Blog Posts in July 2009

posted by Ellie on Jul 27, 2009

So, it’s got to that time of year when my flat’s lease is up, and I have to make the decision to stay in my money draining rat hole or move on to pastures not so new. Because of my fairly dramatic pay cut and my spiralling bills, a nice chic flat is out of my not so well manicured grasp.

Anyone who lives in London or has visited a friend there will know that you pay a hell of a lot of money for not much in return. But then to live in the bustling capital you have to pay the literal price. But this is the first place I could cut costs, I could move out into the suburbs and my rent would drop dramatically, but then I’d probably be stuck on a bus, then a tube, then another tube, possibly an overground train until I finally made it into work. And when it takes at the moment nearly an hour to go a couple of miles, the commute isn’t even worth thinking about.

I’ve noticed there’s been a bit of a homely move, with pals of mine heading back to their parents, thankfully mine are miles away, making this idea impossible. It’s not that I don’t love my parents, of course I do, but the thought of having freedom to go back to being a teenager, oh it sends a shiver down my spine, and not a good one.

So because of my inflexibility, I am going to have to accept my fate and go flat searching armed with a bottle of Dettol and a couple of mouse traps.

As soon as the browsing began, I knew that a one bed was out of the question. A bedsit was possible, but even then it was pushing the top end of my budget, and the thought of sleeping in the same room as where I’d cooked was mortifying. Off to search flat shares, which really aren’t that cost effective, and were equally mortifying.

Ok, I am a girl with a lot of shoes, and so I am looking for somewhere that I can fit all my stuff into. But some of those places, you couldn’t swing a Louboutin. One place had no lounge, had 4 people shoved in it, the tiniest kitchen ever, with mould crawling down the walls and they were asking a fortune.

After days of stepping over rat traps, broken bottles, passed out residents, snarling dogs, copulating couples, food, mould and a whole host of other not very nice things I was left deflated and frightened.

I was desperate but could not bear the thought of living in one of these places. But then why not? These other people did, time was running out. And being faced in my late 20s with something that would have repulsed me even in my student days horrified me. The thought of my beautiful clothes in a mouse infested wardrobe made my physically sick. The thought of Mr Dreamy coming back to my flat only for him to have to continuously disinfect his Prada loafers. The girls certainly wouldn’t be coming back to me for a cosy night in.

Why do we attach such emotional importance to a little room? Why can’t I see it as just a place to sleep? Is it because I’ve spent so long making everything pretty? Or is it because I believe I’ve worked so hard, for so long, that it seems so unjust that I’ve ended up in a worse place than I started out in? Even with a truckload of IKEA furniture I don’t think I could salvage some of the places I’ve seen. But then that’s the other issue, decking out a fleapit on a budget, is not going to be easy either.

As I sit here with my stuff in boxes, still not sure where I’m going to, I feel a mixture of sadness, exhaustion and fear. My pride has been well and truly battered, so it’s time to take action before the fall comes.

posted by Ellie on Jul 20, 2009

So it’s been awhile since I last updated you on my love life. So it has been going fairly swimmingly. We have now been on a few dates and I have been invited to a very dressy, very serious 'work do'.

Now any girl knows that a ‘work do’ is actually a trial. Will his friends approve? Do you compliment each other as a couple? Are you a couple? All these questions will be answered by attending a 'work do' successfully.

So this is a nerve wracking, and terrifying experience to prepare for. Thankfully my soup eating, star jumping, walking instead of taxis routine has been paying off, and I’m looking as svelte as ever. But after my sample sale disaster last week I cannot afford to go shopping for a show stopping gown.

Yes, ok, so I do have some nice eveningwear, but this is a VERY special occasion and I need to look spectacular. It’s time to draft in the friends. It was Kate, Rebecca and Zoe at the ready and the first stop was a vintage market.

We scoured the stalls, I tried everything on with Zoe promising me that she could take in anything. But still nothing was quite right, everything was too frilly, too moth eaten, too blah… nothing that said “I am a goddess, love me forever, worship me, laugh at my sparkling wit, admire my intelligent conversation…” you get the picture. But what do you do when you can’t afford a new dress?

The second stop was rental. There are some fabulous sites out there where you just rent a dress, a new season one! But of course the one I want and the one I can afford isn’t in stock in my size. Nothing is ever simple is it?! So Rebecca’s input was to head to a swishing party. I was by this point so panicked that I agreed.

This swishing party was quite the event, I took a some of my old pieces that I couldn’t bear to bin, and prepared to scrounge. I found it all a bit much, and left my friends to tackle the bargainistas. But then I spotted it, across the room, a Temperley gown. I ran towards it, my heart was pumping I knew that this was the one.

I grabbed it, the owner appeared, she had bought it for an event and wouldn’t wear it again. But then someone else eyed it, and if there’s a struggle then it goes to an auction, I couldn’t risk it. I begged, I cried and I pleaded, thankfully my lack of pride paid off and I got the dress. Zoe had to take it in a little but it was perfect.

So with a spritz of hairspray, a few hair pins and lashing of mascara. I was good to go in my free designer frock. I glided into that ‘work do’ and had my first Cinderella moment. There was a spring in my step knowing that I hadn’t bankrupted myself to be there. And I can safely say that I passed the work trial with flying colours.

I think I could get into this swishing malarkey more often. I’m loving getting rid of old clothes and getting new ones. I am also loving the fact that where as once upon a time I would have walked into a store picked up the first dress I liked, I had to work to find the perfect gown. I love the fact that my dress tells a story and I will pass it onto someone else, and they too will be the belle of the ball and have the most wonderful memory. Who knew clothes swapping could be chic?

posted by Ellie on Jul 12, 2009

For the first time I watched Confessions of a Shopaholic and I was faced with a grim reality. That was my life on screen. I to am obsessed with every item of clothing, I want it all and I don’t let my dwindling pay packet stop me. Although I would like to say that I have managed to stop myself getting into severe debt, I am in debt nonetheless. And this week I suffered buyers remorse of the worst kind, I went to a sample sale.

Just like in the film I to was invited to sample sale, which was I may add, invite only. Now, I’m not normally one for sales but thanks to all my attempts at saving money, I thought that this was the perfect remedy to quench my shopping thirst. So armed with the belief that I would only buy a couple of select pieces and would not spend over £150, I was ready to get queuing.

But as with Rebecca Bloomwood, I could not control myself and could not stop! I ran, I grabbed, I very nearly assaulted. I stalked, I crept, I nearly passed out, I hovered, hid and showed better skills than someone in the secret services. Yes I was on a mission.

In fairness to the sample sale it was beautiful. The fabrics, the colours, this season’s best shapes. And for the more self-controlled of us there were bargains to be had. But I lost all self control the moment I climbed the stairs. After deciding more was definitely more, I made my £500 purchase. Yes that’s right, £500, one month’s rent and skipped home.

But as I turned the corner the skipping soon slowed and turned into a trudge just as reality set in. I am struggling to pay rent as it is, and in half an hour I had spent my entire rent in one foul swipe of a credit card. Suddenly my beautiful purchases stared back at me like evil clowns jeering me. Even the bag made me feel sick, I wanted to throw it down and run away but that wouldn’t solve anything.

But what was I to do? I didn’t have the money or the credit. I knew that I was going to have to do something I hoped I would never have to do, and ring my parents. I hadn’t done this since my student days and I felt sick making the call. They knew I wanted something before I’d said the words and whilst they were willing to help I felt stupid, childish and ashamed.

So my rent was paid, but that did not mean I could keep my purchases. For now they symbolised stupidity. I made the brave decision to eBay them, I kept a bag and made a profit which thankfully covered my bills. I always thought I was in control, and yet I came scarily close to living Rebecca’s life. Perhaps a scare was all I needed, to shock me into accepting responsibility. It’s also made me think differently about sale shopping, you can end up spending more than if you’d bought your favourite piece full price! Now that doesn’t sound like a bargain to me.

posted by Ellie on Jul 6, 2009

So after all my hard work working out in the park and feeling inspired by the man of my dreams I was feeling better than ever.

Yes the sun is out and this week I thought, “yeah I look great, I feel great, it’s time to pull out the shorts”… so I did. Now thanks to a little thing called debt I couldn’t afford a new pair of shorts, oh how I dream of a pair of denim Current/Elliott shorts. But back in reality I found a pair from a few years back, and what do you know? They are back in fashion. So after taking a bit of sandpaper to them (I wanted the distressed look, check me out getting thrifty), I pulled them on with an oversized cropped top and sandals and went for a strut.

Right, so the shorts are a few years old, and although still slender I do now own two little things called hips. Nevertheless, I flew down the high street feeling amazing, thinking to myself “Cindy Crawford eat your heart out”. But then I caught a glimpse of myself in a passing car. To my horror there were two wobbly thighs just shaking away. I was instantly mortified and began to take smaller more shuffle like steps, which were equally as unattractive as the jelly legs themselves.

My first thought, was lipo but let’s be realistic, where am I going to get the cash for lipo? The other alternative is a firming cream, but do they really work? And the ones that are meant to work cost upwards of £50, and how long is that going to last you?! It’s amazing how in an instant a girl’s self esteem can plummet from the top of the world to completely non-existent.

But what do you do to bring yourself out of that hole? I can’t go shopping, I can’t go for a slap up dinner, and I can’t whine because it’s such a silly vain dilemma. My solution was tackle it head on, I went and bought a body brush and learnt to make soup. Ok, so a body brush isn’t quite Dior Svelte Reversal but it will last longer and according to the experts will work! The reasons for the soup making are as follows; a. It has very few calories, b. will make that chicken go that bit further, c. stops me thinking about my wobbly thighs, and d. continues my thrifty fad.

But it doesn’t matter how much soup I make I still want to hit the shops, they always make me feel better. But no, I must persist I must learn to feel happy with who I am beneath the pretty packaging. Sound like a self-help book don’t I? Well sometimes a new mantra is the way to start. Wish me luck with my soup, body brushing, no shopping diet!