Waheyy. Happy New Year, I hope everyone had as good a time as I did.
My battery camera said it was 'exhautsed' so I didn't take any photos, but I think we can safely say that I write better than I photograph (in both senses of the word), so who really wants to see the photos anyway. My hair and make-up looked a mess as predicted. I chickened out of the hair rollers last minute, I just couldn't do it. So in the end I curled my hair with the straighteners then as the night wore on my hair got sweatier and messier until I ended up with a nest of drealocks sat on top of my hair, pinned in place with bent kirby grips that made my hair smell like booze because I kept dropping them everywhere.
As for the outfit, Kat took me on a Super Market Dash style shopping trip to Topshop on Oxford Street where I grabbed the standard noughties club wear- high-waisted shorts, cropped top and tights with 'detailing'. I realised I'd have to get some sort of hoody as well as you can't really go to a rave in your double-breasted tailored coat can you, but we couldn't find anything in the Nike store so we ran to JD.
I just wanted a plain, black hoody but they only had weird knee-length ones or bright purple hoodies, so we asked a shop assistant for help. As Kat was talking to him I spotted a grey hoody in the men's section, but I couldn't get to it because there was a crowd of little boys bustling around it. I waited for them to move and called back to Kat and the shop assistant:
"It's alright, I'll just try a Mens' one."
And the shop assistant went "Boys."
I wondered why he'd said 'Boys' and then as I was reaching up for the hoody I froze with my arm in the air as I clocked the big blue sign- JUNIOR.
I think it's one of those things that is only funny at the time, but we were so excited for the night and also tired of shopping that it brought on the hysterics for me and Kat. After we'd recovered, I realised there actually wasn't any other suitable hoodies so I grabbed the little boy jumper and tried it on. It obviously didn't fit me as I'm not a ten year old boy. I was laughing so much that I couldn't take it off and the shop assistant came over to look and suggested that I should buy it, even though it barely went past my elbows, so it just goes to show what a keen salesman he is.
In the end I bought a jacket that doesn't even have a hood. I feel like my alter ego in it. In the day time I can wear my pencil skirts and waist belts and in the night time I can put on my Adidas jacket and be ready to rave. My mum said the jacket looks like something I would have worn when I was thirteen, but she's conveniently forgotten than when I was thirteen I wasn't allowed Name Clothes; it was Asda trainers and once I got a Kappa tshirt and I was PROUD.
But forget the clothes and hair and make-up, in the end I would have had a good night wearing a burka and a pair of clogs(although I would have been fucking sweaty), it was SO. GOOD.
Weeeeeeee this year I'm going to go to London as often as possible. Instead of falling in love with Paris, this whole au pair biz and led me to fall in love with London. Well, it's not love, but it's definitely Strong Like. I'll just have to make sure when I move there it's to the left hand side of the Thames, so I don't have to change the name of the blog.