Enviable artwork

So I'm a fan of a hell of a lot of art. But I must admit; there are certain pieces that I wouldn't allow anywhere near the place I call 'home'. 

A lot of the time with art, it's the hidden meaning and emotions that I fall in love with. Those pieces that intrigue you, gobble you up and leave you in deep thought for ages afterwards.

But at the same time, I can't get enough of something that's just damn pretty. 

That's not to say that there's nothing behind them. There is no one way of defining artistic quality. That would be bloody boring.

So here's a couple I've had my eyes on. Screw it, I'll make space for them somewhere!

"For You Alone" by Kelly Allen.

Oil and acrylic on panel 30 x 24 inches.

Buy here

"Crusify Me Again. Again." By David Bray.

£50 - Gyclee Print, 21cm x 29cm, Limited Edition 25, Signed & Numbered.

Juicy swimsuits

Oh my! Never before have I seen such deliciously scrumptious swimsuits in my life. With 50s inspired prints and cuts, they are to DIE for. 

Juicy Couture have done well. So nice on the eye... yet so nasty on the wallet. Oh well! They're worth daydreaming over.

Now the above, my friends, is my all time favourite swimsuit, of... wait for it... ALL time! This is so incredibly Marilyn Monroe. 

It embodies all the characteristics that - I believe - are what women are/should be all about. Feminine, playful and down right sexy! You don't get a much more flattering swimsuit colour for olive skin either. £172 - Asos

So... that's what I thought until I found this mofo. Ooh lala! Love the cut. Love the rouch. Love the belt. Love the cherries. 

It really is a tough call between this one and the one above it. If I had the funds, I would have both - but perfection doesn't come cheap I'm afraid! £200 - Asos 

Sometimes I find skirt detailing on swimsuits can be a little childish. However, with the lovely rouch all over the suit, this is good enough to wear out (if you're a little out there, that is). 

This is more of a cut for smaller breasts, however. Those who are well equipped in that department may find a 'bulging over the top' situation occurring - oops! £182 - Asos

Cyber bullying is sick

"9 weeks [in prison] ... Well what's that?"

He's right. Nimrod Severn, a notorious cyber bullying troll, is right. 9 weeks - for hauling horrific abuse at innocent people, causing undue distress and in some cases suicide - is absolutely SOD all. 

This has all come after watching this weeks BBC Panorama - 'Hunting the Internet Bullies'. What can I say? I am absolutely sickened. 

These kinds of actions ruin peoples lives. It's just not funny. Upsetting people who you don't know, and for no reason other than for your own sickening satisfaction, is revolting. 

sxc.hu

Take more minor cases such as that of Cher Lloyd. Yeah, so her music isn't exactly my cup of tea. In fact, it does my head in every time it comes on the radio. 

I could think she was a fake, horrible, individual. That she's "chav scum". That her music is worse than the baby that constantly cries in the flat below me. That her face makes me gag. 

True? False? Who gives two chickens.

These are things you discuss with your friends. Fine. Acceptable. Everyone talks about everyone at the end of the day. It's a fact of life.

But harassing someones personal social networking pages to make them feel bad? To make them cry? To make them commit suicide? And then feel a sense of self-worth as a result? 
T
That deserves much more than a petty 9 week prison sentence. Go die. 

Feb fashion wish list

You could find it boring, but I'm all about black and white - with a touch of colour. Having said that, the only colours I do wear (other than in extreme circumstances) are red, blue and gold. 

Don't believe me? 

Come to my flat and find out; red and blue pop art, french style painting, red beanbag, red pillows, black cushions, white sheets. 

So don't be surprised that everything I'm N-double E-D-ing right now conforms to this. So here we are. The contents of a usual shopping spraul with a basket totalling, well, £464 - much less than usual, at least! Not that I actually buy anything, sadly :(

£20 - Loving the lace!

£25 - Simple and flattering for those with non-matchstick figures. Not too low on the leg. Would be gorge with a little red belt and the lace top (above).

£16 - Love my geometric prints.

£25 - Classic, gorgeous.

£25 - Love the zebre/heart design!

£25 - Haven't tried maxi skirts yet as I can't find them in my style, but I'm loving this one.

£30 - Simple, but flattering. Especially for big booties - where it's hard to get away with high waisted! Trousers that only dabble in the high waisted department suck. But these look perfect.

£20 - Snuggle up for all those early morning lectures.

Team any of these with:

£75 - It's all about the chunky heel, yummy.

£75 - Mega envy - same colour as my old, beloved vintage bag which broke on me!!

£55 - Who cares if you walk like an idiot? I do... But these are HOT! 

£25 - Classy stuff, but whatever you do, don't match the shoes and bag. I disapprove.

£25 - I'm a big fan of toy watches. With the addition of gold - this is LOVE :)
 
Please feel free to buy me any of these, hehe! Size 10, please? 

May alarm bells ring on the most hypocritical day of your life.

Jasmin Andrade sorts out our conundrums on what everyone's thinking about - that fateful wedding day.

www.sxc.hu

Take a look at yourself. Is this you?

You're shuffling to work. A drone. The same train every day. You're 30, unmarried, unhitched, without a significant other. 10 years time and it'll be the big four zero. It's there. It's in your head. In 10 years time nothing will have changed. Same train. Same quasi-life.

Shit. Friends say you don't have long. Your shelf life's expiring. You're the chilled 'Tesco Finest' meal that no one's going to buy. Later tonight you'll be chucked in a skip.

Friends try to hook you up with 'marriage' material. Your sister's tied the knot. Your biological clock is not only ticking, it's about to detonate. It's a suicide vest. Dad twiddles his thumbs. Will he ever get the chance to walk you, march you damn it, down the aisle?

Come on. Get real.

Marriage, that manufactured fantasy. As kids we're sold this dream. The knight in shining armour. Diamond encrusted horse and carriages. Off into the sunset. 'Happily ever after'. A dream garnished with bollocks. Another conundrum of modern womanhood. Let the truth be told.

Feminist Germaine Greer talks sense. She wrote 'The Female Eunuch' (1993). Wives are an "unpaid employee in her husband's house," she argued. "In return for security, [of which] there is no such thing." What's changed? Men are only getting worse. Statistics show 9% less do housework than a decade ago.

It's the 21st century. Fathers releasing their 'rose-blossom' daughters. Allowing them to 'fly out of the nest'. It's no longer the point. "Marriage was preserved by fear," says journalist Suzanne Moore. Security. Finance. Protection. They were reasons to marry. But they're gone. You should know. Women are independent now. Up until the baby drops out, anyhow. That's when 30% of domestic violence cases begin. You'll become a "manipulable reproductive machine". Feminist Anne Oakley was right. She still is.

Let's be realistic. 54% of divorces are down to unliveable behaviour. Violence and molestation included. So why marry? You can't argue with Government statistics.

Of course. It's all about that one day. The day you walk down that isle. Where you're some pumped-up princess.

www.sxc.hu

Face up. You're not Cinderella. Honestly. Ten grand for a dream of happiness? That's all it is. Will pretending you're God's gift equal eternal bliss? Will your problems evaporate? Will it change your life? Will it be the 'solution to everything'?

The TV programme 'Don't Tell the Bride' blows this scenario wide open.

I'm rejoicing in it. Finally, reality is shown. Haven't seen it? I urge you to. Watch it. Laugh at it. Delight in its revelations. What you hear about weddings is garbage. You might start realising this. Then you'll throw it in the bin like the soiled lace thong it is.

'Don't Tell the Bride' is a fly-on-the-wall documentary. A good one for sure. It up-ends traditional wedding planning. It disproves that weddings equal happy ever after. Couples get three weeks and 12 grand to plan their 'big day'. But there's a catch.

The location. The bride's dress. Every last detail. The groom's decision. The bride's in complete darkness. Absolutely no control over 'the most important day of her life' - or so society says. I, however, beg to differ.

Women plan weddings. Not men. That's the convention in most societies. It's at the core of 'Don't Tell the Bride'. Women rule weddings like Hitler ruled Germany. Men are just sycophants. Doormats. Bootlickers. It's an unfair, one sided and unrealistic affair. It ought to stop.

You think the programme's a crap concept? That it artificially throws it out the window? I put this to you: It's not the case. 'Don't Tell the Bride' must be aired. It's needed. Urgently. It proves weddings are grossly artificial occasions.  Women everywhere ought to see reality. To see weddings for what they really are. That includes you.

The producers. They're perfectly within their rights to air it. Every day, preferably. Yes, they toy with conventional 21st century wedding planning. But they should be applauded for doing so. Saluted and praised. Given the mother of all ovations.

Women on their wedding days. The majority have seriously airheaded tendencies. The devil is in the detail. Brides lose sight of the real point of the day. That's if they ever had it. They get hung up over the table decorations. The dress. The champagne. The confetti. The cake. The rings. The car. The bling. They're ridiculously selfish.

You watch them. They say the success of their married life is dependent on that single day alone. That the entire marriage hinges on it. Everything dependant on her exact, pretty often stupid, demands. They must be met. All or nothing. Paradise and total success... or bust. Open your eyes. Smell the coffee.

These women expect every detail in their heads spawned. No fairytale wedding, no happy ending. That's with all women involved. Mums, aunts, sisters, cousins, friends. The list goes on. Each weighs in. More farfetched expectations of men. More demands of the wedding day. And the bride gobbles it all up. Buys in to it. Brain-washes herself. Allows herself to be brain-washed. Allows herself to become a certified 100% airhead - and the doom commences.

WTF is what I say.

Season 5, episode 7. Kara's sister says if groom-to-be Alex 'fails' the wedding: "She's not gonna let him get away with it." Her mum adds: "She'll bring it up every day. Every single day." In all honesty, I wouldn't question them.

Kara frets over designer shoes. "I just want some really expensive shoes," she snorts. "He's got 12 grand, the least he can do is buy me decent shoes." Alex must choose a dress that's above the ankle. People must 'delight' in seeing her shoes. Everything must be pure perfection. Else the entire occasion will be her "worst nightmare". What sad irony.

So darling. Are you from planet naive? Are you a wedding day airhead? Forgive me for getting personal. It's in your best interest. They say weddings are about joining in 'holy matrimony'. So why is the cost of a pair of shoes at all important? This is the real world. "Marriages fail because the expectations are ludicrous," argues Suzanne Moore.

The series unveils the truth. Women have ridiculous expectations and priorities. According to Kara, everything pales in comparison to your dress. "Like, massively! 90%. If I don't feel I look my best, I won't have a good time," she says.

All of this is second-rate. Maybe it's time women realised this. These weddings aren't about love. They're a form of female hysteria. Catapulted at you right about NOW. Weddings have been contaminated. You're probably infected too. They're a matriarchal institution. Plain and simple. They only benefit women.

'Don't Tell the Bride' is an important programme. I'm talking in the long-term cultural sense. It lays it all out. Right in front of us. All is not as it seems. The women who feature on the show. You think you're different? Maybe you're not. Maybe you're just like them. Or you will be on the big day. If you get one.

Let's say you do marry. 10 years have passed. You're 40. Married with a significant other. House in the suburbs. No beautiful flat. No city location. Hot men? Forget it. They'll be out of bounds. The romance has worn off. That's if it ever existed. It's no longer "have a wonderful life together" you hear. It's "well that's marriage for you isn't it?" The kids. They were great for a bit. The novelty wore off soon enough.

Independence? Buried. Cremated. Annihilated. Obliterated. Incinerated. Up in smoke. You're struggling for a moment to yourself. There's no time. For anything. No sex. Not even porn. Maybe he attempts to spruce things up. The odd occasion. Inevitably in the 'marital' bed, aka, 'the marital pit'. Still. You’ve gained a few pounds. Struggle to feel attractive. Even to feel attracted. Confounded by your little one. Stupid o'clock every night. Crying. Running in. You yearn for a moment. One moment. Where you feel like 'you'.

So. Remember back to how you felt first moving into your own place? A place you called your very own. Your sanctuary. No one telling you what to do, how to live. All gone. 

Now ask yourself before the deed is done. Before it's too late. Was the loss of that truly worth the one day I got to act like a pumped-up princess? Where the horse and carriage's only direction was downhill from there? Think carefully. Maybe you'll think again.

So who are you?

The clever one? The one who will sip tea in tranquillity whilst your sister files for divorce? The same fun loving person you were before, minus the pressures and worries. The one who, quite frankly, couldn't care anymore. The one who thanks my guts.

Or the gullible one? Discussing husband difficulties with your sister? How he leaves his socks on the floor. Buys the kids sweets so they like him more. Pees on the toilet seat. Burps and farts indiscriminately. The one whose only ever chance of a fuck will be with a vibrator?

The choice is yours.

Written for Filament Magazine: "For women who like hot men and intelligent thought." filamentmagazine.com

OBITUARY : AMY WINEHOUSE

To most, Winehouse will be defined by her drug obsession, erratic etiquette and the fact that her voice was as large as her beehive hairstyle.

Winehouse stumbled into fame in 2003. The British singer/songwriter holds 3 Ivor Novello songwriting and composing awards. Her debut album, Frank, was nominated for Mercury Prize; with her follow up album, Back to Black, being the third best selling album of the 2000s - below James Blunt and Dido.

Winehouse is a 5 time Grammy Award winner – and is the first British citizen, as well as tying the record by a female artist, to have won 5 Grammys in one night.

Amy Jane Winehouse was born into a Jewish family in Southgate, London, and is the daughter of a taxi driver.

At twelve, Winehouse won a scholarship at the Sylvia Young Theatre School. In her entrance examination, she wrote: “I want people to hear my voice and just forget their troubles.”

However, Winehouse was destined to be a rebel from a young age. Aged fourteen, she got a nose piercing - which lead to her exclusion. She later attended the Brit School in Croydon, before attempting conventional school - which wasn’t her forte either, so she dropped out of that too.

Winehouse began singing with the National Youth Jazz Orchestra. Its co-founder Bill Ashton described her as “incredibly aggressive”. He said: “She didn’t listen to a word I was saying, just smoking aggressively, solidly.”

Winehouse worked at 19 Entertainment, a music and entertainment production company run by Simon Fuller – the man behind Pop Idol. After a 9 month relationship with a colleague, she wrote her debut album, Frank.

Frank was released in October 2003 on the Island/Universal label. Her manager Nick Godwin said: “I’m not sure if beautiful is the right word, but [her] voice was like nothing I’d ever heard before.”

The album blended jazz, pop, soul and hip-hop, with lyrics concerning her failed relationship. Stronger Than Me won an Ivor Novello for best contemporary song.

On receiving her first pay cheque, Winehouse moved into a flat in Camden.

Off the rails

2005 saw Winehouse throw herself into an on and off relationship with Blake Fielder Civil - a school drop-out and former video production assistant. She teamed up with producer Mark Ronson and wrote her second album, Back to Black.

Winehouse fell exhaustedly off the rails in 2006. Nick Godwin, her manager, described her as “the antichrist of pop”.

The troubled singer decided on her notorious 60s inspired beehive hairstyle and plastered her bony body with even more tattoos and piercings. To The Mirror, Winehouse admitted to “a little bit of anorexia, a little bit of bulimia”. She said: “I'm not totally okay but I don't think any woman is.”

In an interview with Q Magazine, Winehouse claimed that tattoos are “a way of suffering for things that mean a lot to you”.

On 4th October 2006, Back to Black was released, which reached number 1 on the UK charts and hit platinum. The album featured Rehab - a song which recounts her record label attempting to force her into a treatment facility. Winehouse decided to take care of the problem herself:

“I did [go to rehab], for just fifteen minutes.

“I went in, said 'hello,' and explained that I drink because I am in love and have screwed up the relationship. Then I walked out.”

Winehouse believed that: “Rehab is like Butlins. It’s a holiday camp. It’s an everyday thing for some people, like going to Tesco’s.”

Mark Frith, editor of Time Out, said: “There is no way that anything about the world of recording or being famous is going to modify her.”

Winehouse had huge potential. Stars such as George Michael admitted to being a fan. However, Winehouse had already firmly pressed the self-destruct button.

The New Statesman called her “a filthy mouthed, down-to-earth diva,” and a vast number of publications slapped their pages with photographs of Winehouse looking intoxicated and semi deceased.

Marriage

Winehouse took her unstable relationship with Fielder Civil to the next level in May 2007, and the couple paid $130 in fees to marry in Miami. “I wasn’t put here to sing. I was put here to be a wife and a mum and look after my family,” she argued in an interview with Rolling Stone magazine.

She then splashed out on a tattoo which read “I Love Blake” above her heart; and was filmed showing her husband the same phrase that she had written on her stomach, using a shard of broken glass. “It’s just a chicken scratch,” she said, to both of their amusement.

In August 2007 Winehouse overdosed on a cocktail of drugs, including heroin and cocaine and was hauled into hospital, where she had her stomach pumped. The following morning, Winehouse made the news simply for being alive. “It just happened,” she told the News of The World.

Winehouse and Fielder Civil thought it best to check into rehabilitation centre “Retreat” in Essex. It was only a matter of days before they checked out, to holiday in St Lucia.

In October, she released Valerie that peaked at number 2 on the UK singles chart.

In 2008, video footage of Winehouse smoking crack cocaine flooded the press. The Sun described her as “a dead woman walking”. The tabloid mentioned a “temptation to drag her by her [newly dyed] egg-yellow hair round a ward at Great Ormond Street Hospital and show her the children fighting to stay alive”.

The remainder of the year saw Winehouse appear on Never Mind The Buzzcocks liquored up and asking for more; throwing up in the middle of her set at G-A-Y nightclub - and singing Michael Jackson’s Beat It whilst inebriated on the Charlotte Church Show.

Winehouse was arrested twice that year, once for assault after allegedly head butting a man and once in connection with alleged drug offences.

After being spotted in January 2009 in St Lucia with six-pack clad aspiring actor, Josh Bowman - Fielder Civil filed to divorce Winehouse on the grounds of adultery.

Winehouse entered a drug replacement programme, but was still drinking heavily. “For the last six months there's been a remarkable recovery,” her father said.

The divorce was granted in August 2009.

The singer told Glamour magazine in November 2010, that she “literally woke up one day and was like, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’”.

Written in the style of www.bbc.co.uk, on 07/02/2011.