Refilling the glass

Let's begin with an almighty congratulations to myself for posting on time, and not only on time but having written this in advance yesterday (which for me right now is actually today which all makes it a little confusing. Imagine if tomorrow never comes then what? Shut up Martha). 

I live with some of my favourite people in the world, two welshies and one Yeovillian (and occasionally a Cornwallian from next door) and as odd of a combination that that is it works very well. However being in such close proximity with the people that I love and a clashing of accents can sometimes cause arguments and, you guessed it, I shall tell you about one now.

Last night we were playing the terrifying game of 'what will we do when we finish uni?' Now I have always been pretty sure about my future it goes something like- uni-internship-minor journalist job-freelancer-work at Elle-take Lorraine Candy's job-BOOM. Nice and easy. However two of my flatmates were trying to coerce me into their business plan to start a Cafe. Starting a cafe doesn't not fit into my own little business plan of becoming editor and chief of Elle magazine so I politely declined.

(If my job involved standing next to Tom Ford my life would be complete, Sam Cam however, you would have to pay me)

This polite decline was met by impolite words of indignanty because I would not offer up my skills as a writer to help start a cafe (make note- an amateur journalist is what is required these days in order to start a catering business). My welsh flatmate described to me that, as passionate as I may be about my future career, I need to be a realist. That's when I pulled out my fail safe speech, courtesy of J.M. Barrie, of how I believed in myself and in life everything is made up of 'faith, trust and pixie dust' to which she replied 'well a career in journalism is only to be met with dirty dishes, a scabby flat and no job'.

(I do love a disney gif)

This was followed by a ferocious row and a comparison of what would be more economically viable, a column or  a cupcake? Which then lead onto reminiscing about great cupcakes of our past and before we knew it we were mates again. 

In light of all this I couldn't help but think about optimism vs pessimism. In having such a blind faith in my future am I being an optimist or simply a fool who will surely have all there dreams dashed. In life is it better to be a moronic optimist who will wind up disappointed or a pessimist who forever assumes the worst but may sometime be surprised?

(for optimistic geeks)

I feel as though this blog is long overdue following my recent posts of my resent of the fashion and blogging industry. I was beginning to feel as though I ought to just start applying for box manufacturing jobs as we speak. I have never been sure where I stand on the glass-half-full/ half-empty scenario as I myself am the love child of Pollyanna and Grumpy the Dwarf (I am often teased about my pigtail and beard combo) and have inevitably ended up a funny mix of both and most likely have some kind of personality disorder. (I like to think my gift for blogging strives from this light hearted humour with a cynical touch). 

(You can totes see where I get my good looks)

 No one would ever admit they are a pessimist, because lets face it a pessimist is Latin for kill joy. Pessimists themselves tend to use the code word 'realist' which makes any optimistic look like they haven't thought things through and allows pessimists to get away with the saying 'try not to get too excited about it'.

My Pollyanna mother bought me up to the tune of don't stop thinking about tomorrow (quite literally, Fleetwood Mac was on loop) and that the secret of a happy life was having things to look forward to. Only to be followed by Grumpy Dad's speech of don't set your heart on it because it probably won't happen. 

(Though sometimes I feel as though old Fleetwood Mac weren't all that chirpy)

Having this attitude has often rendered me immobile before an exciting prospect because I'm stung with the fear that perhaps it won't turn out as wonderful as I hoped. 

It is times like these that we can only look to Pocahontas to reassure us about being optimistic. She was just a small town girl (living in a lonely world) just like you or I. She had greater ambitions than that of those around her, she didn't want to chose the smoothest course and she didn't want to marry Kocoum (shocker I had to google the spelling of that bad boy) she wanted to go around the river bend and good on her. She suffered some hard times along her chosen path like the time her boyf faced being bludgeoned to death by her own father (and lets face it we've all been there) but she remained optimistic and everything turned out OK in the end (as proven in the sequel Pocahontas 2: Journey to a new world, such a good watch).

(Personally I think these two should have got together, would have saved a lot of hassle)

And this thinking can probably be applied to any of your favourite films whether that is Blades of Glory 'if you can dream it you can do it' or Django (I've not seen it yet but I'm sure it has a positive ending being Quentin Tarantino).

(Is there anything in life I can't relate back to Disney?)

So write that article, bake those cupcakes, open that star wars themed burlesque joint (a real place please google) because if you fail you can optimistically learn from your mistakes and optimistically remain optimistic that something better will come along. It will all turn out all right in the end. 

Furthermore if you can't ever see the good in the world then what on earth is there worth living for (please let this blog not promote the idea that there isn't anything worth living for).

(The Empire Strips Back- can't take credit for that joke, be a bit concerned if I could)

In conclusion it is worth being an optimist and having a little belief in yourself and your ability. I'm sure that at one point the Storm Trooper stripper couldn't sleep at night worrying about whether she was portraying the role authentically enough and now look at her! 

If you need any extra inspiration then just log into your pinterest account and search 'optimism' and you will surely be bombarded with sickenling optimistic quotes (see, there is my sarcasm). If you don't have a Pinterest account then your life probably isn't worth living anyway.

Things I hate about blogging

To start off, you can probably expect very little fashion in this post, furthermore it will most likely be a rant on, blogging, bloggers and the whole blogosphere. This has been spurred on by having to write two entire essays focusing on the subject of blogging that has rather taken over my life (as you can probably tell by my casual use of the word furthermore). In this judgement (haha essay joke) let us proceed.

So I started blogging about 3 years ago now, partly because I wanted to get into London College of Fashion, partly because I was hoping that I might actually get discovered and be cool enough for people to want to have awkward pictures with me on nights out. Neither of which have happened (I like to think there's still time for my fans to find me) so if you are thinking of starting a blog I'm not a great advert.

I've plodded along mainly because people get angry if I don't, I occasionally make myself laugh when writing posts and I just feel like Carrie Bradshaw whenever I get complements on it.

(We even have the same laptop, I got mine on ebay so could possibly be the same one?)

Anyway away we go...

1. Timekeeping
Naming myself Martha Thursday was the biggest mistake of my life. Never EVER name yourself after the day you are meant to post. Completely moronic, setting myself up to fail. Every time Thursday comes rolling round and I can't come up with something amusing I feel like I've failed life. Especially as my (joke steeling) blogger friend is so efficient! Before you know it people are calling you Martha Monday because you post so irregularly (which is annoyingly more catchy).

(I know right?)

2. Competitive nature
So I went to fashion week, as we all know because I won't shut up about it (you just wait its happening all over again next month). I met a lotta bloggers. Everyone always asks how many followers you have, the people I was associating with had like 300-400. 'How many do you have Martha?' '11' awkward. Made more awkward when you are asked to move out of a picture so they can take one of the blogger they actually recognise. Though my more popular blogger friend Oshley put a link on his blog to mine so do look at his too (click on his name I'm all technical like that).

3. The lookey-downey pose
Those of you who are blog connoisseurs will be familiar with this pose. One hand in hair, look down, and smile. I hate it. It is meant to look natural but when in life does one ever do that pose? what is it? 'A bird shat in my hair and I'm happy about it?' But all bloggers do it, unfortunately no one told me this rule so I tend to just go in, full beam, big grin.

(It's just friggin' criminal. I feel awkward on your behalf)

4. Self-indulgence
This is the one aspect of blogging that makes me cringe. Right now I am sat at my computer typing out this nonsense that really has no importance in the world, coming up with jokes that I assume are gonna make you laugh. Basically I think I'm really clever and funny enough to have a blog. You don't care.

5. One man band
Blogging is hard work. There's this myth that somehow it opperates as a hobby. Nah-ahh. Being entertaining is exhausting enough as it is without then having to write it all up with good spelling and grammar which admittedly is one of my short comings. It's like meeting your (non-existant) boyfriends parents, providing small talk and then writing a review on how it all went. I'd give anything to have a little intern banging out half decent blogs on my behalf, who cares if they're not any good at least I'm not writing them.

(I feel like this is the intern for me)

6. Readership
Sometimes I feel pretty hopeless. I look at my blog statistics and it tells me that precisely 8 people read my last post. In brackets it aught to say 'all of whom were either you or your mother'. Sometimes I get a few more than that, only to discover that my reader is someone from Botswana on Google images. I feel a little as though my talent is wasted.

7. Tavi Gevinson
To top it off the Queen of blogs Miss Gevinson. This isn't a personal issue or anything Tavi, before you take offence. It's just the fact that she struck so bloody lucky. Right now there are about 6000 other bloggers who do what she does much much better (including myself blates). And yet somehow she has just been handed blogger of the century award on a plate. I like to think I could write her under the table. (i.e. I'm green with envy as are the words I'm writing).

(Oh! Tavi! Mind moving your 16-year-old hiney over and making room for the rest of us?)

It's times like this, when I've written a post about what I hate about the fashion industry and another about what I hate about blogging, that I start to doubt that I'm in the right line of work. But it's when my asos order is the most exciting part of my week that I realise I am.

Happy exam period and just have a lovely day

Also I wrote this post yesterday but have delayed putting it up due to all of the above reasons. Let's just call me Martha Friday and be done with it. 

27th December

I might explode. I need to just lie in a dark room with a bin bag over my head with Enya playing in the background because if I even begin to think about how much work I have to do I am just going to burst into tears. Though if I am going to lie down anywhere it may as well be in Claridges with a glass of champagne with some commoner rubbing my feet with gold dust.

‘Why Martha are you writing an absolutely unnecessary blog that about six people will read then?’ you might ask. Well because my thought process is currently a little like this…

‘You’re in third year! THIRD YEAR! Why are you playing Hobbit Monopoly? Who is Bilbo Baggins anyway? Where did that monopoly £500 go? Come to think of it where did your real money go? I should really start paying off that endless overdraft if I’m going to have any chance of saving up for a deposit when I have to buy a house next year. I should apply for a job to go with that house. I should write more blogs otherwise my CV will look like Lindsay Lohan wrote it’

(It's just fun for all the family, and a real thing!)

And there you go, also it gives me a reason to chortle away to myself and distract myself from my 3,500-word essay and another essay and an exam. I also decided it must be time for a blog when my uncle by marriage yesterday asked if I was still blogging, as he hadn’t read one for a while.

As you may know it was Christmas two days ago (unless you are Kim off Eastenders, my life now revolves around that program) and yesterday was Boxing Day and today is 27^th December and so begins my blog.

27^th of December is actually pants and I’m sure you will all agree. It is the day when Christmas officially ends; Boxing Day is all right because you can convince yourself that it is an extension of Christmas day. At that stage it is still acceptable to drink before lunch and eat an entire Kinder Santa without judgment, you wear your new things, you know, new pants new jewelry, jumper whatever you were given and you feel all good abut yourself because you make small talk with your nana.

But now it is 27^th, it is a nothing day. Nothing happens, it has actually no purpose (at this stage I wish to apologise if it is yours and/or a family members birthday/wedding/funeral.) The majority of us don’t have school/work/college/uni/community service. It is officially the day of the Christmas come down. You are left without the excuse to eat and drink and instead just the horrible realization that you are now fat, so fat that you are probably entitled to Maternity leave. It isn’t just 27^th it’s all those in-between days that lead up to new years where all you have left to do is think about where you’ve failed in the year so that you can come up with some kind of new years resolution so that you don’t look like an arrogant prick when you say you don’t have one. ‘I don’t have a new years resolution’ translates as ‘I think I am absolutely perfect.’

(Is she actually joking me? Last time I looked that thin I was seven)

 Right about now I am expecting you to be overdosing on Rennie Soft Chew tablets, so to keep you optimistic here are a few ways you can get through those in-between days.

1.    Sales

I wouldn’t attempt this myself, as all I have left to my name is monopoly money, but it is a nice distraction. If you order online it gives you something to look forward to in the post and something to unwrap if you have POWS (that’s Present Opening Withdrawal Syndrome.) Though by the time you’re not hung-over enough to actually go sales shopping you can probably only expect to find some yellow speedos, festive.

(Is there a problem Selfridges can't solve?)

2.    Start a new project

I am lucky enough to have essays to keep me occupied but if you’re not so lucky why not get ahead of yourself and start your new years resolution early? It will give you something to focus on rather than eating like Miss Piggy up until new years day. This is assuming you all have the same resolution, to lose weight, everyone does. It also means that you can allow yourself a hung-over food day on new years day as you’ve made up for it earlier in the week.

3.    Party on

Who said celebrations are over? If you have the time off work and that Gaelic Cream leftover from last years raffle crack it open! Think of this period of time as another mini advent, count down those days till new year in style with a mince pie in hand and an unawareness of your surroundings.

(Oooh, I do love me a glass of Irish Meadow)

4.    Give yourself something to look forward to

My mother always says the secret to a happy life is having something to look forward to. In my case this is an exam on urban culture, don’t have something to look forward to? Book something! Anything! I here the Holiday Inns in Coventry are reasonably priced this time of year.

5.    Plan for New Year

Stop moping about in your house waiting for someone to call or an invitation to slip through the post, stop refreshing your Facebook homepage in a desperate hope you’ll be invited to a ghastly house party where the group photo is a cartoon beer. Make your own new years plans, book a meal, record some documentary on sky plus, go from door to door finding someone to kiss at midnight whatever takes your fancy. You have to make things happen for you girlfriend.

(Never ever go to a party where this is the chosen image to represent it. Thanks for your help realglitter.com)

6.    Reminisce

Give yourself something to look back on. We spend these last days of the year praying for 1^st January to hurry the bloody hell up so that we can stop living in the dregs of this year. This will only result in the whole of next year being forgotten on January 1^st 2014. Enjoy basking in the memories of this great year; I’m sure you had a great one. Think of everything you achieved, where you went, who you met, what you wore. I’m not suggesting you do anything as miserable as writing a list but perhaps reminisce over a bottle (or box) of Jacobs Creek. If you don’t have such good memories bask in someone else’s or just in the bottle of wine.

There you are 6 reasons to enjoy these days. I know 6 isn’t as conventional as maybe 5 or 10 reasons but I was too inept to come up with 10. This is starting to make me realize that these days really are pants as I was hard pressed to come up with 6 reasons.

Happy New Year everyone and I should say a Merry Christmas too having banged on about keeping the Christmas spirit alive!

If all else fails, Hobbit monopoly is your best bet.

Things I hate about the fashion industry

Hi, remember me? You're favourite reluctant blogger? I cannot even begin to explain how bloody late this blog is, when was the last time I posted? Ah yes the closing ceremony of the Olympics and not even the paralympics. I have to say I am a little heart broken at the lack of complaints I have had for my absence!

You'd be disappointed if I didn't, as I always do, give you my excuse. You see Work placements, guest bloggings, fashion editorings and third yearings leave little room for my voluntarily, low-readership, no-revenue blog, but hey I missed ya! Now this week's blog could have been any number of my neglected ideas in the past weeks of my Filofax, pencilled in in an effort that I might gather up the gusto to get on and blog and the amount of drafts I have lingering on blogger is just a little bit pathetic, so I'm gonna make use of some of them.

So while I've been away I have been fully fledged full-time working in the fashion industry to the point of saturation what with TellusFashion, The Bristol Tab and British Style Bloggers (yes, that's your cue to read all of my incredibly well written entries.) And having worked properly in the fashion industry now, and by properly I mean not just talking about myself on my laptop at home which I have recently stomped on and now has a crack in the screen so its a holy miracle that this post is going up, I have begun to recognise things that I really hate about it.

(In case you hadn't guessed this is symbolic of a love/hate relationship with fashion)

It's like when you start living with a boyfriend (I have no experience with this so this is purely guess work) and you start noticing those annoying habits, that is what has happened to me with the fashion industry. And like a boyfriend, which to me work actually is cause I'm a career monster who would rather work my arms off than deal with a dribbling moron, I still love it more than anything in the world (apart from maybe my sullen flat mate who I have to keep reminding that I love because she isn't in the best  of moods due to illness) but I just need a way of venting and so here we go the things I hate most about the fashion industry....


Ego
I'm not on about other people's but my own. Being in the fashion industry and especially a journalist in the fashion industry I am required at all times to think the very most of myself. I have to believe that my word is gospel and that my taste is the only taste that matters in order to convince you lot that what I write isn't just a load of garbage. Blogging is an especially indulgent thing, sitting here typing complete and utter trash about myself and assuming that everyone cares that I cracked my laptop. They do not.

Run-throughs
This is something I experienced on Fashion Week. It is where a designer takes you through their collection piece by piece encouraging you to touch them and waiting for you to comment. Never done anything so awkward in my life. You are never going to tell as designer that you hate their clothes so you have to say you like them. But how many ways are there for you to say 'mmm yeah that's really nice' and 'yeah I like it' hopeless.

Street Style Photographers
Came across a fair few of these in London and there is no positive way around them. If you don't get picked to be photographed you feel like the ugliest, most unstylish person in the world, especially if someone takes a photograph of your companion and tells you that you're 'blocking the frame.' And if you do get photographed you suddenly pull the most awkward pose in the world and hope to God that it doesn't go to print.

(Kiss of death)

Pretentious
I'm already quite the pretentious little brat and spending a month up in London did not help the situation in the slightest. Here are some of the hugely pretentious things that living in London encouraged me to do: 
-ate lucky charms bought from Selfridges for breakfast
-purchased champagne flavoured Vaseline
-bought beef wellington and even worse milk (twice) from Harrods
-pre-drank on prosecco and then bought 3 further glasses on a night out
-bought a six pack of Sanpellegrino Limonata
-asked for extra bags in selfridges just so it looked like I bought more
-crossed roads assuming cars would stop for me
-expected to just walk into shows and not be on the guest list having a 'do you know who i am moment' same with clubs and not even grotty ones, I'm talking Mayfair. 
-got my nails done 3 times in the space of two weeks at 3 upmarket spas. 
-ordered Purdey's at lunch.
-bought my shower gel from Penhallogans and cake mix from selfridges. 
-wore both a feather gilet and a wool coat at the same time. 
-pretentious enough to pronounce Mary Katrantzou's name correctly and even correct others on it.        
-pretentious enough to remain expressionless throughout an entire fashion show without the help of filler. 

(Despite all this I have remained unpretentious enough to still drink vodka out of a Fanta bottle in a public loo, though it was the Liberty's loo.)

(Wouldn't be surprised if you had no time for me after this)

Heels
Obvious choice. Women who wear heels to work obvious have chauffeurs and aren't stumbling about on the tube's escalators like a newborn giraffe.

Fashion Week Posers
Possibly the most offensive part of fashion week. A select few, and they are easily spotted, hang around outside Somerset House purely trying to get papped for street style. Recognised by standing head on, alone,  performing repeat visits to Somerset House and conducting fake phone calls. You can tell that these are fake phone calls because the phone conservation doesn't include conversation, and the phone is held away from the face so as not to ruin hair/ makeup.

(This nonsense is what I'm on about, and please check out the groin area)

Designer's Bows
At the end of every show designers come out to take a bow. They are without a doubt the most pathetic bows I have ever seen, more like an awkward squat. They try and spend as little time as possible on the runway. Not being funny mate but I spent a lot of time sneaking into your show, I want a decent bow.

(Peter Copping at Nina Ricci, awkward as ever)

Shallow Industry
I watch programs like '999 what's your emergency?' and can't help but feel like I am picking a totally selfish career choice. I'm not helping anyone. I'm encouraging you that there is a right and a wrong way to dress and actually being who you want to be doesn't work and that everything revolves around looks. Not very liberal ey? I'm required to judge you by your appearance (well not specifically you, I'm sure you look beautiful) but worst of all I wouldn't want to do anything else in the world. What a selfish bitch.

Well there you are, you have your blog post but now I have serious doubts about my career choice. Nice one.

Hopefully see you next week!

A good sport

So here I am writing my Olympic special blog post on the very last possible day, the closing ceremony. You're lucky you are even getting it today, as I am nursing a terrible hangover, head in the toilet situation, absolutely charming.

I don't wanna here any complaints though thanks, I can promise you all that I am out of my slump now and have been contributing to other blogs, going to work, the gym (I know can you believe it?) and covering my car in decorations for yesterdays annual carnival, so I have been preoccupied by every day issues. 

Now with it being the Olympics and me being a regular gym go-er and all (regular being once a week at a push) I thought it was about time that fashion nerd produced some kind of sports wear post. I have been avoiding it for the last two and a half years because although I understand that sports wear is a necessity in most people's lives and sometimes even a choice, I really honestly cannot stand the stuff, nor understand it. I refuse to spend money on trainers so I have been wearing my converse to the gym. Did you know that trainers cost like upwards of £60 and you have to actually enter sports direct to purchase them?

(Absolutely unforgivably gross)

However after 20 years of avoiding any kind of physical exercise, my sudden (Usein) bolt of enthusiasm means that I have to start wearing, sports wear, dun dun dunnn! And having avoiding any physical exercise since leaving P.E. behind me it does mean unfortunately having to spend some of my hard earned cash on keeping JJB afloat.

I'm not vacuous enough to actually believe that I am going to look red carpet ready on a treadmill, my face might go a red carpet shade though. However I refuse to believe that Lycra is the only way to go when it comes getting your sweat on. I am prepared to do the leg work (literally) and find myself something that doesn't resemble a Star Trek uniform to wear.

(Definitely seen someone jogging in this)

I can't help but feel like I could be on a hiding to nothing considering the fact that team GB had Stella McCartney tailor making their sports wear and yet they still look like a bunch of goons (especially in the opening ceremony, I mean gold lame hoods, really Stella are we in Blazing Squad?) So if one of my very favourite designers can't produce a half decent looking piece of kit what chance do I stand at Sweaty Betty? And that's at a push that's pricey P.E. kit that Betty is.

(90's boy band or what?)

Despite my complete and utter loathing of sports gear, (and I'm pretty sure the rest of the female population shares this loathing, I mean who actually enters a JJB without wearing a balaclava to hide their identity?) the fashion industry, season after season, tries to convince me that sports gear is somehow the thing to be wearing. Frankly I'd rather wear a pubic hair jacket. Surely it's a clever ruse concocted by the government to enforce us obese Brits into sport by only providing gym kits to wear, because honestly why else send it down the catwalk? 

(Not feeling it Rag and Bone)

Maybe I need to look at it all a bit more objectively. After all I spend hours of my life tirelessly reading fashion magazines cover to cover, scrolling through blog posts, pinning and repinning up and coming trends on pinterest, and sportswear is one of those trends that seems to be sticking. I embrace all other trends regardless of just how hideous some of them can appear to be (who can forget wearing fake glasses for the entire summer of 2009.) And my advice is always 'don't look at a piece of clothing and think about whether you like it or not but whether it will look good on you, something you like can look awful on you where as something that looks great you will learn to love.'

I guess it all comes back to bad P.E. experiences in primary school, getting picked last, kids laughing at my wobbly legs when I ran, getting to the front of the line at rounders then just walking straight to the back again (yes violins out please) I mean if you hate Peter Andre your not gonna want a t-shirt with his face on it even if it is the trendiest thing on the planet (which it is.)

(Cannot be real)

This little self analogy has not bought me any closer to discovering a way of wearing something nice to the gym, I might just give up and wear my ball gown or just not go. There must be one aspect of sports wear that I like (feel like I'm in a mediation meeting and am having to think up a compliment for someone I hate) think Martha think! SWEATSHIRTS! I love a sweatshirt, I spent much of my trip to New York hunting down a Knicks sweatshirt and  failing miserably. There is something of a Lana Del Rey, gangster-ironic cool about wearing a sweatshirt. 

(I want one so bad)

This is a very big step, a piece of sportswear that I do not loathe. To sum up there are a few things that the stylish sportsmen can do to keep their gym kit on the upbeat. Listed below.

1. Keep it personal
There is no reason why a little bit of you can't make it's way into your wardrobe. If you like girly things invest in a pair of the Liberty for Nike trainers. You're a designer gal (with a bit o' spare cash) get yourself some Chanel dumbbells. You don't have to wear a lime green Lycra vest just because that's what they wear in the Powerade ads.

(Pretty and punchy)

2. Blast from the past
Save yourself a bomb by taking a trip to rokit.co.uk and nab yourself some sports gear from the only era when it looked any good, the 80's. Quirky American sports logos offer that cheer leader bounce and enthusiasm that we all could do with on the air stepper.

(Cute, huh?)

3. Accessories!
The only aspect of the Olympic kit I admire is the gold chains athletes tend to live in. Ghetto gold works wonders with sports wear, whether it's a big ol' pair of creole earrings or a name necklace just add a stick of bubble gum and you got yourself easy-breezy-edgy-suburban-aloof-chic in no time.

(On the money)

4. Stick it to the man
Don't be dictated to by the major sports chains. You don't actually need to wear a sweat absorbing, aerodynamic super vest if all you're gonna be doing is 10 minutes on the exercise bike. Your ordinary t-shirt is not gonna catch fire.

5. Don't wear your pyjamas
I know that no one actually wears pyjamas to the gym but you know what I mean. So many people make the biggest effort to look their very worst, it's like you're trying your very hardest to look ugly. Stick that 'I heart Christmas 1999' top back in the draw buddy!

6. Look elsewhere
If you are neurotic enough to buy actual sportswear do me a favour and don't visit the high street chains (JJB, Sports Direct, blah blah blah.) Oysho, Zara's sister store, does nice jazzy little sports numbers that just fit the bill and at a very reasonable price. (oysho.com)

(Oysho)

So there you are, a comprehensive guide to sports wear from the girl who doesn't know how to use a treadmill. I wouldn't listen to me either.

Happy Olympics everyone, see ya in four years!