Thursday, 30 October / New Hair

I realised as I came to write this post that my long hair has never really been featured on my blog/Instagram. This post may seem like a bit of a waste of time for that reason, but anyway, here's a superficial farewell to my long hair. 

The old faithful

I've only had "short" hair once, when I was around 7 years old. I distinctly remember playing on my primary school football team and feeling incredibly bad-ass with my choppy little bunches, courtesy of the generic first school bob. Since then it has grown and grown with the occasional twice yearly trim (purely as a method to encourage further growth). 

When I first mentioned facing the chop to my boyfriend, his response was that I need my 'big, ginger hair' to be 'me'. Oops..

In the majority of my blog, and Instagram, pictures, I was tucking my hair into whichever garment of knitwear/roll neck I happened to be wearing at the time. The reason? I truly despised my long hair. It felt as if I continued to grow those tatty, knotted dreadlocks of dryness for everyone else except myself (most notably my previous hairdresser who actually stated the words "I would refuse to cut this hair short, I love it long"). The state of my bonce became too embarrassing to deal with and after 3 months in a constant 'messy' bun (though not necessarily messy by choice), I made the appointment and only let a few others in on my secret. I have a tendency to panic last minute and withdraw from major decisions (actually tea please...no coffee..actually te...I'm alright for a drink thanks actually). I thought, keep this one to myself and no one will know if it doesn't work out. 

Well.. it did. I'm typing this with my minuscule Mulan-esque bun weightlessly placed on the top of my head. 

Surrounded by a mass of ugly ginger straws, I bounced out of the hairdressers in a Loreal fashion and, for once, wanted to show everyone my fresh chop. Since donning the new do (...and apparently becoming a 60 year old woman) I am loving styling it: blow drying (a whole new world), straightening (in under 2 hours), curling/plaiting/bunning/braiding, you name it, I'm trying it. My hair looks and feels 100% healthier and volumising/texturising spray is my new best friend.

 

et voilà

So to anyone considering the 'lob' (search the hashtag on Instagram and welcome the temptation), do it. I'm consoling myself with the idea that it is actually just hair and (as I remind my nostalgic mother) it will grow back. As for me, I'm more than happy to never return to a world of waist-length hair, where the quantity of shampoo is just overwhelming. 

Monday, 27 October / Fashion Liberation

This weekend I headed away with my family for a break. 'Relaxation' would not be the term to use as, if any of you know Blackpool, no relaxing is involved. We headed out at 8am Saturday morning with plans to hit the Pleasure beach theme park, eat everything you should not eat, walk for miles and have an uncomfortable night sleep in a dodgy yet appealing B&B. Oh and then repeat the same the next day + a groggy and bloated journey home late the next night. 

I did undergo a first world struggle throughout this weekend however: what do I wear. 

My family and friends joke about my consistency with dressing 'posh'. I push forward my argument that 'you never know who you'll bump into' as I struggle through heaving rain in a leather jacket (minus hood). As I was packing for my weekend away I turned to my flatmates for 'help'. I was slapped across the face with their brutally honest and disrespectful answer "a waterproof and practical shoes". Okay, so actually a fully reasonable and realistic response. But so not what I wanted to hear. Since I could dress for myself (e.g. no more colour coordinated outfits with my sister), practicality has never been a concern. I'm hardly a stilettos on an icy path kinda person, but Birkenstocks in the freezing cold has occurred. Though I struggled when folding my least 'fashionable' clothes into my suitcase and argued for a minimum of 15 minutes with my boyfriend as I tried to justify the leather over the parka, the reality of the weekend was that it really didn't matter.

In fact, though I hate to admit, there was something rather liberating about pulling clothes on for 'practicality'. If I wear this I will be warm, was my mantra of the weekend. Well not only was I nice and toasty in my all-black (lets not forget monochrome can be practical) knitwear, but I also didn't think about it once I'd stepped out the cracked door of the B&B. I was ready to face the pure enjoyment of the weekend with my loved ones, and feel thoroughly comfortable throughout.

ps. Today I have returned to usual attire and an outfit post should be up soon to prove it (relax).

Monday, 20 October / The Smoothie

The annual illness has arrived. Though only in its malicious preliminary stages, I have surrendered to the throat, head and stomach pain all at once (because obviously one symptom was too generous). 

I'd love to throw at you a healthy, delicious and even nutritious recipe to aid you in the quest to a speedy recovery. Instead, all I need is a smoothie with taste. It's that kinda flu where your tastebuds malfunction and instead of eating lettuce until you recover (as you can't taste anything anyway), you choose the comfort option: carbs, calories and comfort. mmmm. 

I am no nutritionist. I leave that to my über healthy flatmate (turning to her on the days my love handles get the better of my reach for the butter). I do, however, have a smoothie recipe which may not detox the bod, but will ensure a tasty treat for your bed bound days. Oh, and it must be easy because I've converted my dad to making it too!

RECIPE:

1 BANANA (note this tastes even scrummier with 4 strawberries plopped in but I'm a poor student)
1 CUP UNSWEETENED SOYA MILK
HANDFUL PORRIDGE OATS
1 TEASPOON HONEY
CINNAMON (any amount of your choice, I go for 1 tsp)

Blend together in any equipment of your choice (I chose my blender based on the fact that James Martin's face was sprawled across the box, Saturday Kitchen anyone?). This suggests any blender will do...

Slurp it up and enjoy, I'm off to bathe in Kleenex and self pity.

Sunday, 19 October

Dealing with loss is an unfortunate feat. Whether approaching for some time, or occurring from nowhere, the reality is unimaginable.

Last week I lost someone very dear to my heart and have been dealing with the consequential heartache since. I suppose writing it on here, making note of the current pain, allows me to bookmark this moment as my life continues. Losing a loved one, family or friend, forces you to confront everything you treasured about them. From the small details (eye colour, dimples, the five pound note slipped secretly into your hand) to memories and personality traits that have helped you to become who you are.

Perhaps I'm speaking from a restricted perspective, born into an abnormally small family who are dependant and devoted to each other. Although this is my loss, as I speak to friends it seems clear that the context does not tamper or influence the raw emotion. The individual may differ but the feeling of tugging, straining, drowning and aching in one's heart does not. 

From the second it occurs, you're told to seek the positives in the situation. You're sure to hear frequent 'at least...' and 'everything happens for a reason', perhaps the 'on the bright side' phrase will be  thrust in your direction. It's okay to believe that in this moment there is no "bright side" to discover. There may never be a singular positive, no 'reason' to believe that this was okay, or should  have happened. At the moment I'm struggling with something similar. A similar taste of denial and unwilling. 

We deal with loss in different ways, and, as this is my first experience, I'm learning that I have a tendency to ignore what is happening around me. Pressing each key into this post is forcing the truth, the reality, to form before my eyes. Perhaps this is my positive. That I am so incredibly proud and full of love for the one I lost, that I had to post in his honour. Sure, only one person may read this, and maybe that will be my boyfriend or sister or best friend. But to write it seems like a way to deal with 'it'. Whatever this heart-wrenching, unfair and untimely 'it' may be. Though I'm struggling to find closure at this moment, I'm sure that, with time, it will arise. As unexpectedly and peacefully as last week's event. Though I may never discover the 'positive', I can disclose that memories are the 'bright side'. That they can never be taken, suddenly or unfairly, that they will stay with me so long as I continue to love and admire every person still with me today. 

I hadn't  expected to write a long post, or even write at all, but to do so brings me closer to my own feelings. I promise to return with more materialistic images of another love of mine (style) very shortly, so forgive me for this minor interlude that had to occur in honour of my incredible grandad Bill, December 1925 - October 2014. 

Monday, 13 October / Nikes

I could resist the force no longer. It was time to surrender to the comfort and convenience. The stylish yet practical(?) choice. The shoe that looks so god damn fabulous on every other person so could look decent on myself. Yep, the trainer. Note: 'Trainer' perhaps an inappropriate title as no gymming or exercise will be taking place. I'm by far the last one on the bandwagon (my mum, still rocking the Aesics, will argue that she was the inventor of the trend) but I can't help bragging about my recent entry to the world of trainers for casual wear: scandal. 

The patent croc leather ticks (I KNOW) inject just enough 'me' to look somewhat effortless propped on my feet. In my new world of trainer wearing, punctuality is second nature, comfortable is a familiar term and cold-Birkenstock-toes are a thing of the past. I'm bouncing through the streets (in a manner that ironically dissolves any attempted coolness the shoes may have provided) and actually look forward to the long trek to uni in the morning. Oh and should a spontaneous dancing flash mob break out in the city centre... I'll be the first to get away. 

Tuesday, 7 October / Uni Attire

Praise be for my fabulous new mirror (named 'Louis' in the department store...fabulous) that is now positioned in my uni room for third year. Now I can take socially awkward photos without the assistance of an uncomfortable mother...hurrah.

H&M duster coat, Zara top, New Look jeans, Birkenstocks

Hopefully the mirror should mean more frequent posts, the same black attire and a sight you'll see very frequently... a messy background.