woman - archive

October 2006
Money

You will be pleased to know, after a bit of a crisis, I think I have managed to come out the other side unscathed. After one hectic summer and my DIY frenzy last month, my bank balance was looking like it was seriously in the red. It was time I took some action and responsibility for my party loving lifestyle and found myself a nine-to-five. It was farewell to my Carrie Bradshaw-style living and hello in-tray. First things first, finding someone prepared to employ me who preferably hadn't ever read my column. But even before that, it was time to write my CV. The hardest task of all was finding a photo of myself without a) a martini in my hand, b) a martini-induced glaze in my eyes or c) my girlfriends in serious Pose, Sweetie! mode on either side of me, probably sloshing martini out of their glasses mid-pic. Why Oh Why do I only ever get my camera out after dark? I finally found one that, when reduced to CV size, didn't make me look like Paris Hilton in one of Cuore's drunk celeb specials and set about making a list of schools, jobs, etc. Luckily, my quest for stable employment didn't take me very far as Miss C.'s lovely papa had contacts in very high places (Valencia is so all about who you know. Terrible, really). I have just started a very exciting new job in a telephone call centre for one of Spain's leading banks, would you believe? (Don't worry, I wouldn't either). Still in training at the moment, I still have a week to go before I actually start to take real calls from real people, but it is actually more fun than the first few days - all theory, like being back in school. What a drag - would have had me believe. Now all it takes is for one caller to fall in love with my voice, reveal he's a huge movie producer and sign me up for his next blockbuster! (Well, at least the drab office walls haven't drained me of my imagination quite yet).

On top of the new direction my career path has suddenly swung in, I am really loving City Life since Summer abruptly got cut short (even though it's still one hundred degrees and the leaves on the trees don't even seem to be thinking about changing colour - hello, it's supposed to be Autumn!?) and I've immersed myself back in the hustle and bustle. Valencia is so busy! Even - shock horror! - on a Sunday! Day of rest people! Mental note: try to leave flat on Sunday at some point. Even if just to go down and buy fags for Lolita.

My current state of poverty is also down to the fact I popped back to the UK for a truly fabulous wedding - my aunt and godmother's second marriage- she looked gorgeous in a black dress and gold and cream Liberty jacket. The wedding, held in a renovated 1920s railway station, stuck to a strong theme - all the table names were also stations, and even the best man (who was actually a woman) gave a speech full of travel related metaphors and clever puns. Not that I got any of them - both my cousin (one of the bridesmaids, radiant in gold ra-ra skirt and black corset) and I managed to drink far too many glasses of the ever-lethal Pimm's as the guests were arriving at the reception and sat through lunch giggling away and downing glass after glass of wine and bubbly as my poor sister, having been violently ill the night before, sat moodily pulling apart a plain white bun and sipping sparkling water. As the best man/woman -long story- announced she had gifts for the bridesmaids and could they please join her at the front of the marquee, all the Pimm's-induced colour in my cousin's cheeks drained and she grabbed my arm in panic - I can't walk all the way up there! she said, looking very worried indeed, but managed to wobble up there just fine. The real fun had all started at the ceremony when we were told the Registry Office didn't actually sort out the music for the happy couples and I became DJ Anita - up at the front on my own like a wally pressing Play at all the right moments. I quickly popped back in after to grab the CDs as the photo session was going on, only to open the double doors at the exact same time as the next Bride was coming in to her wedding on the other side of the room. I apologised, bright red, and backed straight out again, trying to avoid the glare of one platinum haired, white-satin clad, heavily pregnant nearly-newlywed and her skinny goth of a husband-to-be. Hopefully the Registrar wouldn't mix up on the names and drop the rings as she did with my aunt - then they really would remember their special day.

Yes, please!

· Houndstooth
my favourite pattern of all time, has finally hit the stores! I am so in love with my Mango jacket with bracelet sleeves I would pay for the Air Con to be turned up all over town just so I could wear it. And my dark grey and black houndstooth leggings. And my black and white shirt... Don't worry, I won't wear them all at once!

· Layer up!
Marc Jacobs, pioneer of grunge chic, got this look SO right at the A/W 06 shows, and the lovely thin new fabrics in wool and silk knits make piling on the layers so easy to do- go for a millionaire street urchin idea and you'll be right on.

· Leopard print
another of my faves, I finally have an excuse to dig out my star charity shop find - an outrageous faux-fur coat. Pat Butcher look out!

Less, please!

· Girls in charge of the guest lists at clubs
just because you get to sit at a lectern and look us up and down doesn't make you prettier or more clever than us. It's about time someone taught these girls that the people on the list are VIPs and deserve to be treated with respect. Tut tut!

· The Schoolgirl Look
Just because tartan is back doesn't mean you have to pair it with a white shirt. Or knee high socks. Take a leaf out of the ever-stylish and oh- so fabulous (seriously, no irony at all here!) Victoria Beckham's book.

· Long hair!
after my rage and envy at all the long tresses flowing down the backs of all Ibiza loving beauties everywhere, I have got over myself and once again, worship the goddess that is Mrs Beckham and thank her for reminding me how ultra cool, grownup and sophisticated a short crop can be. I salute you VB!

September 2006
Having it Large

I believe I may be slightly high at this very moment, the smell of turps and satin-finish paint is overwhelming in our little flat as we have begun a redecorating frenzy in preparation for the new season, i.e., back to business as usual! No surface is free as we attack bedside tables with black gloss, random walls with bright pink, and coffee tables with pristine white. We have begun, and we just cannot stop - it is DIY mania and we love it! On coming back to My Bedroom after my various little summer getaways, it became immediately - and shockingly - apparent that the space was decidedly immature and that on decorating it in the beginning I had obviously followed absolutely no particular style whatsoever. At all. Right away it was down with the haphazard wooden shelving that I put together, on my own, of an afternoon, about a year and a half ago, which have gradually begun to lean sideways towards my bed in a frightening manner. Frightening mainly because the shelves were overflowing with bags, shoes, my beloved back-issues of Vogue and Elle UK in mint condition, more shoes, boxes of oil paints and coloured pencils, huge spiral bound sketchbooks and yet more shoes that were in danger of cascading onto me in the night and rendering me unconscious and then unable to climb out. Understandably it was time the leaning tower of Pisa-style shelves made way for something more sturdy, upright, and preferably capable of holding the previous contents and more.

I had also realised it is time for more colour in my life, and not only in the boudoir, where a colour scheme - of some sort - is still in desperate need. At the end of July, Lolita and I trundled up to Benicassim for our essential summer date, the FIB music festie, and were ashamed to unpack our suitcases together and see a pattern emerge over and over again. We had 27 black tops between us - mostly longer-length tank and vest tops, nine pairs of jeans and three pairs of black trousers. Of course, between us, we have a collection of accessories to rival a Claire's warehouse (only with class, naturelment) though approaching the festival we felt like dark clouds moving in to rain on all the joyful happy colourful people. Not that there was a lack of black, come to think of it - just that merging in with the gothic Depeche Mode and Placebo fans was not our main objective. We convinced ourselves that we had the Parisian chic look down and boogied on down to The Kooks, Queens Of Noize, The Strokes and the like (though not The Like - they haven't quite reached Spain just yet, but watch this space) with the rest and the best of them, maxi-chains made from perspex jangling round our necks and huge bangles clanging on our wrists, held high above the crowds, (It just has to be plastic jewellery at a festival - robust, easy to wipe-clean (you never know who may brush past you at one of these gigs) and hard-wearing. Just like the perfect man,really.) but we couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy every time we glimpsed a 1920s tea dress in a pastel print or a bright blue T-shirt paired with lime green miniskirt. From that moment we made a pact not to buy one single plain black top more this year - it would be motifs, ruffles and, most importantly, colours galore, all the way. So far I am proud to admit I have kept my end of the bargain but I caught Lolita out yesterday with a fab scoop neck ribbed black tee with - hah! - the label hanging out the back. Talk about a fashion faux-pas.

The conclusion colour-equals-a-good-thing sent me off to Ibiza post-pre-holiday shopping trip with a bag full of turquoise tops, swirly patterned skirts and coloured kaftans for the beach, but the first night my girls and I were there I was back to the hotel in a jiffy after realising that in my so carefully put-together look I would not have looked out of place amongst a group of serious chavs. The rest of the holiday I stuck to my trustworthy black - and in the photos I look all the more tanned for it. Not that I wasn't brown anyway, I just never reached that Ibizan Brown that screams I Hang With Jade Jagger at Her Villa! Miss R., however, much to the amusement of the other three of us, did try to bake herself in the sun. Quite fancying herself as the next Paris Hilton, it was part of her daily routine to kick back on a borrowed lilo in the pool/sea/on a lounger with huge Gucci sunglasses in place, silk headscarf protecting her hair, adorned with gold chain necklaces and enormous earrings, and not move for several hours, complaining loudly should any other holiday maker so much as splash near her. But, alas, she paid the price for being such a prima-donna and returned to Valencian shores with a large red burnt triangle of skin on her nose, and the area around her eyes completely white. Rather than presume she'd been on the Isla Bonita it was more likely other people would think she'd been skiing. Well, if she would refuse to wear sunscreen! (NB In case you were wondering, we did a pretty good job of avoiding the 500-strong Valencian crowd also in Ibiza the same time as us, and managed to be wined and dined by outrageous Italians and billionaire Brazilians... but that's another story entirely.)

Once back here, I popped up to visit Miss C. at her "village", as they say with Miss. K. in tow - we just hadn't seen enough of each other over our seven days in Ibiza and there were fiestas going on there too so it was too good to miss. It was actually my fourth visit, my second this summer alone, but the novelty hadn't worn off and K. and I were accosted everywhere we went regardless. And boy, did we bask in the attention. Some of the boys themselves were really quite scrummy - well, it would have been rude to say no, wouldn't it? On the way home we had a nasty experience with a wayward dog on the motorway - not our fault, I hasten to add - which caused us to scream like banshees and nearly ruined our couple of days. But not quite...Back in the City we have a dinner due just the four of us to swap photos and reminisce about the week in Ibiza and plan our Septembers together - so many things to do, so many people to see! Just when am I going to find the time to become DIY Darling?!

Yes, Please!

Leggings
A/W 05/06's wardrobe staple is back with a vengeance - but why oh why are all the glossies pretending we didn't wear them last year? It certainly is a mystery to me.

Shorts
Still hot, even off the beach - the perfect garment to make the summer-to-autumn transition, the ideal pair would be tailored yet slightly baggy - hang them off your hips slightly for a casual take.

Festival Chic
vintage shirts with skinny jeans, bright makeup and huge sunnies will all give you a burst of summer happiness even when you're back at work - just remember to leave your wellies at home.

Less, Please!

The Petite
petite girls in general actually. I just think it's unfair. All my life I have been jealous of anyone shorter than me - and at 1.56m I'm not even that tall! I can't help but envy them - they're just so cute, and a slim short person looks better in any outfit than a slim tall person. Fact.

Girls in hats out clubbing
how are they not hot? They make me come out in a fever just to look at them - especially in wool and tweed trilbies. Could there be an accessory more out of place at the end of August?

Shaving. Nearly every day
OK, I'm ready to part ways with my Venus now. Roll on winter with its wooly tights, they cover a multitude of sins!

July
Summer

I'm writing this on what is officially The First Day of Summer. And it's bizarre, it's as if it knows somehow. It's suddenly 5 degrees hotter and absolutely glorious. I want to take all my clothes off and lie on the pavement bronzing my über pale body. But I may get a few odd looks and possibly arrested so I may refrain just for today, after all, that is what the beach is for. My shoulders and arms are, in comparison to my white-as-milk tummy, practically black which is not a good look - it means I have to cover up my legs and wear strapless tops all the time. (And I can't wear shorts, THE cult item of clothing this summer.) It's a vicious circle, really. The more I cover up my body, the browner my arms and shoulders get, and the more ridiculous I look in a bikini.

Oooh, Bikini, the very word makes me shudder. Oh to be bikini-beautiful all year round, but that would involve gyms and diets and bla bla bla bored already. I have however been following Gooru's advice and picked up a copy of French Women Don't Get Fat. Fifteen minute walks around the Carmen every night - I'm beginning to look like one of those ultrafit exercise-crazy American Erasmus students from California -or somewhere equally sunny and healthy- who stride purposely down into the riverbed, iPod strapped to one arm and tanned and toned legs shining in the late afternoon sun. If I still had my iPod I would stride with mine, but unfortunately it got nicked at my own birthday party back in March. Unfortunately is perhaps not the word I would usually use, something much stronger springs to mind, but I digress. (The fabulous party was well worth the sacrifice, in case you were wondering.)

Back to the book - the two-day leek soup detox diet is supposedly excellent for water retention, so definitely will schedule that for pre-Ibiza preparations. Talking of Ibiza, we gals are so peeved it's not true - all our careful planning and it turns out we coincide with a -wait for it!- 500-people-strong package trip from Valencia! All those silly crowds we were desperate to get away from will practically be our welcoming committee. The only good thing is that they apparently leave a couple of days before we do, although they will have had enough time to leave a real enough trail of damage before we arrive.

We will just have to establish our cool status in VLC before we leave - nights at Buddha Del Sol, shopping trips round El Carmen and drives down the Alameda for a late afternoon drink in P's soft-top mini should do the trick. Our look this Summer is a noughties' take on nineties Heroin Chic - easy on the washed-out pale faces and huge bags under the eyes but heavy on the baggy sleeveless tops, waistcoats, low-slung belts and granny plimsolls. Hundreds of bangles on wrists and gold chains layered upon original beads and quirky charms round our tanned necks, and long wavy hair that may or may not have been washed for a week. 80s running shorts and frayed denim minis are the order of the day, but quality fabrics and vintage leather satchels and handbags make the look less shabby and more chic, and our Tom Ford 70s inspired sunglasses are the cherry on top (of what is already a pretty yummy cake!).

It may sound like an oddball style but you wait -the super-hip young underground LA crowd (forget Paris Hilton, forget Rachel Zoe's überstyled clients - we are talking interesting and talented people from the real world who are all unique and highly original individuals) have already proven that you can't go wrong in scuffed vans and a visor.

And so I bid farewell to you readers, until September. Try not to have too much fun on your holidays, especially if you have the whole month of August off - it will only make me jealous. And God forbid you don't do what I did one year and think you forgot to pack a single bathing suit only to find at the end of the holiday they were all in a secret zip compartment in the lid of my new suitcase. Oops.

YES PLEASE!

· FIB
If you're not familiar with these three initials (and yes, they are in the right order) then you can close this magazine now. El Festival Internacional de Benicassim is more international than ever this year and the lineup features bands that are brilliant beyond imagination. From The Strokes to Rufus Wainwright to Babyshambles to The Ordinary Boys to Pixies to The Kooks to Depeche Mode, it's no surprise the three- and four-day passes sold out months ago. Me and Lolita have almost already packed - this year it's been moved forward a month you know, to the weekend of the 20th of July. Cool.

· Filmoteca D'Estiu
this brilliant initiative is one of the only consolations for having to work in August. The IVAC Filmoteca moves to the riverbed in front of the Palau de la Músíca for outdoor screenings after dark. Under the stars, original version movies with dinner included for a ridiculously cheap price make hot Summer nights so much more than bearable! And if it's in the company of a hot Summer boy even better.

· Air Conditioning
Wow! If I ever met the genius who invented A/C I would snog his face off there and then. I don't know how I would get through most days without it. The heat just makes you so tired doesn't it? It's only nice when you have nothing to do and you have a pool to lie around by. Hmm...now who do I know with access to a pool in the town centre... Miss R.'s Man! Get him on the phone NOW!

· Pet Shop Boys at the Eclectic Music Festival!
Who would have thought! The festie is from the 15th-27th July and the PSB play the 23rd. I am a closet fan of these two and I adooore their new video with the boys from Little Britain - they do make me giggle.

LESS PLEASE!

· Wasps
ever since I first arrived in Valencia seven Summers ago, and three of the persistent little b******ds chased me around Pryca carpark (yes, Pryca! It was that long ago!) so much I couldn't even get in the car and was practically reduced to tears, I have been so phobic it's not true. I can barely hear the "W" word without getting my knickers in a twist. And now it's time to stock up on repellent again, damn it.

· Girls in Trikinis
If you own one, good luck to you, but for goodness' sake never deny the fact that you only bought it because you knew you looked so fantastic in it that all the other girls on the beach/by the pool/at the bbq would look like elephants in dental floss next to you and your perfect bod. Oh go away and lie on a yacht or something.