He's Out Of My Life

Probably one of the most surreal days I have ever encountered in my 24 years.

Michael Jackson has moonwalked his way out of here.

I must confess to the odd snigger here and there at some of the MJ jokes that had already surfaced during the early hours but I am honestly and truly devastated.

Perhaps I am in fact mourning the early 90's Jacko, (who some might say had 'died' already) as all I can think about is how I spent countless Saturday evenings watching Moonwalker on VHS, before the Baywatch/Gladiators/Blind Date trilogy that followed.

Another memory is one of me desperately wanting the 'Bad' album but having no pocket money to buy it, then the sheer ecstasy I felt as I was handed a copy of it in the middle of Rhyl after a family friend at the time had secretly gone to Our Price to by it for me as a surprise.

The atmostphere in Glastonbury, I hear is completely electric, with food and drink stalls blaring out his timeless hits. I literally can't wait to see the artist's tribute on telly this weekend and I am kicking myself very hard for not sorting out a ticket.

I don't keep a diary anymore and I hardly ever write on this, so if I never do so again, I will be happy to know that my sentiments on this day have been documented somewhere.

But for now, even though it's 25 degrees outside, I'm off to 'turn up the collar on, my favourite winter coat', and dance the night away in honour of the Man in the Mirror.

X

Skip to my Lulu....

...I really should get into the habit of actually writing on this thing if I want anyone to follow it! Apologies (if anyone is actually reading at this early stage). I do have a fairly valid excuse, I have been out and and about, shopping, easter-ing, 241 dining, gig-ing etc etc. Whilst pondering about in London, I took the great plunge of crossing the Thames to go (gulp) South, to the Sloane Sq area. There has got to be something pretty epic going on in South Ldn to shift by non-deviating North/East Ldn-loving self 'daa'n the Lambeth Way', and what better excuse than the re-furbishment of Lulu Guinness' Ellis Street store. There are Swarovski crystals embellished on the back walls, do I need to say anymore? It looks edible, I ♥♥♥♥ it........of course I have to say that because I work for her and I know, I know, Sloaney Ponies are not my cup of Tetley’s either and Peter Jones is just not as pretty as Liberty, but trust me, it is well worth the flicked-pashmina dodging.....

The Hip, the Hop....

After getting wind that Mark Ronson was making a cameo at one of my favourite nights (YoYo @ Notting Hill Arts Club) I was eager to don my dancing shoes and headed down to W11 for the last hour of his set.
So many critics are quick to accuse Ronson of being a bit of a socialite who merely ‘plays some horns’ over a hand-picking of already established hits, what they fail to realise is that 1) as a live DJ, not only does he spin a cocktail of some signature tunes of our generation and B) he has actually cleverly built up a sound that is highly marketable thanks to his collaborations with most ‘up to the minute’ chart-hoggers. A gold-mine of a cherry on top methinks.
Highlight-When he dropped ‘Sir Duke’ at the very end.Lowpoint- Josephine de la Baume ‘schmoking a faaag’ in the middle of the floor. Wow what a rebel, it was so rock and roll, especially when she got frog marched out by bouncers. Cool. Hmm not so much.

The beginning......

Once upon a time, a little welsh girl named Catrin Anne was born into a quaint North Wales village. From as young as four, she was fascinated by music, pretty dresses, chips and had a compelling attraction to every single one of her Nain's (welsh for 'Gran') handbags. Never in a million did she think that if she fast forwarded to 24 years on the video tape of her life that she'd be living in the the big smoke, singing soulful sounds to the masses and most of all, be surrounded by thousands of handbags everyday in her assistant job. You could say she is the Cat that got the Cream
♥