Just a quick rant..

I may become an asexual hermit. Men are strange creatures and whereas I know that women are an eternal mystery, men just baffle me and always will.

But the main thing that baffles me about men is my taste in them. I am really shallow when it comes to men. You can be a complete wanker with the humour of a courgette, yet if you wear skinny jeans and a trilby hat I'm easily tempted. Seriously, you can walk all over me, sleep with my best friend and poison my goldfish but if you walk with a slight swagger and rock a pair of insanely tight skinny jeans I will forgive all previous sins..

And it's not just me who seems drawn to hobo chic. Behind many beautiful celebrity women stands an unwashed figure decked out in a plaid shirt and pair of winkle pickers. Are they helping them with their bags? Hoping they can blag a free subway sandwich? No, they are adopting a smug smile because this trampish "I couldn't have showered less this week" look has won over the heart of another beautiful woman. Girls, why do we do this?!

Maybe it's judgemental to assume that all these men fall into the same poo smeared box personality wise. But when you've attempted countless times to open the box to these mens hearts only to be left with a broken heart (and poo smeared hands..you know, metaphorically) it's hard to see any other way.

Typical traits of the indie scenster tramp man:

- He eyes up your new Topshop jeans as his own.

- He cancels on your date/meeting the parents/ wedding day (assuming you get the indie scenster tramp man to propose..not likely) for an amazing gig that WILL propel his crappy pub band to nme's hot new artist status.

- He'd most likely dump you for the chance to hang off the arm of some Hoxton whore who swans around Bricklane with her pixie crop and hot mess of an outfit, waiting to be snapped by Facehunter.

- Tell him you saw his favourite new band (basically unheard of by anyone who doesn't live in East London) featured in Heat magazine's music section. Watch the hope drain from his pretentious face.

- He will never commit and will still be propping up the bar of Koko in his forties desperately hoping people will mistake him for Jamie Hince.


I must need help.

Unless you find the English drizzle endearing....

...You might want to explore a little further this summer. It’s fair to say I’ve always been somewhat of a homebody. School trips as a child were marred with emotional farewells to the parents and a week of crying because I missed my own bed. But with my first year of University approaching in the Autumn I decided a summer of travelling would be an enriching experience that would give my childlike self a independent kick up the backside.

I’d always viewed America as the UK’s ostentatious sibling. 90210 looking beauties on every corner and historical monuments being converted into new McDonalds. I’d never considered it as a place to travel mainly because its way of life seemed similar to mine. We spoke to the same language, ate in the same restaurants and read about the same celebrities. How could a summer in America differ vastly from a summer back home?
6 weeks of travelling around North America has left me with an endless list…

Trek America describes its tours as “exciting small group adventures” and seemed to cater for the solo traveller. I was instantly drawn to the Grand Trek. 42 days travelling around North America with a small group of young and hopefully tolerable people.
Four months of intense saving and budget living later I found myself in a hotel room in Secaucus, New Jersey, nervously anticipating the next 6 weeks of my life. Down in reception I met my tour leader Art. He greeted my group as “dudes” and “dudettes” and thought one of my fellow travellers tattoos was “completely rad”. His energy and warmth relaxed us all and nervous faces started to break into friendly smiles. We clambered into a van that Art described as “home away from home for the next 6 weeks”.

As soon as we hit the road, conversations began to flow whilst Art’s compilation of “Cheese tastic hits” played in the background. 7 hours of Abba later we arrived at a beautiful camp in Ohio, overlooking a lake. My tent buddy Caitlin was strides ahead of me when it came to putting up a tent and the whole thing was erected faster then I could say “what does a peg look like?” As a group we made a dinner of fajitas washed down with a few bottles of Corona. I watched the sun set over the lake with my new friends. I was a million miles away from home and I was perfectly happy to be there.

Despite the hectic nature of the tour, early mornings EVERY morning, different campsites every two days, you could rely on some sort of routine. Every morning we gathered around the campsites picnic bench for bagels and coffee before taking down our tents and packing the van, ready to hit the road again. The long drives would be broken up by “Gas stops” “Pee stops” and the always exciting “Gas stop, pee stop, lunch stop”.
The cities of America were so much more then I imagined they would be. Chicago reminded me of a more compact Manhattan. A bike tour around the city showcased its wondrous sights and sealed its fate as my favourite city. Las Vegas was most definitely a sin city. It made no apologies for its loud, bold attitude and I loved my time there (despite being under 21 and unable to drink or gamble, but I’m not bitter…much)

As the weeks past I found all my previous notions of America wash away. Despite the high rise cities, America’s landscape was so diverse. The first time we drove into Yosemite National Park I was blown away by the scenery. This was a side of America that Friends and Sex and The City had never shown me. A small group of us decided to attempt a 6 hour hike to the top of the waterfall. 8 hours later I finished with burnt shoulders, 7 insect bites and memories of the most breath taking views I hade ever seen.

When we visited Monument Valley, we stayed with a group of Native Americans called the Navajo tribe. I’d never seen such beautiful desert landscape before. As they danced and sang for us, I felt like a character in Pocahontas. If only my friends back in rainy old England could see me now I thought. Not a McDonalds or 90210 beauty in sight.
My favourite landmark was the Grand Canyon. We were woken up at four in the morning and sleepily piled into the van. It’s fair to say I’m not one for the early mornings but standing with my feet at the edge of the rock watching the sunrise over this magnificent piece of natural beauty, sleep was the last thing on my mind.
I’m glad to say that my summer in America gave me more then just independence. My travelling companions became my family and I’ve experience things I will never forget. Maybe America is the UK’s ostentatious sibling but like most outlandish characters, there’s more to them then meets the eye.

Who would have thought American Apparel would bring out my charitable side?

Moving away from London to pursue my dream of becoming a high flying Journalist or a top Pr professional was also a move away from a terrible temptress who had fuelled an addiction and drained me of my savings. Before you go thinking that this temptress involves illegal substances and back street dealings, you can check my arm for track marks and think again. This substance is completely legal and over the counter transactions take place on a daily basis. Walking the streets of London I am constantly at threat of being tempted. The bright lights, the welcoming faces and...the spandex. Yes that's right, my addiction is American Apparel.


There was a time in my life when I was happy mooching around in baggy skater jeans and a Paul Frank t shirt. There was also a time earlier to this when I was happy donning a Nike tracksuit and gelling my hair back but the less said about that fall from grace the better...


Over a year ago I accepted a job working in Oxford Circus. I'd always lived in London but around the outskirts where the fashion was more watered down and success was not defined by style. Central London acts as a catwalk for the typical 9 to 5 worker not to mention the fashion students who run riot on the streets in between lectures. It's safe to say that my Primark pencil skirt and crisp white blouse didn't exactly cause an uproar in the fashion stakes and like many young London women before me, I succumbed to fashion and bid farewell to financial savings.

University in Southampton was a fresh start, my new life as a budget living student who only splashes on stationery and the occasional pot noodle. Sure the high street shops were still looming but I could hold myself back from spending. I had a wardrobe full of dresses and contrary to any thought I'd ever had before, maybe there was such a thing as too many. Then I become charitable.

Save the Children on East Street. On the outside it masks itself as a charity, helping needy children and inviting me in with the promise of doing good for others and bettering myself. However, inside it accepts second hand items from American Apparel, piles of the stuff, boxes on certain days. As soon as I walked through the door I saw it. The rainbow of colours, the all in one suits....the spandex. The experience was a blur and I came out later armed with bags of discounted guilt. It was discount bingeing . It was hard enough to escape at the actual retail price but now I'm faced with the temptation at a third of the price AND I'm helping charity. It's an unbeatable combination.

So the moral of the tale goes like this. Addiction is not something you can run away from. It will always find you, sometimes in the places you least expect it. And if anyone asks, I do it for the children.