Tomorrow Night…

I’m off. Off to see the Robots in Disguise. In Birmingham. With Rosie.

I know. Me.

To be perfectly honest, I think I’m only going because Dee Plume is the girlfriend of HRH (His Royal Hotness) Noel Fielding. I guess there’s always a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be there. In Birmingham. Perhaps not. In all honesty, I don’t know any of their songs. I don’t even know what genre of music they are (well, I guess it’s somewhere in the region of poppy electro-punk), but tickets were only £8 plus booking fees (this is what comes of being famous in Germany – no one ever knows who you are in good ol’ Blighty) and I felt like a night out, a break from my maths coursework that I’ve been working really hard on (yeah right). This is what I’m wearing:

• Black & white checked tutu.
• Electric blue footless tights.
• Bright green vesty top thing.
• Grey leopard print jacket.
• Neon orange braces (not the teeth kind).
• Black converse boot (right foot)
• Pink and red converse boot (left foot)

That’s the outfit. Accessorised with lashings of lipgloss and seventy coats of mascara.

Ooow, buggery bugger!! I’m in bloody agony! Ow, I applied some kind of plumping lipgloss and then I changed my mind and tried to scrub it off. That hurt a bit, and then I tried to get it off with what I thought was make up remover but feels more like paint stripper! Ow! My lips have swollen up to twice their normal size! Talk about trout pout.

Oh poo! I’ve just realised that tutus don’t have pockets! Where am I supposed to keep my phone/money/keys?

This is what I do for fashion.

Oh good, Rosie’s just sidled in and my hair is as yet un-straightened.

Goodbye and good will, people of the blogosphere.

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