Monday, 5 May 2014


Well since posting my brief and mediocre foray into the world of creative writing, I decided to trawl through your comments for #inspiration. It seems the consensus is that people just wanna read about what the hell other people do. I guess that's obvious I mean, twitter. So maybe I'm gonna write more n treat it like nbd.

This week marks the anniversary of deadlines and unearthed the timeless question 'when did I get so fucking boring?'. This time last year I was posting about 'being wired' n snogging fellas, so how did I get to a place where 90% of my work is already referenced, printed and wait for it PLACED IN A FILE when 12 months ago I was probably wiping sick off my face with a pair of used pants n making my way to the library to 'make a start'.

1. Summer

I liken summer 2013 to the time Father Jack sobers up and sees how desperately ugly everything and everyone is. Much like him, I also found it pretty fucking jarring. As a result of this I spent 3 long (loong I mean so long, long) months alternating between panicking, watching Jonathan Creek whilst panicking and finally, panic running. That's right, while you were all taking photos of each other on your disposable cameras with your bindis on, I was running laps around Bowburn estate as a treat to spark up my day of staring at a wall. Let me tell you, I had a body like polished oak. My thighs were toned, tanned and tucked under my duvet. I think the fact so far I've already made two very uncool TV references is testament to the time I spent in anxiety quarantine last summer. If there's a next time I'll be sure to watch Twin Peaks.

2. Money

A contributing factor in my dismal summer was the severe lack of cash. I spent every last stinking student finance penny on 'being young' before being kicked out of halls then served a home cooked meal of reality. In an effort to stop history repeating itself I FINALLY got a job!!! Yes!!!! Weekly pay!!!!

And hours, upon hours of shifts. And hours, upon hours of talking about those shifts. And hours, upon hours of buying clothes for, getting ready for and planning around those shifts.

I like my job, as jobs go I've landed a good one. But way to take an unspontaneous character like myself and lock them in their own sad world. 'Helen where you at?? Come over we're having pizza n cans xx' - Sorry how about tomorrow? When you've already done it? Or what about you pencil me in for a spontaneous nip to the pub after my shift on Friday? Oh, you've gone out out. Of course you have, it's Friday night. The novelty of money is wearing thin, luckily (hopefully) my friends aren't. Wish me luck in striking that balance.

3. Boyfriend

Those of you familiar with LOVE WITH THE STARS will know I had a tricky time romantically last year to say the least. But one of my predictions was correct: I really do like the effeminate ones and hey - one of them finally likes me!! Cue 4 months of nights in eating pizza, days out drinking coffee and classic moments like this piece of cutting edge street style. Am I happy? Yes. Am I lazier? Yes. Do I see my friends less? Yes, but my friends don't makeout with me (anymore). Alas, having a boyfriend is still proving to be great, finally someone who is obliged to kiss me when I've shoved another onion ring in my mouth after claiming I'm going to be sick. Thanks Sa(a)m, u rok.

4. Second Year

Ahh, the familiar sting of regret when you've assured your family you're 'really knuckling down this year' because this time you're actually 'really interested in the course'. What else can you do but kid yourself that you're much more mature than last year when your priority was 'settling in'? For my list of actual priorities see 2 and 3. One thing that has changed for me at university this year is the feeling of genuine guilt, not the guilt you say you feel after missing the only seminar you've done the reading for that week. In second year that faux-guilt is accompanied by the realisation that if you don't start now, you really have nearly wasted 18 grand and probably can't just wing it at the end. That accompanied by the shiny first years who've already made internship plans at Vice for the summer, meanwhile all you've managed to do is blog about getting off with someone who works there. Is that why my neatly filed essays look so ravishing to me right now? Yes. It's literally all I've got.

So if you're ever wondering why I'm so fucking boring now, it's because I'm busy dressing my ineptitude in part-time-job-bought organic shopping and Other Stories basics. See you all in 3 months when I'll be wailing from a bus stop again, waving a can of K cider.

Sunday, 4 May 2014


Inspired by Isabel's illustrations and written for alleged explanations in Manchester on Thursday 8th. Go! It's free!

Lunar Letters
An Interview with Julie Foster

Julie Foster is 48 years old, she lives alone in a small terraced house in Norwich and is currently in a romantic, long-distance relationship with The Moon.
Isabel Scott:
Today I am invited into her living room where she shows me to a sofa facing the window. The entire room is in fact arranged around this one, small window; a large plant pot, a lamp and a rug create a rectangular space only a quarter of the size of the living area. Her skin and hair glimmers with a thin film of iridescent powder. She points to the hamsters;  “They’re nocturnal”, she explains, “they keep me company.” Indeed, over the last seven years, Julie has become almost entirely nocturnal in order to spend a maximum amount of time with her distant other half. As it stands it is 9pm and Julie and I are sitting down to poached eggs on toast with a pot of coffee. She hands me a napkin; “He’s waning tonight, so forgive me if I seem a bit gloomy.” As we settle in I ask her how the relationship came about, she takes a gulp of coffee, rubs her eyes and begins.
“Well you see, I’ve always been a strong believer in the power of astrology, my sun sign is Virgo but my moon sign is Cancer and that’s what got me interested. I didn’t really understand it. There’s nothing about moon signs in my magazines and I couldn’t risk ringing one of those ‘dial-astrologer’ adverts so I thought well I’ll do it myself then, I’ll write to The Moon.”
Six days later on November 13th 2007, Julie received the reply she’d been waiting for. “Well he was happy to help,” she muses, “he said he didn’t receive a lot of mail being The Moon.” Julie hoists up a leverarch file from under the sofa and rests it open mouthed on her lap, it is brimming with neatly organised A4 typed sheets. “The originals are too precious to keep reading. They’re delicate, dusty things, so at the end of the month when he’s hiding I type them all up myself.” The ‘hiding’ Julie refers to is The Moon’s new phase, when he is invisible here on earth.
Isabel Scott:

When Julie’s remaining astrological queries were answered, correspondence between the pair began to manifest into something much deeper and more personal. At 41, Julie had had no previous serious relationships, she tells me that in the past she simply hadn’t felt a strong connection with anybody romantically and had accepted a quiet life of solitude. “I was quite content with my quiet little life, well, it’s still quiet,” she laughs, “but getting to know The Moon has been the most fun I’ve ever had, he’s lovely.” I ask her if she and him have ever addressed his Dark Side, but she stops me immediately, “That’s personal.”
I sense I have been too intrusive and decide to sway the conversation towards her hopes for their future, at this she smiles affectionately; “I have decided to move into an entirely glass house. That way I can see him from all over, from the loo to the kitchen!” We chat for a few minutes about the house when I realise our little space has now been dipped entirely in pearly moonlight. The clouds have parted. Julie’s powdery skin lights up, radiating a warm, shimmering glow. I look closer and see her glassy pupils, once wide and inviting, have transformed into perfect crescent shapes. She takes my hand, “He’s here”.
I begin to float up until my body is suspended weightlessly above my seat. I glance down and see the sofas, the plant pot, the lamp, the rug and Julie, now tiny tops all fixed beneath my dangling feet. I hang here contentedly for the duration of my trance, cushioned by this curious whirring pull. At last it breaks and I am woken by a gentle nudge, I sense I have been placed carefully back on Julie’s sofa. She presents me with a cheese sandwich; “It’s 2am, please, have some lunch.”
My eyes fix on his milky surface, this is how you are introduced to The Moon.

Isabel Scott:


Wednesday, 12 February 2014


SO, I'm going through another of those 'I'm a vapid uncreative day time television sucker' crises again, mainly because everything else in my life is going great (I have enough money to buy flamboyant nightwear rn and a boyfriend who will let me wear it) and I have an inherent need to complain about SOMETHING.

Today I'm complaining about the fact that I don't 'do' anything: I don't draw, I don't write poetry, I don't make music, I'm not a big fan of anything. I pretty much feel like I'm not part of the creative alliance that I've decided everybody except me is a part of. Occasionally people will kindly say 'but you can write', however posting on here every six months once I've compiled enough to bitch about with some semblance of theme doesn't feel like a viable small talk hobby.

My predicament: nobody likes a show off, I never want to write about some craaaazzzyy experience and come off like a wannabe it girl embellishing a reality familiar to most people who are 'young' and 'live in a city'.

SO - What do you think I should write about?
Since you can post anonymously on here, I figured anyone who wouldn't mind helping me out wouldn't have to show their face if they didn't want to.

- my occasionally notable, but mostly typical life in South London
- answering questions, e.g. like an agony aunt
- are there any previous posts you think were ok n would want me to write more like
- my opinions on the 'issues' e.g. my bush, lady issues, i think they are the only issues that concern me
- photos?? do people like seeing stuff?
- fucking anything else i can write about in a cynical tone

I would truly appreciate any sort of 'feedback' that could help me kid myself into thinking I am walking side-by-American Apparel-side with my genuinely talented and creative friends.

As ever thankyou for any praise people have given me in the past, I think of it when I'm nervous sweating about not knowing what to do with my life xo

Sunday, 4 August 2013


DISCLAIMER: i must press that moving to a new city is absolutely yours to fuck up, i would hate to think i influenced a smooth transition for anybody, it should be a harrowing experience that humiliates and wears down your tiny body until you're a jagged shadow of your once peppy self. on the plus side you are guaranteed increased chic levels and the satisfaction of knowing that people at home think you've changed for the worse.

so here it is broken down for you all into the DO'S and the DON'T's:
how to be good at being somewhere more good 

DO: use people

one thing i've learnt about people is that most of them suck, but to meet the ones that don't you have to meet the ones that do. for example, the group of freudian wankers i met at the english party led me to one of my closest friends, a man who amidst bullying me into attending a lecture accidentally made me scrambled eggs on toast with tea and forgot about the whole thing. it is always better to go out with morons than it is to stay in, because sometimes morons lead you to places where better people like to be. it took me a while to really embrace this, but if you take my advice you can skip two months of crying into a lonely student cookbook meal whilst watching lost in translation on repeat and worrying that you don't have enough tagged photos of yourself looking happy.

DON'T: be intimidated

granted this sounds somewhat serious but with hindsight i can now confirm that anyone you think seems to know a lot probably/definitely doesn't. this may appear obvious, but put in a situation where you're forced to see the good in people because you have no friends, it's important not to start believing the bullshit that even the person saying it doesn't believe. if someone's interesting or intelligent, they don't have to prove it by telling you..they just are. for example, it was once recommended i read a book because of its two fantastic female characters; i bought the book it was about a girl and a boy. i rest my case.

DO: put on weight

before moving away i was very much of the opinion that i wouldn't fall into the trap of eating pizza every night and washing it down with lager. ha ha ha. if like me you are constantly suffocated by the thought of your inner thighs getting gradually more acquainted with each other, give yourself a break, until you're pregnant at some point you will never have a better excuse to be grossly unhealthy (wait i guess that isn't the point of pregnancy, whatever). i liked to balance days of gorging on an array of fried goods with days where i would 'just drink', meaning i would consume enough barnstormer/red stripe to double my recommended daily intake of calories. another useful tip: don't take a full length mirror with you. i didn't, 8 months of glorious ignorance, if all of your clothes are 3 sizes too big from a charity shop anyway you'll barely even notice you look like a jacket potato.

DON'T: get (too) cliquey

yup we all know it's great that your group of friends can drink, smoke, vomit, eat, and bone together in the same building, but at some point you're going to wonder why the only new experience you've had since moving out is a k hole. if you hang out with some different people off your course once a week your gross group will still be there when you return! they might even miss you! for what it's worth i find making people fancy you on twitter is a great way to meet new people without having to join a worthwhile society or voice your opinions. better still, intrigue someone who is familiar with the places around you = finding cool stuff = pretending you found the cool stuff. ultimately you should try to have options because not only is that chic it also decreases the levels of interbreeding within your regular social group, so in a way you're still contributing something even in your absence.

i feel that covers the major pitfalls of being yourself some place else, i can only hope i've managed to fully patronise each and every one of you. get chubby and enjoy people that's why they are there xx

Wednesday, 5 June 2013


Having recently experienced how it feels to temporarily lose a portion of your mind (calling yourself an ambulance, for future reference, is apparently not standard practice for someone having a panic attack), i've been forced to evaluate the potential unhealthy aspects of my life. Of course this has been a fantastic excuse to over analyse the past year's romantic endeavours, all of which have had a similarly miserable conclusion and unearthed a 'type' i never thought i had.

In acknowledgement of anonymity, i'll be looking to the stars for this one, BEGINNING WITH (i've been sat here for 15 minutes now trying to work out birthdays via various social networks):

~A Q U A R I U S~

In my early months at university and in classic 'shit i dont know anybody' style, i slithered back to an ex. Ultimately i think it's important not to confuse free, quality powders with affection, as i certainly did. Still, an all northern household to creep back to in the early hours is remarkably comforting after you've forced a night out at the SU with a group of people you don't really know or like. Thankyou Aquarius, i cherish the occasional facebook or instagram comment, you inevitably disappointing, lying toad.

~C A N C E R~

First i must admit this romance never really er, blossomed. Beginning and ending with awkward snogs in Peckham, it was in this i thought i was getting a glimpse of how london could really be for me: dating someone who writes for a widely known and loathed magazine with a few thousand twitter followers #thedream. Admittedly, it did gain me access to the sort of party i can tell my kids about when i'm 43, and recall at every dinner party after 3 glasses of wine, exaggerating the reality that was simply me sat wired in a bedroom playing with a kitten, while the host and a bunch of people she probably didn't know danced topless in the living room. Thanks for that (yeah saying cancer here just sounds a bit grim), you were charming and my best friend still begs me to rekindle our tiny romance xoxo.

~A R I E S~

As with Cancer, i began talking to Aries on twitter, which i have since been slated for by everyone i know because let's face it, twitter to me is just okcupid for the image conscious youth. Because i'm constantly worried about not being fun enough, i decided it was perfectly reasonable to get a megabus to leeds and sleep at his parents house for a weekend having never actually met him. This revealed a lanky, fidgeting, effeminate, chain smoking yorkshire boy who i argued with 80% of the time until he came once to london, revealing he had his very own bertha mason in the attic. unsurprisingly that's when the romance dwindled. I'm not sure what happens at the end of jane eyre but i get the feeling it isn't a two hour phone call from brighton pier about how shit boys are and can you PLEASE forget your girlfriend.

~L E O~

What do you do when two previous twitter romances haven't worked out? Have another one. (I'd like to insert here that i am not the instigator in any of this). This endeavour, remarkably, is to some extent still ongoing but destined to inevitable failure when i return to the north east in about 2 weeks. Unfortunate Leo has had to witness my minor meltdown first hand and as such i'll try not to curse it further by listing his shortfallings on the internet. What i will say is that this lanky effeminate thing is becoming more and more my 'type'; bearded man in dalston i was as surprised as you were when i didn't fancy you. It seems that the classic goldsmiths second year i thought i was longing for in fact couldn't excite me less. So here's to 2 weeks of faux-security.

I guess the only natural conclusion can be a hello to all the creepy long boys out there, let me underwhelm you from the bottom of my heart, #xo

Wednesday, 10 April 2013


an activity put to me by a friend in london; "an adult roller disco in vauxhall til 2am, spandex compulsory". now as a regular at tranny bingo,  i was already well aware of the fun to be had in vauxhall, however, i decided to spend a week in manchester visitng my friend instead and here is where things go askew.

inspired by my vision of spectacular lighting, the whirring of attractive people on wheels and a soundtrack of tears for fears, i suggested we seek out a similar affair in manchester. one google search and we had it, not only was it of a similar description but most importantly the highly coveted acronym BYOB shone out as i imagined the glint of my nylon leggings would against glare of bright lights. 
interesting how anticipation/expectation can cloud any early warning signs that might contradict the mind's ideal. indeed, once the location had been google mapped it revealed itself as being in a sports hall on the outskirts of manchester, but wait, the sports hall was called 'Arcadia' that sounds cool. it will be fine. also to reassure us (*blind us) was the fact that this was the training ground of the roller derby team, and as isabel reassured me from her knowledge of the film 'whip it', that again could only mean good things. 

(i'd like to sidenote this but i can honestly say in my mind as i yanked up my disco pants that i worried i would look too 'try hard' 80s, definitely no neon, cos that'd be lame). 

having waited an hour for a bus, got on the wrong one, walked for half an hour in the dark, relieved ourselves thrice in surrounding shrubbery, necked half of our BYOB, we finally arrived at the golden gates of ARCADIA. 
turning the corner towards the entrance it suddenly hit us: manchester suburbs, bring your own alcohol, friday night - this was an event practically made for underage scallies. having trudged our way through the group of bleach blonde 14yo smokers we sheepishly payed the £3 entrance fee, all the while smiling manically so not to upset anyone.  

my 80s arcadia was in fact an even less glamorous copy of where i'd practiced 'gymnastics'  age 5. 
hysterics ensued as, trying to stand up in mismatched skates, we realised that not one of us had the ability to roller skate. i had assumed it was something that came naturally to the limbs when removing them from the flat and placing them on wheels. a classic middle aged lush informed us "its like if you were squatting over the toilet" - surprisingly sound advice. 
i don't think i need delve into description about the bambi-like extravaganza that took place over the next hour, but what i will say is that any establishment that ok's the drinking of rosé from a glass bottle on a wooden floor BY A PERSON ON WHEELS is not a safe environment. 

at one point they played bulldog, that's right, bulldog. 

we styled it out to europe - the final countdown, left pissed, arrived home realising it was only 11pm. 
and after a somewhat scathing revue i can confirm that in this case, reality surpassed expectation. go to a shitty roller disco it will crease u up good and proper.  

Monday, 1 April 2013


i have decided it is time to share with the world the list of dancing instructions i wrote for me and isabel to follow in aid of chairty two years ago. taken down rigorously from fatboy slim's 'praise you' video, we reenacted it drunk to a room of about 13 people, who, after being so thoroughly entertained, sat bemused and unsure of why to 'bid' on such a spectacle.*
*it was a human charity auction or whatever the hell 

we are now embarking on a routine to the song 'poison' (bell biv devoe), if anyone has any suggestions they'd be appreciated since youtube has a lot of muddled original choreography that is a bit too amateur for our tastes.

Rise from foetal position with arms open
Hands in air for a second
Make like you are dancing with yourself one arm on chest other arm leading from left to right
Get excited with that move it gets more energetic
Jeer the crowd
Kick in comes: jump in the air like a ballerina trying to fly
Do it again but this time backwards, crouch every time you land
Making like you are dancing with yourself again but running in a circle
Backwards fish in circle
Put arms over head so that backwards fish goes in opposite backward direction
One arm on chest other in air (like Hitler) get loose and jumpy (remain in circle)
Classic disco aeroplane in circle formation 
A sort of boogie, main man may do a few thrusts 
Crouch on one knee (engagement position) with arms crossed and nod head like G man
asshole turns up and turns off the boom box - possibly incorporate this
Jump on the asshole like a koala 
Run around like you have lost control of legs
Spin on one arm
Make like when count Olaf is a dinosaur on a series of unfortunate events
Stand in line quietly shaking foot
Wave right arm in Mexican wave style
Wave left arm in Mexican wave style

Ninja style jump and crouch battle between two dancing people
Kick legs alternately in front of yourself while throwing arms in the air
Jump and pretend to be lifted by the host
Finish like a space ship is opening all of its sides

learn it, you have no idea how good this is to pull out in bad clubs, it both repels and attracts snogs, it allows u to lose yourself in the 4 minutes sandwiched between florence welch's 'youve got the love' and any of calvin harris' similar sounding colabs

(pictured above: live stills from routine)

Thursday, 28 March 2013


as someone with absolutely no idea of what's lurking on the fashion horizon, i have decided to make my own predictions for the next 1-2 years
maths tells me that after the 90s came the 2000s so DUH that's obviously what's next. i'm assuming that also means i can start wearing roll on body glitter and blue eye shadow again VERY SOON (amazing). i've already seen trouser-skirts come back in so i see no reason why we can't get more mileage out of this beautifully uncool era when people started listening to 'chill' albums and drinking more white wine 
(this is starting to feel like an extension of the time i played out a party on twitter set in a centreparcs with a group of 30 year old successfuls listening to top loader) 

here's some inspiration for all of u sick of the 90s trend, i think i like this more because from what i remember shit really wasnt cool in the early half of this decade:

(i suggest u press play on this now to get u in the mood) 

for the brit look i channel sophie ellis bextor in the 'groovejet' video

how cool and cosmopolitan, she looks laid back and possibly well traveled, i'm also thinking the crazy leader woman on the movie the beach, when was that released? like that also. 

here's a shot of me and my buddy rocking the equally laid back 'off the shoulder' look, really enjoying the gypsy inspired top on the right,  try find some flared jeans with a lace up section at the front they were classy. 

don't forget to take yourself seriously like craig david, you want to look cool but self assured. if you're a guy pull your beanie down to your eyebrows again, having it balanced on the end of your head is so tumblr 2012 now. 

now lets take a look at america for some glamorous inspiration: taking your smart/casual jeans and halter top  and giving them edge with diamantés and MORE eye shadow:
in fact after a brief google image search i'm calling this section: getting in tune with nature by tying it together with suede ribbon. 

 giant silver neck brace = glamorous 

as well as listening to crazy town butterfly i also suggest the album 'whoa nelly' by nelly furtado #imlikeabird
i feel like coordinating outfits is particularly key to the era, but if you don't have a girl band or a celeb boyfriend, ask your friends if they would like to join you, you could all have your belly buttons pierced on your shopping trip. this actually brings me very swiftly to my last piece of advice on your totally ahead of the times summer wardobe: belly bars/tattoos 
as i was only 8 in 2001 i liked to use transfer tattoos, often they were tribal styled yin yangs or graphic butterflies, but if like me you're now 19 or above you could even dabble in henna or permanent it is afterall your fashion conscious body 

i hope you are all feeling fabulous and raring to hit jane norman now, also if any of these gorgeous photos/videos are not frm 2000 and whatever then...SO WHAT, xXxXxXx

Wednesday, 20 March 2013


i haven't got a great deal to write about since my life has become slightly less ridiculous and decidedly more bearable. actually last weekend's trip to leeds would perhaps suggest it's become more ridiculous but i guess that depends on your point of view*. personally i felt it was very reasonable; what's a four hour bus journey to someone who spends 70% of their time sleeping? anyway my intention with this post is to accumulate all the things that i've found interesting in the last few weeks in the hope that they will lodge in my brain (im visualising my brain with postcards poking out of all the curly brain muddle bits). or at least then i can come back to this when i feel like i do nothing with my life and am a vacuous piece of human space waste with a ponytail.
*i went to stay with a boy i'd never met and spent a weekend at his house, many thought i'd eloped, including my mother 

 "She suddenly stood up in a room full of visitors, went to take a shower fully clothed, and returned dripping to sit on the sofa again."

As you can see surrealism is what's been occupying my thoughts for the most part, that and astrology which i bought a book on a few weeks ago. i'm now convinced i have an explanation for every relationship success and failure throughout my life based on the fact that my moon is in cancer and yours was probably up yr butt.

so long nerds xx