I’ve just been admiring Tavi Gevinson’s inspirations for her bedroom. She references lots of stuff that I was into as a teenager: Hole, The Virgin Suicides, dabblings with the occult (yep, I totally tried being a witch after watching The Craft and deciding Fairuza Balk was a GODDESS). You know, just your standard teenage stuff…   Anyways, the post got me thinking about how I expressed myself through my teenage bedroom. It was brilliant; doors covered in glittery collages, nail polish stains all over the carpet, childhood toys still appearing on shelves – partly because they looked “cool” and partly because I secretly still wanted to be a little girl. The bookshelves were arranged so self-consciously, with Sylvia Plath and Poppy .Z. Brite’s biography of Courtney Love being used to hide countless volumes of Babysitters’ Club and Saddle Club books*.   In terms of decor, my Mom was in charge. I hated the chintz curtains and matching frilled bedlinen. The floral border and yellow speckled paper made me gag. I loathed the fluffy carpet (laminate was so where it was at back in 1997). On reflection, it was more me feeling like I had to hate it than a genuine sort of hate, what with grown-up’s taste being so lame and all. Either way, I decided that I didn’t like it. That’s why I stuck crap everywhere and was so reckless with my black Spectacular nail varnish. It was an act of rebellion. The confused aesthetic of surburban innocence and reluctant womanhood was acheived through my attempts to trash something that had been thrust upon me.   I reckon if Tavi let my Mom decorate her room she’d be on to something. Though now she’d get the laminate flooring and minimalist painted walls that I so badly craved. She’d[.....]

This is turning into an obsession. A worrying and expensive obsession.   Two weeks in France was an ideal opportunity to eat two of my favourite things: cheese and macarons.   Thankfully, I didn’t feel any urge to take loads of photos of cheese, instead I channelled all of my photographic energy into documenting macarons in their numerous guises.   From the rustic “Macaron de St-Emilion” through to the exquisite sparkling macaroons from the trendy “M le Macaron” on a Bordeaux back street, I’ve eaten and snapped them all. I even had my first ever savoury macaron, flavoured with dark chocolate and foie gras; it was interesting.   I spent the journey home daydreaming about future macaron related career options: 1) A luxury coffee table book all about macarons, exploring their history and the craft of making them (publishers, please get in touch, seriously). 2) Opening a macaron shop with my sister (investors in such a venture, please get in touch, seriously).     [/caption] 

07.59: Good morning fellow commoners! Hope you’re ready for this, I’m not. Bring on the Huw Edwards! 08.00 Lose the soft focus vignettes already. 08.02 How this will work: I’m watching the BBC’s live coverage online, I’ll comment on it as it goes along. Oh, hang on, time to watch some freaky royalists…how weird is that? Like, what makes people camp outside in the freezing cold and wear weird hats? 08.04 Dude get three titles. Good for him. Fearne time: polka dots and pussy bows, interesting choice. Like her bracelet and at least she hasn’t started shouting about HOW EXCITING everything is. 08.06. YET. It will happen. In other news, that poor Matthew kid.  If he was at my old primary school everyone would make jokes about him fancying the Queen and shiz. 08.08. Woah, Beeb gone all out on the jimmy-jib shots. Not convinced with Fiona Bruce’s cropped red combo, also husband has just declared “she sounds half pissed”. 08.11 Anita is cool, I like Anita. Her remark about the coaches for the Middleton’s reminding her of an Indian wedding was cool too. Want Will to marry Anita instead. 08.14 Rayworth looking almost as orange as her dress. Centrepoint is an awesome charity (as I’m sure Starlight is too). Feel bad for the blokes though, picking a tie is about as interesting as it gets for them. Though I’ve heard rumours that David Beckham is wearing purple shoes. 08.16 This weather fixation bugs me. It rained on my wedding day and it was still a blast. This is England people! It rains. Fearne and Carole Kirkwood together on screen, surely the end of days is near? 08.17: Bowman is silent. If only they could make that happen for Cotton. She looked adorable, kind of Doris Day. Want her skirt[.....]

The Royal Wedding liveblog is nearly here! It is hard to believe that all of the flags and bunting are for me! It feels so immense to have the nation behind me with this. Thanks guys.* OK, delusion over. The live blog starts at 8am tomorrow morning. I’ll try my best to be funny and make insightful remarks about things. Though it is far more likely to descend into “HA! Look at that silly man! HA! Look at her shoes! Ohh, look, a pretty horsey!”.  Apologies in advance. To help get you in the mood, I thought I’d give you all a lunchtime treat and revisit my first ever liveblog. It was about a Vogue article called “Poo: the last taboo”. I have no idea why I did it, though I recall red wine and gin played a major part in it all. It is silly and rather disgusting in places, which makes it all the more surprising that it is the most popular post ever published on Bookish Brunette. Man, you guys are sick! In a good way. An extract is below, along with a link to the full live blog. Enjoy and see you bright and early tomorrow morning. BBxx *I seriously want to thank all of the lovely people on Twitter/Facebook who have retweeted aand expressed excitement about this all. You’re the tops. Mwah xxx The Bookish Brunette Liveblog – Vogue’s “Poo: the last taboo” – published 5th February 2010 20.45 A big ‘hi there and hello!’ to any earlybirds eagerly anticipating the start of the liveblog. To my left I have a large G&T  and a tantalisingly closed issue of Vogue (Alexa Chung looks gorgeous on the cover – I need to meet that girl’s hairdresser), to my right I have a wall, a blank wall.[.....]

  I’ve been trying to find the words to blog about THE BEST FILM IN THE WORLD EVER A.K.A CLUELESS  and, to borrow the words of the sage like Natasha Bedingfield, I need some help some inspiration but it’s not coming easily. Woah-ohh.   This often happens when I try to write about something I really love. I’d have the same problem if I were going to write about cheese or gin. Clueless is part of that elite triumvirate that keeps my world on its axis: cheese, gin, Clueless.   The film was released just as I was entering my teens. It was around the same time that No Doubt released Tragic Kingdom and I was starting to discover eyeliner. Both pertinent points.   Fair enough, my secondary school was nothing like Beverley Hills High and my parent’s house didn’t have classic columns dating all the way back to 1972; yet some how, Amy Heckerling’s retelling of Jane Austen’s Emma resonated with me.   It was colourful, clever and had a kickin’ soundtrack. It was also incredibly funny, not to mention Cher Horowitz’s (played by Alicia Silverstone) flawless wardrobe.   I am not ashamed to admit that I can quote huge chunks of the script verbatim. What the heck, I’m pretty damn proud of that fact. And I’m not the only one, I have friends with whom I could stage an amateur production of the film without scripts or rehearsals. We could even sing the soundtrack. (Ladies: we could totally take this to the Edinburgh Fringe, I’ve seen worse there – call me to discuss.)   Much like Helen Fielding, Amy Heckerling is one of my writing inspirations and for much the same reasons. The Clueless script is perfect – witty, warm and far cleverer than people give it credit[.....]

It’s funny I know, But I’m disappointed in you, I thought you could read my mind, But I came home early, And saw that a drawer had been opened, Looks like you’ve been reading my diary instead. Ben Folds, ‘Trusted’, 2005. I carry it everywhere with me – a cheap burgundy leather binder stuffed with reams of purposefully punched rectangles of paper. It holds where I have been, where I am going and where I am at this very moment. It holds the names of the people and places I have encountered, adventures I have undertaken and the joys, pleasures and pitfalls of 12 months. Much of it would mean very little to anyone but me. There are odd abbreviations and erratic colour codes, scraps of paper (some sentimental, others I once thought might be useful someday) stuffed in the front and back and lists detailing what I will need to pack for a weekend jaunt. The entries in my diary range from the incomprehensible: Thursday 12 March 2009 MAP 3, Barbara Nice, GP int., Comedy To the obvious: Friday 23rd January 2009 Britain’s Got Talent, Birmingham 10am-15.30 It is not a confidant, it is not full of my musings on the world around me. It is an aide that makes sure I am in the right place at the right time. Yet underneath this seemingly purely organisational facade there lies a deeper purpose. A purpose I have rarely paused to consider. My diary is my personal archive. Both the object and the contents are worthy of investigation, as are the diaries of others; some fictional and some the work of the great (and not so great) diarists. Salvador Dali modestly wrote: “This book will prove that the daily life of a genius, his sleep, his digestion, his ecstasies, his[.....]

When I’m not writing about frivolous and flippant things, I also dabble in writing about clever stuff. I’m studying for an MA in Popular Culture at the University of Wolverhampton and have really enjoyed the freedom that the course has given me to explore my (admittedly rather niche) interests. A few friends and readers have expressed an interest in my “serious” writing, so I’ve decided to publish a few of my essays online. You will find them under the “Academic Writing” tab at the top right of this page. I’m intrigued as to whether a) anyone will read them and b) those who read them find them interesting. It would also be great to develop and debate some of my arguments with readers – so feel free to comment on what you read. These essays aren’t perfect; heck, there are probably gazillions of typos lurking in them. But I am proud of them. Two essays are up to read now (as .pdf): The Ethical Consumer in Victorian Britain Riot Grrrl UK I’ll add a few more over the next few weeks. Please read, enjoy and, if you like it, share it. BBxx