Perfect gift

Please note - if you have just broken up with someone or feel intensely resentful towards your partner for never buying anything nice for you, stop reading now as this post is mostly about how great my boyfriend has been recently.
Not that he isn't great anyway, but you know how after you've been together for a while things just get comfortable rather than exciting. You fall into a routine (in our case this mostly consisted of many evenings spent in Japanese restaurants, me getting up a good hour before him to go to work and then him getting resentful when I pass out in front of Family Guy and save my best shoes for going out to see EDF dj). But things in general have been pretty good. JFK dresses well, he smells good and he occasionally says nice things to me. He is supportive and snaps me out of feeling sorry for myself when I need it. He thinks I'm clever. Suffice to say, I love him rather a lot more than I thought was possible.
Over the last few months he has stood by me through my medical issues and made me feel better when I come home miserable from work.
Most recently though, we have both been having rather a rubbish time and it has really made us appreciate having each other all over again.
I get butterflies when we touch.
And then he goes and gives me this, which obviously I deserve for being generally great and paying for dinner rather often, but is never the less a perfect example of how great he is. Firstly, it's Alex Monroe, and I think we have established that I am a bit of a Monroe fan. Secondly it fit perfectly, which is pretty amazing because I never wear rings so how on earth he worked out my ring size I don't know. Thirdly, he can't really afford it which makes it even more of a grand gesture. And fourthly, isn't it just beautiful? I can't stop looking at my hands when I'm wearing it (although mine is silver and I wear it the other way round - is that bad luck?).

Alex Monroe Lucky Horseshoe Ring

For any male readers there are many lessons to be learnt from this story. A beautiful ring doesn't have to be saved for engagements and weddings and that presents are best when they come in a purple Liberty bag and outside of the usual present giving trilogy of birthday, anniversary and christmas. Although those are still important.

Things That Should Not Be Allowed

Bumbags and Kitten Heels are, if you believe everything you read, making a comeback this spring.
Can you think of anything more repulsive than wearing something called a bumbag? And kittens are for playing with and feeding and expensive trips to the hopefully handsome but usually dissapointingly female vet. They are not for shoes.
I have never really understood the appeal of kitten heels. They can hurt your feet just as much, if not more, than a stacked heel (although admittedly a spindly stilleto is always going to hurt more than a stumpy kitten. But you do have to be a bit of a sadist to do that to yourself in the first place and for that I admire your commitment).
Kitten heels have always, ALWAYS, made everyone look like they're on a school run. You just need a gillet and some boot cut jeans to finish the look. Even a 12 year old can pull off a convincing imitation of a middle class mum in kitten heels.
Also, they are rarely flatering, defeating the whole point of wearing a heel in the first place. They certainly do not make you feel tall, confident and cool.
I do own a single pair of shoes with heels that verge on being kitten-ish that have been lurking in my cupboard unworn for some time. I wore them on Monday. Don't ask why. They offer all the discomfort of heels with none of the benefits.
If you see me wearing Kitten heels one day, please do tap me on the shoulder and remind me of this post. I will be smiling on the outside, but inside I will be crying.

In other news - The inevitable 'We love the 90's' phase has hit fashion. But thus far the cool kids only seem to want to revisit the bad bits of the 90s. I'm all for the return of the slip dress but there is something very wrong going on when the teenagers hanging around outside Topshop begin to look like extras from Blossom; braces, a big floppy satin bow in the hair, pale washed denim and high-tops with ankle socks. Creepy.

Quote of the week - courtesy of the Dior press office

So, it's couture week. Emotions are running high. Chanel reconfirms its greatness. Galliano proves once again that he is "wacky" and "eccentric" but still capable of creating beautiful covetable and wearable pieces. And someone has a hissy fit.

This year's hissy fit comes from Armani who is upset that Galliano (allegedly) moved the scheduling of the Dior show and messed with the timing of the Armani show. Quell horreur. As my friend over on Layers and Swathes has mentioned before, Armani is verging on becoming irrelevant now, even though this is only his first showing at Paris couture.

The point of bringing this up is to illustrate just how perfectly catty the French can be when it comes to, well, anything really, but especially all things fashion related. I really love them for this, although I wouldn't want to live or work full time in that kind of atmosphere - far too much pressure.

The Dior reps' response to Armani's whinging? "We think it's not elegant to comment."

The other thing that has been cheering me up today, and boy do I need some cheering, is the return of Osman Nosse's A Cat is a Cat, one of my favourite blogs of all time. I'm not going to explain what Nosse does, I'm going to show you instead. Here is his post from today;

I emailed him to ask if it would be ok to repost his work on my blog and got this response - "bloody hell I thought that email was from Anna Wintour and I was going to get 'got' for mocking YSL." (Note, this is funnier if you know my real name.)

Naked rambling

Not really truly naked. More like fully clothed but really liking nude coloured things. I've been catching up on my reading and there's a naturist feeling emerging from the blogs and that hallowed of high street trend setters Topshop which is making me a bit dreamy. A dangerous condition for a person in my kind of financial straits.

It's early still but 2010 is looking like it might be the year where I break with all my traditions - the year I stop hating wedges, leave London and embrace nudes and pastels. Well, the pastels might have their limitations as I'm not sure that looking like an early 90s M&S mannequin is really a great look whatever some designers might want us to think. And I'll not be leaving London permanently. And wedges on boots or shoes, but definitely not for sandals.

I'm trying to think of something profoundly interesting to talk about here, but I'm finding it hard to get back into the swing of the blogging thing. I do have a story about throwing up in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge with which I have been entertaining my friends, although it certainly didn't feel funny at the time. Especially when I thought I'd got a tiny bit of sick on my brand new reduced-from-£115-to-£22.50 black and white aztec knitted lambswool-angora-cashmere cardigan of smug snugness that I got from the back of the sale rack in Monsoon in Waterloo after a one hour round trip around some of London's most depressing tube stations trying to find a working passport photo machine.

Thankfully I had recovered by Sunday when we went for a huge family lunch at an Arabic restaurant on Edgware Road with my uncle, the twin cousins B&T (I campaigned for B&H or G&T when they were born but to no avail) and their older sister A who I used to babysit when I was 15 and love to pieces. We consumed a pathetically small amount of this rather large plate of meat, but in our defence we had already had a similar amount of humous, falafel, aubergine dip, yoghurt dip and tabouleh...

Afterwards Mum and I went for a walk through town. Ostensibly she was joining me to hunt for some winter boots to replace my only pair which were a 21st birthday present to my self and are, unsurprisingly, no longer in the prime of their lives.

We saw many, many, many things that inspired momentary lust and a few other things that inspired the kind of longing that in other writers would result in some great romantic novel in the vein of Wuthering Heights.

A pop into the St Christopher's Place branch of Whistles produced quite a few of the latter. Sadly, lack of money and visions of my mother saying the word overdraft prevented me from purchasing any of the lovely things and we ended up mainly shopping for things for Mum.

She did, however, introduce me to the rather incredible sale at Fenwicks on Bond Street, which, as LibertyLondonGirl has pointed out before, is like no other Fenwicks in the world and now forms the crucial third member of my holy department store trinity (the other two being Liberty and John Lewis). I bought an exceedingly virginal looking white lace lingerie set by Elle Macpherson for less than a the cost of a bra elsewhere, which pleased JFK.

I also tried on this incredible slip by Stella McCartney. Possibly the most incredible piece of inner wear I have ever laid eyes on, it fit in all the right places, was the perfect colour and made me feel a million dollars. Sadly, the two hundred and something pounds price tag meant it may as well have actually cost a million dollars. But it now haunts my dreams...

(Clara Whispering Chemise in Blush via net-a-porter - not the best picture of this lovely delicate whisp of prettyness but ypu get the idea)

Mum, who isn't exactly the most fashion conscious woman in the world, but does that wonderful I-could-be-an-art-teacher-from-Hampstead look that only suits certain women really quite well when she wants to, said - "When I first heard about Stella McCartney moving into fashion I thought she was just using her celebrity name. Who knew she would actually have talent." Quite.

Almost back...

Some frankly weird things have been happening during my break from blogging...

Jimmy Choo announced a collaboration with Ugg, which when you actually think about it probably won't result in a product any more horrible than those already created by both companies.

V launched its curvy issue, including a shoot by he-of-the-fatty-hatred Karl Lagerfeld.

Many of my favourite blogs went suspiciously quiet.

Among the less surprising but more depressing events are Primark reporting a 19% profit increase; my birthday and the abject failure of my family to do anything about it; the delay in my pay which means I've been living off two weeks salary since December 4th and have done precisely zero sales shopping despite wanting many things like this and this and oh so many other things; Cristiano Ronaldo taking off his clothes to pose in tiny pants again.

Some good things have also happened - JFK bought me a lovely piece of Alex Monroe, making himself very poor and me rather happy. Three of my favourite people in the whole world were at my self-organised and quite subdued birthday drinks even though two of them are rarely even in London and one of those was actually supposed to be working that night. The birthday dinner that EDF trekked across a snowy London to cook for me which entirely made up for my family being rubbish. I found a vintage Pierre Balmain polka dot skirt suit for £15 in a charity shop and discovered truffle salami on the same day.

This evening I will be finishing off my Masters application, which I will be taking in person to the University via a two hour train journey tomorrow to meet the deadline. Cutting it fine I know. After that things should return to some semblance of normalcy around here... thank you for bearing with me and a special thank you to two of my favourite bloggers who commented on my absence. It's nice to be missed.

Hiatus

From dictionary.com;

–noun, plural -tus⋅es, -tus.

1.	a break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc.

2.	a missing part; gap or lacuna: Scholars attempted to account for the hiatus in the medieval manuscript.

3.	any gap or opening.

4.	Grammar, Prosody. the coming together, with or without break or slight pause, and without contraction, of two vowels in successive words or syllables, as in see easily.

5.	Anatomy. a natural fissure, cleft, or foramen in a bone or other structure.

Origin: 
1555–65; < L hiātus opening, gap, equiv. to hiā(re) to gape, open + -tus suffix of v. action

Related forms:

hi⋅a⋅tal, adjective

Synonyms:
3. break, interval, space.

I have rather a lot on my plate until next week (exciting but stressful things going on) so have been forced to put blogging on the back burner. On the plus side this gives me some time to find new things to post about. On the other hand I am too busy to trawl the internet looking for ideas. 

I promise than normal service will resume shortly. I know I said that when I went to India and it hasn't happened yet, but it will.