Thursday, 5 January 2012

Don't go back to Dalston.

2012, greetings.

Mine was relatively uneventful. Toiled til 6, dined at 7, arrived at a Holloway flat filled with East London strangers. Including;

I was donning this;

(God awful image, best of a disastrous bunch)

I mingled with my bottle of Cava, sipping through my straw, I was polite with a forced edgy streak. & still it boiled down to my questioning what 'cool' is.

At one point in my past 'cool' was pineapples;

She was an idol of mine to boot. Realistically, she's the reason my thatch is the shade it is.

This was cool;

Some remain cool, some don't (you choose).

The fact is, I'm never going to be cool. I try too hard to portray who I want to be*

Yet when the industry you're trying to be a part of looks fairly like those featured, I may have to slip into some ill fitting gear, dance to tunes without words and swig Red Stripe.

It really isn't what you know. This angers me.

Still; I did see that netting around the face is going to be big, plus beehives (thank's Ab Fab). I may be in luck, love a full circle I do.

I left the cave-like club we ended up at, achingly hip Dalston #Occupy The Future. End of days. at 12.17 and delved into my freezer for some frozen yoghurt.

*Kitty. I appear to be turning into Kitty. I'm 23.

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