tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88788025828148931232024-02-07T09:45:36.135+00:00Miss WriteThey say you should write what you know - but what do I know?<br><br>
At the dawn of my twenties, I find myself starting out in the capital, armed only with my laptop and and an inquisitive brain. This blog is about me finding my feet (in skyscraper Louboutins, I hope)<br><br>
Join me while I peruse the news, delve into the epicurean and generally overthink the world...<br><br>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-56968498374064640882012-04-18T18:14:00.003+01:002012-04-18T18:20:20.243+01:00The Voice: my kind of reality TVI recently re-read a rant of mine about last year's <i>X Factor</i>; specifically, about the <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/next-factor.html">number of shameless soundalikes</a> given airtime. Having watched new reality show concept <i>The Voice</i> over the past three weeks, it seems like the BBC read it too, thought, 'that IS uncool' and commissioned a show where having your own, unique voice is the very minimum required. <br />
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I love <i>The Voice</i>. I love it for Jessie J singing along and visibly willing people to be amazing, I love it for the ultra-camp WHOOSH as the chairs spin around, I love it for Will.i.am's unbelievable geeky, robotic weirdness and I love it for the almost complete absence of sob stories. I even love Danny ScriptQuiff's unbearable neediness.<br />
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While not all of the singers that have got through have my stamp of approval, how boring would life be if there was nothing to shout at the TV about? The potentially spine-tingling moment when an auditionee opens their mouth and the suspense of the chair-turning have me absolutely hooked.<br />
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Some people have moaned about Jessie J's loudness (love her), patterned shirt (love it) or interrupting (don't care, still love her), but I think the judges are a nice mix. You've got Tom Jones to soak up all of the naff cruise-shippy singers (who will hopefully go this week in the SING-OFF round!), Jessie to inspire tears and worship from every misfit auditioning, Will to deliver immense and unexpected <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7prsvOYBw5E">Michael Jackson impressions</a>, and Danny to silently scream 'LOVE ME!' with his eyes every time someone's picking their mentor. <br />
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I can't bloomin' wait for the sing-offs this weekend - way to tap into the Glee audience, BBC - and see how my favourites progress. Here they are, by the way...<br />
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<b>J Marie Cooper</b></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<i>Team: Will.i.am</i><b> </b></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
The redhead who absolutely stormed her audition with Mamma Knows Best, arguably Jessie J's hardest song to sing. I liked her style, I liked her attitude and her voice was just different enough from JJ's (a touch of jazzy vibrato for starters). Rumours abound that she's an evil diva, but I don't care. I like my divas evil, demanding and a bit mental.</div>
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<b>Ben Kelly</b></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<i>Team: Jessie J</i></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Ben had me at 'She
packed her bags last night, pre-flight'. Love Rocket Man as I do,
though, it was the risk-taking and piano skills that really sold this
one for me. He's quirkier and less marketable than the above, but I'm
feeling him from his bow tie to his red skinnies.</div>
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<b>Vince Kidd</b></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<i>Team: Jessie J </i></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Vince was a tough-looking platinum blonde with the piercings and the hood. But he showed his talent when he whipped out a funky, grinding cover of Madonna's bubblegum Like a Virgin, and his soft side when he was reduced to wibbly tears by the judges' praise. Can't wait to see what he'll do next.</div>
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<b>David Faulkner</b></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<i>Team: Jessie J</i></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
The only one smacking of 'underdog' that I liked, David was the Welsh builder who rocked Superstition. If he can apply his crazy vocals to something more contemporary, I'll like him even more. I also liked that other guy with the hat, but since I can't remember his name (and can remember his fiancee was called Twinnielee), he's out.</div>
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<b>Becky Hill</b></div>
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<i>Team: Jessie J </i><b><br /></b></div>
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I had to pick another girl, had to. I liked this one (although I wasn't enamoured with Jessie J turning her chair so early - seemingly because she'd picked her favourite song). I really wanted an amazing black mama with a huge voice, but didn't get one, or a gorgeous country and western type - and they rejected <a href="http://static.tellymix.co.uk/files/2012/04/thevoicewk4-harriet-whitehead.jpg">Harriet Whitehead</a>, who I thought was quite good. So I pick Becky, whose tone I liked and stood out for me among a few cruisey or shouty types.<br />
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The judges seemed to put through more females I didn't like than ones I did, which is odd. Loving the blokes though. And let's face it, Jessie's definitely got the best crop of artists. Do comment with who you've loved or hated, or if you totally disagree with me about the show.<br />
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Images: BBC</div>
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*Apologies for the amount of capitals, reality TV singing shows really bring that out in me.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-40670728757166482662012-04-13T17:09:00.002+01:002012-04-16T11:00:40.131+01:00Work experience moans: are they ever justified?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8; text-align: center;">
<i>The Devil Wears Prada</i>: the most famous magazine kiss'n'tell</div>
<br />
This afternoon I was recommended (and have been giggling at) this very amusing <a href="http://vagendamag.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/shut-in-fashion-cupboard.html#%21/2012/04/shut-in-fashion-cupboard.html">postmortem of a disappointing work experience placement</a> at a women's weekly on <i>The Vagenda</i>. Everyone who's ever had a media work placement will recognise this - the ennui, the tears, the photocopying.<br />
But amusing accounts aside, isn't it a bit much to bitch retrospectively about your work experience? I've had many a placement, ranging from 'tapping nails on desk waiting for another filing task' to 'sent to a film screening on my first night' on the workie Richter scale. I've moaned to my friends about bland days and snappy colleagues, for sure. But would I publish my dissatisfaction? I'm not sure.<br />
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I think people should debate about work experience - are we being taken for a ride? How much compensation, if any, is normal? Whose job is it to make sure you're busy/happy? But there is sort of an unwritten code in journalism that, publicly, we just get on with it, smile and say thank you, and stay quiet about any horrid employers. (I must point out at this juncture that I have blogged about internships, <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/feels-like-internity.html">with some reference to my personal experience</a> - but nothing like the roast this <i>Vagenda</i> writer has given her placement.)<br />
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The bottom line is, work experience is business. You go along, you put up with whatever they throw at you, grit your teeth when what they throw at you is returns forms and photocopying, and in exchange you get their publication's shiny, recognisable name on your CV. That name could be the thing that gets you your first paid job - especially if the person hiring has worked there and knows it's a nightmare. Sometimes just surviving is all the reference you need.<br />
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I think people that go along to work experience expecting a fun, tailor-made experience of the real job are kidding themselves. The publication is very much your choice - of course a women's weekly is going to be 'Kerry Katona's wardrobe' and real life stories. I wouldn't have booked myself in for two weeks at one. Many people go for smaller companies and niche publications, where the teams are inevitably more laid-back and give you lots to do - they could use the free help.<br />
<br />
Also, gritting your teeth and getting on with it can be the making of you. My very worst weeks at magazines only made me tougher and appreciate the job I have now every day. Of course it's hard at the time, especially if that time is the Christmas holidays of your very tough journalism MA when you could have gone on a mini break. How so many privileged <i>Tatler</i>-esque girls survive as fashion interns, I'll never know - I found it tough at women's mags when my previous experience was Woolworths stock rooms and rowdy Cardiff pubs. If you feel you're destined for <i>The Economist</i>, don't sign up for three weeks at <i>Heat</i>. Of course you'll hate every One Direction-slathered minute. (If I learned anything on my magazine-specific postgrad course, it was that one person's <i>OK!</i> is another's <i>New Statesman</i>.)<br />
<br />
Even though my fashion cupboard experience is limited to a few days here and there (I mainly worked with features teams, but volunteered the odd quiet day to do returns for the <i>Red</i> fashion team), it's actually quite a chilled experience. While everyone in the main office frantically chases PRs, conducts phone interviews and files copy way past deadline, the fashion cupboard is a little oasis of calm. You can have the radio on, chat to the other girls and make friends (an advantage the usually-solo features intern rarely enjoys) and bask in the coolly repetitive nature of the returns system.<br />
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I didn't have any loftier expectations when I did my postgraduate journalism placements than on my first rookie week as a 19 year old, and, true to form, the work I was given was less challenging than my previous 1-6 month internships. Of course it was. It's hard for a junior entrusted with a workie for a couple of weeks to delegate much responsibility.<br />
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I love a snarky post as much as the next girl, but I must defend magazine placements in this case. They provide a simple function; getting you your next placement or (hopefully) job. Take them for what they are or don't book yourself in at all. I know which option will get you further...<br />
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<div style="color: #f6b26b;">
Image: Twentieth Century Fox
</div>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-70768182896723936072012-03-05T17:54:00.000+00:002012-03-08T10:43:46.136+00:00Dear Men<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I would like to take a few minutes to address the men of the world. This is because I have noticed recently, and it does seem to be the portion of living males within myself and my friends' dating age range, that you seem to think it is OK to behave like utter vermin.<br />
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Maybe the world has lost a general sense of decency. Maybe your fathers were philandering anti-role models, giving you an odd compulsion to attract a mate but then quickly sabotage the situation with the gusto of a toddler making a sandcastle. Maybe your beloved pet recently died, sending you into a spiralling mentality preoccupied with darkness, futility and apathy. But I am calling time on the 'men are shits' parade - right now. <br />
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I didn't always feel like this towards you. I used to love meeting new men, finding out about them, all of their little quirks, playing the game. Now, it seems, one or two solid relationships into our twenties, we are not potential conversation and meal-sharing partners but faceless targets for astonishing levels of sleaze and timewasting.<br />
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I could blame your ex-girlfriends for no doubt 'messing you up', leading you to believe relationships were simple and long lasting and then running off with some tattooed lothario from the local indie bar. But at some point, a man in his twenties has to stand straight, look himself in the mirror and take responsibility for whatever kind of knobbery he is inflicting on unsuspecting womankind.<br />
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I never used to understand why women I knew stayed with the wrong man for years, or kept going back to someone who was never going to set their world alight (romantically rather than pyromaniacally speaking). Now I know. Because when they stepped, emotionally barefoot, into that big single world of dates and tentative texts, they were rewarded with nothing but bullshit.<br />
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I will never again admonish a friend for hotfooting it back to a shabby ex (or contemplating it) because it's seriously tough out there. There seems to be a trend for appearing completely normal and then knocking you for six with sudden, <a href="http://www.52firstdates.com/2012/03/catfish-strikes-back.html">unspeakable wankery</a>.<br />
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Boys - if it's genuine ignorance and you would like a legal document entitled Things That Are Not OK, please do just let me know. How we get from this stage of dating life freakshow to the one in the misty future where people are cohabiting and procreating all over the shop is beyond me. <br />
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I don't want this to be representative of the Miss Write experience since I hopped on a train to Cardiff, acquired all kinds of journalism savvy and snapped up a fabulous job and a cute little flat in the big city. It's been ace. But my goodness, do boys know how to erase all of that good feeling with blunder after blunder.<br />
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Yours sincerely,<br />
<br />
Miss Write (and females everywhere)<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Image: <a href="http://newsthump.spreadshirt.co.uk/evolution-of-man-A14431932">newsthump.com </a></span>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-14638142556146805042011-11-01T15:28:00.000+00:002011-11-01T16:32:03.605+00:00Some Like it Hot: still sizzling todayI've really enjoyed <i>The Guardian</i>'s series of <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/series/my-favourite-film">favourite film</a> and <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/series/my-favourite-album">album</a> blogs, so I was thrilled to see my personal favourite, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/filmblog/2011/oct/31/favourite-film-some-like-it-hot">Some Like it Hot</a>, pop up today as Becky Barnicoat's chosen flick. This film is cheeky, sexy, silly and hilarious. People who have just heard of it in passing or seen the iconic stills will think this film is popular because of Marilyn Monroe, the same way Breakfast at Tiffany's is cherished mainly for Audrey Hepburn's performance (despite having some iffy acting and some seriously un-PC content.) This is a bit of a myth. I do feel that Monroe is the only person who could have played the voluptuous, lovelorn Sugar Kane, smart enough to go on the run from heartache but dumb enough to fall for an imposter. But it is the script, the pace of the screwball plot and the combination of Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon that makes this film a classic.<br />
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I have had serious love for SLIH since, as a GCSE media studies student, I was told to go away and learn about comedy genres: parody, rom-com and screwball included. Some Like it Hot was the first video - yep, I'm that old - I picked up, and I was instantly enchanted. Two regular Joes (well, one Joe and one Gerry) have to get out of Chicago after witnessing the St Valentine's Day massacre and going on the run from the mob. Their best option is donning some hosiery and lippy and joining all-female jazz band Sweet Sue and her Society Syncopators to escape to Florida. The script is pow-pow-pow quickfire comedy, Tony Curtis is smooth saxophonist perfection (even in drag) and Lemmon's romance with Osgood <span class="st"><i></i>Fielding III sublimely ridiculous. </span><br />
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<span class="st">There is even some hot jazz along the way, with the sexy Runnin' Wild rehearsed on the train, Monroe's infamously slinky I Wanna Be Loved By You and her desperately sad rendition of I'm Through With Love at the climax of the film. Barnicoat mourns the lack of Technicolor in her blog post, but I think black and white makes this film what it is. Monroe's hourglass silhouette needs no zesty palette to improve it, Joe and Gerry's hastily-acquired drag looks just about convincing, and the whole picture just smokes with romance, mischief and jazz. </span><br />
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<span class="st">If you're in need of a cosy weekend film as winter takes over, or just haven't seen this enduring comedy yet, I would highly recommend it. I might even dig out the old VHS myself...</span>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-43929605758196390902011-10-05T13:20:00.000+01:002011-12-02T11:57:34.310+00:00Love Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have posted before with other <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/09/bitchin.html">blogs</a> I adore, but this one has something special about it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/">Letters of Note</a> is a collection of papers that have nothing in common except being in some way funny, touching or extraordinary. It frequently fills my eyes with tears of laughter or emotion (beware, desk readers), two recent examples being this hilarious response to a <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2011/09/its-more-likely-that-i-was-doing-911kmh.html">botched speeding ticket</a> and this gorgeous reply to a small boy from <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2011/09/each-of-you-is-special-just-because.html">a children's TV star</a>.<br />
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I have always been fascinated with letters. By the time I engaged in any sort of correspondence beyond the birthday thank-you note, mobiles, texting, email and instant messaging were all at their height. But so many of my favourite novels were filled with scribbling heroines, sisters swapping revelations via telegrams delivered on horseback and true love exquisitely expressed with only pen and paper, that I wished I had some reason to write to someone. My diaries may have provided a physical written outlet, but there's nothing quite like receiving a letter just for you. <br />
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Email and Facebook messaging are too instantly gratifying, too quickly back and forth, to replace the feeling of a long-awaited, carefully thought out reply on paper. During my first year at university I rather pathetically tried to resurrect the letter, demanding siblings and friends write to me in my pokey little halls room, but it never caught on. By the time the information had arrived, it was no longer relevant - everyone within reach of Facebook and text already knew. But as such I do have a few lovingly preserved missives from my sisters, mum and boyfriend at the time, so much lovelier to look at than a hastily-typed email.<br />
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Letters of Note is a treasure because it is a sort of online museum of correspondence. People bother to write and mail a letter for all sorts of reasons - gratitude, anger, sadness and usually, love. There is a letter from a man, dying of Leukemia, saying goodbye to his three-year-old son and one from a 26-year-old on death row thanking a reporter for believing in him (as well as lighter reading - see this <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2011/09/seven-little-men-help-girl.html">fake memo </a>from an irate Disney executive.) <br />
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What I love most about this blog is that what makes letters 'notable' is not simply their place in history or fame, but the sentiment within and the honesty or eloquence used to express it. It has inspired me to write more of my communications down on paper. Letters can be cherished, re-read and passed on to future generations and it seems a shame to lose that simply because I was born in the wrong century.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-367608285869648212011-10-01T22:34:00.001+01:002011-12-02T11:59:07.451+00:00The 'Next' Factor<div style="color: #f6b26b;">
There is something equal parts compelling and abhorrent about this year's X Factor. The contestants range from the bland to the surreal, with a few actual stars snuck in there to confuse things. One thing that has had me ranting at the TV every weekend is the judges' collective blind eye to anyone who sounds exactly the same as an existing artist. In fact they bloody love it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rz4mbMIxsd3gpNOgrOh4cjfFIZ5a9NKcR8oM057KM48_ePOUIdm__xdpXxukO46jqn2MbdG656O5YWOSaR9385nRM_g0UVBhQIOzEY0b_44vG-nIgLAU_SeinGWsAsKXFvq5XyF98rI/s1600/freaky+friday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rz4mbMIxsd3gpNOgrOh4cjfFIZ5a9NKcR8oM057KM48_ePOUIdm__xdpXxukO46jqn2MbdG656O5YWOSaR9385nRM_g0UVBhQIOzEY0b_44vG-nIgLAU_SeinGWsAsKXFvq5XyF98rI/s1600/freaky+friday.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freaky Friday?</td></tr>
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Irish imp Janet has clearly stolen Ellie Goulding's voice in a shady Little Mermaid deal (seriously, have you seen the Goulding anywhere lately? Yeah, she's off gesturing wildly at her throat while Janet strokes the shell necklace that is the source of all her muted, squeaky blahness.)</div>
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Adele-lite Jade has a voice that could lull you to sleep. Literally, because all we've heard since it dropped in January is Adele's bloody album, and one more husky note could actually anesthetize me. I love Adele as much as the next easy listener, but this snivelling Scot has 2% of her voice and 0% of her personality.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adele's voice would eat Jade's for breakfast</td></tr>
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Then we have Johnny, who I actually do love, mainly because I love a classic gay with a set of brilliant one-liners - "Those lads are like Chippendales; I'm more of a chipolata." However, he has got through entirely on a bizarre, nasal Etta James impression that clearly won't work with anyone else's songs. I'd keep him in for his 'Oooh matron' humour alone though (and the fact he is a real life <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h42VhC5qxh0">Derek Faye</a>.)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpYnDwfGPeLpIakamMK16lMDRnQ9Sr3hHtcv3yio2BADioeBXarx2zsDmqcu-BPxmS5OBq7b_JTPjIB1soSp3bsq5Mztc2yY16q4C2O9Px14QtdNmbZYTa82ZHtnwmDIlG4T6jb1guvI/s1600/odd+couple.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpYnDwfGPeLpIakamMK16lMDRnQ9Sr3hHtcv3yio2BADioeBXarx2zsDmqcu-BPxmS5OBq7b_JTPjIB1soSp3bsq5Mztc2yY16q4C2O9Px14QtdNmbZYTa82ZHtnwmDIlG4T6jb1guvI/s1600/odd+couple.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who dear, me dear, Etta James dear? Yes dear</td></tr>
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Luckily many have been cut by this point, but we also waded through a guy trying his best to be Damien Rice but coming out a bit Damien Semolina, a Shania Twain lookalike wearing an actual cowboy hat and even two clear Glee obsessives channelling Finchel. Not one of these people sounds like anything near themselves, and yet we hear the word 'original' bandied around far too much. Why is no-one pointing out that yeah, you can hold a tune, but you're holding it in the tribute-act style of Tina Turner? Even 'larger than life' lezzer Sami is a strange Jo from S Club/Jane McDonald hybrid. </div>
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They're no better across the pond; fantastic 18-year-old hopeful Melanie Amaro strolled in with a killer set of lungs and a fresh face, but sang Listen note-for-note AS BEYONCE. It was like she was auditioning for Beyonce's maternity cover.</div>
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There is a point at which imitation stops being flattering and starts being frightening, and I think this is that point. Not one of the US X Factor judges pointed out this weird Sasha Fierce ventriloquism; Paula Abdul even called her 'original.' Maybe on Paula's medication that sounded original, but from where I was sitting it was pretty carbon copy.</div>
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Come on X Factor, have another look at your show's name (and its definition) and let's get some vaguely interesting people in there, preferably singing in the voice they were given.</div>
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My tips are Misha and Amelia Lily from the girls, The Keys and The Estrelles from the groups and John from the boys. But going on the show and its hype so far, we'll end up instead with a whole new range of artists sounding exactly like someone already in the charts. Le sigh. </div>
<br />Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-81356093807404515722011-07-20T17:38:00.018+01:002011-07-20T18:51:29.545+01:00The C Word<br>I've dated them. I sit next to one on a daily basis. I'm even starting to embrace being one.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N_7G-sJW4qKw4yvUmaEzealMADV3x10lBSvRxzQbeo6mJMIfopAVqvCWSqErSo48XbcKUenZTq9GohoycIAlzY9mGlHnQVRSAYqZPEQo4kt63wUM-kgIGimSz0cbzIYCcsPMqnyvzLE/s1600/commuters.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N_7G-sJW4qKw4yvUmaEzealMADV3x10lBSvRxzQbeo6mJMIfopAVqvCWSqErSo48XbcKUenZTq9GohoycIAlzY9mGlHnQVRSAYqZPEQo4kt63wUM-kgIGimSz0cbzIYCcsPMqnyvzLE/s400/commuters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631476750187406498" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />That's right, I'm now a fully-fledged commuter.<br /><br />Commuting is something people always tend to moan about. The early starts, the timetable disruptions - not to mention the time spent with your septum wedged in some less-than-fragrant armpits. But the truth is, I love it.<br /><br />Yes, there is the odd day when you wish you cycled ten minutes to work somewhere dainty like Stow-on-the-Wold. One such was Monday night, when someone's delightful decision to end it all between a fast train and the tracks at Wimbledon meant I left for work at 7.30 and got home at 9. You know you're a hardened commuter when your first sharp reaction to a fatality announcement is, 'Why not a Southern train, you Guildford-hating bastard?'<br /><br />So, why do I love the extra two hours (at least) added to my working day?<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">The Gift of Time</span><br /><br />I'm one of those people who rarely uses their flopping-on-the-sofa hours after work wisely. I would rather watch trashy TV than pick up a novel, read <span style="font-style:italic;">Glamour</span> in the bath or do my nails than go to an evening class. But my mind is miraculously hungry on the 7.51 train, and that's when I get my reading done.* One morning a week I learn Greek on my iPod, although vigorously mouthing a grecian 'Are you here on work or pleasure?' or scribbling a baffling alphabet in a notepad is unlikely to win me any commuting admirers.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">The Sound of Silence</span><br /><br />Ah, the sweet, sweet sound of seasoned commuters ignoring each other. Now and again a rookie will step into the carriage, talking loudly on their phone or blasting Rihanna from inadequately insulated headphones, and we who have committed to this unwritten code of aural lockdown will glare deafeningly in their direction. Britishness at its best.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">The Sense of Purpose</span><br /><br />I like to be going somewhere. I'm not someone who enjoys spells of unemployment (I know, I know - wrong industry), or longs to live a WAG-tastic life. The feeling of getting up early, having a brisk walk, then watching suburbia shoot by and the city roll into view just suits me fine.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">The Extended Morning</span><br /><br />This is less poetic, more pragmatic. If I were ever to live ten minutes away from my workplace, Lord knows what I would do. A bag of Mary Poppins proportions supplies me with make-up, moisturiser, a hairbrush, spare shoes and even on occasion, breakfast. On those cursed days when a sprint for the train means flats, frizz and perspiration, all can be rectified on the move.<br /><br /><br />So while I may aspire to move further into the city this year or next, and perhaps sacrifice my morning train time by doing so, for now my commute adds more to my day than simply hours. Don't see it as a waste of time; put it to good use and you'll be well-read, frizz-free and desk ready by 9am.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzm4myI6Nxte7h4ZpzrdEfF4sGuLgvxr8BougcB8Kj7R9Sdf8vhJ0m_N51DwxCUkwJgowc5E1MvXT9imEoxs2aJzZaGs-qhl4kXsxPCkB9FYOaCH4e46rKE1Mk1tzS3Q4ebqQ40qAbyY/s1600/DSCN1126.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyzm4myI6Nxte7h4ZpzrdEfF4sGuLgvxr8BougcB8Kj7R9Sdf8vhJ0m_N51DwxCUkwJgowc5E1MvXT9imEoxs2aJzZaGs-qhl4kXsxPCkB9FYOaCH4e46rKE1Mk1tzS3Q4ebqQ40qAbyY/s400/DSCN1126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631489618260800258" border="0" /></a> *I've just wept through the end of <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Book-Thief-Markus-Zusak/dp/0552773891">The Book Thief</a> </span>and started on <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wolf-Hall-Hilary-Mantel/dp/0007230206/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311182500&sr=1-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Wolf Hall</span></a>, both glorious. As you can see, my stack of morning reading is fairly substantial, but new tips are always welcome.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-size:78%;" >Top photo: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/steve_way/">steve_w</a></span>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-69552329470712234522011-06-23T18:48:00.010+01:002011-06-23T20:27:37.328+01:00REVIEW: BridesmaidsToday I found out I've landed some much-needed employment, and to celebrate I took myself out to see the movie of the moment, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1478338/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Bridesmaids</span></a>. Now and again, a film comes along that you spend more time reading about than watching. Whatever I had built up <span style="font-style: italic;">Bridesmaids</span> to be in my head, it was totally different. Quirky, yes; full of charismatic women, yes. But it wasn't fully about the hellish journey from dress fitting to Big Day; it was a direct split between wedding disasters and the spiralling life of lonely protagonist Annie (writer <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8g_EUKgesM0">Kristen Wiig</a>.) Rather than giving a human edge to the more heavily-advertised half of the plot, this strand just made me wonder if Wiig had found opportunities for bridesmaid antics a bit thin on the ground.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkOhhEH2Xt7kQGBZdZLDtmKCL4AdW6_Me6IZoxp5C0gR1c4yXDCC8MtPB7YfK_DtB2M4v2-DSsOwmp1YmPJ-yUVqEw_hNDXbitIrc_3nf3KAY8-T7elCX4P1bjuh4boC0W9eWBAuMlLs/s1600/bridesmaids-movie-poster.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkOhhEH2Xt7kQGBZdZLDtmKCL4AdW6_Me6IZoxp5C0gR1c4yXDCC8MtPB7YfK_DtB2M4v2-DSsOwmp1YmPJ-yUVqEw_hNDXbitIrc_3nf3KAY8-T7elCX4P1bjuh4boC0W9eWBAuMlLs/s400/bridesmaids-movie-poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621478316499525874" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 153);font-size:78%;" >Melissa McCarthy, Ellie Kemper, Rose Byrne, Wendi McLendon-Covey, Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1018488/"></a></div>Don't get me wrong, this film is definitely worth a look. A few scenes are indeed laugh-out-loud, most are just amusingly surreal. Annie, already on a relationship and career low, is thrown when her oldest friend Lillian (Maya Rudolph) gets engaged, but leaps at the chance to be her maid of honour. The most amusing obstacle comes in the form of Helen (Rose Byrne), Lillian's glossier and richer 'new' best friend, and the two women's sneaky battle for best BFF is nothing short of hilarious. Byrne is deliciously despicable, and Wiig charmingly neurotic. For me, Annie's predictably schmaltzy romance with cop Nathan (played by the IT Crowd's <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/starsandstories/8579986/Chris-ODowd-Interview.html">Chris O'Dowd</a>) only detracted from the insane brilliance of the all-female moments.<br /><br />The only part that lived up to the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrRd2QSsGc4">trailer</a> and the <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/jun/23/bridesmaids-review">reviews</a>, though, was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fGveZA1H78">Melissa McCarthy's</a> performance as boisterous sister of the groom Megan - one of the best rom-com characters I've seen in a long time. And this <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> a rom-com. While critics claim it rivals dick-flicks such as <span style="font-style: italic;">The Hangover</span> - and it does break ground in terms of vomit, swearing and realistic-looking women - the central romance, and Annie's anxiety about losing her friend, still keep it in traditional wedding-comedy territory.<br /><br />In fact, I would've liked to see less of Annie's sad singledom (except for the painfully spot-on guy stringing her along at the beginning of the film) and more of Annie and Lillian's relationship. There was more than enough sentiment to be wrung from the erosion of the best friend bond, and I could take or leave the cop romance.<br /><br />Still, there are laughs a-plenty, if not, as journos such as <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/jun/18/zoe-williams-sketch-bridesmaids-the-film">Zoe Williams</a> have implied, gallons more wit or feminist pizazz than most decent romantic comedies. There is one particularly brilliant scene on a plane to Vegas, supporting bridesmaids Becca and Rita keep it light and funny, as do colourful characters like Annie's mum - who goes to AA meetings just for fun - and surreal roomates Brynn and Gil (Rebel Wilson & our own Matt Lucas.)<br /><br />Wiig's <a href="http://insidemovies.ew.com/2011/05/16/bridesmaids-catapults-kristen-wiig/">Saturday Night Live</a> past is evident in the ballsy screenplay; the film opens with the same song as ex-SNL colleague Tina Fey's teen masterpiece <span style="font-style: italic;">Mean Girls, </span>and clearly aspired to a similar level of bizarre to her sitcom<span style="font-style: italic;"> 30 Rock</span>. Sadly, I just didn't feel it lived up to Fey's fast-paced, wordy scripts, instead resorting to vomit, bad sex and in-flight drugs to fuel the comedy.<br /><br />I can't tell if the amount of hype ruined it, and had I just walked into screen 8 on a Thursday afternoon whim I would have been raving about it, but I'm not sure <span style="font-style: italic;">Bridesmaids</span> is the innovative and stunning comedy the press has built it up to be. There are lovable characters and memorable moments, and Wiig has fantastic comic timing, but I don't know if I'd buy the DVD.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s1600/Star+Purple.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 32px; height: 32px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s400/Star+Purple.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621492249304843874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s1600/Star+Purple.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 32px; height: 32px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s400/Star+Purple.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621492249304843874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s1600/Star+Purple.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 32px; height: 32px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgQGtmjfBo3DjS0YZz1ic9OoJh-j41X-5DLvYOVIGZGg6r7sXZfLnmf5XIZ4988vAVqhMZVsfitqy7awyPABFFpmLkJAyftSOZuSzk7B-R29H7C53zsWpsuf-bkamp99avqTjxgzdS7U/s400/Star+Purple.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621492249304843874" border="0" /></a>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-86096914455797347142011-04-19T12:04:00.008+01:002011-04-19T13:02:30.375+01:00True BeautyA song came on my iPod this morning that I realized I always skip, but have never deleted. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">Beautiful</span> by Christina Aguilera, now best known for being smotheringly overplayed circa 2003, and subsequently murdered by numerous talent show contestants. But when the song came out, it was a remarkable pop milestone. Not simply for Aguilera's catchy defiance, but for the haunting, controversial video that came with it (directed by Jonas Akerlund.)<br /><br />A great teacher sat down my entire school year one morning, buzzing with attitude, prejudice and disrespect for their state education, and made us watch every frame. Men kissing, drag queens dressing, anorexics gazing in the mirror - you could have heard a pin drop. Uncomfortable perhaps, but it was a bold move in a school where homophobic bullying was part of the daily dialogue, and so many labels in that video were feared and targeted.<br /><br />I can remember being absolutely astounded by the video myself, liberal as I was - gay kisses and diversity in general being even less visible in the media back then. I had completely forgotten about that moment until today, and am infuriated that I can't remember my peers' reactions to the video.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCPuDFY1O8ExCp6w3y9ReDyrArs3zbFiE8WHpsG7mDXaMPId6rfED6YSgcJZFclanmF9QWtUPsPMcW9iv2ld53XdOgnGX3Mpf0PO0WseBjYKcKcsxAT5bS-FH2VawQu6S2Wi4gGrFAGw/s1600/r30421_300.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCPuDFY1O8ExCp6w3y9ReDyrArs3zbFiE8WHpsG7mDXaMPId6rfED6YSgcJZFclanmF9QWtUPsPMcW9iv2ld53XdOgnGX3Mpf0PO0WseBjYKcKcsxAT5bS-FH2VawQu6S2Wi4gGrFAGw/s320/r30421_300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597261505026862738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I guess I just want to credit Aguilera for championing love and beauty in all its forms, long before Gaga ever burst onto the scene. Ms Germanotta has done fabulous work raising awareness of issues like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG5VK2lquEc">Don't Ask, Don't Tell</a> and making a generation of 'little monsters' feel like they belong, but she does it with savvy lyrics and red carpet publicity stunts, rather than anything as daring as the <span style="font-style: italic;">Beautiful</span> video.<br /><br />The song was recently voted the <a href="http://therainbowpost.com/2011/04/08/christina-aguileras-beautiful-named-most-empowering-gay-anthem-of-the-decade/">most empowering</a> of the last decade for gay and bisexual people in a poll by Stonewall (<span style="font-style: italic;">Born This Way</span> came in third.) A cynical person might think that Gaga and Christina's 'people' both identified a powerful gay market to seduce and went for it, but as this type of reaching out isn't typical to Aguilera's back catalogue, I still believe her song is heartfelt. Gaga may be giving the LGBT community something to rave to, but Christina gave them an anthem.<br /><br />Under the video on YouTube, the following message was posted just yesterday:<br /><div style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);font-family:arial;" class="content"> <div class="comment-text" dir="ltr"> <p><span style="font-size:85%;">Dear Christina,</span></p> <p><span style="font-size:85%;">I am 18 and gay. I try to make the best of it but sometimes living in a house of homophobes can bring me down. But when ever I feel awful, I put on this song and feel stronger. I couldn't thank you more.</span></p> <p><span style="font-size:85%;">-Chris </span></p> </div> </div><br /><br /><object width="480" height="327"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/video/x1g0hr?theme=none"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/video/x1g0hr?theme=none" wmode="transparent" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="480" height="327"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1g0hr_cristina-aguilera-beautiful_music" target="_blank">Cristina Aguilera - Beautiful</a> <i>by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/shqrk" target="_blank">shqrk</a></i><br /><br />It is important not to become complacent, thinking the world has moved on since that video. Last week, the landlord of the John Snow pub in Soho, of all places, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/apr/14/gay-claim-ejected-pub-kissing">removed two men</a> on a first date for kissing, reportedly calling their behaviour 'obscene.' Pink News today reported that Facebook has <a href="http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2011/04/18/facebook-removes-gay-kiss-photo-for-being-sexually-suggestive/">removed a picture</a> of two Eastenders characters kissing (yes, fictional characters) from a blog post in support of the 'kiss in' now being organised in reaction to the incident. My home town's MP and a coalition Minister of State, Chris Grayling, was in hot water this time last year for suggesting that B&B owners should be allowed to <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/8602371.stm">refuse gay couples.</a> I can't find one still online of that kiss in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Beautiful</span> video.<br /><br />Whatever people's personal squeamishness about watching same-sex couples express their affection, there has to be equality when it comes to public places and forums. Get involved, question these things. Don't sit back and let the lifestyle of more than 3 million Britons become erased from our public landscape. Words may not bring us down, but we can challenge the actions of a prejudiced few.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-36330023550083350362011-03-03T21:49:00.015+00:002011-03-04T11:45:46.778+00:0010 years of GlamourWhilst on my magazine journalism course, I've been looking at my mag-habit a completely different way. We're told in lectures that women are largely impulse buyers, while men are more brand loyal, but I have basically bought the same magazines for years. A couple of monthlies, a couple of trashy weeklies, and the odd giant, luxurious Vogue or Vanity Fair for fun. The only one I buy practically every month is <span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Glamour</span>, which today celebrated 10 years on our newsstands.<br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxJA-QnReAFVtiCGpDhDApUc_4N7S0kuowSljVTH0xBqj7_ZYdbqyURXAK5RwpYp-R7KTB8CRZpEFO5IeVyA4l3xuVVR_sHRWqpGh2B1R8VX0cxasO5XyYP_SATEC4Irc13DIDszcyZg/s1600/glam10.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxJA-QnReAFVtiCGpDhDApUc_4N7S0kuowSljVTH0xBqj7_ZYdbqyURXAK5RwpYp-R7KTB8CRZpEFO5IeVyA4l3xuVVR_sHRWqpGh2B1R8VX0cxasO5XyYP_SATEC4Irc13DIDszcyZg/s400/glam10.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579975239408787410" border="0" /></a><br />Glamour was launched in 2001 as the smaller-sized magazine "that fits in with your life, as well as your handbag." I'm trying to work out from which point I started reading (I was 14 in 2001), but when I look at the first ever issue, currently published in PDF format on their <a href="http://www.facebook.com/glamourmaguk">Facebook page</a>, I feel like I remember the cover. Maybe I had it or my elder sister did. I do know I've been reading it many years before I hit their market age range of 25-35.<br /><br />So what's so great about Glamour? It has a real mix of subject matter and feature treatments - not Cosmo-sexpert, not Elle or Vogue-fashionista, but friends, single life, relationships, style, beauty, health and culture. I just flicked through that first issue and it was a really good read. Most of the celebrities featured have remained high-profile; Kate Winslet was their coverstar as a fresh-faced new mum, Gwyneth Paltrow's wardrobe was the most desirable and Victoria Beckham wrote a style feature.<br /><br />It had tips on entertaining, timeless beauty, great reads (I think they would be wise to go back and extend their books content) shocking real-life features and fabulous celebrity access. I still read it every month, but I do think Glamour's upmarket content has slipped from that glossy first go. There used to be a layer of celebs who were Glamour-worthy; Rachel Weisz, Liv Tyler, Halle Berry, Cate Blanchett, Sandra Bullock and Natalie Portman all graced the cover in its first three years. Now, you're more likely to find Katie Price, Lily Allen and even Abbey Clancy staring back at you. Either the 'Glamour woman' has changed, or the team's budget and access has.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphkkITE0vMikLQ3VZgviW9o-JkAbnpm_G5xRiZVKFxHNIqf4VjkGpfQ6zwqZ5FAsHaLILcMAGb94iri1rSxNoNV1mVuWaD_xVFlEx6J2xv8p1h03gxXS9O7b388yVLDuqLBxKHqc6zAg/s1600/glamjordan.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphkkITE0vMikLQ3VZgviW9o-JkAbnpm_G5xRiZVKFxHNIqf4VjkGpfQ6zwqZ5FAsHaLILcMAGb94iri1rSxNoNV1mVuWaD_xVFlEx6J2xv8p1h03gxXS9O7b388yVLDuqLBxKHqc6zAg/s400/glamjordan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579980927044188898" border="0" /></a><br />Obviously their sales figures must look favourably on La Price, or she wouldn't have popped up multiple times, but putting her there seriously downgraded the escapism and luxury factor for me. Similarly, Abbey Clancey's recent cover was a tie in with The Great British Hairdresser, on which editor Jo Elvin appears. It was trying to make a case for Abbey being misunderstood by the press, and really being a very sweet girl, but I think it missed the mark on what readers so love about Glamour.<br /><br />Elvin has steered the ship since the launch (and writes a practically perfect first editor's letter in Issue 1.) In a recent lecture, Haymarket publishing veteran Mel Nicholls used Glamour as an example of brilliantly written and designed coverlines. They use bold sans-serif font, different sizes and colours, and highlight numbers, key words and hot lists. They especially know when to push a great offer or competition.<br /><br />Features wise, Glamour isn't afraid to throw in something a bit political, controversial or uncomfortable. Recently they ran a feature about women in their twenties and thirties getting sick of hearing about other peoples' babies, which I'm sure got a lot of flack. But the team are not afraid of stirring up debate; post-Twitter, I even had a <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/06/c-for-controversy.html">little clash</a> with Elvin last year over their Women of the Year choices. She's very Twitter-active and often responds to reader comments.<br /><br />I've also done work experience at Glamour, and the team were very lovely (and truly glamorous) in person. It's successful for a reason, and that reason is a good sense of consistency, reader needs and marketing genius. I love their little franchises and would miss them if they went: Hey, it's Ok, the witty lists on the last page, and the more recent Celia Walden lunch interview. I think Glamour deserves some serious applause at its birthday celebrations tonight. I think it's the cream of women's mags, and manages to be universally appealing without trying to please all the people all the time. Bravo.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">Here are some of my favourite covers from the last decade (often the month they stopped dialling Britney and took some risks):</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aDarcnPrPWlHpoDD6ODBCTqOVFFBzUr21SG3CUzL3obQVsW70-jKDgYIKchu8lsffhrRkrTvML9kEcJQOWS9ahe6HhCUU7dRTQGSflj5rVMP2vYASOscu14k7VZyonrw2yZUhIlv29U/s1600/glamrenee.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aDarcnPrPWlHpoDD6ODBCTqOVFFBzUr21SG3CUzL3obQVsW70-jKDgYIKchu8lsffhrRkrTvML9kEcJQOWS9ahe6HhCUU7dRTQGSflj5rVMP2vYASOscu14k7VZyonrw2yZUhIlv29U/s400/glamrenee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579984388866804530" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">November 2004:</span> Renee goes brunette.<br />The focus is unusually on fair skin and piercing eyes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgtz1RcYxcPHW-dhBPieQS2KSqc_hT4rPZeUqrKa9hcS-wk5-oTHMKWYO1pQhnWkZYTDQ4MnVsC30lB3nuWIaXbgGjehhXoeOGeAqp1Yp4y8lrb-n1FHSadjnmq2LH1hGzdXOOvsT6Fo/s1600/glamcharlies.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgtz1RcYxcPHW-dhBPieQS2KSqc_hT4rPZeUqrKa9hcS-wk5-oTHMKWYO1pQhnWkZYTDQ4MnVsC30lB3nuWIaXbgGjehhXoeOGeAqp1Yp4y8lrb-n1FHSadjnmq2LH1hGzdXOOvsT6Fo/s400/glamcharlies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579984803879850546" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">July 2003:</span> Charlie's Angels. Glamour<br />breaks with industry tradition and triples<br />their cover star. Smokin'.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivosmtrAUaoDVAzjEdMn7MvYuI9HVzdSqW_mSTFfyJBYJqhe80dJT_R0tSo_mULB9MweyFV0RuUTiYA1XEjDfk8I-pJPw93h871jSNgegDIY6GoFRL1jS89qOK910L9FZqxb63SgIFl5Q/s1600/glamleona.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivosmtrAUaoDVAzjEdMn7MvYuI9HVzdSqW_mSTFfyJBYJqhe80dJT_R0tSo_mULB9MweyFV0RuUTiYA1XEjDfk8I-pJPw93h871jSNgegDIY6GoFRL1jS89qOK910L9FZqxb63SgIFl5Q/s400/glamleona.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579985203245207186" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">December 2008: </span>Leona isn't the most exciting of celebrities, but as well as being one of their few mixed-race cover stars, it also looks like they've let her be herself. I also have to give them snaps for putting a cosy jumper on the cover in winter, rather than a skimpy party dress (see also Charlotte Church <a href="http://www.mydaily.co.uk/2010/11/03/charlotte-church-embraces-her-curves-again/">last December</a>.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYbb47OWOiyaSb3zCJCa9mheuzJOJ5ETOgWfB81k9bPxZ_4wKN5s4rEF1STo_ZSWRnMRl9bsG-NgiTOwsFUzMOGSvQeX07jkZpOcNEuWziA6YUBlIWWA5Yl0MzC5cb41qBsbbmAJFqyM/s1600/glamleighton.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRYbb47OWOiyaSb3zCJCa9mheuzJOJ5ETOgWfB81k9bPxZ_4wKN5s4rEF1STo_ZSWRnMRl9bsG-NgiTOwsFUzMOGSvQeX07jkZpOcNEuWziA6YUBlIWWA5Yl0MzC5cb41qBsbbmAJFqyM/s400/glamleighton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579985987893476146" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);">December 2009: </span>Leighton Meester<br />They also recently put her co-star Blake Lively on the cover, but<br />this shows a nod to the future of glamorous Hollywood, as a<br />new generation comes up through the ranks. More Blair and<br />less Jordan, please!<br /><br /><br /></div>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-56886908618656585872010-11-04T17:55:00.002+00:002010-11-04T18:14:18.416+00:00Bloggers bite back...A guest lecturer today told my year of journalism students that blogging is not opinion, it is a conversation. This started me thinking about little old MissWrite, and how I got to where I am with it today. I started off just wanting to comment on things I saw and heard, much like a columnist would (except a columnist usually has some sort of authority or status that makes that column worth reading.) I had only my thoughts, my laptop, and at times, my temper. I have always sort of thought that blogging was about sharing your opinion, and to some extend I still believe that. What <a href="http://www.onemanandhisblog.com/">Adam Tinworth</a> was saying was that your blog has no commercial value, no stamp of valuable journalism (rather than citizen journalism) unless you offer a concept and engage with other people online in your analysis of it.<br /><br />This, in turn, got me thinking about the comments function of a blog. I was delighted the first time MW received a comment; a little thrill of 'I exist!' (in cyberspace) ran through me and a blogger was born. We only write to be read, after all. But I have been slapped over the wrist on more than one occasion by commenters who thought I couldn't take fair criticism. I had one anonymous troll (I'm still convinced they're one and the same) who just had it in for me. The different between their disagreements with my posts and others' was that it was personal, pedantic and laced with venom. Every not-quite-literal phrase was picked up and every motive questioned. So I chatted back to them, not in an especially feisty way really, but genuinely wondering what their issue was. And swiftly, I was told by the blogging community that we just don't do that - accept their comments with grace or don't blog at all. I remember someone commenting that 'If I wanted to get into this line of work, I should expect to be criticised.'<br /><br />I do expect feedback (and get it in gallons on this course, an avalanche of red pen) but which overlord of the blogosphere decided I couldn't react to it? As I suspected, and Tinworth confirmed today, it is a two-way conversation. If people are allowed to comment on my ramblings, I am certainly allowed to comment on theirs. And so the circle continues. Stephen Fry has today - and lots in the past - <a href="http://www.stephenfry.com/2010/11/04/silliness/">used his blog</a> to defend himself from rumour and negative press. Good on him - if he was indeed misquoted, why shouldn't he have a platform for rebuttal?<br /><br />Similarly, a peer brought <a href="http://www.nme.com/blog/index.php?blog=140&p=9345&title=rihanna_loud_first_listen&more=1&c=1">this blog</a> to my attention today. NME receive a lot of web comments, some clearly on a mission to ridicule their brand in general, and today a couple of their writers got in and debated with the 'trolls' that were beginning to depress them. Why not? It's their job to report on things, and if people are just blandly criticising the topic (which they clicked on), the website (which they clicked on) and not discussing the points made in the blog, I think it's fair game to knock them back in your own comment. What do you think? Is there an unwritten code of conduct for bloggers to remain quietly dignified? Comment away - but don't expect me to stay out of it.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-54890813986701274352010-10-22T19:26:00.003+01:002010-10-22T20:22:57.272+01:00Cute as a cupcakeSince I returned to student life, I must have made about 150 To Do lists, all scribbled on cheap Wilko ruled paper and lost to the bottom of a bag or the floor of a lecture theatre. Every time I tick something off mentally, another task pops up and I panic just a little. So I thought a while back of buying a little whiteboard to keep a rolling list of errands and course work, but even Argos, would you believe, charges extortionately for <a href="http://www.argos.co.uk/static/Product/partNumber/0177366/Trail/searchtext%3EWHITE+BOARD.htm">these things</a>. I'm so glad I didn't buy this clunky school version, because today when I was in good old New Look (buying shoes, I confess) this absolute beauty of a board was in their crafty impulse buy section:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqsuJ-XJSxC0LZ_wuo12eKFR-vmf5NXDqKilROwmkb_H5iai8r5pI3Fzdb6Hyw8wV_7Dxoq7daJuAY6z6ctjkmLyR_7lWkjVW3gGShO9YY-XAGHw-AdOoq9nFZ74k93vv78z0ylyXfuA/s1600/DSCN0019.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqsuJ-XJSxC0LZ_wuo12eKFR-vmf5NXDqKilROwmkb_H5iai8r5pI3Fzdb6Hyw8wV_7Dxoq7daJuAY6z6ctjkmLyR_7lWkjVW3gGShO9YY-XAGHw-AdOoq9nFZ74k93vv78z0ylyXfuA/s400/DSCN0019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530953030108572674" border="0" /></a><br />Not only does it pick up my largely-pink bedspread in a very white room, it also has cupcake doodles, is magnetic and makes homework that bit more fun. Oh, and it's only £7.99. Guess I can have my cake and eat it, Argos overlords.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-57563165117672838742010-10-21T07:37:00.012+01:002010-10-21T13:30:12.505+01:00Hate Never DiesWhen I was little, I remember my sisters and I (along with some family friends we thought of as 'plastic cousins') singing a little ditty that went like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">Margaret Thatcher, put her in the bin</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"><br />Pop the lid on, sellotape her in</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"><br />If she comes out, knock her on the head</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 255, 153);"><br />Glory, glory, Margaret's dead</span><br /><br />I didn't think much about it at the time, but this means I've been wishing the worst on Baroness Thatcher (albeit death by bin) since I was about six. I certainly knew who she was - this was John Major era - and in the finest black-and-white logic of childhood, that she was a Bad Person. The curious thing is that, as Thatcher vitriol was presumably not knocking around on the playground, our parents must have taught us this. There is something potent about propaganda in song which meant this zoomed back into my mind when I clicked on <a href="http://www.isthatcherdeadyet.co.uk/">this link</a>, posted on Facebook today. I can see how the site might be humorous, but I didn't laugh - I was interested. Something is so culturally consensual about the 'we hate Thatcher' standpoint, whether you're the son of a miner or someone who was three when she resigned. But I only realised today, as I watched people counting down to her demise and making playlists to celebrate, how little I actually know about the woman, her career and her legacy.<br /><br />It is clear that with this week's cuts came a lot of bad memories, and Thatcher's reported bad health and hospital stays have been consistently linked in with George Osborne's announcements. Unemployment has become a regular part of the news again, and though people aren't quite as vitriolic about Cameron, the resigned feeling that the Tories are going to cock it up again for the Average Joe has been wafting around since before the election. Although unlike Family Man Dave, it seems to me Thatcher never wasted much time trying to be likeable.<br /><br />Funnier than <span style="font-style: italic;">Is She Dead Yet</span> was the irony of the Chilean miners' rescue dominating what should have been her 85th birthday. People were all over Twitter and Facebook with their Thatcher/Miner jokes. Largely people who hadn't even hit puberty when she was at the peak of her power. Obviously a bad legacy spreads, and we all rightly hate Hitler without ever having been persecuted by him, but it just fascinates me how one woman has dominated decades as the villain of politics. She was our first and only female Prime Minister, a fact eclipsed by her Iron Lady image and the social mess she left. Will we ever elect a woman again? It seems unlikely, for if she has the balls to head up a party she will no doubt be compared to Thatcher, but if she is as saccharine and smarmy like Cameron, she'll have no chance either. One thing people appear to agree on is that these <a href="http://waleshome.org/2010/10/we-still-feel-thatchers-hatchet-and-here-comes-the-axe-again/">new cuts</a> have a good chance of recreating the depression and turmoil of the 1980s.<br /><br />Johann Hari thinks that Osborne and Cameron have <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/johann-hari/johann-hari-a-colder-crueller-country-ndash-for-no-gain-2112069.html">'blindly obeyed the ideological precepts they learned as baby Thatcherites: slash the state, and make the poor pay most.'</a> He makes a good case against the depth of the cuts; their disregard of the advice of prominent economists, the Financial Times, and the evidence that countries like South Korea, who stimulated spending following the recession, have made a better recovery. British history, not only the Thatcher years, but the post-WW1 recession, also suggests that this is not the way to go. Forgive me; I am not a politics expert or an economist. It just struck me for a moment how much the shadow of a dying 85-year old continues to hang over the news and common debate. Something doesn't sit well with me about stirring up a mob of people eagerly awaiting a person's death, whatever they've done, however long they've lasted - and while unemployment can have devastating knock-on effects, there was no genocide here, no dictatorship. She was not one person acting alone, in this country is is a party and a parliament who make things happen, for better or worse. Hari may be right about the 'colder and crueller' country ours has just become, but let's not forget the many people, organizations and events that contributed to that. Including your vote.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMBXosYNbPhJybRCd0c7x2abvcMZDMXb8VitloLzcThK9kuSPq48onbjlkgbSou3HKVi4ttXnNkVaQohk6rBD64Q_Es6ut-kqYMDQsci2QbtMIyLNCzN6DFD-DQXLMdFCSd94OREk8y8/s1600/MargaretThatcher.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMBXosYNbPhJybRCd0c7x2abvcMZDMXb8VitloLzcThK9kuSPq48onbjlkgbSou3HKVi4ttXnNkVaQohk6rBD64Q_Es6ut-kqYMDQsci2QbtMIyLNCzN6DFD-DQXLMdFCSd94OREk8y8/s400/MargaretThatcher.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530443531756090146" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);font-size:85%;" >Image: The Guardian</span><br /></div>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-73685667064782642952010-10-14T20:24:00.002+01:002010-10-14T20:50:18.096+01:00Big diffOk, so I moved to Cardiff, became a student... and stopped blogging. This is partly because of the exciting brand-new experience that is Cardiff Journalism School, and partly because we've had to start new blogs, open social media accounts from Flickr to LinkedIn, and my head is still spinning from all the online and mobile journo things I'm learning to do. So I will post properly soon. Right now, in honour of my jubilation at being back in Wales, here are my favourite ever <span style="font-style: italic;">Gavin and Stacey</span> moments. Feel free to post your own as a comment - and if you haven't yet discovered <span style="font-style: italic;">G&S</span> (by which I think we all know I really mean Nessa & Smithy), for the love of Bryn get yourself out and buy the DVD. Noswaith dda!<br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RositYCXoW4&feature=related">Oh, Doris, where's the salad?</a><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xaq4nN2QwEI"><br />Pete, have you thought about my bhunas?</a><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPwoc39BmqE&feature=channel"><br />Tell'em what gwarn' blud</a><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4P3j8dh2ro&feature=channel"><br />Can we ALL stop calling it a HONEYMOON?</a><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNuM2qGhZlo">You can't denyyyyy me</a><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqnxDhc5ByI&p=02154CE634CC8E13&playnext=1&index=21">It's no way to live </a><br />(actually any reference to Nessa's past, but there aren't enough good clips!)<br /><br />More elaborate post to come soon....Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-35399037652521839422010-09-21T13:05:00.003+01:002010-09-21T13:10:17.263+01:00TwitPickRapper <a href="http://twitter.com/50CENT">50 Cent</a> is the latest celeb making waves in Twitterland (if not the music industry) simply by being a chronic oversharer. But in gangsta speak. Tune in to Fiddy and you’ll learn about his oral sex preferences, who he just nailed, his musings on the ladygardens of female celebrities, who he’s just bailed out of prison, and even interior decoration (‘Ima buy this AK47 gold lamp in silver’) if you can find it amongst all the vigorous copulation. I've just realised how euphemistic 'interior decoration' is in itself, but I digress.<br /><br />The man who once took us to the Candy Shop and invited us most cordially to join him In Da Club is pretty darn funny just by being a walking reality show, but then someone set up <a href="http://twitter.com/English50cent">English50Cent</a> which translates his tales of bitches and hoes into musings on lady dogs and gardening equipment. Very amusing stuff. Not for the kids though, as 50 thoughtfully broadcasts over and over again. He also tweets as and to his dog, Oprah. You can't make this stuff up. Enjoy!Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-86813584674059589872010-09-21T11:51:00.011+01:002011-03-31T13:19:42.294+01:00Dancing with My Self<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPw-Z63sXopd5G9du90MHpgYDXxv-OaUNzHy68feDxhhSTlVMsQRiPqZseLRAOIMlJJNqazZydZ9181Ct5NjJjcndZ4yP5vrJX3SVPhkH3gM8dGg3QuhEBNmu5v9bTqZ5jZ15k0Xr8wdk/s1600/EPL.jpg"><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; display: block; height: 266px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519325288563291458" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPw-Z63sXopd5G9du90MHpgYDXxv-OaUNzHy68feDxhhSTlVMsQRiPqZseLRAOIMlJJNqazZydZ9181Ct5NjJjcndZ4yP5vrJX3SVPhkH3gM8dGg3QuhEBNmu5v9bTqZ5jZ15k0Xr8wdk/s400/EPL.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The last few weeks I have been reading the somewhat overexposed <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Eat-Pray-Love-Womans-Everything/dp/0747585660"><em>Eat, Pray, Love</em></a><em>,</em> something I’ve been meaning to pick up after months of recommendations, but was finally spurred to open by of the impending film adaption starring Julia Roberts. For those who aren’t familiar with this bestseller, it is the memoir of American writer Elizabeth Gilbert, who, following an acrimonious divorce and general listlessness, took herself off to Italy, India and Bali for a year, spending an even four months in each. I’ve really enjoyed it, although it hasn’t all been unputdownable; the first section which describes Liz’s initial turmoil, decision to travel and pasta pilgrimage to Rome was a pure delight, but the middle third detailing her time meditating in an Indian Ashram and ensuing spiritual education was, for me, less compelling. I am currently part way through her adventures in Bali, which are back on her more interesting themes of immersion in culture, meeting new people and relaying poignant anecdotes. I am looking forward to seeing the film in many ways, and can certainly understand Hollywood’s eagerness to put EPL on the big screen; the visual feast on the page just lends itself to a film version, although the real heart of the story, Gilbert's constant, honest introspection, will be harder to incorporate. Today in the Indy, <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/features/eat-pray-love-please-dont-devour-this-magical-memoir-2084677.html">Rebecca Armstrong </a>bemoans Hollywood’s frequent fudging of much-loved books and hopes that <em>Eat, Pray, Love</em> will not prove another casualty. It is a precarious case, as meditation on the self + Julia Roberts + a soaring soundtrack could equal something unbearably sappy, but I really hope they have included some of the individual appeal of the book as well as the inevitable shots of smiling Indian children and sunsets.<br /><br />There has been a flurry of negative pre-release assumptions, from some of my favourite female writers amongst others, dismissing both book and adaptation on Twitter and in the press. The brilliant <a href="http://blogs.telegraph.co.uk/culture/lindywest1/100046776/pay-sit-barf/">Lindy West </a>was not a fan (the savvy <em>Telegraph</em> snapped her up for this cutting review) and I’m sure others will follow. Gilbert is accused of being smug, self-obsessed, hypocritical and clichéd in a ‘moany rich woman finds herself’ sort of way, and on these grounds the book is deemed worthless chick lit. I can’t say I agree. While, on paper, her New York existence prior to her travels might be deemed privileged (published author & journalist, wealthy husband, big house, friends, parties) the point of the opening is exactly that – on paper, her life is perfection. Her chronic sadness is openly based on her guilt that she isn’t happier, that she can’t make her marriage work and that she finds she doesn’t want a baby to complete the domestic picture. I have rarely read a writer more frank about her own shortcomings, selfishness and neuroses. This is, I believe, why so many women found the book refreshing and absorbing: we all have meltdowns, panics and periods of unhappiness. Yes, a lot of it is described in group-therapy schtick, but that’s how contemporary Americans communicate. This self-awareness makes us Brits uncomfortable, but also with a slight hint of envy at being able to admit to your own issues. The writer dwells on her own self more in this book than most people will in a lifetime, but she does it with an educated finesse that makes it palatable.<br /><br />Whatever her motives, a newly-single Gilbert decided to end the pretence of her glossy city life and visit places that fascinated her. The tripartite structure of the book reflects the poetry the narrator finds in everything she encounters; the neat introduction describes how her tale is divided into 108 small stories, the number having spiritual significance in Yogic philosophy. Whatever her sentimental reasons for conveying her story thus, it worked for me. The small, almost isolated anecdotes are each a charming peek into a completely self-centred adventure (in the best possible way.) We meet her new friends, hear their stories, but more often than not we are privy to her own thoughts and ponderings on life. The narrator is shaken up time and time again by natural beauty, the range of human experience and the ability of others to remain smiling, in a positive look at self-discovery if ever there was one.<br /><br />But the snobbery over this memoir and its subject matter is not only mystifying, it has eclipsed all critical and public acclaim the book attracted when published in 2006. I was really annoyed when the <em>Daily</em>-bloody-<em>Mail</em> ran a ‘novelty’ feature about their egotistical columnist <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1309631/Liz-Jones-My-quest-eat-pray-love.html?ITO=1490">Liz Jones </a>taking the same trip, making a direct comparison to Jones’ preoccupation with herself that disregards all the beauty of the original. Elizabeth Gilbert is apologetic many times in the novel for her overthinking of things, and relays her joy and satisfaction with the world and its inhabitants far more than her misery at her own situation. Her gift is her ability to tell the stories of others and to put the vividness of a moment on the page. The only thing they have in common is daring to think their own lives might be worth writing about. Maybe the problem is that women are not supposed to be selfish, in any circumstances. But regardless of background, money earned and property owned (and Gilbert started life on a Christmas tree farm in Connecticut, not Park Avenue) I don’t think the book is just a whinefest about her rich Western malaise. She gives good reasons for her escape, including her dependence on men for happiness - having been in relationships basically her entire adult life - and her husband’s venomous approach to their divorce flattening her self esteem. I have nothing but respect for someone who is determined to lift themselves out of the torpor of depression, be that with a U-turn in career, ending a relationship or just taking off in search of something new. But some women seem to be embarrassed by such shirking of domestic responsibility. It is puzzling to me, as there seems no better time to take off than following the painful end to a childless marriage. There is an argument that we don’t all have the money to traipse off and sit on mountains every time we feel sad, but she paid for the trip with the publishers' advance for the book – offered to a result of her own reputation as writer, built up by years of hard work.<br /><br />Gilbert's choice of destinations was also interesting to me. Rome I can completely relate to, where she essentially indulged her taste for fresh, rustic Italian food, the Italian language and the stunning architecture. This was the most moving part for me, as she nurtures new friendships and finds freedom in pursuing nothing but pleasure. There is a sublime passage where Liz and her new friends celebrate Thanksgiving in the Italian mountains, and she realizes just how many things she is thankful for. At another point, she finds the strength to persevere with her Yogic studies by focusing on a nephew she is fiercely protective of. In moments like these I found myself so in tune with Gilbert’s voice that I felt the lump in the throat, the tear in the eye or the surges of happiness as she narrated them. Make what you will of the cliché of a Westerner dabbling in Yoga, religion and Eastern philosophy, but you can’t deny the power of the writing. In India, her language was more difficult to me as her openness to the idea of a non-specific God as well as energy, meditation and enlightenment are so far from my own views on the world. But it is her <em>hope</em> that something greater than herself can enrich her life, rather than a preachy ‘knowledge’ of this, that still managed to charm me. In Bali, her love affair with its quirky and laid-back population is filled with admiration rather than touristy condescension, and the charismatic medicine man she learns from is one of my favourite figures. Perhaps I found the book so arresting because the thought of leaving my world behind and venturing out alone is both terrifying and alluring to me; in all honesty I don’t think I currently have the balls, but I’d love to in the future, and the fact is so many people’s responsibilities and duties prevent it from ever being an option.<br /><br />Whether the film is fabulous or a flop, I hope people will still read the book if they find themselves intrigued, as I did this month. Whether you are going through an introspective period yourself or simply want to travel vicariously, this is a fascinating example of someone taking themselves out of their comfort zone and actively trying to widen their perspective. Not only this, but the uncommon spirit of Gilbert’s diary-memoir style shows an appreciation throughout of the beauty, poetry and wonderful contrasts of the world and its communities, something rare and to be cherished in a book. I hope the coven of female media types scoffing at the whole concept stop and think about such things now and again; if not, I know which experience I’d rather have. Review of the film to follow...</div><br /><div></div><div></div>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-38537512107053311872010-09-14T10:44:00.003+01:002010-09-21T12:53:51.134+01:00Bitchin'A massive tee hee to <a href="http://thebitchfactor.blogspot.com/">this blog</a> that posts weekly reviews of <em>The X Factor</em> with a strong all-bitching stance. I got hooked on the same anonymous reality-show bloggers during the last Andrew Lloyd Webber casting series <em>Over the Rainbow</em> (where their blog <a href="http://overtherainbitch.blogspot.com/">Over the Rainbitch </a>provided a scathing critique of the girls’ performances and conduct.) It’s best to start early on these blogs as the in-jokes and references to the loved and hated judges/contestants do build up. If you’ve been a fan of the ALW shows from the start, you will still enjoy their <a href="http://idbitchanything.blogspot.com/">I’d Bitch Anything</a> blog in retrospect, especially their annoyance at <a href="http://i3.bebo.com/042a/11/large/2008/04/06/19/5323911943a7367471158l.jpg">Pirate Jessie </a>and her frequent use of ‘sidegob’. Whatever your poison, there’s a blog for you: <a href="http://strictlycomebitching.blogspot.com/">Strictly Come Bitching</a>, <a href="http://bitchingonice.blogspot.com/">Bitching on Ice</a>, <a href="http://bitchwood.blogspot.com/">Bitchwood</a>, <a href="http://theapprentbitch.blogspot.com/">The Apprent-bitch</a> and even <a href="http://bitchingsnexttopmodel.blogspot.com/">Bitching’s Next Top Model</a>. One of the reasons these blogs work is because they’re reported by several people, with the others chipping in occasionally. They often have different opinions on the contestants, injecting a bit of banter into the proceedings. Some of my favourite snippets below:<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">…but what’s this? He has another song you say? The ‘sing another song’ gimmick is this year’s WHO IS DEAD and I am so, so over it already. </span><em>The Bitch Factor<br /></em><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">[Lauren] just makes me wonder if she can do any extreme emotion other than VERY ANGRY. I do enjoy her face on the word "confused", though, which denotes confusion in a Joey Tribbiani style.</span> <em>Over the Rainbitch<br /></em><br /><span style="color:#99ff99;">Jessie's Cockney accent is even worse; Dick van Dyke is watching this and sighing with relief that the worst Cockney accent committed to celluloid will no longer be his.</span> <em>I’d Bitch Anything</em><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9966;">Ads. Cheryl tells us we’re worth it. Alexandra tells us her deodorant keeps working for 48 hours, the shower-avoiding weirdo. </span><em>The Bitch Factor</em><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff99ff;">Backstage, Jessica reminded us that she's just so privileged to be here, because she is REALLY REALLY NORMAL. Expect to see her running up a mountain and showing us her bra any day now.</span> <em>Over the Rainbitch<br /></em><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">Olivia is next, and her zombie picture is hideous, in a good way. Elle loves it because "I haven't seen you look like this!" Well, yes, because this isn't Britain's Next Top Zombie (although I would watch the shit out of that show if it existed). </span><em>Bitching’s Next Top Model<br /></em><br /><br />Do have a read, especially if you are a closet trash-TV lover like myself. Some others rocking my blogosphere at the moment:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.newfavouritething.com/">My New Favourite Thing</a><br />Olivia writes about all things beautiful and quirky, from fashion and cupcakes to travel and teen crushes. This gives me regular bag envy but it’s worth it for the stunning photographs and our shared love of Dolly Parton.<br /><br /><a href="http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/">West End Whingers</a><br />In their own words, ‘Phil and Andrew begrudgingly cut into their wine time to tell you whether it’s worth missing the Merlot for the Marlowe.’ A cross between the Muppets’ <a href="http://bogomip.net/images/muppets.jpg">Statler and Waldorf</a> and Sex and the City’s <a href="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Comedy+Central+Roast+Joan+Rivers+Show+PwDPvLevlrVl.jpg">Anthony Marentino</a>, these two go to see West End shows and report back scathingly or excitably on their findings.<br /><br /><a href="http://stylebubble.typepad.com/">Style Bubble</a><br />Susanna ‘Susie Bubble’ Lau takes us on a whirlwind tour of the catwalk, her shopping adventures, street style and anything she thinks is cute. What started off as an underground consumer blog is now an established comment on the fashion world.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.postsecret.com/">PostSecret</a><br />One of the best blogging concepts out there, PostSecret is a project where people anonymously send in their secrets (some funny, some shocking, some sombre) and they are posted here for all the world to see. Fascinating.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-53439596802663736362010-09-13T16:46:00.005+01:002010-09-13T17:00:25.178+01:00No... just... No<br><br />I love Gaga. I have mentioned many times on this blog my love for her music, her boldness of performance and costume, her immaculately-maintained pop art persona... but this time, Gaga, you have gone too far.<br /><p><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFBwH9xWlDfiM3dwUGl4RPsXIsnQ-8yBGpi2esSzQnbWdRogSl3OOIK4M9ahLCMeW-HJ_MyJMMPodhiKfcnDGLl9EiCD1Zi75x80Sk6yaeDdzB1QhDJeqSV8CbXFIdMTU2k8hSV_msJY/s1600/ladygagameatdress.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 220px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516426477835739794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFBwH9xWlDfiM3dwUGl4RPsXIsnQ-8yBGpi2esSzQnbWdRogSl3OOIK4M9ahLCMeW-HJ_MyJMMPodhiKfcnDGLl9EiCD1Zi75x80Sk6yaeDdzB1QhDJeqSV8CbXFIdMTU2k8hSV_msJY/s400/ladygagameatdress.jpg" /></a><br />Yep. That's right. You are not seeing, as on first glance, a strangely textured reddish-cream dress. It's meat. Raw, stinking meat that should be on a cow's bones, on the grill, on my plate, but categorically should NOT be worn to the VMAs. After my initial disgust, I was a tiny (tiny, tiny) bit impressed with the inventive use of a whole steak as a headpiece and the meat shoes bound with string. But I'm afraid to say this one has tipped the taste scales for me, especially as La Gaga doesn't seem to be sure what message she's promoting with this avant garde creation:<br /><br /><span style="color:#99ff99;">"If we don’t stand up for what we believe in and if we don’t fight for our rights pretty soon we’re going to have as much rights as the meat on our own bones. And, I am not a piece of meat.”</span> she stated broadly when questioned by veggie Ellen Degeneres. If this is a comment on the pornification of culture (valid) then why not come as a blow-up doll, or lose the porno-platinum locks. If it's genuinely a reaction to fears someone might eat her, to Gaga I say this: you have very little flesh on your bones and would therefore be an odd choice for a lurking cannibal. But until she explains a valid reason, and perhaps showers off the greasy film no doubt left by raw beef under hot stage lights, I cannot look at Gaga for a while. It's not over - I just need a little space.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-74210055379797414942010-09-10T13:06:00.011+01:002010-09-10T15:38:43.122+01:00One to WatchI have a new girl crush (yeah... move over <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/07/girl-crush.html">Ellen</a>.) Taylor Momsen has just whooshed up my fab-ometer, with the grungy sounds of her new music venture <a href="http://twitter.com/OfficialTPR">The Pretty Reckless.<br /></a><br />I love Taylor not only because I'm a confirmed <em>Gossip Girl</em> addict, but because as a kid, she used to do this<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmICUjLRim0UnV7Ey3P-JiN51iqzYwfW6nL4f_FgOvGPHZHrXWS7JGrmfQmfRAKXCaTOXJQXJzuPaspPAU5HdIMSQSwVTuWDry6qFdbkomqJxjedUZh_cZJSFV7SHDOJH0z2we8TxOQbI/s1600/Taylor+1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 302px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515255741514595746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmICUjLRim0UnV7Ey3P-JiN51iqzYwfW6nL4f_FgOvGPHZHrXWS7JGrmfQmfRAKXCaTOXJQXJzuPaspPAU5HdIMSQSwVTuWDry6qFdbkomqJxjedUZh_cZJSFV7SHDOJH0z2we8TxOQbI/s400/Taylor+1.jpg" /></a><br />So she could have ended up like this<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMBSMqLMuRD-ysz6im1IuVdx1SkJ8JJ5VxTVzkgWtGJdfwZl9FThpGE10c9Y3EQy3E9Etov57Nqkonvc-EOVw4V0bCp-0kB728g8OV3Cq0q74ifs6StFy8XuwbVsV1JcShj_CqyB61ySQ/s1600/Lohan.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 398px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515256224736500034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMBSMqLMuRD-ysz6im1IuVdx1SkJ8JJ5VxTVzkgWtGJdfwZl9FThpGE10c9Y3EQy3E9Etov57Nqkonvc-EOVw4V0bCp-0kB728g8OV3Cq0q74ifs6StFy8XuwbVsV1JcShj_CqyB61ySQ/s400/Lohan.jpg" /></a><br /></p><br /><p><br />Or this<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515257290006124594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtt5KyQv4qmHeBu38DjyInU8j08DI3sxfHxI-j0AgcQh4PnvxC6sufPA-tacsmrkOCIvNu1xBGoT75H4A5UfOiBu0sNC2QAwdids0qCgyJQcTO1iG8BLNDBhlwfL7elbXtfU4XKfPGs_s/s400/Mischa.jpg" /><br />But instead, at 17, she's decided to do this<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QD_a6kerZ1NSHdhsBCJt1rtnq6c1nhtTYah2gvYZaD6EZYi5Zzfnr5NqtGcaPgebl4KeSQtiMV3OsakR0ybc4q7Sa7JCc9Z9nEvL2BFUX8l7RhG6FqP0iFvrzv-XbHUdhk3eRo0LGTs/s1600/Taylor+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 295px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515257089513962658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QD_a6kerZ1NSHdhsBCJt1rtnq6c1nhtTYah2gvYZaD6EZYi5Zzfnr5NqtGcaPgebl4KeSQtiMV3OsakR0ybc4q7Sa7JCc9Z9nEvL2BFUX8l7RhG6FqP0iFvrzv-XbHUdhk3eRo0LGTs/s400/Taylor+2.jpg" /></a><br />And I never thought I'd say this, but I really like their music. The Pretty Reckless' first album, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Light-Me-Up-Pretty-Reckless/dp/B003XU75QG">Light Me Up</a></em>, is strictly grungy, sexy, angry rock - and not Avril Lavigne rock-lite, but a harder sound more than matched by Momsen's gritty vocals. I like her style because where it would have been really easy to swallow painkillers like they're Haribo and get a boob job in order to say 'I never wanted to be the kid in <em>The Grinch</em>, F*CK YOU!' she's saying it with a creative outlet, and one I want on my iPod at that. Lohan was the kid in<em> The Parent Trap</em> even before her cringey <em>Herbie</em> years (enough to give anyone a drinking problem) and Mischa Barton was the little ghost girl in <em>The Sixth Sense</em>, as well as grinning her way through a host of commercials. Both have become Hollywood clichés with their partying, their DUIs and substance abuse issues, but savvy Momsen seems to be more in control of her own destiny.<br /><br />I think the problem is where cutesy looks give way and the talent underneath is doubtful (remember Lohan's short-lived music career? If you want to, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z--Exh_oGj4">here it is</a>). Momsen has been honing her voice and the band's 'sound' for a couple of years now, and co-wrote every track on the album. I recommend downloading <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=paudmGKB2FY">My Medicine </a>and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYeGw-bo430">Makes Me Wanna Die </a>to start with, but I think the band as a whole have real potential. There are the obvious Courtney Love comparisons with Taylor's <a href="http://content.promiflash.de/i/1254230094/article2_images/c3f/500w_pG7dkGiCpL.jpeg">platinum, smokey-eyed vibe</a>, but to me she looks much more together than the mad auntie of rock' n'roll. She works the vampiric style, hopefully minus the self-destruct button. I loved her as the sweet-then-scheming Jenny Humphrey in <em>Gossip Girl</em>, and I really respect the fluidity of Taylor's next career move, when she could probably party comfortably for a few years on the LA scene before having to raise her profile again. Have a listen to TPR and tell me what you think!</p><p></p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIWFsy8g6yjj1sEa9ziD7Mfm3enXHM0VdNFfwKr5lZ65rHzNfVv0fcFt8RTNktEAS8_WlHDteTAqVBI9M6NDI5NYV-sH5t4IJWKUeCoFsVHhaOJz6lnjquYUylJUUPbdBXik3uvhz5bk/s1600/prettyreckless.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515271311278171698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIWFsy8g6yjj1sEa9ziD7Mfm3enXHM0VdNFfwKr5lZ65rHzNfVv0fcFt8RTNktEAS8_WlHDteTAqVBI9M6NDI5NYV-sH5t4IJWKUeCoFsVHhaOJz6lnjquYUylJUUPbdBXik3uvhz5bk/s400/prettyreckless.jpg" /></a>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-16774617229048736452010-09-09T10:22:00.001+01:002010-09-09T15:02:36.853+01:00Lunch LustToday an unrequited lust, as I’ve heard great things about this place but have yet to sample its wonders. <a href="http://inamo-restaurant.com/">Inamo</a> is one of those ‘revolutionary dining concepts’ (that always conjures up images of a Jetsons/space age set up and then quickly disappoints), but then this pan-asian joint has the added perk of some bargainous set menus, small plates and starters as well as the big hitters like Black Cod and Thai curries. Having chuckled at <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/aug/15/ariel-leve-tasting-menu">Ariel Leve’s </a>recent rant about the evils of small plates, I am actually a fan of the phenomenon. One of the nicest meals I’ve had recently was at <a href="http://yauatcha.com/">Yauatcha</a> in Soho, where we asked the waitress for a selection of their best dishes. The rest of the evening was a mouthwatering blur of sensational dumplings, spicy fried squid and jasmine tea-smoked ribs. Inamo looks like a similar order-everything type of place, and the soft-shell crab maki rolls and the salmon and avocado ceviche would be top of my list. Now all I need is someone with excellent taste to take me there…Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-12058977442335093812010-09-06T19:02:00.009+01:002010-09-08T15:16:23.656+01:00I is for InspirationSo many people and things inspire me. Any given day, song or a book can inspire me to be stronger in a personal attitude or make a decision, a friend’s poise and dignity can inspire me to behave in a similar way, a commuter’s bold choice of outfit can inspire me to experiment and those further ahead down the route to being A Writer can inspire me to stop dwelling on the ‘what ifs’ and carry on. I thought I’d write a little ode to those who push me and motivate me and encourage me to be a better, braver or simply more fabulous person.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Caitlin Moran</span><br />You probably know this if you’re a regular reader, because I reference Moran’s wit and wisdom quite a bit. It’s hard to describe her if you haven’t read any of her stuff, but as a freelance writer, interviewer and all round journalistic firecracker, she inspires me to work harder or risk never being as well-read, articulate and funny as her. She’s also from humble beginnings and the state school system but works for The Times, as well as having fabulously punky tastes and a penchant for overexcited capitals (usually when tweeting the word *SCREAM*). If you’re still not sure, follow her on <a href="http://twitter.com/CAITLINMORAN">Twitter</a> and I guarantee she will have you howling in minutes.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Angelina Jolie</span><br />*Sigh*, no, not for the husband-stealing or the wafer-thin calves, but because the woman’s a bloody phenomenon. Jolie shows that no amount of personal craziness or bad PR record can obscure true talent, and looking at her you just know she’s never stopped to think ‘What if this wrecks my chances of getting that next big part?’ Because she’s hypnotic as a psychotic teen in <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Girl, Interrupted</span>, she’s harrowing as a courageous mother in<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> Changeling</span> and funny as an assassin with a suburban double life in <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Mr and Mrs Smith</span>. Because she’s the only choice for icons as diverse as Marilyn, Cleopatra and Lara Croft, and because she kicks more ass per movie than most Hollywood males put together. When I read she’d turned down a Bond Girl role because she’d rather be the next 007, I could’ve kissed her. As well as being a thrill-seeking badass and a stellar actress, Ange also manages to be wonderfully chic and feminine on the red carpet. I'm going to ignore all the 'rainbow mom' stuff as i'm sure it's just too many years in Hollywood, but she is also genuinely and deeply involved in the UN and not afraid to speak up on <a href="http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=35785&Cr=pakistan&Cr1">important matters</a>. If you hate her, I'm pretty sure it’s just because you want to be her.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">My Mum</span><br />My mum is the most direct inspiration for me because she has always seemed to ‘have it all’ – not in the material sense, but in terms of style, intellect, friendships, work ethic, ambition and maternal brilliance. So I suppose she’s always ‘balanced it all’, and taught me the equal importance of further education and being able to whip up a sublime bread and butter pudding. She was an amazing stay-at-home mum (due to being creative with working from home and sacrificing lots of luxuries) for years, studied her socks off to get a degree, worked her way up to management level in fewer years than anyone I know and even managed to wedge in an MA this year as well as getting her dream job and celebrating 30 years of marriage. Need any more reasons? She’s also the best hugger in the entire world – fact.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Lady Gaga</span><br />There’s been a bit of a Gaga backlash of late and I honestly can't understand it. People seem to think she’s a fame-whorish type who is all exhibitionist and no substance, but I can only assume they haven’t listened to a note of her music. It’s pop, but it’s crazy, bold, lyrically sharp pop, vocally challenging and endlessly catchy. She’s also absolutely incredible live – I won’t hear a word against this – just <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNvkeQOScDc">watch this</a> for starters. She has famous fans ranging from Elton John, the hard-to-please Perez Hilton, Janet Jackson and Helen Mirren, and is a very vocal gay rights activist, as well as giving all her little teenage ‘freaks’ and ‘monsters’ a powerful role model to identify with during adolescence. In an industry filled with bland, girly, autotuned one hit wonders, we should surely regard Gaga as some sort of female messiah? More than anything, she just seems fearless – I love that she puts all of her money back into her live shows and designs her performance concepts. More vulnerable than Madonna and saner than Michael Jackson, a better songwriter than Kylie and ten times more talented than Britney; she’s just a tiny little thing under all the glitz and theatrics, but Gaga’s a budding icon and should be recognised as such.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Christine Stovell</span><br />I have only had the pleasure of meeting Chris once, but I follow her blog and have watched the well-deserved publication of her brilliant book <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Turning-Tide-Christine-Stovell/dp/1906931259">Turning the Tide</a> in the last year. She is inspirational because she decided it wasn’t too late to do the thing she’d always wanted to do, and proved she had the metaphorical balls to do it. Not only do I respect her as a <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/07/turning-points.html">writer</a>, but she has reminded me that the urge to write never goes away; so on those days when a nondescript but well-paid job beckons to me with its perks of a stable life and steady income, I know I shouldn’t give in so easy. Follow her on <a href="http://twitter.com/chrisstovell">Twitter</a> and look out for her next book!<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Blair Waldorf</span><br />Oh well... there had to be a fictional one. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Gossip Girl</span>'s Blair is a purely aesthetic idol of mine, a perfectly groomed Park Avenue princess with pearls, gloves and a pout to match. It's funny as it isn't really my style, but the first time I saw actress Leighton Meester as the scheming anti-heroine of the show, I just fell in love with Blair's buttoned-down look. If you're unfamiliar with the addictive trash TV that is <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Gossip Girl</span>, <a href="http://fashionstyleadvice.com/be-ladylike-like-blair-waldorf/">this blog</a> explains Blair's look pretty well. She may not be the 'world peace' type, but she's impossibly chic and I can't help but covet her from her beret to her Mary Janes.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Jason Robert Brown</span><br />Finally, an inspirational male! Brown is one of my favourite composers (and in my opinion, one of the best in musical theatre), and I'm practically hyperventilating at the thought of seeing him <a href="http://speckulationentertainment.com/jasoninlondon.html">performing his work live </a>in less than three weeks' time. His musicals and song cycles, including <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Songs for a New World, Parade</span> and <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">The Last Five Years</span> include some of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, so technically complex and lyrically witty, moving and brutal that I never get tired of listening to them and always hear something new each time. JRB is so good that I bought two of his piano books - and I can barely play Happy Birthday. If you're not a fan of the genre (described amusingly in <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Bridget Jones' Diary</span> as 'men standing with their legs apart, bellowing') I suggest you listen to Lauren Kennedy's album <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Songs-Jason-Robert-Lauren-Kennedy/dp/B00008BL6G/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1283807028&sr=8-8">Songs of Jason Robert Brown</a>, but if you do like a musical - and a real story, none of your <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Sweet Charity</span> nonsense - I would recommend <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">The Last Five Years</span>.<br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(255,153,102)">Nigella Lawson</span><br />I adore Nigella. I adore her buttercreamy, olive-oily, chocolate-saucey TV shows and cookbooks, her <a href="http://www.nigella.com/">cooking community website</a>, and her glorious sex bomb image that confirms that 50 really can be your prime. They say that after a certain age you have to choose between your face or your arse (the logic being, I presume, that plumper women have a sort of natural collagen effect happening) but I think Nigella is living proof you can have your cake and eat it.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9966;">Jo March</span><br />My favourite literary heroine, a tomboy with a hot temper and a desire for independence who never lets the fact that she is a girl push her to give up her dreams or conform to a small-town ideal. I like Jo because she's flawed, impulsive and has big dreams, as well as being the at the centre of one of my<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Women-Oxford-Worlds-Classics/dp/0199538115/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1283955301&sr=8-2"> favourite childhood books</a>. If Louisa May Alcott and her literary avatar Jo could pick up a pen and compete with the male novelists of their time, hindered by huge petticoats and cultural prejudice, I really don't have a reason to moan in 2010.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff9966;">Lindy West</span><br />Another writer, brought to most people's attention with her less-than-rave review of <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/burkas-and-birkins/Content?oid=4132715">Sex and the City 2 </a>(some harsh language, folks) and who keeps me smiling regularly with her original style and ponderings on the world. Her column in Seattle paper <em>The Stranger</em> is a cult hit, and many of my favourite writers have followed her work since <strong>that </strong>review. Why do I love her? Because no subject is too obscure to comment on, from <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/the-stranger-gets-a-press-release-for-a-gathering-in-a-red-tent-honoring-women-and-their-menstrual-cycles-and-sends-lindy-west-and-her-womb-to/Content?oid=4642358">hippy rituals</a> to <a href="http://slog.thestranger.com/slog/archives/2009/03/19/who_here_likes_black_licorice">liquorice</a>. She can transform anything into excellent reading, and that inspires the hell out of me.<br /><br /><br />This ended up being a slightly weird combination of the very real, the loosely acquainted, the fictional, the obscure and the mega-famous. But it's all true, and I don't think a girl should have to pretend she's only inspired by Mother Teresa or the Lorax. Feel free to drop me a comment with your own inspirations.<br /><p></p>Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-34374938881345424052010-09-06T14:13:00.011+01:002010-09-07T20:00:54.693+01:00RIP GMTV<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwcwy4kSO5gmf-HZE23jqVYMx9IU9xSFycnlqANIRwh0OP3NvzBvgdS7NncMtO1xas6-Rd-CeII5DHlI6UT0Ideh7nlYfeDAlHVkAr65Bauwxjpby9jpDROckgwLLkp5JIwayEvZLCRM/s1600/GMTV-logo-with-Daybreak-l-005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwcwy4kSO5gmf-HZE23jqVYMx9IU9xSFycnlqANIRwh0OP3NvzBvgdS7NncMtO1xas6-Rd-CeII5DHlI6UT0Ideh7nlYfeDAlHVkAr65Bauwxjpby9jpDROckgwLLkp5JIwayEvZLCRM/s400/GMTV-logo-with-Daybreak-l-005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513890233838590594" border="0" /></a><br />Last Friday early morning classic <span style="font-style: italic;">GMTV</span> was laid to rest in favour of a dire new concept called <span style="font-style: italic;">Daybreak</span>, and like so many things (Opal Fruits, Woolworths, my youth), I just didn’t realise how much I’d miss it until it was gone. It’s a good thing of course, lifestyle-wise; I used to <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/01/two-timing-hussy-but-only-before-8am.html">chop and change between </a><em>BBC Breakfast </em>and <em>GMTV </em>during my toast-munching time, thus missing out on valuable current affairs snippets in favour of red carpet gossip and stories about heroic pets. It’s a new dawn, and that dawn will be filled entirely with disheartening news about house prices and graduate jobs. But I forced myself to watch a good six minutes of the first <em>Daybreak</em> this morning, just to see if it had any of <em>GMTV</em>’s trashy warmth, silliness or unintentional hilarity.<br /><br />Reader, it did not. Even if you can stomach the toxic combination of Bleakley and Chiles (really?), they are wedged in far too close to the camera in an uncomfortable ‘we get on great!’ proximity. Her rubbery spitting-image smile and his melting caveman expression make it difficult to decide which side of the screen is less painful to focus on, and while today’s weather probably wasn’t a production decision, the vast greyness behind their heads just added to the notion that this was a dark, dark day for breakfast television. The news (and I know no-one ever watched <em>GMTV</em> for the NEWS) was like any other third-rate channel’s news – dull, read by an attractive but nondescript woman and with the same terrible 80s-looking graphics as the rest of the show. Purple and yellow? Outside of an Easter Hat Parade these colours have no business appearing side by side. It’s hard to believe this is the big shift in ITV’s morning schedule, months in the planning. It looks like they had to come up with something in 24 hours, planned using only post its, purple crayons and a perpetual soundtrack of James Blunt in the background.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsO84w3BXoe21TgkARJiv5qEKRAE2AAPLc10i0HhjSWdeS6YOG5fyYV79tJmietsD0_fpGuGCG1NFWaVcZuCNPCifNtCLUA1MCTEYsyxil8KeJN7IGui03rvusRqHEaQCEo5X5o5a3co/s1600/daybreak-415.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsO84w3BXoe21TgkARJiv5qEKRAE2AAPLc10i0HhjSWdeS6YOG5fyYV79tJmietsD0_fpGuGCG1NFWaVcZuCNPCifNtCLUA1MCTEYsyxil8KeJN7IGui03rvusRqHEaQCEo5X5o5a3co/s400/daybreak-415.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513891078271532082" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);">'I'm gonna punch you in the ovary, that's what I'm gonna do. A straight shot. Right to the babymaker.' </span><br /></div><br />It’s not that <em>GMTV </em>was a sensational piece of topical television; it simply stood for a time when I had options. Bleak day, hungover day, can’t-bear-to-hear-another-economic-reason-my-life-is-about-to-suck day? Ben Shephard’s boy-scout charm and the ramblings of their (clearly on crack) TV guy Richard Arnold would momentarily disperse the challenges of the day ahead. Bad satellite links, verbal stumblings and crying babies drowning out interviews were all part of its wayward charm. Transparent timewasting – during their World Cup coverage, Shephard had a troupe of vuvuzela players competing with an English brass band for a number of minutes I will never comprehend – provided a good opportunity to flick over to the real world, aka <em>BBC Breakfast</em>. But while I know many of you were always exclusively <em>Breakfast</em> watchers, there is a small part of my brain, the same part that enjoys reading <em>Cosmo </em>in the bath, that just doesn’t know how it will get through some segments of a purely-BBC morning. The other day one of their correspondents was wedging himself through small tunnels in a cave for what seemed like hours, as some sort of topical nod to a big cave-related story. I can’t even remember what the point of it was, so traumatic was the coverage. It also doesn't help that the hosts are as forgettable as they are professional, and the business and sports presenters are snoozeworthy even when sipping your first caffeine fix of the day.<br /><br />So farewell, GMTV: farewell to the interchangeable blondeness of Penny, Kate and Emma, farewell to the Pussycat-Doll-esque weathergirl, farewell to Real People interviews marred by grizzling babies, to Andrew Castle’s valiant stabs at being ‘cool’ and ‘hip’, to Fiona Phillips’ inability to be remotely likeable, to Richard Arnold’s pun-a-minute, ‘ooh matron’ TV coverage, and to many other little moments of lightness in my weekday mornings.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-86152750852383828322010-09-02T14:17:00.002+01:002010-09-06T17:15:42.727+01:00TwitPickI follow a great many wise and witty Tweeters, but this week's pick of the bunch has got to be the inimitable <a href="http://twitter.com/Dolly_Parton">Dolly Parton</a>. Yes, a lot of it is clearly run by her 'people', but Dolly has long been a fascination of mine - not just <em>that</em> voice and <em>those </em>songwriting skills, but the deft combination of everything I usually detest in a woman (fake blonde, cartoonish surgery) and everything I adore (self-deprecating wit, straight-talkin' savvy, one's own theme park.)<br /><br /><br />Some recent Dollyisms include:<br /><br /><span style="color:#66ff99;">I hope people realize that there is a brain underneath the hair and a heart underneath the boobs.<br /><br />Find out who you are, and do it on purpose.<br /><br />Some of my dreams are so big they would scare you!<br /><br />Smile, it enhances your face value!<br /><br /></span>and my personal favourite,<br /><br /><span style="color:#99ff99;">Don't get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.<br /><br /></span><span style="color:#99ff99;"></span><br />Even if you think this sort of mantra just puts the twee into tweeting, I implore you to stick a bit of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX5iXfrcElM">'9 to 5' </a>on your iPod and just feel it erase all the tension of even the vilest working day. Dolly, I salute you.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-44115162472959569522010-08-27T16:09:00.002+01:002010-09-06T17:15:23.323+01:00Lunch LustAs I make the transition from working life to student journo, I'm going to incorporate some regular slots into the blog - Twitter & blog recommendation, style crushes and most deliciously, a bit of a restaurant watch.<br /><br />This week's lust is <a href="http://artisanandvine.blogspot.com/">Artisan and Vine </a>(the site of my first <a href="http://misswrite21.blogspot.com/2010/07/intimidating.html">online dating experience</a>). I already knew they sourced delicious local and specialist wines, but from next week they are starting a new <a href="http://artisanandvine.blogspot.com/2010/08/now-open-for-lunch-leaf-teas-and.html">lunch menu </a>which, reading it through, could have been created in my most delirious dream.<br /><br />Fishcakes with hollandaise? Moules? Goats cheese tart? And all with the know-how behind the bar to set you up with the perfect refreshment. I feel a little drunk already.Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8878802582814893123.post-18508164381036271872010-08-27T10:23:00.005+01:002010-08-27T15:49:16.607+01:00GlobeStruttingI love to travel, and it grieves me that the only real way to get started as a travel writer is to travel as much as you can and document your adventures. This is tricky as a would-be writer, because if you’re doing all you can do get into the industry - work experience, internships, further education - you probably can’t afford a constant stream of worldwide jaunts. You save for periods of unpaid work like others save for holidays, and while they’re often great fun and invaluable experience, on grey and drizzly weeks like this that have no place in August, the lack of vitamin D and new sights can really drag you down. This is the first year I can remember that I haven't been abroad, and I have felt it. I live vicariously through travel sections, friends’ tourist photos and travel blogs, visually cruising through New York, Brazil, Vietnam and Australia and mentally jotting down my ‘to go’ list. Those who trot the globe in style constantly inspire me and make me long to extend my travel knowledge further than my own (lovely) continent and the US.<br /><br />It isn’t all bleak though; I really enjoy reading about someone’s connection with a place, and there are some excellent <a href="http://blog.lastminute.com/2009/11/30/top-10-travel-blogs-our-pick-of-the-best/">blogs</a> out there, in particular. A friend recently went to Tokyo and wrote a street-style piece about her trip on her great <a href="http://theprittie.blogspot.com/2010/08/japan-i-love-you-street-style.html">fashion and pop culture blog</a>. A girl on the same journalism course as me this autumn has a great account of her <a href="http://drwatchword.blogspot.com/2010/04/hanoi.html">travels through Vietnam</a>, as well as some fab film and music reviews, and for completely unrealistic travelporn, you can’t beat the luxe offerings of the <a href="http://blog.mrandmrssmith.com/">Mr and Mrs Smith </a>blog. It might sound a bit sad to muse about travel heaven when you have neither the time nor the funds, but one day I will and all this inspiration will be put to good use.<br /><br />I think a lot of people that know me would laugh at the thought of me roughing it on a shoestring in foreign climes, but isn’t that the point of the Big Travel Experience? I didn’t do it at 18 and don’t regret that; I think I would have been overwhelmed, frizzy and subsequently diva-ish for most of it, not especially making me a better person. But while even a week in the med is unattainable travel heaven in my current lifestyle, it’s nice to think that a few years of hard graft and experience could lead to more of an adventure somewhere. I do think it’s important to do it, even if that means sacrificing a hot shower and fluffy white towels in favour of grubby sleeper trains and greasy locks once in a while… what else are dry shampoo and baby wipes for? Granted, I’m not usually a festival type, but I’d do it for the right destination. I also have a split in the places I’d want to hit with a bit of cash (Tokyo, New York, Cairo) and those I’d be happy jetting off to on a budget (Bangkok, Prague, Budapest).<br /><br />I think if someone handed me the money right now - where’s that anonymous benefactor when you need them, eh? - I would probably head to Asia, as it’s somewhere that I’ve never been and has always fascinated me. Something like Thailand (travelling 101) – Vietnam (history & culture) – Hong Kong (shopping & skyscrapers) – Tokyo (style & sushi) – and then rounding it off with somewhere beachy and glorious like Bali would be heaven. I’ve never been that desperate to hit Australasia; it does look gorgeous but I’d want a more alien experience, but I can imagine it being perfect for a career gap or family trip later on in life. South Africa is a little daunting but also rich in sights and culture; I think I'd need to go with someone I felt safe with and later in my travel life. Another friend recently went to South America for a few months and has been posting endless stunning photos of Brazil, Bolivia, Peru, Belize and Guatemala amongst others. It helps that she’s as ridiculously photogenic as the scenery itself, but that was definitely my biggest pang of travel envy this year. So that corner of the world is firmly on the list as well. At this rate I’ll have to win the lottery and take a few years off to work through it, but one can and should dream.<br /><br />Here are the top 10 I’d love to explore:<br /><br />Vietnam<br />Japan<br />Hong Kong<br />Thailand<br />Indonesia<br />Brazil<br />Cuba<br />Hawaii<br />Madagascar<br />Southern India (Kerala etc)Miss Writehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18124843977956002391noreply@blogger.com0