AM to PM

August 12, 2009

This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a while. Both us Bluebirds lead busy lives. Lives that involve going from one place, to another, and then another still. Last Friday, I went from work to dinner, to DJing. I needed a practical outfit for the office, but something that would see me through a night out. I needed, in short, to be living in Grazia.
I did not need to be wearing the below.

High heels? White tuxedo jacket? WTF?

Here’s the kicker, friends. It’s impossible to try and incorporate 3 separate outfits for 3 separate occasions into one. Something’s always going to look a bit off. So, which is more important? Looking well at work? Or looking slammin’ on the dancefloor? I think we all know the answer to that one. Either way, there are some tips I can give.

1. Make-up.
Obv you want your day to be as hassle free as possible. Obv again you don’t want to be lugging your make-up bag around for 24 hours. So, put it all on at the start. Go on. Unless you’re 12, there shouldn’t be too much glitter involved, and unless you’re 15, things should be light-ish on the eyeliner side. It’ll be fine. Honest. You’ll look a bit fancy for typing at a screen from 10-6 but whatevs. Haters gonna hate.

BRB making an Excel spreadsheet

2. Clothes.
Same as with make-up, you want this to be as hassle free as poss. However, unless you’re mad for classy trousers/sophis jacket combos for nightwear, this is going to be a little difficult. What you want is a cover-up. Again, bearing in mind that something is going to look a bit off, either whack a jumper on on top of your dress, or a skirt on over a shorter shorts/skirt/dress. Fine. Grand. As regards shoes, you’re going to have to bite the bullet. Decide: can you do the whole day/night in heels? If so, fair play. If not, grab some flats.

Maybe too many layers, alas.

3. Bag
This is going to be difficult. So far, your bag is going to need to carry your day to day stuff (bike lights, keys, bottle of water, purse, book), your stored-away cover-up for later on, and whatever excess make-up you brought. It’s also going to have to do for dancing with. So basically a shoulder strappy satchel thing should do the job. Obv. No need to go on.
Not Satchel Allen. Wrong Satchel.

4. The Alternative
Is to just bung everything you could possibly need into a canvas bag, including change of clothes, get changed in the toilets and dump the bag in the cloakroom. But Grazia never mention that option.



I was massively impressed by the Grafton Academy End of Year Show the other night. Not only was it better run than other shows I’ve been to (not mentioning any names, although having an organised seating plan goes a long way, you know, cough Nokia Young Designer cough) but the standard was sky high. Being an idiot, I left all my notes behind, so this is a vague, cloudily remembered resumé.

-Models wore peroxide blonde bobbed wigs, coupled with feathery eyelashes and a stubborn pout, meaning that, essentially, a young blonde Jean Shrimpton modelled each outfit.

-Pieces were, for the most part, both influenced by avant-fashion, and also immensely wearable. Stand-outs included a beautiful feathered miniskirt, a gorgeously cut silk backless shirt, and a white wool cape.

Annemarie and Arsheen should have better photos up soon, but here’s a selection of the press shots. Youngsters, bien fait*.






*I say ‘youngsters’, most of them were older than me…


Andy, You’re A Star

April 4, 2009

At this stage, we’re really just a glorified events guide*, but normal service will resume when FUN THINGS STOP HAPPENING RIGHT AFTER EACH OTHER. So, tonight, we present: Under the Neon.

You’re Only Massive launch their brand new single at The Hideaway House (probably the coolest venue in Dublin) tonight at 6pm. Entry is 5e and will also get you a lovely 7”. Smashing. Y.O.M. will play a set (obv) and so will Babybeef. If that’s not enough, I’ll be running ‘Under the Neon Red Carpet’, which is the reason why my garage is currently full of fairy lights and a massive red carpet. Oh yes. See you there k?


*If this is annoying you, you could go read my boyfriend’s blog. Though it offers less events, it’s stupid funny.


Some very close friends of mine have something kind of special going on. In an effort to re-imagine and re-engage with poetry, the Dodo Collective are putting on a series of shows called ‘The Jabberwocky Series’, the first of which is called ‘Available Space’ and opens this Thursday the 12th of March. It’s free in, there’ll probably be some wine and it’ll be splendid. Promise. More info HERE HERE HERE and there’s an invite above. Come one and/or all. Sisters brothers mothers cousins and pets. Well. Maybe not pets. Unless they’re wearing hilarious outfits.



Are you stuck for somethingverynice to do this evening? Would you like to buy some food that is either vegan, or cake? Would you like to listen to some earmusic? Would you like to donate to the Simon Community?

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not asking questions just for the sake of rhetorical effect, I’m building up to something. Our lovely friends from the Joy Gallery at Redspace are hosting a Christmas event. They promise ‘stalls from Cake Cafe, Blazing Salads, art, records, clothes from 4pm until around 7pm/8pm along with some films and music; followed by bands (Cap Pas Cap/ Skinny Wolves), DJ’s, and more films. Bring your own booze! it will run late; and there will be some surprises, secret guests and a raffle with original photography donated by Brian Cross (B+) and CANDY Collective.’

How wonderful, how wonderful.

About Your Dress

November 14, 2008

Long long before Gok Wan and Trinny and Suzie, there was a budding designer who understood- nay, KNEW- that the world is comprised of different body types. This young upstart had visions of an army of females, all clad in urban streetwear, all rejoicing in their own individuality. This was a line for all girls, all real girls. Only fitting then that it should be called Re: Al Girls.

Yes. It’s diary time again. Here is our first extract. Can we please bear in mind-
a)The baffling amount of layering inherent in these ‘designs’.
b) The deft use of colouring pencil.
c) The clear arrows pointing to the accessories.
d) The options for so so many of them to be made into trousers.

I think the ‘Superstar’ jeans are my favourite. Although, I do hold a soft spot for the green shirt/blue tie/ jeans combo, as it was based on an outfit (in fact, it WAS an outfit) that I used to wear on the regular.




Alas, no designs remain from ‘Gutterstar’, the diffusion range.

Sincerest apologies to those of you that had places to be in the city at any stage this afternoon. We probably got in your way a bit. Today in Dublin, in response to the hike in 3rd level registration charges and the potential reintroduction of fees, up to fifteen thousand students walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and shouted a bit and banged a couple of drums and things that weren’t actually drums and walked and walked and walked some more and then stood around for a bit and banged a bit more and sang some songs and shouted a lot and walked and walked again. This is what it looked like…


Thoroughly suggest you all hop, skip and/or jump on over to this one. If you are busy, just see it as a relaxing and cultured form of procrastination…Somewhat like the way that I am writing this post while the piles of crap in my bedroom look increasingly larger, more sinister, and much more likely to engulf me at any given second not to mention the open sketchbook beside me that looks depressingly empty, uninspiring and much more likely to lead to me failing my first assessment of the college term on Monday.

Now, I suggest we all stall it over to youtube to watch some Diana Vickers videos.


You may have killed someone. I can’t vouch for that though, and neither can you. You’ve got amnesia you see. Bummer, I know. However, the lovely folks from Andy and Polly are here to help you help yourself. They’ll give you a camera, an envelope, and some clues, then push you off through Dublin’s wet and cobbled streets to try to solve the mystery of your past. Ready? Here we go…

Inside the envelope is a list, and some scraps of paper with names and addresses. We’ll need to visit these. Not yet though. Apparently, there’s someone waiting to meet us first. Exit the Curved Street Café, walk straight towards the wall, and then turn left. They’ll be there, waiting. It’s a rainy day, and as we slip down the hill umbrellas cover our faces. Around my neck is a yellow envelope. Our eyes peep down side streets, trying to find out who might be waiting. A statue beckons us from a recess of a concert hall. She hands us a package. Inside it are ten photographs, each with instructions written on the back, and a disposable camera. She speaks to us- ‘Don’t you remember me? Have I really changed that much? I haven’t seen you round here in ages.’ Sadly, we don’t remember her. She promises that all this will change. We’re to go somewhere quiet, and follow the instructions on the photos. It will all become clear in time. The photos are numbered, and each has a memory for us to recreate, using the disposable camera. Memory number one:
‘I used to love this once.’ Memory number two: ‘I felt like a fool’. Memory number three isn’t a photo though. It’s the address of the Irish Film Institute. We’re to go to the membership desk and ask for the manager. This is a bad idea. The manager is cross with us. Very cross. ‘How dare you come here? I can’t believe, I CAN’T BELIEVE you’d even THINK of coming here after what you’ve done.’ Oh dear. We apologise. We explain that we can’t remember what we’ve done. Maybe she could help us out? She sighs, shoves another address in our hand, and tells us never to come back again. We leave, and are a little confused. Memory number 4: ‘Take a photo of what you did here’.

The address tells us to go to a centre deep in the heart of Temple Bar. Once there, Christina in reception will tell us what to do. Christina isn’t impressed with us either. Nobody seems to like us in this town. If only we knew why. There’s a man in pyjamas waiting in the corner. He calls us over. We sit and have a chat. He seems to know us, from long ago. Apparently, something went terribly wrong. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He does want to give us something though. Memory number 5:

Back to the photos. Memory number 6: ‘Nothing is as it seems’. Memory number 7: ‘No escape’. Memory number 8: another address. Oxfam on Parliament St. The manager will know what to do. We’re ushered to a couch in the front of the shop, and a black plastic bag is dumped on our laps. From the bag, we pour out bloodstained books, and a tape recorder. We’re a little worried. We press play. A long scream rings through the shop. People stop and look at us. The scream continues, then two voices break in. ‘What are we going to do now? It’s as much your fault as anyone else. Don’t think you’re not guilty because you’re just standing there. What are we going to do now?’ Memory number 9: ‘Show me where you hid the body’.

We’re at the end of the list. There’s a phone number to ring, and more instructions to follow. Onwards to our ‘old haunt’- The Dame Tavern. Once we’re there, we’re to open the final envelope- the one hanging around my neck. Inside the envelope is a puzzle piece, with some words written on it. We add our piece to the half-completed puzzle on the table, and try to make out the final memory, fragmented across the cardboard. ‘Do you remember that time, when we were running through Stephen’s Green? And we didn’t know whether we were shouting or singing?’ True to form though, the vital pieces are missing. The hole in our past remains. The only thing we can be sure of are the photographs that we’ve taken.

the girl from next door

September 20, 2008

I have endured the majority of the past week with no access to the internet. I’m all shook up (Uh huh, Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!…Elvis? Yeah? Never mind.) but shall continue in my quest to provide you with a first class blogging service. cough. I went to London. Then I went to London Dungeon (highly entertaining, ludicrously overpriced, and really very shoddy). Then I went to the Tate Modern (for one hour). Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth (el big crack in the floor of The Turbine Hall) was filled up. FUN FACT! Did you know that fifteen people were injured in the first four weeks of the crack’s existence? Some parts were wide enough for a toddler to fall through. I’m not a toddler so I would have been okay, but alas, it was no more. London provided me with lots of food and lots of beautiful people to eye up. Now for today’s weather report. It is a ravishing, enticing, fetching, tempting, pulchritudinous (thesaurus? check.), bewitching day. On that note, I bid you farewell.