Friday, 5 November 2010

The East End Thrift Store Part Deux.

So the East End Thrift Store had a new delivery of capes, sweaters, shirts and dresses. We thought it would be rude not to go down and take a look. A free bar was the main reason we went down there though. We stopped at the Blind Beggar on Whitechapel High Street, had a few beers, ordered a cheese board, played pool, had a couple of arguments then strolled down to Assembly Passage. I also knew there would be some trendy looking kids lurking about, so took my photographer, Pablo, along with me to snap some fashionistas. I wasn't disappointed.

This young lady seemed to coordinate her outfit with the Bow Wow at her feet. Bobble hat, Body Con dress, over sized leather jacket and matching tights with vintage boots. A great look for the upcoming winter months. Even her pup couldn't keep his eyes of her.

The massive scarf wrapped around her neck, with a khaki long coat and red hair. The crazy curls, distressed denim jacket, grandad jumper and black tights. Two looks that stood out from the crowd. Showing her support for our forces with a paper poppy, and the customary beers in hand. They deserved to be papped and posted.

Colour! A true statement outfit. Oxblood boots, red tights, a lacy yellow dress and mustard tweed jacket with hair in a bun. Grandma chic. You couldn't help but look at this girl as she scanned the rails for bargains.

Geek chic is still alive and kicking. A good mop of hair, fitted coat and checked scarf with skinny jeans and an air of authority. Another stylish lad photographed by Pablo for Style Council.

This lad had a real grungy look going on. Skin tight jeans, denim shirt, checked scarf, distressed biker jacket, NHS specs and beanie hat. Another winner in the style stakes.

Layers, layers, layers. You can never go wrong when teaming denim with a flannel shirt, a pretty dress, large necklace, silk scarf in your hair and headphones hanging at your side. The type of gal you wanna have a chat with and find out what she's up to. A cute look for a vintage shopping trip.

The owl sweater won it for me. I love silly novelty jumpers, very Flight of the Conchords. Teamed with a tatty looking coat and tight jeans and this guy has that messed up look down to a tee. Another find by Pablo my photographer, he never lets me down.

Cute brogues, cream tights, a pencil skirt, delicate top, chunky belt, sheepskin coat and a flowing scarf. A head turning look for the cold nights drawing in. The broach is a nice touch to an understated look.

Looking like Serge from Kasabian, this lad proves that you can put on your nan's fur coat and still look Rock 'n' Roll. Add a delicate scarf, two day old stubble and skinny jeans, and the look screams 'I'm in a band!' Doubt he's as well off as the boys of England's biggest band.

One all in black and t'other in fur, tights and ankle boots. Two totally different styles, but two totally eye catching looks.

A tweed blazer, flat cap, burgundy DM's and skinny jeans; this guy could be your grandad, but he isn't. Looking every inch the gent, simple but effective.

So I woke up this morning and realised that I had spent ninety quid on a pair of loafers, three jumpers and a cape. A bad mistake considering I don't get paid for three weeks and I have fuck all money anyway. To forget about my spending spree we went and downed a few drinks at the White Hart, jumped on the Central Line and had a couple of poached eggs on toast at home. A perfect end to a lovely evening..........

Thursday, 4 November 2010

Untitled VI

The door slammed shut and the house rattled as if it had been awoken from a dream. Billy peered out from his warm duvet towards the hallway. His mum had left for work. She had returned to her teaching role a few days ago and had left Billy alone for the first time in months. In some ways Billy was relieved, but there was an underlying anxiousness that he could not shift. He looked down at his leg then peered across to the stub on the right side of his body and sighed. Another day of boredom and another day of wishing he was dead.

Billy lifted himself onto his wheelchair and rolled towards the bay window that overlooked Galleon Lane. It was frosty outside and the air was still dark from the night before. He scanned the road for life but could only see a few women walking hand in hand with small children; obviously taking them to school. Billy frowned; he missed his friends, he missed riding his bike to Parkside Primary, he even missed his teachers. With one hand he turned his chair towards his shabby single bed. Times were hard; his mother hadn't worked in months, she was getting ill and no money was coming in. There was even talk that they may lose the family home. Billy didn't care; he knew someone up there was punishing him. First the accident, now this. He was happy to live on the streets with all the crackheads, whores and runaways. He didn't see himself as any better than them. He was an outcast as well; people would piss on him in the street and spit at him as he rolled by. That's what he thought anyway.

As Billy pulled himself back onto his cold bed he heard a creaking outside his bedroom door. Then he heard a shuffling. Creak, shuffle, creak. Billy thought it was Gil, the manky old cat from next door that came into the house from time to time, hunting for mice. But this sounded bigger than a cat. It sounded almost human. Creak, shuffle, creak. Billy began to feel scared. He had been having vivid nightmares about the man who had ripped his leg away from him. The man had been chasing him, with a look of murder in his eye. His hands were covered in blood and he was tailing Billy. Billy's feet were getting heavier and heavier. Then he looked down, he was chained to the floor. The man had caught him; Billy was doomed. A brick smashed across Billy's face and he was blind. He couldn't see what the man was doing to him but the pain was intense. He was dying. The brick was pounding down on him. Smash, smash, smash. Billy was dead.

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

When the Legoman turned up, he stole the party......

It was a short journey up the M1 to Northampton. We played Pure Garage on the ghetto blaster and drank cheap booze to get ready for the Halloween spectacular at the youngest Ford's twenty bedroom student house. At one point Mr Mulhern had a spot of road rage and raced a car that we thought were undercover coppers. Luckily they were not. It must have looked strange to passers by as they peered into our Ford Focus, four slightly pissed Mexican candy skulls rocking out to Artful Dodger on the fast lane of the motorway.

There was no contest in the best dressed at the do. Alice, as a Legoman, smashed the competition out of the water. Even a sexed up Queen of Hearts and Pit stop girl couldn't compete with the red tied classic toy that bounded into the kitchen. Even the cardboard box feet couldn't halter her triumphant rise to the top of the Halloween fancy dress league.

As the night went on, Jennifer's face remained perfectly painted while I sweated most of mine away. When it comes to organisation, working out tax refunds, tidying her bed, packing her suitcase or painting her head like a skull, Jennifer 'Anthea Turner' Ford is a cut above. She even wants our wedding to be sponsored by a chocolate bar in appreciation for her hero.

The middle Ford seems to be taking after her older sister in the perfect face painting stakes, looking effortlessly haunting in this picture. Mr Mulhern had trouble because of his ZZ Top beard so managed to look more like a panda than a skull.

The wine and the love was flowing as the evening went on. Apart from a rough bird with white powder dripping from her nose, who accused me of using my walking stick as a fashion statement and not a necessity, everyone seemed to be getting on. I spilt a beer over her mutton face and went and bought some rose tequilas to calm down. Jennifer practised a golf shot with my stick, perfectly breaking the bottom of Kate's wine glass, threw her Iphone across the bar and began dancing to the Halloween beats. It was getting messy.

The Legoman outfit was getting a lot of attention. Super Barbie turned green with envy and the skull candy people tried to beat him up. The crowds at the bar had all eyes on the large yellow toy, a pumpkin humped his leg and the bouncers tried to samba with him. Shame there was no prize for the best costume at MoMo................... because that coked up bitch who accused me of being a ponce would have won it for her whore outfit.

Then the love that was in the air got everyone hot under the collar. My face began dripping even more and my permed hair seemed to be getting frizzier as the hours shot by.

Jennifer preferred me with the Lego head on and kissed me for the first time of the night, and Kate and Ads began smooching in the corner. She was just warming him up for later that night when he would be sharing a bed with me. The next morning Mr Mulhern admitted that he found it almost impossible not to spoon me as I slept with my nose to the wall.

The hugging and the kissing was getting ridiculous. The little Ford was sandwiched between myself and Mr Mulhern, aka, Thomas the Wank Engine, and the Queen of Hearts and Super Barbie got a bit frisky on the dance floor. It was time to go home.

So we stopped off at the kebab shop; Jennifer nearly had a fight with a girl who was eating cucumber from my chips in pitta, and Adam got his balls out to lighten the situation. It didn't work. However, our cockney accents seemed to frighten the little blighters off, and the possible fight never happened.

So thank you Miss Ford for a very eventful weekend. I would kiss you all over that cheeky face of yours if you weren't up north. Oh and thanks for the breakfast, even though Carol finished it off...........
Spare change guv'ner?