In need of a shot of Shabby Chic!

I believe everything should be pretty...

That was a line from one of my favourite films, Park Chan Wook’s ‘Sympathy for Lady Vengeance’. I think that film is beautiful, touching, profound but this isn’t about that film. This is about something that’s been bothering me for ages!

I’m so sick of my room being so very full of potential but still being bland as hell. There is no color scheme, no decor theme. I think a girl’s room should be her sanctuary; her own personal paradise. Mine is my own personal preferred space. That’s okay I suppose but I’m not proud of it. By having a clean room, it improves my mood. If I had pretty room as well, that would improve my mood tenfold.

I have images of Cath Kidson prints, shabby chic motifs and Laura Ashley flying all over my dreams, taunting me, enticing me. I really want a pretty girly room. This craving began way, way back when I was watching ‘It Started With a Kiss’ a Taiwanese Drama. Xiang Qin walked into this dream room that Mrs Jiang prepares for her and it’s a dream world of Chiffon and floral print. It hit me like a wall. Since when do I like this kind of stuff? My last room was blood red with kanji on the walls and a massive Shakugan no Shana wall scroll I’d bought from the London Expo.

I decorated it when I was 16 and at the height of my borderline weeaboo phase. I can’t be blamed. I was young. I was reckless. And I maintain it looked more distinctive than my new room. The last room bares the last remnants of this effort to capture the anime side of me. Like the dregs of tea in an abandoned cup, the gunk remains. I need to breathe some life into this room.

It has a lovely fireplace, high ceilings and crème wall paper which makes it a blank canvas. It shouldn’t be too expensive either.

What I know I want now is bedspreads like this...

I think this is adorable. It reminds me of a Doris Day film. I don’t know why.

I want one of these

I want some of these

I want to do the wall art myself so I guess I’ll decide that when I get there...

I hope this works.

Spring!

I’m watching the satisfactory denouement of Geordie Shore. It’s silly that it’s gets me thinking about all the endings and beginnings of the days that have passed and will pass. All of the people I’ve been attached to and grown apart from. It’s sad to think of all those friendships and bonds now haunting me like shadows, just memories in the back of my mind. It makes you wonder what the future will bring; romance; heartbreak; tears of laughter; tears of pain- a tattoo perhaps.

Isn’t it exciting? Now that it’s officially spring there are horny birds swirling in clouds above us, everything begins to bloom including our hopes for a great summer. I like spring better than the New Year. There is more of optimism now in spring than in the half assed, hung over promises we make to ourselves at the start of each year. I will lose weight; I will eat better; I will be a Pokémon master.

I don’t want to do that crap again. That was January. This is March; April; May...this is spring. My favourite part of spring, or one of them is being able to take walks through Greenwich Park in a light jacket. The sun sets later so even after a later shift at work it’s possible to enjoy a little bit of extra sunshine. Watching the sunset from that special bench in Greenwich Park is one of my favourite overly romantic pastimes, reading on this bench with a coffee is a great way to build up to it.

Spring is also great because it’s cheaper. The warmer it is, the more enjoyable being outside is and the more we can enjoy galleries and museums.

I’m going to try in the month of April to hit one gallery a week and two markets a month for fruit or cute quirky stuff. After all, London has loads of markets to offer and I’ve only explored Camden, Greenwich and Lewisham. I would love to revisit these markets but I have to try Deptford, Ridley, Roman Road, Brick Lane, Dagenham, East Street and so many more! I can’t wait.

But until then I’ll keep taking my walks, keep doing Zumba, and eating salmon and olive salads.

I hope my friend will join me on these escapades, spring is always more enjoyable when your friends are there to share it with you.

 Bring on the cherry blossoms!

Group Interviews!

I cannot stand group interviews . They are free-for-alls in which cruel and ill mannered people whore themselves for six pounds an hour and scraps of material pieced by fingers of a poor six year old boy in a sweat shop in Southern Narnia. Yes it's a character building process, mainly due to the fact that after the evil Overlord (manager/ or is she/he us busy assistant manager) is done with you, you are forced to gather up the fragments of your character and sobbing, piece them back together. See, building? Hooray for me. Nevertheless, your only construction tools are p.v.a and broken dreams, weak adhesives- so everyone can see the cracks. You always leave off with a weaker resolution than you came with.

I have had two horrendous experiences in group interviews. Both in fashion retail. The first I was thrown under a bus or some other form of public transport. Basically Selfridges was opening a River Island shoe department. I took any opportunity to work and River Island was cool so I wanted to go for it. When I did, however I got a nasty shock. In a sense I laid down and allowed the bus to rollover me. There were all these fabulous people, with fabulous hairstyles and fabulous people. And there I was in my dinky little dress and heels and straightened hair feeling like a cow in McDonalds. I knew then I was about to be slaughtered.

Nevertheless I pasted on my favourite interview smile and readied myself. The interviewer was Satan in skinny jeans. I, to this day, have never met a more odious haggard old bint. One of those very thin, very 'in' women with red hair that isn't hers and a smile that looks like a grimace and a voice like tin violins being fed the wrong way up a cat. I tried though, I did try. I wouldn't say my attempt was valiant. But every time I opened my mouth someone would steal my words, badly rephrase them and pass them off as their own.
They were the kind of people that would prey on erratic and squishy creatures like me.

Please don't get me wrong. I like fashion, that is to say, wearing things that suit my mood and make me feel funky or sexy and cool or whatever simplistic adjective takes my fancy. But formulaic indoctrination of the masses, at the hands of creepy thin people with purple hair who wear sunglasses inside, frightens me. I try to follow fashion sometimes in a high street sort of way. I even look trends up online to see what's going on in that world. I bought a Cosmopolitan magazine once too and everything. But if I don't like something I can't work with it. If you hit me in the face with a shovel, you can't convince me that its the new 'vogue' way of goodbye kissing.

Some of the fashion that the bird lady manager was bringing up, I hated. I am a very bad liar. So the interview didn't go well. And all the people made me feel like a fashion novice, because I was. And I felt too old, too young, too fat and too stupid all at the same time.

I'm someone who can present themselves well as an individual and work part of a team. I'm not a person who would disembowel every guest at a garden party with a spork for the last portion of coleslaw. And therefore perhaps I'll give group interviews a miss for a while, just until I gain a little more confidence or lose my ability to feel.