Our life lyrics.

500 Days of Summer. Nail varnish. Ribena. Matilda. Photos. Literature. Music. Friends. Bed. Picnics. Kate Nash. Flowers. Sunshine. Shopping. Sunnies. Sandals. Overspending. Daydreaming. Piercings. Scouting For Girls. Yellow. London. Tiffany. Kings of Leon. Festivals. Lilac. Camping. Cold beer. Bunnies. Love. Parks. Tea. Tan. Shorts. Selfridges. Twitter. Mascara. Blonde. Earrings. CHANEL. Dreaming about CHANEL. Lust. Glitter. Lipgloss. Summer. Bags. Bracelets. Procrastinating. Scarves. Dancing. Intoxication. Kirby grips. Fringe. Red hair. Sparkles. Secrets. Loud. Tic-Tacs. Haribo. People. Chicken. Eating outside. Achievements. Silence. Colour. Singing badly. Fuck you, whore. Bitching. New York. Private jokes. Smiling. Cereal. Star signs. Believing. Ice cream. Family. Turtles. Excitement. Promises. Plans. Stationary. Glasses. Sunday dinner. Politics. Lyrics. Watches. Tumblr. Words. Thoughts. Dreams. Future.

V's rash.

Once again, here I am instead of revising. I'll be regretting this on Wednesday when I sit my exam, although maybe not so much when myself and A are doing our Big Reveal in Elle that we have been dreaming of every night for the past week.

Anyway, that's besides the point.

The other day, Saturday I think it was, it was really hot and we decided to hit the park with a few of our friends, have a BBQ, drink too much cider, you know it goes. Summer times. Before we left, V decided to pull out the masses of summer clothes she had stored away under her bed. Please bare in mind that these had been there since September. Not long after this hideous fashion show, she discovered a rash on her chest. We just put it down to dust, nothing serious, and we carried on with our plan for the day.

Cut to Sunday morning whilst I was on my way back from the bathroom; I heard the instantly recognisable plee for attention, the familiar shreek: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?", so obviously I had to poke my head around the door.

V's face literally resembled that of a burns victim, and I seriously do hate saying that but it's true. Her whole body had swollen up, her eyes were all puffy.. it was awful. She said she felt fine within herself though so off she trotted to the hospital and she returned a few hours later armed with some topical steriods and some other hayfever-like tablets. The doctor put it down to either dust mites or a contact rash. Lovely.

Now, not long after she returned from A&E, she came into my boudoir where I had just sat down to do some serious revision. And I mean serious, I'd blocked all Facebook and Twitter access, even turned off my phone, then in she walks acting all innocent (which, can I add, does not work well with me) and asked me to go to the shop and get her some chocolate.

My answer? Fuck off.

Would she do the same for me? I think not.

Does that make me a bad person? I'm not ashamed to say that personally, I don't believe it does.

L x

Let me introduce you to V.

Okay, so hello. I should be revising but writing this is just something else I've found to do instead.

Where to begin? Good question.

Everybody has a friend who they pretend to like. One of these people who believe they're better than everybody else, who is only bothered about themselves, who talk about themselves and who think people genuinely give a fuck about their amazing sex life, well their life in general actually.

I'm lucky enough to live with one of these people, and I thought I'd write a quick intro to her because I have a strange feeling many future blogs will be about her. It's only fair to let you in on her pathetic life too, right?

We'll call her V, mostly to protect my back.

I'm lucky enough to live with V so I get first hand accounts of her vile lifestyle. Mummy and Daddy pay for everything for her, and I mean everything: tuition fees, rent, bills, they even give her £50 a week for food, but she doesn't eat apparently, so we'll call that her vodka allowance ("I don't eat carbs" "no, so where did that loaf of bread and sack of potatoes disappear to? Up your arse?"). She has no manners, she doesn't tidy up after herself, in fact I'm not sure she even knows what the word 'clean' even means; her washing up is left for weeks, she leaves manky hairs in the bath and her bedroom is a pigsty. She wears streaky fake tan and she looks down her nose at everyone and everything.

And She's just recently split up with her long term boyfriend and to be quite honest it's gone even further downhill since then but I've just heard the familar slamming of the door so I'd best leave it here for now..

L x

Good morning, good morning! Rise and shine people.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the day is full of promises (it is only 9.37am) here in The City.

Today isn't going to be particularly exciting considering the time of year (April=exams) and the fact the temperature hasn't risen above 'requires mac although cardigan may suffice' for the past three days, but I am hoping to get something out of this Thursday.

I'm hoping to find the perfect party dress in Primark (for under twenty quid)

I'm hoping I haven't totally failed a major assignment (71 minutes until the truth reveals itself)

I'm hoping to get some serious revision done (but when the pub garden is calling to me like this who knows?)

And I'm hoping to get into bed tonight and feel as optimistic about tomorrow as I do right now. Because, like my nan says, 'if you knew what was in store for you tomorrow you wouldn't bother getting out of bed'.

So right now, I'm going to get dressed (I'm feeling pale blue leggings and a Topshop checked shirt) eat a substantial child's breakfast of frosted shreddies and ribena and continue counting down the minutes until this inevitable failure.

Ciao for now

A ♥

Hey hey pretty lady.

(and possible gentlemen)

Welcome to this diary of our lives. Starting from... now! We are an eclectic duo with big dreams and high hopes for the future.


A ♥ : A Birmingham-born fashion fiend with a passion for music, photography and gossip.
Blonde. Journalism. Dreamer. Mascara. Tink. Summer. Yellow. Happy. Shopping. Tea parties. Dancing. In love.

L x : A Northern-ish girl who is ever-so easily pleased and has a serious love for anything remotely pretty or ridiculously expensive.
Brunette, longing to be auburn. Nail varnish. Eyeliner. Books. Hopeless romantic. Lust. Lipgloss. City life. Perfume.