Get Yr Knit On

It's done! It's finally all done!
Yup, somehow I managed to complete all four gigantico Uni assignments a week before deadline and now I'm free, FREE GOD DAMNIT, to sit in my living room eating pizza and knitting Christmas presents.
Did I mention that I learnt to knit the other week? No? Well, I did, as evidenced in the poorly-made GIF above. Yaaay! You can see how proud I am here:

 Scarf - hand-knitted by meeee, headscarf - given to me by a bloke in the queue for Clwb Ifor Bach in exchange for a fag, t-shirt - Jose Vanders merch, braces - H&M, skirt - secondhand from Rhi, tights - sheer magic.

So I made this scarf in a couple of days, and had so much fun doing it that I decided to produce a whole bunch of shitknits in time for the festive season, which means all my pals will be receiving lumpy woollen goods in their stockings. This has nothing at all to do with the fact that I'm totally skintos. NOTHING, I TELLS YA.
In other news, I based my childish outfit yesterday around these ridiculously awesome Roy Lichtenstein-inspired tights. I picked them up in Paris when I was fourteen, wore them once and promptly discarded them for the next ten years. Until last week that is, when I had a little rootle around in my tights drawer for something to jazz up my flagging paupers wardrobe and rediscovered them and all their pop art glory. Have a butchers, they're great.

In keeping with the throwback theme, today I channelled the spirit of my 13 year old self and looked back 11 years to a time when my life revolved around school blazers, Silver Ravenwolf books and unfinished chemistry homework. I was always an odd child, and my friends and I (I won't name the rest of them for fear of causing them embarrassment *coughLOZCOOKcoughZOEFJSUTTON*) would spend hours casting magic circles and boiling things up in my mums casserole pot and wearing pentacle necklaces and the like.

So today I dragged that old pentacle from my childgood jewelry box, paired it with a schooley ensemble - albeit in more flattering colours than my original high school uniform. A cat jumper, creepers, a vacant stare and some Picmonkey wizardry enabled me to emulate Robin Tunney in The Craft like I always wished I could do when I was a young'un.

Headscarf - stolen from Mammy, blazer and skirt - charity shop, cat jumper - Peacocks, socks and tights - Primark, creepers - Niche, bad photography - too cold to be outside, swanky special effects - WITCHCRAFT YO.

Speaking of editing, here's what happens when I allow Oli to contribute to my blog.

Adios, amigos!

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Rainbow Clara Bow

Following today's early morning photoshoot for the Phoenix (our new independent student newspaper, FYI) I've been revelling in the joys of eveningwear as daywear. The lovely Jess's 'down-on-her-luck dolly darling' comment inspired me to embrace what I am labelling the 'bedraggled razzle-dazzle' look. A little bit Catherine Zeta Jones with ripped hems and stockings at the end of Chicago, a little 90's grunge/gothy. Ideal get-up for a cinematically-inspired day.

Also, note the balcony. I HAVE A BALCONY! Ok, so it's a rusty fire escape, but it will do.

Betti Baudelaire xxx

THE ONES

 
The sun has decided to man the fuck up and poke his little face through the clouds for the past two days, and I've finally been able to heave a massive sigh of relief and take a breather now that 90% of the work I've been piddling my pants over is out of the way. Rejoice!

This meant I was able to snap some style post pics. I know the 'but it's raaaiiinnning' excuse is tired and lame, but honestly - there is not A SINGLE DECENT PLACE to take a blog-suitable shot in my charming but ever-so-slightly tatty little flat. I've been waiting, camera in hand and foot impatiently tapping, for a sunny day so I could showcase my purchase of the year.

I do not say this lightly.

Look at them...LOOK AT THEM!!! These are the trousers I've been waiting for my entire life. They are my Ones (don't tell Oli). I'm not a massive fan of high street shopping - as if you couldn't already tell - but these cropped, tailored, floral and paint-spattered H&M beauts were so far up my street they were practically knocking on my door and inviting themselves in for a cuppa.

I'm not sure how seasonally-appropriate these lads actually are and I'm still not entirely convinced by the whole winter florals-and-pastels malarkey but I can't hide from the fact that when I slip these jazzy trews on in the morning, life just seems a bit brighter. Well-deserved BOOM, H&M.

Trousers - H&M
Jumper - Prefab second hand
Blouse - chaz shop
Shoesies - George at Asda

So I guess it's pretty apparent how enamoured I am with my statement purchase for this semester (student loans only stretch so far), but I could only handle the saccharine-sweet pastelmania for so long before I started feeling queasy every time I looked in the mirror.

The antidote was lurking, as it often does, in the menswear section of Primark where Oli and I discovered it on a routine boring sock shop. I'd all but vowed to never buy from a high street retailer again after the disappointing autumn/winter crop until my dream jumper literally jumped out and punched me full force in the face. Ok, maybe not literally. But it may as well have done.

 

THE BREAKFAST CLUB?! A still from one of my all-time favourite films featuring the cast looking suitably insouciant plastered onto a jumper of not-totally-tragic quality for just £12? Get in. Pastel induced nausea - neutralised. (Crap Instagram picture a result of another torrential downpour, boo.)

Next time - why high-waisted woolly Nan-slacks are God's gift to womankind.

Betti Baudelaire