DOLLS SYNTHPOP UK BOOTS GUITAR SECRET SULKOkay so I REALLY have been shit at updating this blog for the last little while, but I’m presuming you’ll forgive me after a round of “No, No, i’m a terrible friend” and you’ll be like “Yes, but also you’re hilarious and a joy to be around,” and I’ll concede that this is true and we’ll say no more about it.  Anyway, you know I’ve been busy and things, right?  I mean you do follow me on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, my press clippings and all that, right? Cool.

ANNNNNYWAY, just wondering about whether life is actually on an upswing or a downward spiral (spoiler alert: upswing), today has been the most ridiculous day in a long time.  Started out with fabulousness and rehearsing, which my neighbours just love (especially as they had clients in and I frequently swear like a trucker who just came back from life as a sailor and wants to impress everyone with his swearing skills) but then: DRAMA ALERT.  The mic cable that feeds to the amp (which I’m using as a PA because like whatever) just essentially ceased to exist.  While I was swearing at it unamplifiedly, I remembered the New King’s Road Vintage Guitar Emporium just up the road and called them, asking if they had any XLR to 1/4 inch cables.  SCOFF.  NO. OK, fine, whatever, I’ll just go to HARRODS, I said, rather fancily, which precipitated his ejaculation (ha) of “Oh, gonna get one in gold with diamonds, are you?” Obviously, I replied, by not replying it at all, and made threats to come in and purchase one of their guitars.

One pair of hotpants and a sensible blouse later, I found myself in the shop, which if you’re a vintage guitar freak – and who isn’t, really – is like practically getting the ghost of Jimi Hendrix’s boner’s boner (trust me, that’s a good thing), where I totally snatched up a hot piece – the guitar! Oh you!  However, I was still a cable down.  Heading to Harrods, as I’d threatened, I was hideously disappointed to find out that they have canceled their musical instruments section, which the man wearing an information sash (don’t.) told me had something to do with them closing down HMV (despite the fact that neither has anything to do with the price of eggs – but I don’t argue with a man in a sash).

The thing about the Harrods’ sale is there ACTUALLY REALLY IS ONLY EVER ONE SALE, so it was manic.  I owed it to myself (and probably to all of you, individually) to traipse through international designers looking to perk myself back up, as I was quite snippy about the whole thing, particularly as I’d just gone on this whole Twitter soapbox about how much I loved them and their customer service (which I do, it’s still great and they literally answer things for you on Twitter in the time it takes to shower. PROVEN FACT). I was actually SULKING and STOMPING through the sale, if truth be told; I picked up a Michael Kors bag and actually threw it back in the bin-or-whatever-it-was-in all disgusted and ‘what man would want YOU,’ which was pretty mental.  Whatevs, my rehearsal dreams were crushed and I was all girl on a mish.  (Side note: sometimes shopping makes me feel like I’m in CLUELESS and my inner Valley Girl comes out.)

Finding nothing suitable except a pair of Dior biker boots on sale for £585 (which was actually really very reasonable given the fact that that’s like, £6.50/day for all of winter PLUS the investment piece-ness of it) I traipsed through Miu Miu (fuck all, even on sale, not impressed this season), LV (no sale), Chanel (no sale), Saint Laurent (can’t buy from anything but the classic range i.e. never on sale) to be blinded by hideous wares from Burberry (why why why this season?) and stuff in size SNORE from Tod’s, I popped over to Gucci, who I have feelings for, but we can’t seem to make it work because their shoes are made for people with hooves.  VERY SMALL HOOVES.  However, something trashy caught my eye (as it always does) when I found these Hot Tranny Meth of a Julia Roberts Character Acting Seminar boots:



Naturally, since no one else was ever going to buy them in broad daylight like that, I felt I owed the environment and my shoe collection a favour and swept them out of their future landfill with my favourite MasterCard friend.  This more than made up for the horrible almost-holiday I’d booked and then cancelled with Expedia.co.uk mere day-hours before.

So fast forwarding, there is still no mic cable, I can’t rehearse, and instead I’m listening to my iPod from 2009/10 like the past 3 years never happened while rocking out in the awesome rad t-shirt the guitar shop sponsored me, bleaching the shit out of my hair and writing to you.  Tomorrow is my first show in London, and also coincidentally the (tr)anniversary of my move to the UK – Three Years, bitches!  And basically it’s like they’ve never happened. *poof; you disappeared!*

Sorry for not being a better letter-writer; I’ve been doing a billion q & a’s all over the internets and stuff. But I’ll try my hardest to keep my bitchiness at a bare maximum over the next couple months while re-living everyone’s childhood.  (More sorries for not attending your wedding, intervention or birth-parent fact finding scavenger hunt)

Big kisses and love you all,


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