Top: Topshop Pleated miniskirt: Pimkie Yellow tights: Topshop Cardigan: H&M Bag: My Nan   This look was pulled together out of laziness and convenience (that’s how fashion I am). One of those, “I’m too busy to pick an outfit, so I’ll buy a new one instead’ looks. Actually, only the top and tights were new. The skirt was bought in France from shop called Pimkie, it is like a cross between Miss Selfridge and Peacocks, so not exactly haute couture.   The French high street is interesting, there doesn’t seem to be a middle ground. You either get cheap and cheerful “fun fashion” (that can also be a bit tacky) or very conservative and bland stuff. There was some gorgeous stuff in the department stores, especially by labels like Carven and Sandro but it was priced accordingly. There are probably some astute cultural observations that could be drawn from this, but I’ll save that for another day.   I wore this for a night at Atta Girl celebrating my friend Jimmy’s birthday. We did the usual dancing, drinking and eating chinese food at a ridiculous hour. Atta Girl was incredibly good – I particularly enjoyed dancing to TLC’s “No Scrubs” and  Hole’s “Violet”. The place was packed and the atmosphere was friendly, fun and feminist. I loathe how “fun feminism” has become a derogatory term used in certain quarters. Why the bloody hell can’t it be fun? You don’t suddenly wake up one day and decide “Oooohhh, I fancy some fun today, shall I go to Alton Towers or become a feminist?”.     The rubbish “summer” weather has made me reassess my views on opaque tights. If it is freezing and cloudy and a cardigan is required, then 80 denier is perfectly acceptable. I love the combination of[.....]

  Watching “Troubadours: The Rise of the Singer-Songwriter” on BBC Four last night made it very clear that I need a time machine.   I’d pack some floaty dresses, a dog with a bandana and plenty of floral hair garlands, I’d then drive over and pick up Alex before travelling to LA circa 1971.   We’d head to the Troubadour and watch Carole King then try to chat up James Taylor and Jackson Browne (mmmmm…1970s floppy haired boys with guitars…). I’d insist on heading up to Laurel Canyon, just to see what all the fuss was about. I’d also find out exactly how Carole managed to make a crew neck jumper and jeans look so good.   It would be the road trip to end all road trips. And we wouldn’t have to straighten our hair or even bother to brush it for, like, a whole week.   While I’m waiting for the time machine, I’ll make do with YouTube videos, ditching the straighteners and walking around with bare feet.   See you in 1971!   BBxxx  

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Those Dancing Days are the band that I most want to be a member of, or at least be friends with. We could go shopping and experiment with headscarves together. We’d strut about like a posse of crazy-sexy indie goddesses. It would be a hoot. The all-girl group from Stockholm are playing Glastonbury today on the Park Stage at 2.15pm. I doubt they’ll be on telly. It’ll probably be showing footage of Fearne Cotton shouting and The Wombats being shit instead. (Did I miss the memo on giving a toss about The Wombats? They’re one of those “shrug you shoulders with total indifference” bands, right?) Those Dancing Days are cool. Their music is perfect; it makes me want to skip around and do a little spinning dance. It is sweet but not entirely straightforward. Every time I hear the opening organ of “Those Dancing Days” or the thudding drums of “Fuckarias”, my lips curl into a smile and I have to fight the urge to goofily dance my way down the street. They also have enviable style. First off, they all have incredible hair – wild curls, perfect fringes and mops of tousled platinum blonde. Then there are the clothes. Their style is feminine but still utterly ass-kickingly arty and out there. Think vintage blouses and baggy sweaters, cute skirts and cut-offs, leggings and flat shoes. Their look is one part frump-fest, one-part new wave fabulousness and a gazillion parts better than any Nylon/OhComely/Lula fashion spread. Forget all those magazine articles about “festival fashion”, instead look towards Those Dancing Days for some stylish inspiration and you won’t go far wrong. BBxxx

Here’s the idea: being the bastion of good taste and all round smashingness that I am *gazes lovingly at glitter tiger ornament *, I’m going to post a “stuff that I love” column every week. It’ll be kind of like my “Reading/Watching/Listening To” posts but covering a more diverse range of stuff. I’m also going to have a “Blog of the Week” category going on – so look sharp my blogging buddies! It could be you! (I can already feel the nervous anticipation.) Fashion Deadly is the Female A brilliant boutique in Frome, Somerset. They specialise in faux-vintage pin-up girl style clothing. Want a perfect wiggle skirt or pair of tutu knickers? Look no further. They win extra cool points for their adorable Chinese Crested dog called Gomez. He was curled up on A THRONE, WEARING A RED JUMPER when I visited the shop in February. Their online shop is great and the dresses on offer are absolute knock-outs. Trench Coats Time to send my trusty camel coat to the dry cleaner.  Trust me, it needs it. Hello trench coat! Time to go frolicking in the rain together. Read my trench coat tips here. Food Marks and Spencer Salted Caramel Milk Chocolate The sort of chocolate that many people just don’t get. The salt-caramel-chocolate combination fries some poor folk’s brains. This is good because you get to eat more of it. TV How to Make it in America One of those trendy “insider” types of shows from the people responsible for Entourage. It follows two friends, Ben and Cam,as they attempt to set up their own denim brand. The rely on their street-smarts to get them out of scrapes  and keep their American dream alive. The opening credits set the Nylon magazine readin’, vintage t-shirt wearin’, dive bar drinkin’, obscure vinyl[.....]

This one has taken me by surprise. Let me break it down:   We have a rock: twee as hell, jingle jangle, plinky plonky, “put a bird on it” acoustic wimpyness trying to be trendier than thou.   We have a hard place: swaggering machismo with a sprinkling of casual misogyny topped off with a swirl of vacuous materialism and bad jewellery.   Yet when they collide, I’m quite taken with the results. And this is what has surprised me – I normally hate such blatant attempts by indie artists to gain genre-crossing cool points. It reminds me of those cringe-worthy moments on Radio 1, when Fearne Cotton claims to have “goosebumps” after Mc Fly have performed a torturous cover of something like Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne”*.   When done properly, the indie/hip-hop cover can be genuinely brilliant.   Case in point: Anya Marina covering T.I.’s Whatever You Like:   Anya has a voice as wispy as a Whispa bar or a really small feather. So hearing her singing sweetly about guzzling Patrón on ice and (WARNING: sensitive readers please look away now) “late night sex so wet, so tight” is an odd experience.   Then there’s Jenny Owens Young; who I like because she shares my name and “From Here” is one of my all-time favourite songs. She covered Nelly’s Hot in Herre a few years back:   Nelly’s version is something of a guilty pleasure for me, as is the whole of his Country Grammar album. Yet I am fully aware of how lyrics such as “good gracious, ass bodacious” and “what good is all the fame if you ain’t ‘uckin the models?” are problematic.   The thing is, it is a great song; just one with some dubious lyrics that express some disgusting attitudes towards women.   Give[.....]

Some people dream of moving to another country or living in a slightly bigger house. I’m currently longing to live inside a song. No. It isn’t “C’est La Vie” by B*Witched or “Don’t Stop” by Ke$ha. It is a song with the most exquisite accordion solo – yes, that’s correct, I said “accordion solo”- and lyrics that lull me into a divine Parisian daydreams. I’m talking about “Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)?” by Peter Sarstedt. Everyone’s favourite faux Euro-waltz (they just don’t know it yet). Released in 1969, the song is the tale of glamourous young woman called Marie-Claire who lives amongst the bold and beautiful of the European jet-set. And, by heck, do I want to raid that girl’s wardrobe and contact book. Check out the lyrics to the first verse: You talk like Marlene Dietrich And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire Your clothes are all made by Balmain And there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are It would be easy to hate her but, for some reason, I want to be her. Fair enough, I’m not sold on the blinged out hair, but if the aforementioned diamonds and pearls could be arranged onto a collection of snazzy alice bands, then I could live with it. Talking like Marlene Dietrich would be incredible – all husky and sexy. Dancing like Zizi Jeanmaire (a French ballet dancer) would also be far preferable to my odd slouchy shuffle that only looks good with a) heels and b) alcohol. I don’t want to be overly picky, but if “all” of my clothes were going to be made by one designer, it probably wouldn’t be Balmain. Though the label has the allure of old school French mega-wealth, they are just a little bit too keen on shoulder pads[.....]

OK, there was no plan to post again today. However, I AM IN THE ZONE. Reading: 13 Things That Don’t Make Sense: The most intriguing scientific mysteries of our time by Michael Brooks Check me out! Reading science books; clever stuff, eh? Writing about science makes me nervous. What if Ben Goldacre stumbles upon my blog and exposes me as the thicko that I truly am? What if I sound like some pseudo-intellectual smart arse? Anyway, these fears are highly irrational, and science really dislikes things that are irrational. So I’ll just get on with it. The decision to read this book came after I’d drunkenly launched into my favourite ‘but how do they know?’ rant about science. This is essentially my adult equivalent of the toddler ‘But why?’ phase. It is infuriating for all involved, though at the time of ranting I’m normally so full of gin that I’m convinced that I’m on a par with Bertrand Russell in terms of my philosophical insights. After being humoured for a good 30 minutes by a patient and scientifically minded friend, he calmly told me that he admired my scepticism and recommended that I read this book. We then went on to win £3.00 on the quiz machine. These two facts aren’t related, but we rarely win more than £1, so it seemed worth a mention. I’m currently only three chapters in, and whilst I’m still a bit sketchy on the concept of QED, I’m finding the book very interesting. It is refreshing to read about things that science can’t currently answer.  The most exciting part is that scientists are challenging universally accepted principles in a bid to explain some of these mysteries. In the introduction Brooks describes how the scientific community will need a ‘paradigm shift’ in order to tackle some of these unanswered questions. This appeals to me[.....]