My Ideal Glastonbury

So, I'm not there at Worthy Farm. I'm sure many of you aren't either, but my Twitter newsfeed is going mad with updates and it's made me a little...erm...jealous. So rather than send bad thoughts and wishes of rain/lost loo roll/food poisoning/getting peed on at the front of the crowd, I decided to just dream up my ideal Glasto. Time well spent.

I would be precious and haemorrhage money renting a luxury yurt/tour bus/farmhouse for the duration. I would have a fridge stocked with water, Grey Goose, Patron and more water. And maybe some limes. I would wear sequins by day and have thighs like Shingai from the Noisettes. Naturally, there would be constant sunshine. I wouldn't just be front and centre as the Stones took to the Pyramid stage tonight, I would be a cool cat hanging with Keef's entourage looking out on the thousands. I wouldn't wear jewellery as my wrists would be laden with more bands and access-all-areas than Michael Eavis. I would have to tell Kate Moss to stop following me around. And tell Alexa Chung to brush her hair. Barbours and leather jackets would obviously be typical Glasto uniform, but fake flower headpieces would be banned. I would hang out at the Glade, round a camp fire, drinking Jack Daniels and toe tapping to some impromptu Mumford and Sons. Jack Bugg would actually smile and maybe laugh. Cara Delevigne would confide in me that her eyebrows were actually glued on. I would bypass all hangovers and the bizarre need to eat a questionable burger. I would have so much energy, that The Hives would look tame by comparison. I would have deep, dark conversations late into the night with my new found friends – and wake up the next morning knowing we'd sorted the world's problems. Chase and Status and their ridiculous lasers would not be scheduled at the same time as The Stones. I would share a cigarette with the Arctic Monkeys and fall in love listening to The xx. I would witness history in the making. And when it came to leave, I wouldn't get stranded in traffic, nor experience the come down of having to go back to work, no I would miraculously wake up in my own clean bed and wonder if it was all a dream. 

How would you spend yours?

Check out the website and register for next year!

Credit where credit's due: Google images

National Kissing Day

"You need kissing badly... and often... And by someone 

who knows how."

Today is National Kissing Day.

Seems so few of us are actually getting any, that They have given us a semi-official 24hours so there's actually an excuse!

No, really I think it's all about just taking a minute and showing the love to all the great people in our lives; whether that's a movie-style, I-can't-possibly-live-without-you kiss to your flavour of the month, or a chaste little peck on the cheek for your best mate. Hell, maybe even the dog deserves a little smooch for having a wet coat from your tears crying on his silent shoulder. (But don't expect the favour returned from Fido, you KNOW what he's been lickin' before you.)

I think everyone j'adore's kissing – unless you're currently enduring the washing machine teenage years. It's fun, sometimes glorious; women can orgasm just through a little snogging; a decent french kiss can burn five calories as you use all 34 muscles in your face and on average we'll spend two weeks of our lives locking lips. The bad side is that getting it on kissing the life out of someone, will literally do just that – if you're doing it right, you'll elevate your blood pressure, set your pulse racing and send the hormones swimming through your blood. All of this reduces your life by a minute. Shit. Better make those kisses count. 

Besos X

Credit where credit's due: Huffington Post, Tumblr (times square kiss), In Style, Fan Pop

Dressing To Impress The Met Office

So this weekend is full to bursting with events for The Day Job. Its all outdoors which should conjure up images of grabbing a suntan and drinking one too many glasses of Pimms (I always think eating the fruit makes up for missing lunch...). But no. June is not in a happy mood. June is throwing a tantrum which involves sobbing from ominous purple clouds and grumbling with growls of thunder. Delightful.

Getting dressed to look good for The Day Job at polo events when the usual order of the day is summer dresses and whether you can get away with wedges, is posing a problem so I've taken a look for some inspiration. Who said summer showers had to rain on the fashion parade?

I'll be going for layers, Barbour jackets, rocker boots AND Dubarry boots so my toes stay dry (Check out Dubarry here and Hunter here) , a hat and waterproof mascara!

If you're interested in braving the weather this weekend, today is the start of the Audi International Series at Beaufort Polo Club, Gloucestershire. Check out tickets here. And tomorrow, Sunday is the Cartier Queen's Cup; really great high goal and really great party. Take a look here

Itsy Bitsy Bikinis

So the sun is actually out! 

Although how bored is everyone of hearing about it? It's June; we shouldn't be surprised that the sun has decided to fling off her dowdy, thick jumper of grey clouds and skim across the sky in all her golden glory. So let's all stop acting surprised that hail isn't throwing itself at our windows and simply enjoy our skin sucking up the Vitamin D.

With this weather you'll either be racing to the nearest open space in your lunch break or  dreaming about summer holidays and for both you'll need some very hot bikinis. I suggest Sun, Set, Go.

These are a great range produced by two friends and modelled by one of my favourite blogs, TwinFashion. Only slight snag; they seem to be only available in Greece. Hmmmmm, problem. Who fancies a swimwear shopping trip to Athens...?

Credit where credit's due: Yigoros Kaplanidis, TwinFashion & Sun.Set.Go 

The Lady Is A Tramp

So leading on from last week's pre Audi Polo Award romantic dress notions, here's what I actually wore; my take on The Tux... 

Little outfit breakdown: Tux jacket: vintage, bodysuit top: Aqua (good news, it's in the sale; bad news, not in white), cigarette pants: Italian (and worn to death so much, that the bum has almost worn out so I was in danger of showing my derriere. Typically, I did not realise this wardrobe malfunction until I got out of the car, but you can't tell here so, shush don't tell....!), shoes: Topshop (these are so painful that even my mantra of "stilettos stay on as tightly as you hold onto your morals" was put to the test).

It was a fabulous evening, as ever. Lots of air kissing, gossip, clapping so much my hands hurt and once again getting over emotional at the Audi polo film footage. Every year I cry as some rousing tune booms out as clips from last year's emotional plays and brilliant tournaments come back to life on the screens. It's pathetic really.

I need to be a bit more trigger happy with the camera I know, but here's a clip from last year's event so you can get the general gist. 

Audi Polo Awards 2012 from Justin Powell on Vimeo.




Credit where credit's due: Images of Polo

Oscars of Polo Part II

March of the Penguins

I always think at black tie parties, it's the guys that look the best. Yes, most women have spent days in preparation mulling over outfits, buying Another New Dress and spending a good hour in front of the mirror applying more Mascara than an Essex girl sees in a month, but men in tuxedos just look... edible. 

Maybe it's because nowadays, unless you happen to work in The City, you so very rarely see a man in a decent suit. They always seem to be in All Saints t-shirts, dirty whites or hole-y jeans and any-old-shoes. Occasionally a decent watch helps me to recall that I'm with men and not college boys. 

But when there's a ball on, out come the dress shirts and hello, there's a gentleman in our midst. I instantly hope they're going to drink scotch, smell of Tom Ford's Noir and have a gold lighter which they'll casually flip open to light my cigarette. 

So for the Audi Polo Awards guys, don't grab a machine washable suit; don't borrow your brother's and do NOT wear jeans. Take inspiration from Tom Ford (WHAT a waste), George Clooney and closer to home, Nacho Figueras. 

A tuxedo isn't just a suit.

It's Frank Sinatra laughing with the Rat Pack; it's Bond drinking a martini and it's Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. It's Redford as Gatsby and Steve McQueen looking The Bollocks. It's Clark Gable not giving a damn and George Clooney stealing your casino millions. It's Marlon Brando in The Godfather and Paul Newman looking beautiful. Now who wouldn't want to be a little piece of these guys for the evening?

My basic rules are: 

Wear a slim fit shirt – you players shouldn't have to worry about moobs or muffin rolls so get something that's cut properly

A proper bow tie – you can zip up knee pads, wrap ponies legs in bandages and undo a woman's bra, you can tie a bloody bow tie

And shiny shoes – this isn't the yard now so add some spit 'n' polish to your stamps.

For a more cohesive break down, check out GQ, here. 

Oh and don't wear a white jacket. You'll just look like a dickhead. Humphrey Bogart was telling Sam to play it again in Casablanca and even he looked a little suspect. And Connery as Bond could almost pull it off but then he also drove a DB5 so who noticed what he was wearing?

Credit where credit's due: The Sartorialist, Google, The Rake,Vogue & GQ