Tuesday, 29 December 2009

Christmas, Cheescake and Cynism...

In that order.

Following that, I was whisked to my aunties house in the Norfolk countryside where my Dad's side of family laid in wait to prime me with jugs of 'pimms' and red wine; fill me up with the cold meat from the day before and dunk my face in flour. Yes, it was the only thing for me in house full of male cousins under the age of 13. 

Upon returning to the ice laden roads of Luton, I sharpishly painted my nails and put on my sequin skirt ready for 'Boxing Day Dark Party,' a concept which my Grandmother refused to understand. Phil 'Nightwolf' Gordon had left my name at the door, allowing me to walk smuggly into the club without paying and feeling like the belle of the Luton indie scene. 

Monday, 14 December 2009

I'm really not supposed to...

But yes. You can call me anything you want..

Over the past couple of weeks I have been working hard to complete essays to deadlines, which left me a shivering, sobbing wreck at my desk, but my housemates and I celebrated Christmas on Friday night in a big way..

The day began with an early morning wake up call, cups of tea and a nice breakfast. Grace and I went into the city where we spent a good hour marvelling at all sorts in 'T-KMax,' a shop whose charms I was not familiar with, until now. Upon returning home we wrapped our 'Secret Santa presents,' which culminated in an unfortunate series of events which rendered me not only obsessive about toilet roll, but also possessive over wrapping paper in Grace's eyes. Luckily, it later transpired that the 'Rupert the bear' wrapping paper I had been carrying around all day was part of her present. For the record, under normal circumstances, I like sharing wrapping paper.

After mulled wine, mince pies, sweets and a lot of cider with art historian friends round at our festive palace, we departed for a late night burger at 'Captain Americas.' A border-line seedy diner tucked away in the heart of Norwich. This is where things get hazy. I remember ordering a deluxe burger and half a larger, followed by a strange mix up which resulted in after dinner mints being used as payment. Not bad. Following that, a jaunt around Norwich from 'Pow' to the 'Playhouse' and back to 'Pow' again, whilst constantly having my glasses topped up with wine from a plastic 500ml bottle tucked in Grace's bag.

Sunday, 29 November 2009

The Day After you Stole my Heart...

Everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you...

I can tell that it's getting wintry in Norwich. My hands are getting dry and chapped from being out in the cold. I have been sleeping next to a hot water bottle.
(Grace took this photo... Norwich by lamplight, winter here isn't bad.)

Me and my housemates went to a 'Communist' themed party a few weekends ago. We danced to the sounds of a Russian band and records from a bygone era. We dressed as Russians, the men at the party were looking particulary dashing in military atire. Through the wine-tinted glasses I began to understand the merits of Communism. Everyone was happy to drink a lot of vodka, wear fur, dance ridiculously to romantic songs and look irrationally hot. The atmosphere bloomed with moral, as everyone drank up and danced as if it were their last night. Afterall, who knows what another day in Communist Russia will bring.

When me and Grace stumbbled home we found this chap sleeping on the sofa....
Grace's brother, Alex, had come to Norwich especially for the occasion. He had returned home before us and was resting under a duvet next to the fire (aka: gas heater,) when we arrived back at 3.30am. Grace whipped up a rather delightful pasta dish in the kitchin whilst I fumbled about with spare duvets in the cupboard under the stairs in order to improve Alex's sleeping situation.... as he mumbled questions such as.. 'What, are you going to make me lie on the ironing board?'
We went to bed, full and slightly fearful that we had been born in the wrong time period and within the wrong political structure.

Monday, 9 November 2009

If I were a Guy.

A question raised by Grace has been stuck on my mind all day.
'If you were a guy, how would you dress.'

Well, Today, I would have worn a pair of skinny jeans tucked into motorcycle boots, with a plain T-shirt and plaid shirt over the top. Maybe a light jumper as well, a woolen scarf and if had been really cold a light denim or quilted jacket over the top.

As a general rule, Jeans would be long slung and skinny, a few slim pairs might sneak in to the wardrobe, and maybe one pair of quite baggy ones. There will be one pair of dark denim, one black, but the majority will be acid wash or very pale.

The bulk of my wardrobe would be made up of heavy knit jumpers and cardigans. Some vintage. Some new. They would be worn with one of the t-shirts from my vast collection, some would be new, some vintage, plain, printed, stripey. You name. I'd have it.

Shoes... high top trainers, converse, vans, motorcycle/ dr marten boots, periwinkles, lace up brogues. I tend to judge a guy on his shoes. Bad shoes is a deal breaker. No matter what. A man in good shoes will get you in trouble. Fact.

For formal occasions, things would be kept simple. I would take inspiration from 'The Beatles.'

My hair would be quite long. Always clean, wavy as is now and swishy, not particularly neat. I would have nice facial hair, which would be kept trim. I would always smell of clean laundry and soap. I would smoke roll-ups from time to time.

I like to think that I am quite a good authority on what guys should wear, given the amount of time I spend lurking in the menswear department at 'House of Fraser.' And, my personal belief that my taste in men is impeccable.
'Indie guys' rarely go too far wrong.

In Summary, an array of t-shirts. Heavy knits. Skinny Jeans. Good shoes.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

Find of the Year.

After a lot of blog talk this afternoon with my housemates in this living room..
I have decided that I am going to post to this blog a lot more often. 

So, last week I took a trip back to family home in Luton. It was nice to go back to a warm house and have my parents cook for me and ride in nice cars, among with all the other pleasantries associated with the return home. The downside of the whole visit was me getting a cold.

Either way, no matter what the night did for my swine-cold, it doesn't matter. Because, thanks to the carelessness of a group of drug dealing pals, I picked up a real life £50 note.
The pals danced happily with their wads of fifties, when one escaped to land, almost like a delicate swan.. (albeit, one whose feathers were tarnished with the seedy grime and grit of the coke dealers pockets) onto the sticky floor of 'the Edge.' I swiftly handed the note over to Matt, who scurried away with it to check it's authenticity away from prying eyes.
[... I would like to mention...that the said note was lying on the floor looking incredibly lonely for a good 1minute and 5seconds before I summoned the courage to pick it up. I gave them a chance to reclaim it, and at this stage still suspected it to be a fake. I did not steal it...]

The night progressed with a joyous memento when Matt returned to rejoice in the news that the note was real. We celebrated with a dance to 'Read My Mind' and made our way to the chip shop, to change and split our findings. I was overcome with guilt when the 'happy pals' stopped to speak to me and Jade as we waited for the chaps outside the chip shop. They complimented our outfits and, my personal favourite pal, said that he liked my scarf and wanted to buy it off me. I was tempted to name a high price, knowing he may as well have had a gold brick tucked inside his coat pocket. Alas, I said it wasn't for sale, and they left. Earlier that night the same 'pal' had told me he liked my hair, and I returned the compliment. It was long with a fringe. He looked like a cross between a stoner from the 1970s and Hugh Fernly Whittingstall, it was cool. He had nice pointy shoes as well, not your stereotypical drug dealer. In hindsight, he and his pals, may have just preferred to deal with all their financial endeavours in cash. Instead of plastic debit cards, they choose to carry their 'current accounts' with them at all times. Their savings, tucked neatly into an old shoe box safely at home in the bottom of their wardrobes. Oh hell...maybe keeping it was a bad idea..

With that, and my cold.. I suppose that my karma is balanced again.

Thursday, 8 October 2009

Do you miss home? ..Do you miss home?

And are you COOOOL?

I haven't blogged for a really long time. Which I am quite upset about.. But I have been using my 'Tumblr' account. Which can be found here: http://bethanybull.tumblr.com/

I have been quite busy with work at the menswear department in 'House of Fraser,' and also the start of my third year of my undergraduate degree. Things have been quite busy, But I'm fairly sure I did a good job on my first presentation this morning. But I am more excited about the cupcakes I made for my seminar group. They were brightly coloured, with glitter and little letters on the top saying things like 'cool' and 'friend.' I made a special one for my seminar leader, Ferdinand. It was bright pink with extra glitter and his name written along the top. He really seemed to be thrilled by it. I think that I will try and make cupcakes for people more often, since they are easy to make, and seem to a) make people happy and b.) make people like me.

Friday, 18 September 2009

In my room...

I miss you already... (Albert Hammond Jr)

I moved back to Norwich on Tuesday. I've been sorting out a lot of things, including getting a fairly awesome job in 'House of Fraser' which I start tomorrow. Here are a few pictures of my new house.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

You spilled your drink,

but you didn't mean to..

I'm moving back to Norwich in a couple of days. So, I've posted some of my favourite party pictures from the late summer nights, featuring my favourite Luton players. They're all pure gold. Friday night honoured the parties of summer, and for my very last Edge of Summer 09, we spent the time by acting like a group of obnoxious tarts. Just right.