Who invented "One-Click Buy"?

You probably know what I'm talking about - those websites that have the option of buying with a mere click. No hassle of filling out forms or deciding whether to have it gift-wrapped - it's already done and dusted. I've had some problems with this function in the past, my most memorable was when I accidentally purchased a recipe book from those suffering from the menopause. Quickly cancelled that order...
But today I bought a camera. And I didn't regret it either. 3 figures of my hard-earned cash were spent with one click. It shouldn't be allowed. I felt no pang of guilt, no option of backing out when I had to fill out the forms - it was just done.
It's a brilliant camera, by the way. I shall yet again upload a picture of it so you can all coo over its splendour. Very good price as well. I look forward to documenting my summer with it.

Can never have too many of these.

As I sit in my significant other's penthouse apartment overlooking the sea, I realise that it is such a gorgeous night. For the UK, of course, that can mean anything. But what I love about the sky is the angry clouds - so much emotion curling across the sky, illuminated by pinks and hues and shadows of grey. Stunning. Imogen Heap is playing on the laptop, reminding us about the needless consumerism of our society, and I am thus reminded that I have fallen into the lap of materialism, giving a subconscious lapdance to shops and trends.

So anyway, just to prove myself wrong, I debuted my new green dress - (see the pic below) to what I can only say was a hesitant audience. Okay, so admittedly, I wore it to church, so I kind of saw it coming. And what's worse is that I was actually nervous about wearing it. Is it even brave to make such a statement if you're nervous about doing so in the first place? Does that make the bravery more commendable? I don't know. I'm pondering for no need, and a sandwich has just appeared beside me, so I shall bid you farewell for tonight.

The heels from hell.

I'm not the kind of gal who wears heels to work, but when I go out on the razzle dazzle, I tend to throw on a pair. Last night was one of those nights. I'd purchased a pair of patent heels which were a tad higher than I normally go for, but because they were cushioned, I thought I would be fine.
So teetering down the hill to the bus, I thought, ok, they're a bit high, but they're not painful yet. Fast forward a couple of hours, and my feet are pretty much broken. The hours that they've spent contorted into the pretty yet disfunctional shape of my shoes have made them cry out in agony, and the hour I spent waiting for a taxi to get home didn't help. Quelle disastre. So I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling of being crippled and a vague knowledge that I'm not going to be wearing heels for a very long time now. The heels in question have been banished to a corner of my room, facing the wall in the hope that they will learn from their mistake and turn over a new leaf.

Relapse.

Okay, so I've had a slight relapse. I try not to buy as many of the dresses as I would like to purely because I don't have the funds available. But, seeing as I have quite a few functions this year, I've been keeping my eye open and my options wide in case something arrived that caught my fancy. So now I have two dresses hanging limply in the cupboard, waiting to spring to life once put on. Oh so beautiful, they are.

But enough about moi. The past few days have passed by peacefully and uneventfully. I wasn't working Thursday or Friday, hence the lack of posting, but I'm back today. On one of the days I was off, we recieved a dress that had been awol for about five months now. It was worn in a fashion show, but unfortunately somewhere along the line drink was spilled down it, and we left it in the group's capable hands to get it dry cleaned and returned. Took them a while and a few phone calls, but at least we got it back in the end.

I went on a trapse around the city with a friend doing some shopping-related errands, and I went to check out the vintage boutique that I'd been recommended by the owner. Cute little place - lots of stock in one area, and really nice pieces. Quite pricey, although I expect to go back and have a proper rummage. On a completely separate but quite related note, I was in the pharmacy looking for my usual £1 tube of tinted moisturiser. I asked a nearby saleswoman for her assistance at pointing out said tube because my eyes couldn't spot them anywhere. I was then led to the Dior counter, where a woman sat me down in a director's chair, took off my makeup, and covered me in the most expensive tinted moisturiser in the shop. Not only that, but she then re-did my makeup. I was completely sold. Now, I'm not one for expensive splurges, especially on things that come in a tube, but she made me feel so unbelievably good, I couldn't say no. Admittedly, she did put a trifle too much on, but that's the look, I suppose. You know the type of person who wears a *lot* of makeup, along with bleached extensions in their hair, acrylic nails, fake tan and a non-existent skirt? That's what I'd need to become to be able to pull off the amount of makeup I was wearing, but hey, I loved it.

It's official. I *know* people.

As the title of this post suggests, I'm feeling rather smug right now. That's right - I *know* people. Okay, so here's the story. It's not actually exciting, just a feeling of being connected. I had a regular in trying on outfits for the swanky business awards ceremony as previously mentioned, and she'd fallen for a beautiful one which needed some work done to make it fit her perfectly. There was a slight time issue, by which I mean that the customer was due to attend a meeting. The solution? I picked up my telephone, called my contact, which was the best alterationist in the area, begged and pleaded down the phone, worked my magic and got him round to the shop to work on the dress in 5 minutes. In 10 it was pinned and ready to be taken away, ready for collection the following afternoon, approximately two hours before the lady would be wearing it to collect her award. Congratulations to her, by the way.

Ok, so I've established that nobody feels like shopping on a Wednesday...good to know. I myself am going shopping tomorrow; need to scout out some new black heels and just see what springs into my grasp. I'm also wondering if it's worth booking a hair appointment now to get some more blonde put in my hair before the wedding of some friends that I'm going to. I probably need to source some form of fake tan place. Sigh. Sometimes you have to pay the price for being British. When I lived abroad I was the talk of the tanning town, but now...pale as a white Corsa. How the tanned mighty have fallen.

It's the final of The Apprentice tonight! Whoop whoop! I'm so pleased with myself - over the past 12 weeks, I've not missed one single episode. Luckily, during term time, I had a really early class on a Thursday, so Wednesday became my "night in", and thus didn't miss any of The Apprentice. So yes. My thoughts on the situation are as follows:

Lee: Not sure about him. He's a bit of a "geezer", but his heart is in the right place. He lied on his CV to get where he is, and seems to have a chip on his shoulder about his educational background for some reason. Needs to get over that or it's going to hold him back. Too Londony when he talks, and can't seem to say "project" with the proper articulation that one would expect from someone who might just land the £100,000 job. Sugar may favour him because of his background, but we all saw how that panned out with Michelle from last year, who he hired because she was a checkout girl. Disaster. She got pregnant with another contestant and quit within 4 months, having lost the baby.

Claire: Mouthy biatch, seems a bit smug. Knows she's awesome. I like the change that seems to have come over her in the past few weeks, but Sugars people think this is just a facade and it could well be. She's good, but I think Sugar will have his reservations about hiring a female, to be honest, because of Michelle. However, that said, he may have regretted his decision about Ruth Badger (she was runner-up and also a mouthy biatch.) This regret may push Sugar to rectify his judgement and hire someone who's got the balls to speak up.

Alex: Don't really like him. He's young, he's cocky, and he doesn't seem loyal. Seems to avoid taking the blame quite a bit. Nah. Don't like him and wouldn't hire him.

Helene: Not much to say. She should have been fired a LONG time ago. Not sure why she's still there, to be honest. She's completely useless, too old for the job and wouldn't respect Sugar the way a younger competitor would. Doesn't have the skills required for the job. She'll be first to go, followed by Alex. Claire and Lee in the final two, I say.

Good luck to them all!

It's amazing who you meet in the dress industry.

So I just sold the most beautiful fawny gold bubble dress to a lovely lady. She was genuinely lovely. She brought her newborn in with her the first time she came to see the dress, and he was a charmer. She informed me that she owns one of the vintage boutiques in the city, to which I was surprised! I'm a major fan of vintage/retro/kitsch, but mainly buy my one-offs from a particular vintage boutique, and apart from that, either Etsy.com or I physically go to other cities. Now I have a new place to scout out, and better yet, they have a special order service so they can take in pieces just for you. Tres exciting. Must go have a cup of tea with her sometime!

If you couldn't guess, the shops a bit quiet today. I've got a woman coming in who's recieving some kind of swanky award and thus needs a showstopper, so I've picked out some of the best pieces for when she arrives. Apart from that, it's been phonecalls tracking down more dresses for people and posting out colour swatches to people who want to find the perfect shoes. It's a hard life.

But on a shimmeringly brighter note, I found out this morning that I have successfully passed first year of University! Yes, that's correct. Even the modules I had to take for my course yet had no interest in gained me high marks! It's amazing what you can do when you skive a term of Uni and study only the weeks before the exam!

My better half has the family visit coming up next week, of which I am currently enrolled to attend. I'll be honest, I'm absolutely terrified. I've been with him for 14 months now, and he stays at my house once a week, has dinner with my family at least twice a week, and we now call the room he stays in "his" bedroom. It's actually just the study, but whatever helps us sleep at night. So yeah, I'm feeling slightly panicky because I've never met his family. I don't even know their names. I've glimpsed his sister once, and she looked like she was a lovely person, but that didn't help. And to top it off, all I can think about is whether I should be myself, a slightly delusional teenage girl addicted to vintage clothing and dying my hair, or the more mature version of myself, a bit plain, articulate, doesn't make much of an impression. Actually, that just answered it. I'm pretty scared that they're terrified of me, my sense of style and how I come across, mostly because I only have 3 days to prove that I'm not insane and that I am in fact worthy of being their only son's girlfriend. BUT, I've ordered a vintage dress for the occasion, and it's a belter. I'm not sure how they'll cope with it. I love it to pieces, but from what I've heard, they're a bit more normal than I am. You'll see from the picture that it's gorgeous, but I don't know if its a bit much for a first impression. Ach well. I'll let you know how it goes down.

Ok, so I'm ordering the non-slutty red colour?

At the moment, nothing gives me more satisfaction than helping to design a unique corset and skirt set. There's just something about giving so many options that the customer is able to have every single detail tailored just to her desire. Give it 6 weeks of labour, and it's due to be delivered by a team of specialist corset worshippers. The box is slowly opened, the crisp paper unfolded, and there it is - the corset baby; a gift from heaven/a workroom down south. I've become the person you come to about corsets - I know them inside out, I know what would look awesome and what not to have. I know all about their boning and how good it feels to wear one. I've just placed a pretty damn stunning order for a customer, and I cannot wait to see it born. Obviously, the price is a bit of a factor, but once you've had one of these corsets on, price goes out of the window. You feel smug, womanly, curvy and beautiful - nobody will match your shape, and whilst you may not be eating, you'll still look poised and graceful because of the posture you are forced into. People pay for that kind of thing. I know I do - I've got a fully steel-boned corset and it's pretty much the best thing I own, clothes-wise. Truthfully, it hurts a bit, but that's just because I've eaten too many chippers recently and it just takes a bit more effort than normal to get it on. No worries.

Hi, I'm hoping you can help me...

It's so unbelievably tricky to track dresses down. I've just had to break the news to a lovely-sounding Glaswegian that the dress she was enquiring about wouldn't actually be arriving in America until late August, more than a month after the function she wanted to wear it to. Very sad. So, upon feeling very sorry for her, I've taken upon myself to track down similar dresses and email a list of my findings to her tomorrow. Wish me luck.
The day's going by very quietly, mostly because it's a beautiful day and no-one in their right minds would come and try on dresses. On a plus, the time is passing thoroughly quickly, because I've been on the phone to all kinds of people, discussing padded cups in dresses, how to spot-clean an evening gown and seeing if there is any chance of locating a last-season style. There's no chance of that, in case you were wondering. It was *so* last April of me to ask.

So I'm eating Skips and watching the mum-mobiles zoom past the window, circling the block looking for a parking space big enough to house their monster of a car. What's wrong with a Vauxhall Zafira, anyway?

Ah, the lunchtime swarm of school children. How lovely. There's nothing quite like seeing the innocence and naivety of our future leaders. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting to see these future leaders, because the only people that I see at lunchtime are what I like to politely call "yobs." Mostly the deliquent youth types; the kind that would happily drop-kick you in the face if it meant that they'd be able to steal your mobile, and then would probably video you with it afterwards. I cannot imagine what the country is going to be like in ten or twenty years, and I'm not even in my twenties yet, for goodness' sake! I'm talking about youth, from a youthful perspective. I grew up in fear and awe of elders. Being a first year at Secondary School actually meant something, and of course the sixth-years were the bees knees. Heads would turn when they walked through the hallway, and a hush would fall. Not anymore. I'm pretty sure I was called a "knob" by a young first year when I was a sixth-year.

There's just no respect. Of course, being the young rebellious type (cough cough), I understand slightly. Who is left to respect anymore? Bush is a joke, Blair was a disaster and Brown is even worse! All the world thinks about is themselves. I'm actually reaching the point where I'm glad I wasn't born a) male or b) in London, because statistically, I'd have been knifed or shot a long time ago.

Two strapping young men from my class at school just strutted past the window in their Sunday best. I wonder where they've taken upon themselves to work over the summer. Perhaps a lawyers office, or an estate agency. Maybe they're just out for a stroll and decided to neaten up. They look awfully old. They'll be carrying initial-stamped briefcases and canes tomorrow. How nonchalantly kitsch. Love it.

I had an argument last night with my significant other about doilies. We'd been watching "Location, Location, Location" (brilliant show) and were shocked that they could actually buy a 3-bedroom house for less than £100,000. No house like that would go for less than £175,000 around here. So, we were spurred to have a gander and see what we could actually find for under £100,000 in our area. Apart from the normal council houses and dingy flats, there was one house that I fell into its spell. I'm actually still in love with it. I'll see if I can upload the photo that did it for me, and the reason that we started arguing about doilies...

So the picture depicts my ideal living room. Old-fashioned, incredible stone-cladding and a vintage fireplace. I am in love with this property, but sadly, I can't afford it. I wish I could go out on a whim and try and buy the place, but I think they'd just laugh. Maybe I could convince my parents that property is the best place for our money right now. Anyway, so I told him that I loved the living room, he laughed and told me that if we ever got a house together, there was no way I'd get a room like that. And then I said I liked doilies, and it went downhill from there.

I still maintain that doilies are cool and acceptable additions to a kitsch house. Sigh.

Do you close for lunch?

What kind of business actually closes for lunch? Sure, I may sit in the shop eating a sandwich whilst I try and help you, but hey, it beats locking you out while I peruse the newspaper eating my packet of Skips. Honestly.

When I was a kid, I used to tell my father he was being a "psycho dad", normally when he was disciplining me. It's since become a family joke, and we nonchalantly pass around the insult. However, I just witnessed what I can honestly say was a real-life, full-time "psycho mum". Never before have I encountered this kind of mothering, or smothering. Either or. She was polite, she was charming, and she hated everything her daughter loved. It had to be the dress that the mother loved, not the daughter, because maybe in her head, she was going to the prom instead of her teenage daughter. Must have been some kind of suppressed dress-buying memory that has turned her into the Godzilla of all boutiques.

The dawn of the dresses.

If it wasn't clear before, dresses is what I do. I sell, buy, wear dresses. And today, I have been given a mission by a Northern Irelander to track down an expensive cocktail dress in America, and then have it delivered to her door in 2 weeks. Not for the faint-hearted, I assure you. It's these kind of tasks that make me wonder about the people in this world. I've had to track down someone that can inform me of the final cost of the dress, which she'll have to cover fully, as well as the postage. I also have to let her know that we don't do refunds. Could turn out to be a costly mistake. That leads me to question the judgement that people have - is it worth shelling out £500 odd for the "perfect" dress, which you've only seen in a picture, worn by a 6 foot tall stunning American? You've yet to try it on, you don't know if the style works for you, the colour, or indeed the fit. Americans aren't the same body shape as us British. And the most important, you haven't even felt the dress! The picture which you look at on a website has all the appeal in the world, because it's been staged to look that way. The dress could have been made from the shoddiest material in the world, with sequins glued on, yet looks incredible because of the lighting and photographic direction. If only people realised that things are never what they seem. I've even heard of companies that use completely different dresses in their photographs than their collection, and what you see is without a doubt a totally different dress, perhaps vaguely similar in style but nevertheless bearing little similarity. I had this experience personally when I was given the honoured role of picking prom dresses for the previous season. There they were, a rail of beautiful gowns, ripe and ready for the choice. I went through them all, chose carefully, but my eye suddenly descended on the last dress. The epitome of the prom dress. Short, beautiful, pink and tiered in ruffles. It was gorgeous. I realise that from my description it sounds like something only Barbie's love child would wear to a function, but take my word - it was a stunner. Anyway, having ordered a couple of the dresses, I awaited their delivery with great expectation. And then the box arrived. Imagine combining Christmas with your 21st birthday, thrown in with a silver wedding anniversary of some sort, and that was the excitement felt. Maybe not quite, it was just a box with a dress in it, after all, but I have to convey my emotion with some certain exaggeration or it won't work. In the words of Holden Caulfield, "anyway..." The box was opened, and the dress pulled out. Such disappointment cannot be expressed with mere words. I'd have to make some kind of collage bound together with the glue from my tears. The dress was most certainly not the dress that I had ordered. It bore some resemblence to it, but it certainly didn't have the same oomph that I had felt with the other one, and what's more, they added an extra tier to the dress. An extra ruffle of cheap taffeta, positioned to make the dress completely useless. Only the 6 foot girls can wear this dress now, and for some reason, they're not so into short dresses. God knows why, leggy biatches. So the dress is null and void for us British midgets. It would make Celine Dion look gangly, for heavens' sake. But enough about the dress. It'll find its perfect partner and all will be well in the world.

So the ocean of dresses isn't as calm as one might expect. You may think that the art of selling eveningwear is one of the easiest. It's like selling knickers; you just pick out your size and voila! Not a chance, mate. If I had a pound for every complaint, every wobble or slight inclination of cellulite, well, I'd be at the nearest cosmetic surgeon, obviously. Just joking. Say no to the knife, as Gok Wan says. The best advice I can offer is to buy a pair of Spanx, throw off your inhibitions, and bloody try the dresses on! They can look awful on a hanger and brilliant on, or vice versa! Trust me, finding the dress that fits you perfectly and makes you feel like a million dollars is hard, but achievable. And when you find that dress, sure, you'll probably pay with a Mastercard, but it's going to make you feel priceless. Cheesy, I know, but hell, I don't care.

As I sit here with a glass of white wine, I am happy to report that life is going swimmingly. Work went extremely well today, myself managing to reach my record in sales and go miles beyond it! Hurrah. Should be in line for a bonus sometime in the near future.

The air is muggy and the movie is great. Tonights choices include the ever popular "Howls Moving Castle" and the less popular yet more mainstream "Mallrats". Excellent. My boyfriend is lazing near me, annoyed because I have chosen to sit on "his side of the bed", even though the entire bed is his side of the bed. Geez. However, that said, he was kind enough to walk to my work to pick me up this evening, and even offered me his coat when it got chilly. He's got a warm soul.

So I have absolutely nothing to say. I shall bid adeiu.

Wednesday, June 4th

Aaah the crisp freshness of the first blog on the page. Bliss. So I'm sitting alone in my place of work, reflecting upon things. It's been quite a dull day, to be honest, with the exception of a few "colourful" customers who piqued my interest, one of whom I'm still confused about. She asked about the price of a handbag, I told her, and twenty-five minutes later, she was still telling me about her weaving of the Madonna and Child, and something about a fishing boat crash. I am still very uncertain of how it happened. I know that nobody mentioned weaving, the Madonna or anything about fish, so she must have just leapt on it independently.

People like that confuse me thoroughly.

Then there was the customer who has now successfully phoned the shop four times, each of which she has wandered out of reception and lost the connection. It was a bit of a cycle. Phone, hang up, ten minute pause, phone, hang up, pause...etc. Odd.

So, it's the end of another day, and it's been incredibly dull. I've spent most of my day trying to get hold of the DVLA, who don't answer phones and have a camp Welshman every so often telling me that they are aware that I have phoned, and are trying to connect me. Great. At least they knew I phoned! I wonder if they know that I waited for over five minutes and gave up. So I tried online, but at the end of the form which I spent about ten minutes filling out, a page appeared telling me that I could go no further, but that I had to phone their sales team. I resolved that I would do no such thing. Monsters. Why have a form if they were just going to make you phone anyway?

My night tonight consists of The Apprentice, and a large family bag of Doritos. Classy, I know, but you can't whack a bit of cheese with The Apprentice. Although tonight is the interview show, so I'm looking forward to seeing what a bunch of liars they all are. There is nothing purer and more entertaining than seeing their characters being ripped to shreds by men in suits.