Dumpista's Blog

Sunday 27 September

My poor baby has unfortunately contracted the dreaded man flu on the second day of our holiday. He is cursing the woman who sat next to him on the plane who appeared to be unaware of the government warning regarding covering your mouth whilst coughing to prevent the spreading of Swine Flu. What a sexy word, we are in Milan and I said Swin Flu. I don’t want to be reminded of depressing media coverage back home. I want fantasy and escapism so we hand shook on visiting Lake Como for a lazy day of taking in the scenery and people watching.

Styled coca cola Part of the 'Milan Loves Fashion' Street Exhbition

  Besides the shops are shut on Sundays in Italy as it’s a religious day so I wore white linen mid length skirt and a brown vest top for modesty as the Italian appear to regard religion highly in their society.  I don’t want a repeat of performance yesterdays Boobylicious shunning outside the cathedral where I was asked to cover up. Yikes. The surprising observation about Milan so far is that they don’t sell bottled drinks in news outlets or spread them accessibly across retail hospitality outlets. When you do stumble across a watering hole you pay at least £6.00 for bottled water and you must ensure you have extra change. Not for tips but to be prepared for when you need to go to the little girl’s room and pay .50 Euros for a pee! Excuse my Italian.

  Half an hour into our train journey the horizon was eclipsed by jaw dropping mountains views as for as far as the eye can see. Despite seeing tourist pictures online of our destination nothing can prepare you for the real thing as the scenic beauty is a truly awe inspiring moment. It’s obvious why Como is a hideaway and millionaire’s playground as the area is littered with expensive bars and restaurants, luxurious mansions and priceless out of this world natural beauty. Hollywood golden boy George Clooney has residence here and the location has been used to film James Bond scenes and no doubt plentiful fashion shoots. Fittingly the image of the lake in front of us looks straight out of a block buster movie as a brightly coloured speed boats zip across water reaching insanely high speeds and a helicopter chops above them roaring through the sky, tail backing their every move.

    The tourist information assistant advises us that the lake is closed today for recreational usage as they are holding an international speed boat racing competition.  My other half suggested we could catch a tram to the top of one of the mountains which sounds adventurous but when I look up at the steep height of the mountain face and the vertical angle that the trams appear too dangled dangerously along the tram track to the peak I feel dizzy and turn green!

Instead we walked across the edge of the lake and past what must seem like to locals the Berlin wall a controversial wooden wall plastered with objections to it permanent construction. We settled by the river edge for a front row view of the race and I pondered on how this is ‘The Most Romantic’ setting I have ever been in with my boyfriend. It’s a scorching hot day and he has blokey action to watch all day with this exciting international boat race which was vastly gaining momentum with spectators lining up for the best view. Never being one for sport I opted to be a spectator in the trend spotting game.

We are the champions

   Even the teenagers in Milan do not dress scruffy or funky instead they are quite boring really. You get the odd one with the whole American skate boarder and hip hop look but on the whole they look non rebellious and boringly conformist like middle aged conservatives. Not like the British tribes of teenagers who express themselves through music subcultures like Goths, Clubbers and Brit Pop muso’s.  What they do have in common with our own adolescents is their insistence on unleashing their highly charged hormones in public parks by overtly engaging in public displays of affection. Eeek! In fact it feels like the whole of Milan is madly in love as everywhere I turn there are couples holding hands, courting lingering looks and kissing slowly. They don’t seem to be as squeamish as us Brits about romance; it’s not surprising really as some of the most beautiful people in the world live here in Milan. Any British bloke who bags himself a woman here would be shouting it from the roof tops, proudly holding a pint in one hand and pinching her bum with the other. Barbarically necking her face off each time he detects any Italian stallion competition trying to mimic an old school Hollywood kiss, but failing miserably.

  All the woman sport classic Louis Vuitton bags well cut fitted white or indigo jeans, designer sunglasses and teeny tiny toy dogs. Pooches are huge here with the older woman walking Poodles whilst the young woman sashaying with their Cheryl Cole style dogs like as if they’re prancing in pedigree dog shows.  

When we get back the hotel we catch a repeat of the Milano Loves Fashion and Stylista. Like I said earlier Milan lives, eats and sleeps fashion. Tonight I will be dreaming about my next career break in the industry. Good night.

Saturday 26th October Today I opted for safe outfit consisting of comfy black leggings and a nautical inspired black vest with a detailed bow. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the locals and believed this combo to be least likely to offend anyone. The most delightful discovery so far is that Italian’s welcome eating cakes for breakfast as the norm so I choose a yummy looking sponge cake with Vanilla flavoured herbal tea. Besides I don’t believe in diets and you only live once. After a friends recommendation we decide that we are firstly going to visit the landmark Cathedral Duomo in the centre of Milan and behind the building stands the famous Galleria Vittoria Emanule 11.

Duomo Cathedral

  On the journey to the city centre we realise our hotel is in China town a hip district of the inner city where older Italian citizens reside. Locals speed around on Motorbikes everyone from Yummy Mummies with their off spring perched on the back seat to suited city boys bankers on their way to work everyone seems to prefer two wheeled speed.   Surprisingly even the retired silver foxes wiz past us in their slacks I try to imagine the elderly in England doing this but simply can’t.  I breathe in through my nose to savour the delightful atmospheric aroma your senses only pick up when you are overseas in the Mediterranean intoxicating heat. Can you recall that very moment when you have just landed in a new country and you step off the plane? You instantly rejoice in the realisation that finally you have finalty left the  big freeze. Once out the central train station there is a giant multi coloured needle and thread poking through the streets paved with gold right into the late summer sky, we really are in the city that lives for fashion priding  itself on being the world’s beacon of style.

  You could be forgiven for thinking you had accidently walked into a  zombie B movie film set as  motionless mannequins  stand dressed for the summer season stood imprizoned in glass boxes like art priceless exhibition pieces. Lets hope they don’t come alive after dark.   Decorative Coca Cola bottles are also exhibited after being  refashioned by artists  throughout the city. (They resembling the Manchester Cow parade) it’s all part of Milan Loves Fashion festivities. Even here we can’t escape our British celebrity heritage as billboards of the Beckham’s follow us around. Fortunately this doesindeed  include the one where he is flying solo wearing little more than a smile in his knowing  “Hello Girls” smuldering pose for the famous Armani underwear ad. You have to see it to really believe but there are actual  plasma screens broadcasting 24 hour catwalk fashion shows, so ladies get ready to perfect your Supermodel walk, workin it in fierce heels.

  The gothic architecture of the Duomo is breathtaking as religious statued figures stand out like haunting gargoyles’. I get told to cover up my modesty by the armed guards as we enter the interior of the building. So much for my non offensive black combo safety plan! Right behind the cathedral there we stumbled across the famous Galleria Vittoria Emanuele II which is unashamedly both & ostentatious romanticaly regal, housing world famous fashion Mecca’s Gucci, Prada and Louis Vutton.

One word – wow! It’s not surprising that the city is also famous for its cutting edge designs as the building has a glass ceiling with stone angels guarding over thefts and detecting fake Fendi bags! LOL.

 Who’s ingenious idea was it to allow Mcdonaulds a place in the hall of fame? Talk about bring the joint down and a Maccydee is eight Euros in Milan. I braved venturing into Gucci but was disappointed by their poor range of dull handbags and limited stock. We’re in Milan and I would expect a lot more.

  Whilst on the way to another McDonalds outlet we are approached by a pretty Italian girl asking us what language we speak. Thankgod she speaks English as she invites us to visit a fashion magazine Donna Moderna which has recently moved offices and she explains as part of Milan fashion week they are inviting members of the public inside for a tour, make over and refreshments. “Like Yeah!” I screamed. Result! I was so giddy as being a fashion journalist graduate I have never actually been inside a fashion magazine office so we jumped at the chance. Inside there was a poster of non other than Hollywood scarlet Misha Barton so these guys must carry some serious weight add her to their interview credentials.

  In the corner there was a makeup artist painting someone’s face, I accepted some Italian coffee and sipped it whilst chatting to a friendly journalist. She informed me that we had just missed the one and only fashion show that was open to the public last night and held right outside the Duomo cathedral. I was gutted but intrigued to quiz her on the shows she had attended, apparently Naomi Campbell, Claudia Chauffer and Hilary Swank were all at the Versace show she attended yesterday. I soooooo wished we could blag our way into a show, if only I still had my BBC pass.  When she turned away I raided the offices cabinets searching for a press pass! No joy boo, but what an end to a fantastic day all the same.

 Friday 25^th September

After jetting into Milan this evening I am excited about embarking on a fashion pilgrimage to soak in the sights and worship the holy couture temples that I normally can only admired from a distance whilst flicking through glossy fashion magazines.  My warm hearted boyfriend promised me he would Wisk me away on a romantic city break to my dream destination Milano, but will we survive on a shoe string budget in one of the most opulent cities in the world? We are hardly Carrie and Mr Big from C&TC in Paris (both of us are on modest incomes). As a fire sign I can’t promise have to promise myself I won’t end up in a catfight should his eyes linger too long at a slinky Milanese supermodel.

  If the rumours are true about the well heeled Milanese woman then I must up my game and ensure I don’t look too much life a frumpy clueless tourist.  The fashion stakes are particularly high this week as its Milan fashion week so it’s inevitable immaculately dressed supermodels, stylists and designers will be flying around town sipping Italian Latte’s in fashion forward threads in between shows. Ironically my suitcase is actually smaller than my boyfriends much to his embarrassment as we checked in our luggage at the airport.

 I have become quite the expert when it comes to packing a capsule wardrobe for a weekend city break realising that it’s wiser to roll the clothes you will be rocking abroad. Mix and max items that will double up with more than one look to create several combos so you have plenty of room for more clothing purchases on your return! For daytime looks I rolled up a Zara white line skirt, black leggings, a knee length denim blue skirt and a recent purchase of funky floral Mango leggings. For the evening I carefully squeezed in a slinky pair of black satin pedal pushers to go with an Emerald green cotton vest top with gold vertical stripes and a satin panel front. If we go clubbing and I have a nautical sailor girl dress with beige wedges. My tootsies will be limited to just 4 choices of shoes, the wedges, my animal print ballet pumps; sea shell incrusted flip flops and regal gold metallic flats.   

  Our double room is contemporary with blue and yellow decor and a spacious sized double wardrobe. Yey!  The bathroom is a tight squeeze with micro sized shower and an interesting looking toilet with a plug hole?! !! Reckon it’s time to get my beauty sleep.

Walrus Bar, Northern Quarter, Mancheter

On the 16^th August I attended the Manchester Fashion Network ‘We Will Frock You’ event after realising I’m too hard up this month for a splash out until pay day! I also feel guilty from reading the green brigade features in fashion magazines lecturing shoppers on our wasteful retail indulgences. Besides it sounded kindda hip and happening because it was hosted at the uber cool Walrus bar and there were promises of live acoustic music and  style advice from the Grooming Academy. Did I mention the wine & cup cakes? Never one to turn down a Cup cake or a nail manicure I clicked the attend icon on Face Book. Would I feel up to it though after a night on the town celebrating my birthday? I decided to generously donate 6 of my funkiest unwanted vintage  pieces into Walrus bar and promised myself faithfully I would arrive on time,  Sunday at 3.00pm. The idea was I would obtain like for like items and spread the generous vintage clothes swapping Karma.  

I donated an impulse buy on an only worn once fashion forward floral dress with an Elizabethan style bodice panel decorated with individual white roses. For those zeitgeists types who revel in strutting around in edgy pieces it is perfect and was featured in Gratzia magazine. Unfortunately it was an impulse buy for me! Then there was this beautifully detailed silk linen vest top decorted with delicate bead embellishments. Remember those unforgiving body con dresses that showed off all your lumps and bumps? Well I bought one when I was a stone lighter and was delighted to show off my curves, until I walked down the high street only to find it slowly creeping up my thighs and landing on my waist! It got tossed into the donation pile for someone who enjoys stopping traffic!

Sunday morning, I can’t wake myself up – let alone get out of bed! By four o’clock it was doing my head in knowing that I may miss out on collecting some edgy, vintage fashion graduates clobber, so I headed into town. Hello jumble sale city! A battlefield awaited me with, casualties of clothes spread over the war zone half  half empty stood triumpantly. The girl in the que in front of me proudly holds a to die for All Saints dress, I turn green.  The MFN assistant who advised me on the voucher system recognises my name and explained  “Oh I remember your clothes; you were very generous and gave some beautiful items. Shame you didn’t come earlier on, all the best stuff has gone now as we got rammed!” Gulp, not what I wanted to hear.

I see no sign of nail technicians or stylists? The place is practically empty and I feel a little foolish. The promo email said the event went on until late so where is everyone?  The remainders appear to be leaving and 4.30pm can hardly be considered as late. By no means is this the first time I have been mislead by the Manchester Fashion Network 4 weeks ago they advertised for a recruitment fair that you paid to get into only to find after queuing up for several hours the recruiters spilt the beans that  the advertised jobs were unpaid work placements. Yet this was’n mentioned in the adverts and so you pay them to get you work that you end up doing for free? The cheek! When the penny dropped I declined.  Well at least this event is free.

Half Empty Bar.

It gets worse I search high and low for an inspirational piece that would make me feel like I hadn’t given away some of my best oldies but goodiesthat  I could have sold on EBay! Well 20 minutes later I had an arm full of less than mediocre I return from the fitting room with only 3 half decent items. A cute Miss Sixty denim mini dress and some skinny jeans refused to yield to my dimensions. I’ve been had. I return home with 3 okayish items (and that only cos the previous assistant took pity on and informed me of a secret stash of unopened clothes they did have time to put out.)  3 turkeys, there is no swishing Karma at this event. Donate at your peril.

American Idol.

I fell in love with the film version of Chicago – with those feisty female characters and the irresistibly catchy songs! I’ve long wanted to see the musical but have managed to miss it each time it has visited Manchester, so while in London, I’ve grabbed my chance and booked my ticket. To see it in the West End is special but having a member of the biggest girl band of all time Destiny’s Child playing Roxy Hart is the icing on the cake. Michelle Williams has the voice of an angel, but with a smoother, honey coated effortless sound. How will this humble church attending gospel singer shake off her good girl image to play her deceptive, murderous and ruthless character, Roxy Heart?

Me & BF Lisa Wise.

As the curtains rise I shed a tear of excitement. I’m sitting next to my best mate and ticking off Item One on my ‘great things to do before I die’ list!  Foxy female dancers appear at the top of the stage curtain perched on a ladder wearing slinky black lace lingerie, stockings and suspender belts. The male dancers sport bowler hats, bare chests and rippling biceps underneath their waist coats (proving men can be amusingly both camp and butch at the same time). I wouldn’t mind being flung around the stage in a skimpy outfit by one of those guys!  Michelle graces the stage donning the iconic Cleopatra bobbed wig and black lace dress as she made her entrance. She delivers some great one liner in her authentic American accent and embraces cheeky slap stick gags. She delivers perfectly the two constrasting sontrides of Roxy Heart: the child like, devoted wife who’s an innocent circumstantial victim, and the fame hungry gold digger, perfectly encapsulated with energetic jazz dance moves.

 After the lights fell for the second half we snuck down to the lower tier to get a better view (Memo to myself: next time save up and buy a decent seat!). You appreciate the coy glances and comedy value much better close up and a particular favourite of mine is the feather dancing scene for the All I Care About song. We sang along to ‘All That Jazz’, ‘Razzle Dazzle’ and feisty hit he ‘He Had It Coming’. By the end I decide that I quite fancy meeting Michelle Williams. I’ve been to many Destiny’s Child and Beyonce’s concerts and I have been a huge fan for the last 11 years, but this may be the only chance I ever get to meet one of them in person.

An usher has tipped me that if I ask someone at the stage door she might come out and sign an autograph, so we do and come she does! Her big burly manager comes out asking who I am waiting for and I squeaked delightedly Michelle Williams. He’s like “Okay as long as you don’t take any photos”. A queue is building up slightly outside. 15 minutes later he opens the door and asks me to come in. I don’t recognise her at first as she’s wearing a hat, but her beautiful eyes painted in black smoky eye shadow give her away. She asks if I have seen the show and I blurt out stupidly, “Yes. Destiny’s Child are great, I am a huge, huge fan.” She signs a postcard I bought at the train station earlier on and I thank her, wish her well in her future pursuits and give her a hug. When I turn around to walk off, out of nowhere I embarrassingly started blubbing! I am not a blubberer normally but the inner teenage girl in me who idolised DC and copied all their dance moves as a student is over whelmed. What an amazing end to a fantastic day. Another item from my ‘things to do before I die’ list has been crossed off! Yey!

Squint tightly and an optical illusion of Michelle Williams autograph appears!

  Bootique Spotting

A month ago my fabbest friend in Manchester left her Northern roots to pursue the bright lights of the big city after gaining a new job in London. I promised I would come and see how she’s settling in. We meet up at Euston and she whisks me to Covent Garden.  I’ve picked a fashion forward funky dress to wear which is emblazoned in black with cute red cherries scattered all over it. It’s got these black statement panels on the bodice, which eco the 80’s power trend. The dress has earned me some weird stares in Manchester but in London’s Covent Garden they love it.

We mooch around Covent Garden searching for independent treasure gems. We soon realise most of these treasures are totally out of our price range!  The interior of a boutique named The West Village is awesome, with intricate painted green tree illustrations on the wall. The clothes are just as beautifully designed with a floral patterned wrap dresses catching my eye and sparkly encrusted sequined Chelsea Belle skirts hanging from the rails. Lisa confesses secretly walking past before but never daring to go actually go in!  I’ll have none of this when I am in town cos I am a fierce ‘proffessional window shopper’ who refused to be intimidated by bootique’s of worship.  My passion and fascination for the  art form shields me from any snooty stares off shop assistants.

My turn a blind eye strategy has taken me on a fashion pilgrimage  of worship to the urber cool designer museum outlets also knowm as  Bond Street.  The road is straight out of an edition of Vogue Magazine which means I have been up close and personal with Jimmy Choos, Versace £5000 dresses and the elegant tailoring of Alexander Mcqueen’s dresses. The art of looking but not touching I have down to a T, as for pretending I am a minted African Princess whose daddy works in the diamond trade, well I am still working on that bit.  Harrods is on the list though for my next visit just to be a tourist and say I have been there and could’nt scrape the pennies together for the T Shirt!

  Back in reality we saunter through these hip dinky outdoor fashion markets where they have rails of on-trend men’s shirts, casual blazer jackets and casual linen trousers. I buy my partner a Vanilla coloured summer shirt with Victorian themed illustrations on it. I’m impressed that they give it me in a recycled Zara bag too and for a fiver.  Further along that street there are rails of woman’s clothes from T shirts splashed with Heidi Klum rocking the birdie salute to hideous retro bright pattered dresses that I nearly heave over in disgust. What a big disappointment on the woman’s front with sheer tack on display, so instead we set off to Green Park to enjoy a Marks & Spencer picnic b’day treat outside Buckingham Palace. Its thirsty work this fashion lark.

Me arriving at the central libary book launch

Girls support network.

Whatever you boyfriends dumping type, it important to talk it over with as many people as possible before actually dumps him. It is too big a decision to keep all to yourself. Who you’re dating affects not just you. It has an impact on friends, family, work colleagues and even casual acquaintances. Try to see yourself as a human chat forum that openly welcomes discussion boards posted on your love life. By sharing you dilemma you will get to know everyone better as dumping can be a great bonding experience.

Taking centre stage

I suggest you talk to random strangers in the girls toilets.

No Saturday night out on the town would be complete without nipping into the girls toilets to re touch your make up and de frizz your hair. While there why not unload your boyfriend woes to other girls? You know what it’s like in the ladies loos, sisters. Witnessing emotional meltdowns in the girls toilets whilst your leathered on cocktails is as natural as asking for a hairbrush whilst you re apply your lip gloss in the mirror. Some of the best conversations you will ever have in your life will take place whilst exchanging tampons for boyfriend dilemmas in the girl’s toilets. Next time your reapplying mascara in the girls loos ask the girl next to you where she got her dress from. Then run hysterically into a cubicle blubbing tears until someone asks you what’s wrong. Trisha wannabes will be bending over backwards to advise you on your dumping dilemmas and the toilet attendant is bound to pitch in her 50p worth (may as well milk the most out of your entrance tip) She may even offer you some free perfume squirts. Take up all offers on Face Book invites because you can then set up a Dumping Appreciation Society where you can swap more stories and give progress reports.

 Dumping Strategies

The Large White Lie

Let’s face it girls the truth hearts! When a guy’s really into you and stress into your eyes lovingly holding onto you every last word, it can be the hardest thing in the world to tell him that his feelings are’nt reciprocated.  Sometimes the only thing to do is tell him a big white lie, to spare him a potential emotional breakdown. Tell him you can’t make the dinner date that he booked for you on Friday because you forgot about your congregation meeting with the local Weirdology church. Now the cincher: make sure you invite him along too. Say they are always looking to enrol new members to spread the word of Weirdology across the world you are guaranteed to see him run away from the relationship faster than you can scream fire! If he’s slightly weird and desperate and agrees to come to Weirdology

church with you, stroke his face dewy-eyed and explain that if you are going to church together it must be getting serious therefore it is time that he met your parents who are simply dying to meet him. Remind him incase itn has’nt already come up in conversation that mum is a fertility specialist and your dad does vasectomy reversals and they are dying to become grandparents for the first time.

First taste of celebrity! LOL

Words of wisdom

Craft Centre

It’s a sunny summer morning on the 8^th of August and I have been frantically getting myself respectable after forgetting my hair brush once again at my boyfriend’s pad. It’s in preparation for a textile jewellery making workshop I booked myself on. An artist at the Urbis informed me there is a series of Saturday workshops at the Manchester Craft Centre run by crafty duo Magpie Arts. Me and an arty friend love going to the Craft Centre on Saturday afternoons to drool over all the beautiful handmade creations. Our ritual is to whinge about choosing the wrong degree courses and dream about setting up our own creative business enterprises. I grab a delicate jewel incrusted butterfly piece that broke off from a bracelet to take with me so that I can refashion it into something new. After all, the advert I read explained that you could bring along your own fabrics and materials to spice up your customised creations.

Craft studio workshop

 I settle down to drink the complementary orange juice and focus my attention on the demonstration. The brooch-making demo shows us the gentle art of twisting metal using pliers to create a badge pin. You have to bend it into a fish type shape where the ends join back together again and viola! It does indeed end up looking like a bit of a fish with its eye at the front sporting a filed down tail!

Here's one I made earlier!

The class is fully booked with friendly, chatty woman who genuinely seem to be excited about attending the class and passionate about engaging in the creative process, particularly as it really is a novelty to be able to select from the wide range of feminine fabric out on display. Girly heaven! Remember that feeling as a kid when you raided your mum’s jewellery box for the first time and found a feast of fascinating finds? Well it was a case of déjà vu cos the table was full of buttons, lace ribbons and vintage accessories: sheer eye candy!  I have to confess as I got a wee bit carried away.  When your visually led like me, it’s hard not to get a rush of excitement about all the shapes, colours and textures that compel you to match them all together at once into a fabric frenzy!

 When I’ve calmed down I choose a navy blue ribbon and found some black and pink lace that reminds me of the Burlesque Agent Provocateur style fashion you see in contemporary lingerie. Once I find my black finishing touch feather I am off in my own world folding the ribbon into a flower shape then sewing it together adding different fabric designs and textures. Magpie Art host, Zoe commented that she felt like a spare part as everyone was so quietly engaged in making their own masterpieces that no one was asking for her expertise. I am so pleased for them when I hear gasps of “ooohs and “aaahs” as the class is wowed by the chain-making trickery demo which features wrapping metal sting around a pen then splicing it with scissors to create individual chains.

Chair Chain Making

Magpie Art are so helpful and attentive to everyone, working the room exchanging hints and tips. Although I didn’t manage to refashion my butterfly jewellery, I did find the experience a delightful way to spend a Saturday morning in the tranquil ambience of a studio that has the vibrancy of an art gallery.

My sexy broche!

 I picked up some fab textile jewellery making techniques so I can continue making more pieces at home.  Now I’ve gradated, I can proudly sashay around town wearing my custom made sexy brooch of honour! Ooow get me!  Although let’s keep schtumm about my disastrous diminishing chain bracelet attempt or the fashion jury will shun me. The shame!

Craft Centre Interior

It would seem that some of the oldest social British traditions that our grandparents rocked during yesteryear are coming back en vogue with the 20 something generation. First it was the rise of allotments farmed by youths,  then last month urber cool fashion departments Selfridges and Harvey Nichols opened afternoon tea menus. Private members club, Circle Bar following the fashion pack by inviting the outpost Saddleworth WI group to launch their tea and sympathy drinks menu. On Wednesday 8^th July at Central Library Manchester city centre I find myself feeling transported back in time. I sat in a grand committee room surrounded by a group of poets and knitters! I was attending a night by poetry groovers, Poetica. The event had a quirky twist: the audience had been invited to get started on knitting whilst peacefully listening to poets sharing their visions of the world.

Could a new trend be emerging where make do and mend inspires a generation of savvy 20 something knitters? Fashion Stylists, Mark Hayes and Gok Won are always showing us slick customising tricks to ride us through the recession.  I went along to spy on these clicking bards and see if I could pick up some tips for creating my winter wardrobe.  How can these two art forms possibly merge? 

Poet reading in the audience

The audience were directed not to clap straight after each act, but to reserve their applause till the very end.   The first poet came on, did well, left the stage.  I sensed a bit of uneasiness in the atmosphere – no one wants to be the lone clapper, although the sound of clicking needles would have drowned them out anyway!  We soon grew accustomed to these applause-less exits.  Poets waxed lyrical  on topics ranging from Africa’s future, to British dancing to the Complete & Unabridged History of France.  Everyone giggled when, during a switch over, a poet declared “I will be with you on stage in a minute I just have to finish this row!”  As the audience sat patiently, the clicking sound of knitting needles could be heard throughout the room. I was gasping for a tea served in a China cup, with a saucer and a biscuit!  I spotted a lady in the front row knitting a boldly colourful crochet blanket.  A twenty something young man perched on a table quietly stitching the beginning of new creation, which brought a cheeky smirk to my face.    At last the poet finished her row and recited her poem.  And a fine poem it was too.

Enough about poetry, what about fashion? I hear you clamour.  Whilst there were no obvious youth inspired fashion tribes, there were some interesting flamboyant looks. One lady had a polka dot jacket on for a cute summer look. A male poet wore a baby blue Kangol cap and equally funky urban jacket. One of the last poets wore a mustard toned Jacket that brightened the room and lifted the tone.   Will this poetry-knitting ting catch on?  Stranger things have happened in the world!

20 Something knitter

 Here is my pick of knitting themed poems that may inspire you to knitt or catch some live literature at one of this years summer music festivals. Enjoy

DEATH BY LOVE

By Stef  Porter

He barely moves, can’t go out
Still Mummy wants to keep him warm
Knits scarves jumpers cardigans
To gently bind his porcine form

Reams of looped wool swaddling
Mother knits with clicky sticks
Maternal hands can never rest
Worsted chains wear out so quick

Endless scarves, fold on fold
Strangle hold, strangle hold

She spins and ropes and ties up tight
And she is glad to knit purl knit
She says she must and will because
Nothing from the shops will fit

Yarn, wool and lanolin
Hold him in, hold him in

He barely moves, can’t go out
Still Mummy needs to keep him fed
She cooks him burgers fish and chips
Handmade cakes and home baked bread

Trapped in adipose despair
His midriff is a fatty fence
She will feed their dual need
Until her boy becomes immense

Cakes sweets puddings pies
Paralyse, paralyse

Possessed by love he eats up all
She bakes, grills, boils and fries
She says she must and will because
She alone meets his desires

Mealtimes that never end
No boyfriend, no girlfriend

He barely moves, can’t go out
And that’s how Mum wants it to stay 

Knitter

On Not Being Able To Write About Knitting

By David Keyworth
 

I tried to write an epic about knitting
but my strands got tangled up.

I tried to write a blockbuster about knitting
but my twists and turns weren’t sharp enough.

I tried to write a Gothic Horror about knitting
but my ghosts were just too sheepish.

I tried to write a biting series of essays
but my conclusions were just too woolly.

I tried to write a page turner
but my yarn was just too ragged.

I decided to develop a screenplay
but my characters lacked any colour.

I moved on to a comedy
but my punchlines lacked any point.

I got going with a short story
but I couldn’t find the ending.

I experimented with a song
but I couldn’t find the hook.

In despair I started to a sonnet
but I couldn’t find the turn.

So I put on my gloves, scarf and bobble hat
and went for a long, long walk,
across fields and mountains,
to think up a magnum opus
about glass-blowing or brass rubbing instead.

Home town Waterstones

 For the past three months I had been hotly anticipating the Sutton Coldfield Arts Festival 2009. After writing my debut book last year, a comedy guide called, ‘How To Dump Your Boyfriend’ a blaze of publicity was whipped up by the Birmingham regional newspapers.  My father’s next door neighbour caught wind of it all, and invited me to participate in the Festival, and I was honoured to be asked to attend a book singing at Waterstones in my home town. 

Sutton libary arts festival display board

  On July 12^th I caught a train down to Birmingham New Street and began daydreaming about my Z list celebrity status and meeting my crowds of adoring fans who had camped outside the book shop all night just to catch a glimpse of this once-in-a-life time chance to meet me, the star. Yeah right!  After all, the Birmingham Post interviewed me and the BBC Birmingham Where I Live programme amused me by getting their online department to put a list of ‘battle of the sexes’ style questions as part of a feature on my book. One of the best highlights was having my dad call me as I was just about to go on a shopping spree to tell me that I had made the front cover of the Sutton Coldfield news. “No Way” I screamed. “That’s fantastic.” It all seemed to snowball after that, with The Birmingham Evening News feature, leading to a mysterious telegram being delivered to my dad’s house from a national press agency.  They were asking me to get in contact with them. How did they get his address? Then another news agency found me on FaceBook and asked if I would be interested in selling my life story. But frankly that’s a whole other long story which I will save for another time.

Art Store

 The day was also an opportunity for my family to be involved in my achievement as the initial book launch held in Manchester was extraordinary but none of my family could make it. My dad is 74 and recovering from a heart attack he suffered last year. My extended family simply couldn’t make it. They were all pleased to be re- invited to this event so I was expecting my little brother, my father and his girlfriend and my aunty and two cousins. As a complicated double whammy twist, my adoptive father has never met my biological brother so there was extra excitement about that too.

Gloomy weather hits the high street

  So as I am walking towards Sutton Town centre, make up free and feeling like a bit of a scruff in white jeans and a floral sheer blouse and gladiator sandals. (I kept reflecting on celebrity female authors and yeah, let’s be honest, Sex & The City’s Carrie Bradshaw, at her book signing and how I should have worn a glam dress). Unfortunately the weather was so miserable that none of the summer dresses in my wardrobe would have been appropriate for this event. A jeans ensemble was the safest bet yet still classy. My dressing room to apply my make up was the glamorous girl’s toilets in McDonalds where I held my breath at the stench coming out of the urinals and was pushed and shoved fighting for space in front of the mirror by a group of teenage girls. Being the Z list trooper that I am, I battled though and re-applied that all important second layer of mascara ignoring dirty Asbo-lent looks. They looked like they were part of  a dance troupe and about to perform on one of the stages. Like me, they wanted to look their best, but I was clearly in their eyes hogging the mirror space so I made my exit.

  As I walked down the high street couldn’t resist revisiting the local library as I still had 30 minutes to kill. In the entrance there was a display screen of marketing literature about the festival and a photo   of me in the brochure. Weird to think that 15 years previously I had spent a great deal of time in that library studying for my GCSE’s and for college. I wondered if any of the school teachers had picked up the brochure and if they would now eat their words. They’d said I would never go to university or accomplish anything in my life. School reports stated: ‘she must try harder’. 

Who's That Girl

 Well hey ho girlfriend is back in town to practise the best form of revenge which is ‘success’. It’s best served up with a genuine smile and a humbling persona that doesn’t scream ‘look at me!’. The atmosphere in the town centre was lively.

Popera

 On a large stage an opera singer was belting out  Popera classics in a manner Russell Watson would have been proud of. Bollywood dancers jigged,  and an abundance of market stores displayed scintillating sculpture and craft works for sale. Then finally my destination hove into view. Well, the entrance to Waterstones wasn’t packed with queuing fans as far as the eye could see! It was actually rather quiet. It turned out that instead of people approaching me for copies and an autograph I had to go up to them and become a sales woman! OMG it was totally out of my comfort zone. I am mortified. The only customers passing through the book shop are couples and conservative looking middle aged women. My target readers are teenage girls and feisty independent young woman! Where my ladeeez at? Where my home girls…

Me and my dad's girlfriend

  Fortunately after a few failed attempts approaching middle aged women, my little brother came walking in beaming with a gift bag containing Thornton Chocolates. I was so touched and so pleased to see him as it had been nearly two years, what me living in Manchester and him in Birmingham, and both of us leading busy lives. He stood next to me at the table telling me how proud he was of me and that was way more touching and satisfying than my daft fantasies of egotistical sweet revenge on old school teachers. Way better than a bunch of strangers lining up in an orderly queue. Plus he’s a salesman and knows a ting or two about breaking the ice with potential customers so I revised my tacktics. I had 10 books to sell and two hours to do it in. 

Class double act

 With our bro-and-sis double act  customers warmed to us. We built rapport by asking customers if they were in relationships, or had any friends or young women in their family going out with Wrongens!   It worked a treat. I was soon  writing personal messages alongside my signature and shifting copies.

Lefty signiture

 The shop workers complimented me on how well I was doing and my dad’s girlfriend came in along with my dad’s neighbour. Cue photo-op for FaceBook and this blog! It turns out dad can’t make it as the pouring raining isn’t good for his heart condition. Shame, but it can’t complain – it was a great day.  We shifted 6 copies including one cheeky sale we made of the woman who served my brother in Thorntons. He took me for coffee, cake and a catch up in Starbucks.  The day came to a close back at my dad’s house with a Chineese take away and my dad and brother placing bets on the horse racing. With both of them being football fanatical my dad promised to hook my bro up with a football trial using his old contacts from his football manager days.

Woop, woop!