We Are What We Do, we are ‘buy’

Anya Hindmarch’s new bag cooked up a storm in Ireland last week. Well, I say it’s ‘new’, it’s not really. Just new here. The fashion must have of the moment went on sale last Saturday at 9am in Brown Thomas, Dublin, Limerick, Galway and Cork. While many of the tired ‘fashionistas’ kept civil, reports suggest that various petrol bombs were thrown in Limerick. This may or may not be linked to the bag’s release, one young boy gave a statement of ’so?’ when he heard of the news.

I heard some girls started queing at about 3am. Lol ffs. It was 12euro like, even that knack that you suspect is living in yer wheelie bin was spotted buying one after shoplifting attempts failed. Luckily no one went overboard, which is more than the ‘Taiwan-ees’ can say

In Taiwan, the launch caused a stampede and left some people in hospital, prompting retailers in Singapore, Beijing, Shanghai and Jakarta to cancel the launch of designer Anya Hindmarch’s environmentally friendly bag.

I would have loved one of these bags, basically just to carry it around empty and show everyone how dedicated I am to camp outside Brown Thomas in some Hobos piss on Wicklow Street. Unfortunatly, I was working that day and didn’t even know of this launches existance until I was on my way home, when reports of the bags selling out were on the radio. I know, shame on me.

Don’t bother trying ebay, they are charging as much as 300euro for the fucking thing, wowz warra bargain. Just get a fake instead, you know you want to. SURE you’d buy the bag if you could get your hands on it, but it’s proving difficult. This is official permission to make your way over to the dodgy looking guy with the stall on O’Connell’s street and let him charge you 20 for it. It’s still doing the same job at the end of the day, besides ironically being sold in plastic bags.

The main message of Hindmarch’s (oh so sophisticated) creation is for the global social change movement, ‘We Are What We Do’, which is trying to encourage people to stop using plastic bags. No one actually cares about this message though or they would just go to Marks and Spencer and buy one of those attractive ‘granny green’ re-useable bags. The amount of attention this is getting, you’d swear it was one of a kind.

I still want one though.

Harry Potter and the ownage of Bloomsbury

There I was. July 20th, 11.55pm, standing in line at Borders, dressed up as Harry Potter, waving my wand enthusiastically whilst being eyed up by passing lesbians and paedophiles (as so many pass borders on a regular basis). I silently giggled at some complete loser wearing a like, total obvious fake wizard costume. I mean, this guy looked like he had just raided the wardrobe department of Disney’s ‘Fantasia’.

The stores doors opened, at exactly 12.01am, I knew this as I had set my uber cool alarm system to alert me the moment 11:59:59 had passed. I entered slowly,  cautiously. There it was, in my seeing range, my heart started beating fast, it was right infront of me now, I was reaching out, I touched it.

It’s smooth hardback cover sent shivers down my spine. The sense of euphoria I got from fingering it’s um, page things. I rambled to the checkout, not daring to take my eyes off it, incase it would be prematurely snatched from my grasp. I handed it to the bored looking clerk, and my heart jumped and started to beat rapidly, not knowing if it would ever return to my touch. I left the store in a daze, and pulled from beneath my ‘Toys R Us’ robes, which were a steal at £5.99, my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

What is the destiny of my hero? I opened the first page with utmost glee. Then, in a delicate fashion, flipped to the end.

‘Ninteen years later’ it read.

For fucks sake, I already read this shit on the internet.

Poxy-gen

Festival fever is in full swing. Fever being the optimum word. The amount of pure, disease, circulating the grounds was just outstanding. Toilets and vomit integrated with the mud, the mud then took it’s place among food, sleeping quarters, clothing, skin, hair, drinks. Mud was everywhere, and if someone spotted somewhere (or someone) lacking mud, they were sure to correct it with a mud fight or a nice round of ‘kick the puddle’. Despite adopting a new ‘brown’ look for the weekend, the mess and rain didn’t interfere with the craic and the brilliant music on offer. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it enhanced it. But then again, I’m young and able. What harm is a bit of mud? My mother made sure to enlighten me on the subject when I arrived home in the wee hours of the morning looking like I had just been planted and dug back up again. She was less than impressed with me, but I had at least sobered up on the bus journey back, thanks to some randomer who sat beside me and procceded to tell me about her experience on e. Thanks love.

Favourite bands of yesterday, are hard to pick. I’d certainly stick Calvin Harris up there near the top, amazing atmosphere in the green room, improved further by the roof caving in and creating a waterfall amongst the crowd. The Arcade Fire and The Killers also showed us a good time, was pretty pissed off that I had to miss the majority of Daft Punk’s amazing set though. The Kooks disappointed me, they didn’t really seem into it. Even still, a crazy dance session to ‘She Moves In Her Own Way’ in a puddle ensued with some random people, who I’m guessing, had more alcohol than blood in them.

I must say, the place was pretty well organised, considering the amount of people in attendance. Food stalls mainly sold shite, which came in handy after a few too many Heineken mixed with bacardi and 2 week old sangria. ‘Two sips of that and you’re anyones’, the wise words of Megan. I did have a hard time walking through the crowds with a hot dog in my hand though. Many a person looked like they were about to pounce on me for a simple lick of it.

Despite the pain, despite the rain, I had friends, great live music, great drink, great craic, and a great skin exfoliant. Until next year, Oxegen.