Head rush

Ribbons + buttons + clips + newly blonded hair + event = self-indulgent fascinator creating...

Summer dressin'

This is my last day of 'between jobs' freedom and I'm oh-so excited about what I have planned. The To-Do list is lengthy but there's only two nasty things on there (1. Pay parking ticket 2. Pay gas bill) - everything else is along the lines of, 3. Try on outfits, 4. Go and buy wedding card, 5. Buy ribbon ... you guessed it, dear reader, I'm off to a wedding. Or more accurately, a wedding after-party.

Summer weddings are the grown-up version of my undergraduate summer balls which were a delight and a tradition. Set in the picturesque quad of our college, for four years in a row (I went back for one) my first year roomie and I dolled ourselves up for the glam meets alcoholic-sham all-nighter. Often the getting ready was the best part; it's certainly the part I, er, remember best. Ball/party/must-wear-dress events are my favourite kind of outfit planning. I adore deciding whether or not this dress requires earrings, what shade of nail polish should be worn, which shoes are dressy enough without being matchy matchy - everything going towards creating the elusive elegant yet kooky, sexy yet subtle special effect. Event-dressing is the perfect opportunity for finishing touches you wouldn't normally have time for - G and I always used Summer Ball as an excuse to do something fun from fresh flower corsages to ribbons in the hair, vintage bags and belts, big time blow dries and Grecian maxi dresses, there was always something new to add to the mix. Alternative flat shoes had to be worked into the outfit, and the process was without fail smoothed along by champagne, strawberries and a lungful of Elnett. Yum.

Excuse my reminiscing; hopefully tomorrow's festivities will match up. Hopefully my outfit won't match match.

Raspberry hooray

I've talked before about my blind love for baking and never is it more fun than when you are either procrastinating or bored as anything. Yesterday, I was both.

I was rummaging through the fridge when I chanced upon half a punnet of raspberries that Housebunny and Mr. Housebunny had neglected. Well out of date and looking a bit squishy, I was reluctant to chuck or compost them as raspberries are heaven in a berry as far as I am concerned; I just didn't have the heart. That was when I remembered culinary queen M waxing lyrical about a raspberry sponge she once made. So I gave it a go.

What deliciousness emerged from the oven 15-20 minutes later! A magnificent sponge was studded with the little pink gems which had formed fruity starbursts throughout the cake. I can't get enough of this baked goody. Try it, and serve with cream. You could experiment with other berries, or a mix, but you're morally obliged to let me know how you get on.

M's royal raspberry sponge

4 oz self-raising flour
4 oz butter
4 oz caster sugar
2 eggs
As many raspberries as you have, or your heart desires

1. Grease and line a cake tin or two (if you want to do a sponge sandwich, double these quantities and make two). I used round tins about 1 1/2 " deep and the size of a large side plate. Preheat your oven to 180 degrees.

2. Cream together the butter and sugar in whatever method you prefer - I am currently using a whisk attachment on my food processor as my hand mixer has bitten the proverbial dust. If you're lucky enough to have a KitchenAid, I'm jealous.

3. Add the eggs and then the flour, little by little. Don't worry if the batter seems a little thick - this only means the mixture will hold the raspberries better and they won't sink.

4. Fold in your raspberries gently and try not to squish them too much - you want them to stay intact so that they form little bursts throughout the cake.

5. Spoon into your tin(s) and bake in the oven for about 15-20 minutes. Keep an eye on it though and as soon as a skewer emerges from the centre of the cake clean, and the sponge springs back with a vengeance, it's ready. Cool in the tin for ten minutes then turn out onto a cooling rack.

6. You could sandwich this together with whipped cream and more fresh fruit, or just serve with pouring cream. De-licious.

Sew improvised

I've been to Saturday drama classes. I'm the veteran of summer theatre courses (Grease in a week!). I've done GCSE, A Level, heck I've even done a degree in drama. So I can improvise all right. [Freeze!]

Which is a good job because I've started sewing some new additions to my wardrobe and gosh darn it, improv is an essential tool to have in your needlework box. Second only to fabric scissors which I soon realised I wouldn't get too far without. My first creation was a nipped and tucked sassed up versh of an old dress; my second I began today and it's going to be - thimbled fingers crossed - a swishy dirndl skirt in a fun print. The material's an absolute biatch to work with though - it puckers and creases at any available opp and my machine has endless issues. The needle breaks or it runs out of thread or it won't move and I don't know why... I'll never be a seamstress, though I'm enjoying these dabbles.

Thriftiness is certainly in style, if that's possible. You can hardly pick up a glossy supplement or free tabloid rag without being told all about credit crunch fashions - works for me as I am about to begin a six month (hopefully career enhancing) unpaid stint and it's certainly a stylish office. What better reply to a compliment than to say your skirt is home-made? This relies on getting the compliments first, of course. It's much much more difficult to pick out a second hand skirt or to sew a top than to pick a garment off a rail at (insert fave shop here) and have the result look good. Unfortunately, thriftiness doesn't make up a percentage of style - you don't look better just 'cos it's vintage. In fact, you're more likely to look worse - hence the cachet that comes from getting second hand/vintage/own-made/reclaimed right. Instant style credit that never crunches.

So when I finish my twirl-able navy skirt I'm going to have to force myself not to be sentimental (a feat the writers of tonight's episode of Gossip Girl were unable to manage). That's if I ever finish it. Turns out the folks at Burda Style were optimistic when they said "Beginner" and "hour or two". They hadn't figured TBOG might be at the pedal.

Wish me luck.

That Bad Messy Girl

God damn, I am messy. I mean, really, seriously messy. I don’t think you have ever known anyone as messy as I am. I just distribute the atoms of my life in packages, parcels and piles all over and around any environment I enter. I have at least six wardrobes; one in the car, one in the hallway, one draped over the banisters, one in the bathroom and at least two on my bedroom floor. Oh the actual wardrobe? Well that’s reserved for glitzy show costumes from when I was six years old. Obviously.

I just can’t help it. I think it’s one part laziness, one part genetics and one part self-destructiveness. Maybe subconscious fear has a part to play too - like, I can never fall too hard if I have all this stuff around me to cushion the impact. I do love mess a little bit, though. I remember watching Lost In Translation and going all gooey over the artful abomination that is Charlotte’s (Scarlett Johansson) hotel room. So much more life-embracing and comfy than the clean (puke) lines the room is designed with. I don’t mind clean and tidy rooms; I LOVE messing them up, though. Just not thinking and strewing stuff everywhere - it’s my stock in trade. Everywhere I go I leave a little trail of make-up products, cocktail rings, restaurant receipts, blue nail varnishes, old novels, new mags, broken pens, half-filled notebooks, disposable cameras, partly empty coffee pots, totally empty wine glasses, screwed-up cake wrappers, undone leather belts…

My messiness does totally screw me over, though. I can’t find things, I tread on (and break) things (then get glass in foot), I constantly (and I mean constantly) feel I should be tidying up and I do think that if my house was impeccably tidy, my life would be perfect. Of course, it wouldn’t be. But it might exist in a better looking frame.

Home and away

I'm taking a little time out between jobs, so recently I've been a homebird. It's rather nice; there's time to do all the things you always meant to do but never got round to. So far I've painted my front door a nice navy blue, turned my £3 M&S market bought dress into a sassier version of itself - complete with ruffles - whipped up a mean chilli for pals and cleared out the kitchen dresser (in the process stumbling across a darling little vintage watch which must have been Mama's).

This evening I also got around to watching a movie I've been meaning to catch for ever - The Motorcycle Diaries. That's when I realised there's something else I never got around to doing; I forgot to ever go travelling. It's something I would like to do but honestly I don't think the time has ever been right. If I was going to go away for plenty time, it would have to be exactly right. The repercussions of Guevara's travels in the movie (certainly I ought to read up as well; I intend to) are vast and really, I would want any stint away to have a great impact on me too. Not that I am ever going to become a Communist revolutionary - more's the pity - but an extended holiday would just feel pointless. Travel for travel's sake is a huge luxury and if I was going to capitalise on it I would at least need to feel that I had the made the most of the opportunity, whether through making a physical impact or forming personal ideas.

Adventure comes out of the blue, though - you don't have to hop on a plane to find it. Prettiness itself, M, told me a friend of hers will often take a different route to work just to add adventure to his day. Or you can take a trip back in time like I have done today, simply by rifling through my kitchen drawers. Guaranteed you'll make discoveries untold.

*Just as a footnote, is there anything more beautiful than Gael Garcia Bernal?