missprint

As you can see dear readers, the blackboard is happily not barking orders at me to WRITE anymore. I fear I was a little optimistic in scheduling a social appointment every day of the week and I am exhausted. By happy chance, Meg has requested our rendezvous to be moved to the evening so I was able to languish in bed until 1pm. I was vaguely considering going out and running some errands but having just signed up to last.fm, I think that perhaps any thoughts of venturing outside the house are to be banished. The past few days have been taken up with extraordinary amounts of shopping, wine-drinking and generally doing nothing purely because I can do so without feeling guilty. As proof of this, I present to you a blackboard that Stuart requested:



If any of my readership want to request a blackboard message, please press 1 on hearing the beep.

So, Tuesday was taken up with shopping at the poor-chav's Bluewater, Lakeside. (I once saw Jodie Marsh and then boyfriend, Fran Cosgrove shopping at Lakeside. FACT. EDIT Well, when I say saw, I mean that my friends pointed them out to me and I saw their departing backs. I did not see Jodie's Trivial Persuit wedge. Ahem.) My trip being a little over a week away, I desperately need some, whisper it, practical clothing. Living in London, the idea of practical clothing is alien to me. It's all very well to throw on a pair of slouchy jeans and ballet pumps but I'm afraid that this favoured combination of mine will not fare me very well for 3 weeks in Eastern Europe. So, it is with trepidation that I went in search of a pair of combats and hoped that I didn't look like I was on a one-woman mission to resurrect late-1990s, All Saints inspired workwear. I found myself cooing over all the pretty skirts that are being hauled out in preparation for summer. It was then I realised that I wasn't really cut out for this trip. What on earth made me think I could be a earth-mother type, being at one with the goats and the dirt and without my favourite MAC products and my curling tongs?? Well, I shall either return a convert to backpacking ways or swearing off any travelling that does not involve a bed and a shower of some sort.

Anyway, having bought a pair of the required cropped trousers, I turned my attention to far more pressing matters. Namely, my ever continuing search for the perfect face powder. After my last powder disaster with Clinique's Gentle Light powder (too glittery, too child-rummaging-around-in-mother's-make-up-box), I was determined to stick with my original choice, the Yves Saint Laurent Matt & Radiant Pressed Powder:



It is a truly humbling experience to discover that in fact, you are always right and that in fact, you should always stick with your initial instinct rather than getting swayed by such matters as loyalty card points. The powder comes gorgeously packaged, which as any make-up junkies know is half the fun of buying make-up (this is also where MAC falls short with its minimalist matt black packaging. Please MAC, take note from Pout and Paul & Joe.) The actual compact is rather fabulously Dallas-tacky, gold and emblazoned with the YSL logo and inside, the powder is pressed into the shape of a heart. The powder itself lives up to it's name, it gives a gorgeous matt finish and sets your make-up without giving you that cakey, flat look that a lot of matt powders give. I attribute this to how finely milled the powder is, it's pretty invisible and you also don't need to use a lot. My make-up splurging didn't end there. Yesterday, whilst in Covent Garden, I took the opportunity to visit the MAC shop and check out the new line of liquidlast eyeliners and I just fell in love with this:



The picture doesn't accurately convey how vibrant and gorgeous the colour is. It's very much like the Limited Edition glitter eyeliners from last Christmas, the turquoise colour Peacocky sold out around the country and was going on eBay for £25 per tube. Anyway, Aqualine is very close to Peacocky but without the glitter, instead it has an irridescent effect. It also doesn't seem to come off which in many ways in a good thing but I imagine at the end of a drunken night out, it is not so desirable to spend 10 minutes rubbing frantically at your eye with a cotton wool pad.

Unfortunately, the weather did not allow for a celebratory picnic in Hyde Park yesterday, so myself and Lindsey ended up in the refurbished Smollensky's on The Strand which was splendid and does a fabulous Polish Martini. Rather worryingly, I found that after one martini with lunch, I found myself slightly staggering out of the door, blinking in the watery afternoon sun. I put it down to the bison grass vodka that goes in those Polish Martinis. For those of you who have never had the good fortune to come across a Polish Martini, they come with the highest recommendation (namely that they are now my drink du choix). Imagine the sweet and comforting taste of apple pie made liquid and alcholic and you're halfway there.

As the picnic was nixed, we had to find alternative entertainment and so we wandered over to Leicester Square to find a film and we ended up watching the latest Uma Thurman vehicle, Prime. Why Thurman can never seem to choose a good script is beyond me, she has proven herself to be a capable and charming actress and yet continually seems to choose Kate Hudson's castoffs. Anyway, there was nothing intrinsically wrong with the film, it was just a little odd. Uma Thurman and Bryan Greenberg (diet Jake Gyllenhaal: "all the flavour of Gyllenhaal with 50% less charisma!") have no chemistry whatsoever. In a bizarro-land twist, Madhur Jaffrey makes a cameo as a therapist. Meryl Streep phones in her performance. The whole thing seemed very much like a short-pants karaoke version of a Woody Allen film. It was brimming with the usual New Yoik stereotypes: slouchy arty kids living in the Village; Upper West side Jewish psychoanalysists, uber-camp fashionistas, shimmering shots of the city at night and characters tripping off to the Hamptons. However, I think perhaps it isn't the chick-flick that the advertising suggests (another casualty of In Her Shoes syndrome) and I think that probably I'm in the wrong demographic to really appreciate the film.

Anyway, this brings us up to today and Meg has just gone home a little while ago. We had planned to have a night in with some dinner and one of our favourite trashy films, Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights. However, in between watching the e4 episode of Lost that I taped the other night and Big Brother, we didn't get around to it. By the way, can I just say that the northern screeching harpy that goes by the moniker of Lisa is giving my people a bad name and that rest assured, the majority of us are in no way like her. Don't even get me started on Marco Part II, Shabaz; running around the house like a hamster on speed, screeching and pawing at every housemate walked through the doors. The only housemate that I warmed to was the fabulously misanthropic Dawn ("A determined and serious lady, Dawn is a strict vegetarian who loves her own company. She takes pleasure in reading textbooks, and spends a lot of time finding fault with things.") Dawn to win please viewing public.

Anyway, I digress, in tribute to our unwatched film of choice tonight, I present to you another All Time Top Five...

All Time Top Five...Dance Movies*



One // Strictly Ballroom
The first installment of Baz Luhrmann's Red Curtain trilogy and I think it's the one that stylistically and aesthetically sticks out the most from the trilogy. Where Romeo + Juliet and Moulin Rouge! have that hyperfast MTV editing, the postmodern references and the heightened reality thing going on, Strictly Ballroom is a mock-documentary and exhibits a much more dry humour as opposed to the hyperactive farcical humour that is on display in the later films. Like all good dance films, it follows an underdog-triumph-over-adversity type storyline combined with the fairy tale ugly-duckling plot. But really, what I love about the film is the story between Fran and Scott. And also the hotness of Paul Mercurio does not go unappreciated. Oh and also, the film features the best use of Time After Time ever. Besides, how can you resist a film that features the following line of dialogue: "I have to help Wayne with his bogo pogo."

Two // Save The Last Dance
Any combination of dance film and teen film was guaranteed to be a favourite of mine. Strangely enough, I hadn't seen this film until two years ago when Priya bought it for me as a thank-you for helping her move into her new flat. Although the film is to blame for the popularity of Fatman Scoop and Be Faithful, it is hard to hate the film. Mainly because it has the luminous moon-faced Julia Stiles in it. Dancing. In a white girl manner. Fantastic!

Three // Honey
Ah, more 'urban' teen movie fare. It seems as if Dangerous Minds has a lot to answer for. (See also: Coach Carter, Sister Act 2) More triumph-over-adversity! It's a winning formula, along with Jessica Alba and her amazing rippling, oiled abs (sorry, got a little carried away there. Ahem.) and a scene-stealing cameo from everyone's favourite hip-hop lesbian mogul, Missy Elliott. Also features a cute kid with a large afro. Always the mark of a good film I say. (See also: umm...)

Four // Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights
I am aware that this is somewhat of a controversial choice. I am aware that the majority of people have probably never seen this sequel. I am aware that the majority of those who have don't prefer it to the original. However, having never seen the appeal of Patrick Swayze (Kurt Russell lite: "all the flavour of Swayze but without the famous wife!") and especially not the Swayze-penned ode to flatulance, She's Like The Wind, the charms of Diego Luna (formerly seen sexing it up with Gael Garcia Bernal in Y tu mamá también) have endeared me to the sequel. The film itself is pretty much like the original, transposing the coming-of-age story to revolutionary Cuba and also features a cameo from the now haggard Swayze (obviously fatigued from all the paedophilia/house burning that heralded his comeback).

Five // Dance With Me
For the eagle-eyed and well, frankly bored, of you, you will have noticed that last Saturday's Channel 5 Afternoon Movie was this little known gem. For all its faults (namely recycling all the cliches of the genre into one tasty yet digestible whole), it remains a rather entertaining romp. Criticise Channel 5 all you want but they certainly have their scheduling down: straight-to-DVD films go on in the afternoon, soft porn at night. The film tells the story of a young Cuban, Rafael who after having buried his mother, goes in search of his American father. His father runs a dance studio in Texas and it is there that he meets Ruby (played by Vanessa Williams: diet Vivica Fox who in turn is Jada Pinkett lite. Which really makes Vanessa Williams the Hellmann's superlight mayo of the trio.) Ruby is the typical single-mum, hardened survivor heroine of these films and predictably her heart of stone is melted by Rafael and his hips of red-hot rhythm. There is also dance competition shoehorned in at the end in an effort to showcase Elaine-from-Ally McBeal's-interpretive-dance-abilities. If this doesn't persuade you to watch this film, I don't know what will.

* really the title should be All Time Top Five...Dance Movies (Subject To Change Until I See Flashdance and Footloose)