Exam Panic Plus Party Outfit Panic Plus Extremes Of Heat And Money Burning A Hole In Her Pocket...Possible "Paris Ooh La La" Style Stories......

I'm currently in the grip of exam fever...to the point of a Charlie Brown-esque "good GRIEF" exclamation. Yup, I am about to do some (more) dance exams (on saturday) and, whilst I have accepted that a dance class is not neccessarily the best place to style out (However: Stella for Adidas and the folks at Freed might be about to change all that) I am annoyed that I seem to have lost my very favourite diamonté-encrusted hoodie, which, it has been suggested, may have been pilfered from the washing line by 4 sparkle-starved magpies (a beak at each corner, if you will.) Whatevs, it has disappeared, nay, vanished from sight and as such may be residing in either a magpies nest or possibly some parrallel universe in which a more stylish version of myself is limbering up to take some dance exams which she will surely pass in much greater style than I ever could. Oh well, times are hard, and a missing hoodie should be the least of my problems.

Which leads me to the Next Great Quandry: My friend Hayley and her beau Sam are throwing a party to celebrate their Engagement (lovely) on saturday evening (aprés said dance exams, so I shall either be ready to tear up the dancefloor, or get very drunk, depending on the outcome.) And, oh my. What conundrum has presented itself: What to wear.

So, I shall be attending this shindig with the boy, who, in his usual way, could make absolutely anything look effortlessly cool and suitably fierce (despite his nominal protestations that he looks a mess...not true at all, ever.) He is going for a smart style up, so, evidently, attention must be paid...don't want to show him up as the unsophisticated and scruffed up girlfriend, now, do I. (Note to self: Harem pants OUT). As my birthday money has been burning holes in my wallet all week (what better excuse is there to buy a new one?) I decided that I should treat myself to some nice new clothes for the party.

Hot damn, it is hard to shop in a) the heat, which, on Tuesday afternoon, was opressive, and b) the current economic climate, as I don't care what any politicial hot potato has to say, handing over cash (practically £40!) for 3 flimsy strips of material (well, 3 tops, worry not, I shan't be attending the Engagement party masquerading as 'entertainment for later on') is painful, to say the least. But there we go. You have to suffer for fashion. And onward I march, wallet £40 lighter, but I hope, fashion stocks suitably raised.

Here is what I intend to wear: (photo's to follow at somestage, one hopes, but we shall see in due course:)
-Super new cream ruffle shoes (YES, THOSE shoes. The ones I blogged about, which were then bought for me behind my back, hidden, and then given clues to find. Lauren, god love you. Best Birthday ever).
-Super skinny black drainpipe trousers (must remember to breathe in, may not be able to breathe out)
-Slinky grey vest top
-Pretty lace crop top layered over (essentially a doily, and yes, the most I've ever spent on a top, and there is so, so little of it. If it wasn't so pretty I would feel rather cheated, I'll be honest.)
-Plus suitable accessories. It's a look I've lifted from Elle, and Topshop.com who consider "Paris Ooh La La" to be a suitable starting point for looks of AW09/10. Think: a suitable mix of leather and lace, tones of inky black, grey, cream and nude, and velvety textures all around. I'm liking the look and shall dip a toe in it with this outfit. I also have a rather topical fascinator which sports a large amount of sequins and is topped off with a few rather erect sprouted feathers. Quite kicky, to say the least...whether I shall be kicked out of the Engagement gathering for sporting such a bizarre headpiece remains to be seen. Fret not fash fans, I shall report back after the event. (Providing I'm even allowed entry).

Finally I need to extend fashionable thanks in this blog to the following stylish folks: Miss Lozzer, without whom, I would surely be attending this party shoeless, or at least, in an ugly pair of trotters that would ruin my outfit and, ergo, my mood, and also, of course, the boy, who followed me fearlessly into the wilds of female fashion retailers, withstood heat and conflicting opinions, and gave seamless advice at critical moments. Loves xxxxxxxxx
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