It is a fact, girls always lie about their weight, or at least, I do. If anyone knew how much I actually weighed, apart from my personal trainer who has forced me to tell him with death threats, I think they would be horrified. I certainly am. Heavy bones? That's me. So, when Mr PB and I were in Jacksonhole, Wyoming last week for a little bit of skiing, I saw no reason why the man in the ski shop should know how much I weighed either. I mean, what's a few pounds between friends right? Wrong. 4 hours later, there I was tumbling down a double diamond, with only 1 ski. I hadn't fallen, my ski had simply come off because I had lied about my weight so my bindings were all off kilter. Why, Mr PB asked, would I risk my life rather than admitting what my weight was? Well, I suppose that is something only a girl would understand, but I know that next year I will probably do exactly the same thing. And to be fair, the 4 hours I spent in a&e with 3 terribly attractive doctors nearly made the whole affair worth while...

Since I met Mr PB...(my now fiance...don't you just hate that word? It reminds me of moist..)..anyway, as I was saying, since I met him, he has been raving about Frank Black, the lead singer of the Pixies, who according to him is a God. Unchallenged. No one apparently has come close to matching this mans talent. Well, says I, lets hear it then. Mr PB says he can go one better, FB is playing in Camden. Yes, this man of unrivalled talent is playing in some has been bar in Camden. But don't judge I tell myself, go along and be openminded. So, we drag along two friends and head off. The place is packed, but Carol and I manage to find a sofa seat at the back, sit down, and the music is so great...we don't get up once. But wow, we had a great gossip! This slightly overweight, balding sweating man did what I would call an average performance. I am uneducated, I love Enrique, and I worship Dolly, so what do I know? But Mr PB, I was disappointed. Maybe he was just off colour...but no, we can't walk down the aisle to it.

A couple of our mates took us to see Richard Hawley play the other night. I had no idea who he was prior to this, and was more distracted by the fact that he was playing at the Astoria than anything else. Tottenham Court Rd fills me with a certain dread I cannot quite explain, but I think it's becuase it fills me with sketchy memories of drunken nights that have become a terrifying blur...anyway, into the taxi we bundled, and of into the abyss. As we entered, the stench of stale beer was quite over powering, but I felt an instant coolness wash over me when I realised that NME was running the event (last heard of by me at boarding school - my cool mates used to buy it...). Anyway, the upshot is, Richard Hawley was AMAZING! I am fully converted, and a complete fan of this 'Elvis of the North', or otherwise known as 'that speccy twat from Sheffield.' And to the people behind us who swore at us all night for being noisy, get over it saddos, this is real, this is ROCK AND ROLL!x
http://www.richardhawley.co.uk/

I know, I know. I am sad. And I know I said that Dirty Dancing rocked my world, but the Sound of Music really did. It was amazing, I loved it, and actually cried at one point. Juliet (my long suffering friend) was horrified, especially as we were the youngest in the audience. The best part? I actually bought a yodelling goat to take home. Every household needs one. You must go and see it - I promise you will be singing Do Re Me every time you are stuck in a traffic jam....or if you are me, standing on your chair at the end of a dinner party after too many glasses of wine...

No girls, not quite what you think by the title! But here's the thing. I was talking to someone quite influential the other day, and we were standing quite close to one another. As he emphasised something to me, he accidentally spat and it landed bang in the middle of my cheek. Now I knew it was there, and he knew it was there, and yet I did nothing. I had not met this man before, and I didn't want to appear rude. And yet all I could focus on was the feel of this spit resting heavily on my left cheek, and starting to drip down. He might have thought I did not know it was there, and therefore could just keep talking. After a minute or so of agonising over what to do, and the complete inablility of being able to listen to a word he was saying, I pretended to cough, turned to the left, and thus wiped my cheek. When I turned back, it was obvious what I had been trying to do. So, what should have I done? Made a joke out of it when it first happened? Excused myself and gone to the loo? Or did I do the right thing. I don't know. But the fact that I also called him by the wrong name for the entire afternoon probably means our business relationship is doomed anyway. Oh well. Onwards and Upwards.

So, against their will, they claimed, I dragged 3 of my mates off to see Dirty Dancing in the west end last week. Now a couple wouldn't come, claiming they knew how terrible it would be, and saying that it would ruin the cult that is Dirty Dancing. I tried to persuade them, and to get them to rise above it, but no, it wasn't happening. So off the 4 of us trundled - I admit, I was very overexcited, and spent the entire day singing Hungry Eyes, and recreating the 'log' scene in the office. Well, yes, in one respect the show was woefully awful, but I have not laughed that much in a very long time! The man playing Johnny has to be one of the sexiest men around (bar Mr PB of course)and spent the entire 2 hours showing off his rippling 6 pack. This was enough to make us pent up 30 year olds laugh and scream with delight, let alone all the incredibly skinny women in their leotards who made us swear we would never eat again - that lasted till the interval when the ice cream arrived.
Anyway, suffice to say I behaved so badly that the woman behind me asked me to 'keep still and be quiet.' This made me worse. But girls, if you are looking for an amusing and uplifting night out, look no further....Dirty Dancing is the key.

London Fashion Week last week, and I have only just recovered! At the show all day, and then partying every night. Fabulous, I loved it. But, I also wondered why we buy into it. A certain well known fashion editor was wondering around in heels she could not walk in, muttering away to her assistant who was wandering around with her watering can all day. Then, said editor, went on to someone's stand to 'borrow' some clothes, stripped off where she stood, changed, and then left! And the funniest thing is that her and her assistant looked ridiculous. And yet despite this, we let them dictate what fashion should be, how we should look, and we crave their approval. But in reality, do they really know any more than us? One look would prove otherwise. But when I mentioned this to other exhibitors, they all said well, she is in fashion, she is someone we look up to, she needs to look mad. I disagree. I think it is scary that fashion is dictated by people who wear extraordinary outfits, and can make or break a fashion business in minutes just by expressing their opinion. In reality, don't we all just want a dress that makes us look pretty, or jeans that make us look thin? Well I know I do.

I have been pondering for weeks now how I have got so fat without realising - and it has just struck me. So obvious! It is the legging and dress trend - it makes you fat! Reason being, you never realise how much weight you have put on, because the waist band of your leggings continues to expand with you, and your dress hangs flatteringly over it all hiding a multitude of sins. So when you do finally get around to trying on your jeans, like I just have, you cannot even get them over your rear, let alone do them up. And if you can do them up, the resultant muffin top is outrageous. So, I am taking this situation seriously into hand. Tap dancing, pole dancing, Davina McCall's video, whatever it takes - I must get back into my jeans before the fat trend is well and truly over. I will let you know how I go....