so you can imagine I will be non functional by the time I arrive home on Sunday so essay plan needs to be done in advance. But it has left me feeling not too Thursday (I know it's Friday) enthusiastic but I will try and tap something fun and interesting into my keyboard.


With it being new years eve tomorrow and all (as well as a certain friend's birthday eve who's name rhymes with Jamie) I thought I'd do a new year blog, you know how I like to be topical. I quite like new years. It gives you something to look forward to after you've opened that last present and Christmas ends. I hate seeing anything Christmassy after the big day, it's like seeing a bottle of wine when you're hungover and you realise how much you over indulged. So yes new years is great what with an excuse to get absolute trollied and kiss any willing stranger within 10ft of you. However I have to come to have a profound hate of new years resolutions. 

(see insufferably dull, if you ask me new years resolutions are a great big kill joy)

The other day someone, someone old, asked me what my new years resolutions were. Firstly, that's always such a boring fall asleep in your food conversation because everyone always just says 'lose weight' which is a no brainer seeing as the average tubby little Englishmen eats about 6000 calories on Christmas day. And I secondly don't enjoy this question because she says 'resolutionS' meaning I'm meant to have more than one. Resisting the urge to just give her the Jenna Marbles face (youtube if confused), I politely reply the one about losing weight and that's pretty much it. This woman then further ticked me off with the surprise that I only had one resolution. 

(Jenna Marbles 'the face'- another mention Jenna? Promise she won't be in the blog next week)

It's not my fault if I've been that perfect all year that I don't require to have a great list of wrongs to right! Isn't it a good thing to be satisfied enough with my life that I don't feel like I need to improve on it? I hate people who decide to have really unattainable resolutions like 'get married' or 'meet Daniel Radcliffe' cause chances are your just setting yourself up to fail. My new years resolution last year was 'to eat a kebab' and I did that and I'm totally satisfied with my achievements. 

(Now if that isn't a step in the right direction for new years I don't know what is)

The whole point about new years, surely is the fact that it is a NEW year. So surely you don't want to be dragging all of last years baggage into the new year. Its a whole blank canvas for you to trip up and make mistakes that you did last year all over again. I've had a few embarrassing incidents last year and a couple particular foolish drunken ones that I'd rather just say 'Happy new year lets forgive and forget to.' Not how can I further complicate these issues by working out how to resolve them! A new years resolution assumes that you completely f**ked up the previous year and it needs rectifying. To be honest I already have two assignments due in and I could do without the extra stress! 


I always do mourn the previous year a little. Everything that happened in it is suddenly no longer part of your life, it's all suddenly last year. I always find it seems saddest with long distance friendships cause all of a sudden the last time you saw them was last year. 


So after that long, probably not very enjoyable rant seeing as it's simply seeping with pessimism, I have realised that I hate new years resolutions even more than I first thought. I think the only way you can possibly deal with losing the year is to pat yourself on the back for surviving another year and plan many things to look forward to.

As for any new years resolutions I guess all the generic ones go for everyone, lose weight, work harder, be nice, my only personal one might be to remember more of my nights out...starting 1st January.


Happy New Year!

You fit me better than my favourite sweater

You are all really lucky. This isn't an opinion this is fact. It is Christmas on Sunday, I have work tomorrow and 2 deadlines for early January so I was so close to saying 'NO Martha Thursday this week my friends.' But yet here I am, the picture of good will, typing about a fashion nerd Christmas special trash for your pleasure.

Albeit it's gonna have to a fluffy subject this week, I'm not going to be going into the ins and outs of anything as a result of cheap Cava leaving me blind and an over dose of mince pies has chubbed out my fingers so that they're too fat to type, so short and sweet and simple is the style this week.

Now as anyone who knows me in person will know I enjoy a good sweatshirt. They are my staple hangover outfit. I can slip into a huge hideously ridiculous jumper and rock it with a bun on my head and just look shabby chic. And seeing as a great deal of the festive period is spent in a whirl wind of hangover (especially for those of you who cant afford Lanson and spend your evenings crying over the holiday whilst cracking out your collection of 6 year old raffle winning Chardonnay, and boohooing about your pathetic 2011), I thought what better way to celebrate Christmas fashion nerd style than with a festive count down (channel 4 styley) of Christmas sweaters.

1. The one you could actually wear

Don't get me wrong, I completely am in love with Christmas jumpers and have been wearing them long before they were anywhere near trendy, but I understand the slight social faux pas that is attached with running around in the real world with a jumper bright enough to blind a small mammal. However this particular one seems to make me want to sit in my room and cry my eyes out a little bit because I want it SO much. Unfortunately so does the rest of the nation as Jack Wills are completely sold out. Sorry to burst that bubble and waste precious blog time.

2. The one to keep muggers at bay

Here's one that would make your mum happy. You could stumble home blind drunk waving £50 notes through the streets of Manchester's Mersey side in the pitch black and no one would touch you. This gorgeous piece of wool finery lights up and flashes acting as a festive flair to keep anyone from coming within a mile of you. And the best part? Its only (tone of sarcasm here) £42.99 from cheesychristmasjumpers.com! Hurry, I hear Anna Wintour is hoping to snap up the whole collection.




3. The one for the shy jumper connoisseur. 

If you aren't accustom to wearing mad clothing quite as much as perhaps, Noel Fielding and you feel a little like a crimbo cardigan virgin but feel that you should still be a part of the festivities then have no fear! This darling little jumper is very pretty but play it safe enough so as not to offend anyone. £26 pop-boutique.com






4. One for conversation starters

So are you one of those popular people who go to endless Christmas parties? Do you find yourself struggling to start conversations? Or maybe you just feel like your political views just aren't being voiced? Well look no further than this Barack Obama festive number. Guaranteed to turn heads! $49.99 myuglychristmassweater.com (clue is in the name.)





6. The one for the mistletoe

So maybe unlike me you are not actually planning on stuffing your face with crunchie bars (currently doing this) over Christmas then rolling rather than walking back to university. Maybe you actually plan on getting some kind of action this winter? If so good luck to ya and this is the jumper for you. Imagine how cute, he'll (or she'll, PC) think 'hey she's quirky and fun with that Christmas jumper plus she looks cute and I can actually see her waist, unlike that girl in the Obama sweater! I think I'll give her a kiss.' (If you actually find a human that says this exact sentence avoid them at all costs.) Put a pair of furry ear muffs with this bad boy and you're all set. £30 topshop.com




7.The one that is imaginary but would keep you warm

So here is another sweater from that bitch over at sexy-sweaters, who designs all of these beautiful sweat shirts but doesn't actually produce them. But this would be ideal, Christmassy but not too Christmassy, would be really warm and do its job properly as a sweater, plus is pretty. I'm actually going to ban myself from going on her blog cause I get sad every time I can't purchase a sweater with Ariel's face on. sexy-sweaters.com



So yeah, I'd say that's enough Christmas jumpers to keep you going for a good few days. I realise that I am being terribly sexist in most of my offerings and would like to point out that most of these websites provide male alternatives to the jumpers pictured. Right, now that my home work is finished I'm off to watch the made in Chelsea Christmas spesh! Thuper duper excited! More excited than my own Christmas! 

And so to end, Merry Crimbo from me and the gang

(next weeks blog is about new years resolutions, maybe mine should be to get a life.)

Haters gonna hate

why do girls hate each other?

This is something  that I can't work out why it happens, and it's something I really hate but it's something that can't be helped like pubic hair.


I've been thinking about this all week. Ever since I sat on the bus. Sat on the bus listening into peoples conversations (which is one of my complete favourite past times.) These girls sat in front of me were laughing and giggling and just having the most fun about to go off to jamie's italian for a Christmas meal. Fair enough, but all I could think was 'urrrgh bloody bitches, they're parents are obviously loaded if they can swan off to jamie's italian this late into term. Bet they're boyfriends are rich too, hate them.'


Why? What a self important judgemental bitch I am! These poor girls were just going for a nice meal and being happy about it and I hated them? Ridiculous. And we all do it. Jenna Marbles had it to a T in her video 'Sluts on Halloween' when she did the impression of girls hating in each other 'oh my goddd, have you seen that girl? Look at what she's wearing, who does she think she is?' (watch it you'll get it.) 

(I'm so pleased with this, going up in the technological world)

Who does she think she is? WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? Well in girl world she's probably quite paranoid and self conscious as it is, is very pleased that she's managed to put together a half decent outfit. She's definitely not done it to purposefully piss any other girl off.Who is this person that you have to think you are to get away with an outfit? What has happened to us? What has happened to the girl power and spice girl generation? Why do girls hate each other?

(Looks like posh is on the war path cause Scary is pulling off the posh look better)

Pretty sure a lot of girls hate me, and probably with good reason to, these reasons I shall not reveal because it will probably condemn me to a life of solitude. But I know about these girls that hate me. I dread to think about the ones I don't know about, about how many girls have sat behind me on the bus thinking 'gosssh look at her, wearing odd earrings, she has hair that Wilma Flintstone would be proud of, Jesus are those creole earrings  she's wearing? who does she think she is Lily f**king Allen?' certain amount insecurities expressed there!


I was trying to compile a list of reasons as to why we would all irrationally hate each other. I was trying to think of girls who me and my friends all hate and the reasons why. And the number one hate mission we seem to have is sluts, slutty girls. I thought about what constitutes a slut in our eyes. These days you don't even have to be slutty to be a slut. In our eyes anyone who wears a skirt above the knee, ever kissed anyone ever in a club, has a hair colour that comes from a bottle, wears eyeliner or has slept with more than one person could easily constitute as a slut.

 There are of course the girls who are little more obvious than that (who's looking at you Dolly Parton!) But maybe they're just being honest where we aren't. Yeah I might look class in a Glass stepping into ramshackle in my Ted Baker dress but if my list is anything to go by I am just as slutty as these other girls!  Maybe we're all just jealous.

All of these things I have been saying all just indicate that I'm jealous. We're jealous, we are. I didn't hate those girls on the bus because I was completely anti Jamie Oliver or children being given money by their parents or because I am so feminist I don't believe in boyfriends. No it was because I wished I was on my way to stuff my face with carbonara and wash it all down with chardonnay whilst flicking my perfectly quaffed hair instead of going home to microwave a jacket potato that looks more like a tree it's been in my fridge so long and hacking my way through an essay plan.


It's no wonder there's so much girl on girl hate. If you think about songs we sing along to when we're after a guy they all encourage us to hate our fellow sisters. "Don't you touch my boyfriend" how about boyfriend why don't you stop prowling after other girls and stay faithful to me? Or "hey hey, you you I don't like your girlfriend" you don't know his girlfriend, you just don't like the fact he's with her not you. Don't hate your girls hate the men, maybe we attack the girls because we know how to deal with them, we feel like we can take them on?


And of course as soon as your friend hates someone you have to hate them to, that's not an option. And from the evidence I have gathered she probably hates them for silly reasons so why all the hate? (I sound like I would quite happily fit into Destiny's Child or The Eurythmics with all my sister gospel) Though apparently we're all very aware of why we all hate each other so much, every girl I asked knew it's cause they were jealous. 

(none of them look like Beyonce?)

Trying to tie this all back into to fashion is not proving easy. I've realised that I've started to go off on a tangent these last few posts and just ranting rather than being a fashion nerd. However one of my newest friends in my life helped me out, she's slightly older (not much though I hope I've not offended) so these are wise words. 

When I asked why do girls hate each other? She replied 'It's always down to what girls think of you, a guy doesn't notice what shoes you're wearing, you did it to make girls jealous.' This is true, when I detag myself in a photo it's usually because I think 'sugar (usually use a ruder word) I don't look half as nice as those other girls' I don't judge myself as an individual, I look at myself in comparison to the rest of the group. I'm a spoilt brat, I want to look the best.  I may as well start wearing one of those t shirts that 5 people can fit in so I don't get jel.


As one very minor character in a blockbuster movie said 'I don't hate you because you're fat, you're fat because I hate you' (boy I bet she hates Lindsay Lohan for stealing the lime light.) And so Tavi Gevinson, I want to aplogise, I hate you because I'm a jealous girl not because you're an annoying spoilt brat who's blog isn't a patch on mine.

Guest post

Here is the link to my guest post that has been the cause to some of my late postings! Enjoy and see you Thursday!

http://www.chicandcheerful.net/2011/12/style-insider-bristols-best-boutiques.html

Help me I'm poor

So I reached an all time low this week, a low I had never reached before. I had no money not a penny. A particularly low point was when I had to spend my very last pound on, for want of a better word, feminine products, and having a budget of a pound it had to the basic range, not a comfortable experience.


To avoid getting scurvy from too much pesto pasta in the row, I had to either steal or sell. Seeing as my slight of hand wasn't brilliant, and what with my nails in a colourful state as I compete to have the most creative talons with my friends flat, I wouldn't be the most inconspicuous robber. So selling it was and ebay became my new best friend.

(mine was nowhere near as deluxe as this, the pasta to pesto ratio was shocking... I can't even look at it)

The problem with having no money is that you have a totally shite camera and no one wants to buy your junk if you cant even take a half decent photo. 


Oh what can a girl do, 17 days to go and I've got a grand total of one present for my mother and there's not looking like there's gonna be any more so the rest of the fam might have to share her very non universal present. I've got a good mind to march down to bunker and demand that they reimburse me any money they stole off me for jager bombs when I was unconsciously propped against the bar with a certain friend of mines (who's name begins with A and ends in Y) moves my limbs for me.

Whilst all this is going on everyone in my house and a lot of others around me stay out of the red and are quite happily skipping about in the green. How, how, how do they do this? I tried to think about the similarities that me and my poorest friend have and the similarities that my more affluent friends have. And then ping it hit me the way a penny hits the bottom of a piggy bank, we are single, they are not.


Now I'm not talking about every relationship here but I'm beginning to notice that boyfriends give their girlfriends 'pocket money.' Now they don't always call it pocket money, oh no they are sneakier than that. They'll just casually pay for drinks, or dinner, or petrol or a whole night out, or even a tesco shop! I would have given my right arm for a tesco shop! How is this fair? I'm just as nice as everyone else and I'm certainly much poorer so if they're gonna give their money away surely it should be to the needy and lonely and pathetic specimens like me?

(this isn't me)

It turns out being poorer than a church micey does have its perks. It encourages a much more creative side to your life. I've cooked up some pretty interesting things in the kitchen by desperately typing random ingredients into google and hoping to find some loony who has created a recipe from them before. They weren't always brilliant but they sure were creative!

(church mice, if you hadn't guessed, though I'm a single church mouse and probably not as well dressed)

With my l'argent petit (sounds more glamorous in french) I have began to appreciate the more modest things in life. The only thing I have the finances to do is take the bus (thanks to my hefty £300 yearly pass) so nowadays (or this week) I am quite content just going round and round on the bus. I also really look forward to and enjoy talking to my mother more than I ever have (I'm wondering if this is because so little happens in my week so that my day revolves around speaking to her, don't get me wrong mum, I love speaking to you just even more so in these challenging times.)


I have also been able to bring out the best in all of my friends as their generous sides peeked, one welsh companion of mine even offered to treat me to a curry.You  see I just want to make you better people really, so feel free to donate away!


So after that heart whelming and beautifully moral speech on how I could quite happily live a life along side the old Dalai Lama with not a penny in tow, demonstrating my appreciation for the things in life that are free, am I deserving enough of my bursary now?

Laundry day living

As promised on my new snazzy facebook page, I am late, later than I said. Those of you who don't know what I'm talking about are obviously being complete bitches and haven't liked my page, so please look to your right and click the 'like'. TA!


I was at home last weekend for my mother's bitterly disappointing birthday, George Michael got cancelled and then she's married to Al Binghams (yoga zone) biggest fan so she's not gonna get that good a reception from a man who's head's well and truly in the clouds.

(Al Bingham, he'd make a lovely...)

Anyway I made the big mistake of going home having done absolutely no laundry at all, so packed whatever was clean and scrambled very late for my train. Though it soon became evident that I had nowhere near enough underwear clean. As a last resort I squeezed into a pair of 'Happy Holidays' pants with a little reindeer with a rather festive bright red pom pom right on the old fou fou. They were also a little too tight resulting in 4 butt cheeks rather than the average human 2.


I may as well have got dressed in the dark because I had absolutely no choice on what to wear with my few clean clothes. Outfit= leather shorts circa summer 2011, a cashmere sweatshirt, woollen socks, tights, a balloon t shirt and a leather jacket. And to my amazement and surprise I looked better and much more edgy than I had done in a while.


And so this weeks blog is about not caring, and not in a telling off kind of way like when people say 'you don't care enough about us' or 'you don't care enough about your work.' What would happen if we lived like we do on laundry day. Would we reap the same benefits? I mean I don't drag my blog through finishing school it's rough and ready and fun and feisty and that turns out OK yeah? Probably better than it would if I actually planned what I was gonna write rather than harping on.


Early on this week I came to the realisation that this wasn't going to be a great week (I turned out to be very right what with deadlines and my Londonish friend coming to visit the one week I was unavailable. Also how many times did I say week in that last sentence? Week.) Walking up Park street as soaking as flannel a charity lady 'have you got a minuted' me. Turns out I did have a minute and she said something quite profound to me after realising I was about to slit my wrists with the edge of her clip board. 'Remember nothing matters. Nothing really matters.'

(True dat)

Was she right? If everything was going to turn out all right in the end why was I bothering? I put this into practise by neglecting any further essay thoughts and going out on the lash in the name of research, 2 days before my deadline. I wanted to see what could be gained from not caring.


Being drunk, it turns out brings out your very best of talents. Blind drunk in thekla recently I wrote down about 50 blog ideas, not that I could read them in the morning, but it sure made me feel clever. Watching drunken videos back in the morning also assures me that I could make myself quite a happy living being a comedienne or a presenter at the very least, watch out  Dermot O'Leary, could seriously give you a run for your money.

(look at all these sweatshirts that don't care- sorry mum)

My hangover even came in ridiculously handy, you see I become terribly philosophical when I'm hungover, lying in bed wondering why 'her' is used as a word because it's so masculine it's like heir, and googling consensual cannibalism. This came in very handy whilst writing my essay (being philosophical not googling cannibalism) because I was constantly questioning every single word of the English language I was writing building up a pretty stonking argument for my essay.




I guess there are many unlikely situations that can turn out really great like being on the piss you could meet great great friends, or have the confidence to finally say that thing you wanted to say to that person. Or if you got on the wrong train you might just end up in the funnest of places (I'm going to try and accidentally get on the euro star to disney land, its not like they can chuck you off at a random stop.) I guess I'm being quite philosophical when I realise that this is what people mean when they say be yourself. I sound like one of those people I really hate who says to you at the worst of times 'everything will turn out OK.'

(Listen to Bobby)

All in all I needed to use this blog slot to lecture myself  to stop worrying about being blown up at the Olympics. I have developed this ridiculous anxiety that this is what is going to happen. Might I add I'm not going to the Olympics. My point exactly.


Things can only get better.

Birthday Suit

Prologue- We now have a facebook 'like' box to your right. Give it a click, I've made it nice and handy for you.


So what with it being November time, it's that time of year when for some unknown reason, rather selfishly, everyone I know decides to have their birthday all at once. This will also happen again in February, which is why it sometimes makes me happy that I'm single and don't have to buy any poor doting boy a box of over priced liquor chocolates (and let's be honest other than your aunt Babs does anyone really like those? Might I add I don't have an aunt Babs.)

I was in Cardiff last weekend celebrating one of my homies bdays (aren't I in with the kids.) She laid several dresses out on the bed, "which should I wear? I really like this one but I don't want to look too dressy."


Excuse me? Isn't a birthday the one time of year you can get away with wearing whatever you want? Isn't it the one time of year everyone actually expects you to look like a stuck up hoe bag who wears ball gowns to their local pub (not trying to suggest she looked like a stuck up hoe bag.) I mean I wore feathers on my last birthday, FEATHERS! What sort pretencions moron wears feathers on a night out?

(An image of me entering my last birthday, just kidding, the My Super Sweet 16 kids know how to do pretencious moron.)

I have another birthday weekend coming up tomorrow (see I told you, selfish), her name has been mentioned in  previous blogs but I'm not gonna mention it again, people might get jealous. And it seems to me that birthdays come with a certain amount of stress and not just for the guests like me who are counting the last few pennies and Canadian coins they have found down the side of the sofa, but for the birthday girl too. Tomorrows birthday girl was expressing many anxieties on what she should wear and how she was going to afford anything.


So maybe it's not as simple as 'wear what you want'? When it comes to birthdays, what to wear and what not to wear?


Thinking back to my own birthday (as painful as that is) I could only recommend to perhaps not wear your very favourite outfit, yes you might look Divine at the beginning of the evening but by the time any photos are taken you could quite happily fit into the cast of fraggle rock. I'm pretty sure that my aim was to go out in a dress not a scrumpled up top version of my dress with my knickers on show. I also probably didn't intend to go out wearing not just mine but everyone else's drinks, a flashing birthday boy badge (belonging to my male flatmate) a face that Medusa would be proud of, and a temporary Chanel neck tattoo that looks like scabies.

(I wish I had looked as composed as this)

But then if you can't dress up on your birthday when can you dress up? I would say a wedding but at my most recent gay wedding after a little too much cava I was in a very similar state. My best advice would be to plan ahead. Wear something you are really pleased with, that you know you look absolutely gorgeous in, but you also know is pretty fail safe, don't do feathers, do not wear feathers! And of course wear the most ridiculously , over the top, disgustingly big and bright birthday badge you can find, then everyone has to be nice to you. Pretty sure that even though I was looking like Medusa people were acting like I was Angelina Jolie.


Now when it comes to birthday guests there are rules too. It's like showing up to a wedding dressed in white, it is key not to outshine the birthday girl or guy. At my friend's Cardiff birthday, after she had had her hair curled I made sure no one else did so that her hair could not be up staged or out curled. Now I'm not saying you have to dress like a complete minger, just make a special effort to make sure ALL of the attention is on them, IE say things like 'it's her birthday buy her a drink!' they'll appreciate that.

(remember be nice, no matter how obnoxious they get)

What they won't appreciate is if you turn up at the club, for their 20th birthday the only remaining guest still wearing a  gold party hat, and when people ask if it's your birthday you say yes, consequently getting the entire smoking area to sing happy birthday to you and not your friend. Yes, they don't love you for that. 


Ultimately, if it is your birthday you shouldn't have read this blog, because I don't want to have caused you any further stress, yikes, should have put this at the beginning really. 


One last piece of advice, don't bother with that joint birthday lark, because ultimately your 'friend' you're sharing your birthday with is ether gonna prettier than you or have more friends and you're just gonna wind up depressed. And let's face it no one wants to share their birthday!


Happy Birthday November babies

It's beginning to feel a lot like the c word

Very disappointed in myself. My track record was going so well but low and behold it is a Friday and not a Thursday. I do have an excuse though, after being abandoned by all of my house mates last night as they went away for the weekend, I was far too busy barricading my door shut rather than writing my blog. Also before we start just thought I'd draw attention to the fact that Martha Thursday has had a bit of a makeover, you like? My bum doesn't look big in it then?


In our house the c word can mean any number of things (might I add I'm not actually talking about the c word, to write a whole blog about that might be a little bit weird), it ranges from camping, to Cliff house (my Grandpa's house) to finally Christmas. All of which are taboo words to my father who doesn't enjoy conversations about any of the above.


Usually any mention of a certain holy one's birthday before the first of December makes me feel down right depressed. I feel like I'm running out of time like the years come to the end already and it's only November! It also reminds what an excellent present buyer I am (I don't like to brag but ask anyone who's received a Martha gift and I'm sure they will concur) but this comes with it's down sides as a good present usually means a good amount of money, (and I have to say that around 50% of the time the favour is not usually returned.)

(crap present, get it?)

I also (despite my many similar personality traits to Miranda Hart) do not hold a glowing warm delightful air about me. I tend to be quite a cynical b**ch about the following: Valentines day, Anniversaries (any sort of couples related activity), children, Romantic comedies, pretty much anything that brings unadulterated joy into someones life. So Christmas, as you might have guessed is not my forte.

But dashing around the likes of Clifton and Bristol yesterday (this is just how last minute mt blog idea was this week), interviewing boutique owners for my guest posting I will be doing for someone else's blog (don't worry my little bunnies this will not affect Martha Thursday) I couldn't help but feel a little tingle and the corner of my lips turn up as I caught a glimpse of the Christmas windows.


It was like that Richmond sausage advert, (I hope people know what I'm talking about if not here's a link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVjQOIdariU. It's like the Christmas window was my Richmond sausage and I was saying 'Stop the bah humbug!' (can i get away with this extremely far fetched comparison? seemed to make sense two minutes ago.) I saw my childhood flash before my eyes. My mum taking me to Daisy and Tom toy store every December to see the Christmas window display.


I remembered the wild desire that used to rush through my system every time I caught glimpse of an artificial rabbit spinning wildly on its mechanical pivot on a plastic ice rink. When the Grinch said 'maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store, maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more', he obviously didn't know where to shop. Or perhaps I'm simply an even bigger Grinch than the Grinch himself.

(this could easily be me and my mother, she is the epitome of Cindy Lou who, who turns out to be Jenny from gossip girl! They kept that one quiet)

I realise I am writing this blog on the wrong week. I am going up to London this week which has a plethora of Christmas window displays but I am so lacking in ideas at the moment that you would have to wait an extra week for this and my blackberry camera isn't very good so your better off me google imaging anyway.


So here we are, gorgeous lovely shop windows for you to ooh and ahhh at, to wish you were the mannequin stood behind the glass and  take that step into Christmas that both Elton John and the retail industry want you to take.

(Harrods, December 2009)

(Harrods, Peter Pan window display, December 2010)

(Selfridges London, December 2008, now where did they find a tube carriage?)

(Bloomingdale's December 2008)

('Dear Santa'- Macy's December 2009)

(Rob Ryan does shop windows December 2010)

(Merry Chanel)

(Tiffany&co December 2009, would highly recommend looking at the other windows of that year, really lovely!)

Hopefully Santa will have got my letter and by this time next week I won't be able to write any further blogs because either Francis or Jamie or Spencer (I don't care whoever really) from made in Chelsea will have fallen in love with me and I won't be returning from London.

Merry November

Oh door man!

Firstly before any sort of blog occurs I would like to clear up some confusion. I am not actually Velma, as the right hand side of my blog indicates, I am not in fact married to Mark Ronson (although he has been replaced by Francis Maximilien Yvan Christophe Boulle since he got married to that french tart.) I am not best friends with a cartoon rabbit and Christian Dior did not leave me his family home, and surprisingly enough my name isn't Thursday. This is my blog persona, how depressing to ruin the illusion, but I had to clear that one up after a certain Irish acquaintance of mine was telling everyone about this fabulous pink giant house I own, nah ahh....


Anyway, blog...


Crying into my bowl of chicken supernoodles the night after Halloween and stuffing my face with 3 bags of haribo spooky mix that was bought for trick or treaters but selfishly only put out one bag. On a hungover whim I decide I want to go to London, Chelsea in fact.


I'd been watching made in Chelsea you see (which is never a good idea when you're hanging because you feel like a thoroughly sick disgusting pathetic, poor, peasant of a person.) And all i wanted was a cuddle off Ollie Locke, so I went scarping around for the cheapest 5* luxurious hotel I could possibly find, I had a price range of about £70 for 2 nights.


By about 6'o clock my hangover has worn off and after realising I probably cant get two nights at the Mayfair for £70 and actually I was going up the weekend after for certain 21st so my London plan had fallen through. However in my hungover haze I got to thinking about hotels. If there's no place like home then why are we forking out as much as much as £31,725 a night for hotels. (I might add this is not any ordinary holiday inn but the most expensive room in the world in the Royal Villa, Grand Resort Lagonissi, Athens.)

(most expensive hotel room everrrrrr!!!!)

I have always loved a hotel. Even last weekend I went and stayed in a hotel in Bristol (where I live.) There's something about them that I just find intoxicating. The fact that you can call down to a nice Mr. Man who will happily hop up to your bedroom and grant your every wish, makes you feel like Rapunzel or Cinderella with her Godmother. If I won the lottery I always said I would stay in the most expensive hotel in Paris and get pissed on champagne in Dior and buy something ridiculous and wear it down the street.

(I'm thinking something along the lines of this hair furniture and all)

There is a sense of luxury and adventure and sex floating about the air. You never know who you're going to meet in a hotel and you feel like you're taking on a different persona for a while, no one knows your name, there are no cluttered reminders of mistakes you might have made but instead a beautifully polite blank canvas for you to make some more. If I had a fetish I think it would be for hotels.


I spent that entire evening as a woman obsessed. I'd even decided what I would have to eat if I was staying at the Savoy. One Particularly striking hotel, the Berkeley in Knightsbridge, has gained itself quite a name in the fashion world and so of course Miss. Thursday was in love and it certainly deserves a mention on the old bloggy.

(The pret-a-portea available at the Berkeley)

Any guest staying at the Berkeley can request, completely free, the use of the fashion trunk. This one item made me want to cry, it is a box full of vintage designer accessories from the likes of Dior, Chanel and Lacroix that guests are allowed to PUT ON AND GO OUTSIDE IN!!!!! Well they say it more eloquently than that but oh me oh my how incredible!!!! And frrrrreeeeeee? Sure beats the complimentary ginger biscuits in the Marriott. (The staff are even described as having twinkly eyes, they must hire fairies.)

(The Berkeley fashion trunk)

On my hunt for hotels to write about on the old bloggin I came across some pretty weird ones, all this diversity is making me want to have one of those cool magazine programs where me, Martha Thursday, goes around the world staying in crazy hotels and being filmed sleeping and complaining and being funny then it goes on more 4? Sound good?

(The Dog Park inn Idaho)

So after all this I have been left feeling very depressed and made me think of all things I'm not getting. I'm not getting to live in the Berkeley, more 4 doesn't want me to do a show for them, I've not won the lottery so I'm not going to Paris, I'm not getting my new year trip to Egypt any more and I'm not even getting my hungover planned trip to Chelsea!


But I am going to London, and I am staying in a hotel, and so in an attempt to make it seem like I'm not an ungrateful brat I will dedicate this blog to my friend's 21st birthday (which isn't actually for like over a month) let's be scandalous and use her name, Kari! (never second names though.) I hope this exempts me from getting her a present....


Anyway, as a final word use lastminute Top secret hotels.

Glücklichen Halloween

Glücklichen Halloween- Happy Halloween (everything sounds more fun in German.)


What day is it? Thursday. And who am I? Martha. BOOM yeah! This means that Martha Thursday is back on form happily neglecting my uni work in order to keep you, my little bunnies, happy.


As promised this week I bring you my guide to Halloween, but probably less of a guide and more of a collection of cool Halloween things that I just have to share with you, and somewhere down this page I'm hoping I will have come up with some sort of amusing anecdote, because so far I have nil and this blog is improvised so I shouldn't promise you anything (or have told you the blog was improvised.)


Searching for Halloween costumes over the last few weeks I have been bombarded by billions (not billions about 3) yahoo answer things with girls going on about how they don't know what to wear for Halloween because a) they don't have any money and b) they don't want to look like (sorry for the repeated notion) sluts.


I have this equal problem, though my problem is further worsened by the fact the theme of the party I am attending is 'celebrity zombie' and having a fringe inhibits me a little unless I plan on going as Velma for everything for the rest of my life. 

Here is my pick of the best inventive Halloween costumes as the perfect antidote to the damsel in distress look (I am not a damsel in distress and if I was I would tell the bouncer not you.)




(RIGHT-pixelated lady, using face paint and a patchwork jumper.)

( ABOVE LEFT-Roy Lichenstein- yes I am cultured- styled face paint)

(BELOW- iPod adverts)

(ABOVE LEFT- a blueberry, I know she's about 6 but I'd love to dress up as this!)

(BELOW LEFT- chewing gum at the bottom of a shoe, wanted to be this but I was refused)

(ABOVE RIGHT-one of my own, Lady Penelope)

(Firefox logo)

As you can see I am on old Lindsay's side about Halloween, (more Cady from mean girl's idea of Halloween and not actual Lohan because she's quite the slapper on occasions.) its about looking funny not sexy, in fact I would say it's probably when you look your most ridiculous so please embrace this idea. I promise you will have far more fun if you go out looking revolting to begin with and not having to worry about maintaining a floppy up-do, (though I am being Jessie J this Halloween so I'm probably going to be spending my whole night in mbargo toilets reapplying crystals to my lips.)

(CADY)

(Lindsay)

What could be more fantastically Halloween than ripping the shredded insides out of poor little pumpkin. It was always a clear indicator that Halloween was truly on the way when my mum had bought back a pathetic plastic pumpkin carving kit from pound land and me and my siblings insisting she carved Mona Lisa's smile into it then crying when this piece of plastic crap knife snapped as soon as it touched the pumpkin. Here are some inspiring pumpkins, I don't expect any of you even to attempt them.

(Star Wars pumpkins)

('Play with your food' pumpkin)

(Real Cinderella coach)

(pumpkin burger, I'll have mine without seeds)

So yeah my Halloween guide is no guide at all, but seeing as I never made it to girl guides what else can you expect, in fact when people ask me for directions I tend to panic and make some up even if I don't know where they're going. So as an effort to try and distract you from this poor effort as a guide I will make my writing black and orange and flash some photos of how I am planning to surprise my flat mates by decorating our home.

(Harry Potter house, now where will I find a bed sheet that big?)

(pumpkin king house, slightly concerned about the house going up in flames.)

ハピ　ハロウイン- That's Happy Halloween in Japanese, another effort to distract you from my none guide