Meeting Caitlin Moran.

It's 9.15am on a Friday morning. Trinity College is in the midst of Freshers' week, and I am on the floor of Trinity Hall, wrapped in a sleeping bag and trying not to move. I have a very bad hangover. I am awake very early. This is not good. However, I have a lecture at 11am, so I suppose I'd better get up...very slowly. I don't feel too bad as long as I don't move too much.
I get up, put on a jumper and make my way to college, sipping a bottle of water and trying very hard not to get sick all over the lower floor of the 140 to Rathmines. By the time I get to college, I feel slightly more alive -- though still not very good. I collapse into my lecture and proceed to stare vacantly into space for the next hour, scarcely taking in a word the lecturer says due to the spiky headache building behind my eyes.

Fast forward six hours, several cups of green tea, some shopping and a hugely welcome bag of Doritos, I am in Easons', waiting to meet Caitlin Moran. Incidentally, Doritos are the best hangover food. Carbs, fat, salt and a lovely flavour I can only describe as blue. Remind me to write a blog about Doritos. Anyway...Moran is a feminist writer and columnist who manages to be a) important and b) funny at the same time. I read her book back in January and I've been (somewhat accidentally) turning into her ever since. We have similar hair, similar eyeliner tendencies (read: we both wear lots) and, joyously, Moran has a big round face. I've said it once and I'll say it again -- what celebrities have round faces? If I google "round face celebrities" I will get Kirsten Dunst, who has a face that is as round as...an oval. Anyway. I like Caitlin Moran, and at the moment my hungover self is clutching three books by her (I have bought two copies of "Moranthology", her new book) and I am very, very excited.

Moran arrives late, but that doesn't spoil anybody's enthusiaism -- especially mine. All squicky hangover feelings are forgotten as she starts speaking. I hate to fangirl, but come on: this is a self-confessed strident feminist. She's funny, she writes, she looks strikingly like me. She used to be fat. Caitlin Moran gives me hope for my future. When she starts speaking, she's like a truck with no brakes: she's all whirling hands, swearwords and giggles. She speaks about celbirites, about her book and about feminism (and how important it is). I am either laughing or nodding in silent agreement for the entire hour she's speaking and then -- wonder of wonders! -- she takes questions from the audience.

I'm lucky that I'm a confident kind of person. When I say hello, Caitlin compliments my eyeliner and then wryly notes my "familiar looking hair". In June, I dyed a blonde-y streak into my dark brown hair, partly because I did it for a Ceilí last summer and partly because "it looks good on Caitlin Moran, thus it will look good on me!". Moran requests that I give her a pound. I'm not sure if she's joking or not. Next,  I ask Caitlin about male feminists -- she's all for them. "Everyone is invited to the feminist party!" Excellent. I have (hopefully) ended an argument with David that has lasted about six months.*

At the end of her talk, we get our books signed. Caitlin writes "you have my face!" on the inside of my battered copy of How To Be A Woman, before defacing the cover of it with an arrow saying "YOU!" pointing to her face.I get my photo taken with Caitlin and we both do "the Muppet face". I also hug her, which is nice.
I've heard on and off that you should never meet your heroes -- that they'll nearly always end up being a disappointment. I'm not one for "role models" myself, tbh, but Moran is as close as I get. Obviously I was terrified that she'd be arrogant, or rude, or much taller than me. Moran is a wonderful, funny, clever, averaged heighted woman with a face just as round as mine.

Worth the hangover? I think so.

Electric Picnic: the five best moments from the best weekend

Those of you who read my twitter will know that I won tickets to Electric Picnic in June, and last weekend I got to swap those lovely lovely tickets for an equally lovely wristband. I had the best weekend of my life, without doubt, and it's really hard to pick five (musical or otherwise) moments from the festival. How am I supposed to pick just five from a festival where naked hott ubs shares space with banter with Ryan Tubridy? How do I choose between some of the coolest bands in the world and free granola? It's difficult, certainly, but after nearly a week of sleeping thinking about it, I've decided on the following...

#5: The Depaul tent
At Electric Picnic, a whole area is dedicated to speakers and learning. It's called Mindfield, and I could have spent the whole weekend there -- yes, I am just that uncool. There were poets, politicians and a "puball Gaeilge" (sorry, I just love alliteration) but by far, my favourite tent in Mindfield was one named "Life's No Picnic On The Streets". Sounds fun, right? Run by Depaul Ireland, a homelessness awareness group that provide help to people who need it. The tent had posters detailing the stories of some homeless men and woman Depaul worked with, which were fascinating and really made me think twice before complaining about my tent. However, I have to say that the best part of this tent were the lovely, smiley volunteers who made hungry, broke punters cups of tea or coffee. Coupled with free bars of chocolate, this tent quickly became my favourite place. The Depaul tent gets a special mention because I saved about a tenner on green tea and Dairy Milk over the weekend, it had a wonderful atmosphere in it and it did a damn good job of raising awareness for life on the street. Also, did I mention the free tea?! Check out Depaul here.

#4: An awful lot of running
The trouble with festivals is that you'll never see it all. No matter how late you stay up or how early you get your tent up, it's next to impossible to experience all Electric Picnic had to offer. For instance, I didn't get near the Spoken Word tent, I missed Heathers and Metronomy and by the end of the day, I was far too tired to even think about raves in the woods. The flipside to this is the adrenaline rush of running between bands, however! It sounds like an odd thing to say, but it makes you terribly appreciative of a band when you've ran to see them. Seeing bits and pieces of sets sounds crap, but when you've run from The Killers to Hot Chip, hearing Ready For The Floor becomes exponentially better! In the space of four hours, I managed to see star-gaze to Elbow, dance to James Murphy, sing along to The Killers and jump around to Hot Chip. Seeing, doing and hearing as much as possible is dizzying: See, kids, sensory overload can be fun (and it makes you appreciate your tent at night)!

A rather shadowy James Murphy. Never in my life have I seen so much dry ice!

#3 Ryan Tubridy
Remember my waxing lyrical about Mindfield earlier? On Sunday morning, I found myself parked in the front row of the Levithan tent waiting for a Breakfast brunch with Ryan Tubridy, Miriam O'Callaghan and several comedians. Not expecting much, I was delighted to take part in a hilarious, silly and informative hour, where topics ranged from 50 Shades of Grey to the Sunday Business Post. My morning was made afterward, when I had a chat with the one and only Ryan Tubridy! I asked him did he want his own "Bishop and the Nightie" incident and he tried on my big, floppy sunhat. I won't lie, I was a little bit starstruck, especially when he called my "look" attractive. As someone who doesn't really have a look, I was delighted with this, as you can probably tell in this photo:

Yeah, I'm lame, I went to Electric Picnic and one of my highlights was meeting the man who presents the Late Late. What can I say, I'm a culchie!

#2 The Cure

There was never really any other reason for me to be at Electric Picnic other than one big-haired, middle aged man who writes songs "about being in love or being depressed. Or both." The magical moment arrived at 9pm on Saturday night, when a sequin-clad Robert Smith strode onstage, accompanied by the smiliest keyboard player on Earth and a greaser-type playing bass. Opening with the gorgeous Plainsong, The Cure proceeded to bang out thirty eight songs, from heartwrenching soundscapes to straight up, glorious pop music. I'm telling you, it was NOT an easy gig -- I had to leave the barrier around halfway through and spent the rest of the gig cocooned in the crowd. The Cure's second encore was one of the happiest moments of the weekend -- after playing a dark, dark "The Same Deep Water As You", the band seemed determined to get Electric Picnic dancing. Between "The Lovecats", "Close To Me" and an absolutely banging "Why Can't I Be You?" , they certianly achieved that. Without doubt, an absolutely life-affirming gig and something I can check off my "things to do before I am boring with a job and children" list.

Would I ever take photos of The Cure in anything but black and white?

#1 The craic

It seems clichéd to say, but I couldn't have had the fun I had at the weekend without the people I was with. Once again, Conor and I took a festival and through him, I discovered The Jezabels, who are absolutely fantastic -- I can't stop listening to them! Paul, pictured above with Tubbs and myself, was a star when Conor and Áine disappeared -- we ate granola together, explored the festical together and quoted The Simpsons...a lot. Áine was my Queen of EP, between her leaf-covered hair and her neon paint and David...well, David bought me chips and waited for The Cure for three hours with me. Could I ask for a better boyfriend? I think not. These four, coupled with some enchanting randomers over the weekend, amde the festival for me. Notably the three guys in yellow raincoats who asked Áine and I for a threesome, people from the internet that I actually got to meet, and the Stereotypical Festival Couple that took pictures of me and David for most of James Murphy. Oh, Electric Picnic. You can't say it doesn't attract a diverse mix of people...

Nudes... ;)

Christy Moore - I'm an official Kildare person now! 

THIS IS YOUR BAPTIZM

Me and my Dave at James Murphy. <3

Lots of posing took place over the weekend...

... exhibit B! NEON PAINT!

So yeah, in short, I had an amazing weekend. I'm saving up for next year already! 

Probably the best rock song in the world...?

From first year discos to the day after I got accepted to college, this song never fails to make my heart rate speed up a little bit. I heard it around earlier today -- I have loved Appetite for Destruction since first year. That's an achievement, especially when you consider that

• I have never listened to anything by them that isn't on this album
• I like no other bands remotely like G'n'R
• I was in first year SIX YEARS ago

It's ever so perfect: as perfect as a song that isn't by The Beatles gets, to be honest. Plus, 80s Axl Rose is hot and I still have a soft spot for solos. So go on, enjoy the six-minute magic of classic rock'n' rooooooooooooooooolllllll, brother!

The final.

So I've been blogging about the Leaving Cert. on and off for the past year. Mostly off. Delighted to have the exams finished, by June I was ready to forget about everything and have some fun...which I did. Since my exams finished, I've been out a few times, saw a lot of Dave and volunteered at Castlepalooza music festival. In short: I had a really great summer. I'll probably post more about it sometime.

Me, Danielle, Conor and Hazel at Castlepalooza, in one of the rare moments of sunshine!

That didn't mean that I forgot about the results, though. They were always there in the back of my head -- one month, three weeks, two weeks -- and bang! Suddenly it was August 15th and I was awake and freaking out at 3am. All the post-its I'd used adding up 100s, 85s and 70s were worthless and now all I could do was wait and see. The scariest thing about the results for me wasn't not knowing -- it was knwoing that I couldn't change them, that I was stuck with whatever results I got. By Wednesday, I was convinced that I'd maybe scrape 500 and would never get to run through Trinity College, screaming like a little girl.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up at 6.30am, showered, drank copious amounts of green tea and then went down to the school with my parents. On recieving the envelope, I walked around for a moment or two, shaking like a leaf. The enormity of my Leaving Cert. results hit me then, I think -- not the best time! Eventually I opened the results and immediately zoned in on grade #1: a B2. This was immediately followed by a mental "SWEET JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOW BAD WILL THESE BE IF I ONLY MANAGED A B2 IN ENGLISH?!" before realizing that the B2 was in Irish. Higher. Level. Irish. My year was spent crying over essays and being asked if I was dyslexic by my teacher and I came out with a B2! Fortunately, that bode well for my results in general...



Fucking ridiculous, aren't they?! I was particularly pleased about the A1 in Ag. Science, a course I did in a year. For those unaware of the system, these grades add up to 570 points -- out of 600! This means that this morning I received my offer from Trinity College -- I get to study English and History for the next four years! The wait for the offer was weird -- I wasn't too stressed about the points until last night. It hit me while cruising boards.ie at 2am...thankfully I only had four hours to wait then, and it was wonderful when I woke up to my course this morning.

 I realize that the amount of exclamation marks in this post is unbelievable, but I've had a wonderful week. Well, apart from a mild case of the mumps and sticking my phone into a glass of water, but that's another story...I realize that this is the part where I should get all reflective about results, the Leaving Cert., and where, to paraphrase Axl Rose, we go from here. The thing is, though, that I don't WANT to think about 6th year anymore! It's all I thought about last year - as I said, I didn't really st back. I worked damn hard for those points, but to be honest, I'm over it now. I want to start college, move on, join a load of societies and be told how bad I am at things. I'm ready. And by God, am I excited!

Mon the Katie: 5 reasons why Katie Taylor is totally rad.

I realize the internet will be full of people lauding Katie Taylor over the next few days, and hell, she deserves every single word of it. I'll admit straight off that I haven't been following the Olympics much -- outside of Taylor, I haven't had a lot of interest to be honest. But Katie makes me want to follow all the Olympians for the rest of their lives, even though I know next to nothing about a) sport and b) following people. By god, watching her fight tonight was something else.  She. Is. Incredible. She's a hero. Why? Well, without further ado, here are my top 5 reasons. (My runner ups are that she has a great accent, her dad is her coach, she's hot and she did honours maths for her Leaving Cert., just FYI.)


1. She campaigned for women to fight in the Olympics.
Did you know that women's boxing wasn't an Olympic sport until this year? It was news to me, too, but not only was it not a sport, it was turned down by the Games in 2008. Katie Taylor proceeded to campaign to have the sport included this year, and she succeeded! She's part of the reason women's boxing is in the Olympics this year! That's a massive achievement in itself, but then she just came along and won the gold medal. Maybe that's why she won - imagine having to fight the woman who was the reason you were fighting in the first place. Intense, huh? As both an Irish person and a feminism-y person, that makes me so proud of her.

This photo is literally infinite badass.

2. She's an amazing boxer.
What I said up there about Taylor winning because of her reputation - I seriously doubt it. Taylor won a gold medal this evening because she is an incredible boxer. I did six years of kickboxing, so I know a little bit about boxing - I wanted to take it up, but alas, my mum's fear of broken bones availed. It doesn't take much to realize that Taylor is a force of nature, though. Her footwork makes her look like she's floating above the ground as she fights. Her punches - to quote my mum - could be felt here in Ireland. Her intensity and ferocity as an athlete make her absolutely spellbinding to watch, regardless of how interested one is in sport., or boxing. She makes me want to find my pink boxing gloves and start all over.

Exactly.

3. She's Irish.

I know, I know...I moonlight as Captain Obvious. But as Ellen said in her post, Ireland aren't great at sport. Except when we're on drugs a la Michelle Smith. But Taylor is the real deal - she's been boxing since she was twelve and not a soul on Earth would accuse her of doping. She's from a country that has less medals than Michael Phelps does. That's what makes us so proud of her. She's doing it for the little country filled with saints and scholars. She's put us on the Olympic map, if you will. I know I'm probably exaggerating a little, but I do think she's one of the greatest atheletes the country has ever seen. Over the past few days, I've seen a couple of British media gobshites refer to her as "British" when she's anything but. Her photos with the tricolour, her Green jacket and her thick Bray accent mean that she could never belong to anyone but us. And that makes me want to go out and learn the words to Amhrán na Bhfiann. 

Fuck you, Telegraph. Obligatory remark about the six counties.

4. Her faith.

I think we've all noticed how Katie thanks god after every fight in interviews. People give out about it, people think it's weird: I think it's pretty fucking cool that someone so tough, so clever and so awesome has all that faith. I'm not remotely religious and never really have been, but I admire how strong her Christian beliefs are. Looking up at the sky and blowing kisses after a fight - Taylor obviously has deep, deep faith in a higher power and doesn't seem to give a shit what people think of that. I heard lately that she "put her life in God's hands" and if she didn't win a gold medal "then he had other plans for her". You have to admire the strength of that, regardless of your own beliefs. Though I am terribly appreciative that God decided Gold was the way to go. 

5. She's a woman.

Let my inner feminist have this one. Katie Taylor was a year old when Joyce Carol Oates, a famous writer, said that boxing is "for men, and is about men, and is men." She  went as far as to call it "the obverse of the feminine." When we think of boxing, we think of Rocky, Muhammad Ali and other big strong men. We rarely think of big (or little) strong women, and Taylor is changing that almost singlehandedly, which I hugely admire her for.  This is the first year all countries in the Olympics have been represented by a woman, and the first time women's boxing has been part of the Games. Taylor is undoubtedly playing a huge role in breaking down gender stereotypes in sport, and on a world stage, too. Can you imagine how many little girls will want to take up boxing now? How COOL is that? And furthermore, can you imagine how many people will ask these little girls to make them a sandwich? 

Very few, that's who.

The woman, the myth, the legend that is Katie Taylor. She's my new hero.

THE BIG CLOTHES POST.

I'd like to make something clear now: this is not, and will never be, a fashion blog. That's not me skillfully ignoring what's hip and cool these days, it's not me eschewing the Leanne Woodfulls of this world; it's that I don't, and never will, have a clue about fashion. I try, I fail. I don't try and I fail worse...it's just not my thing. Only the other day did I learn that bootcut jeans WILL NOT FIT INTO BOOTS. I don't know what's worse, in retrospect: the fact that I tried or the fact that I wear bootcut jeans. I think I'm selling myself short ever so slightly: I'm not THAT unfortunate in the dress department. I'm just not incredibly stylish, like some of my friends are. That said, I don't really try. 

The t-shirt changes. My favourite is either this one my Communist Party one from Threadless or a short blue tribal one my mum bought for me in America. The shorts are occasionally swapped for a dress, and the shoes change on occasion. I have these Docs in a shorter version and I love them. I also have black leather boots that have been worn to death ...But by and large, that's how I dress. Day in, day out. I like to mix it up soemtimes - one of my favourite things is a leopard print dress. Ooh, I know, I'm just mad. But I mean- 

 it's leopard print. Let me have this one, fashion world. I know I should leave it to people like Kesha, but the dress hasn't got a zip, or a belt, or anything awkward. One just has to put it on. It's lovely. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I think I just proved the point is that I don't really keep up with trends, I don't actively seek out fashion and I'm really not that bothered. Sometimes, however, I just feel damn materialistic, and I drool over clothes from Topshop, A Wear and various other places. But goddammit. I just spent a good half hour online, looking at the above sites as well as others. It seems to me as though clothes I like have gone out of style, and have been replaced by ridiculous things like faux-fur headbands and peplum. WHO can wear peplum?! It's ridiculous!

This is why I end up in shops like Dorothy Perkins and this is why I'll never be as ~fashionable as some of my friends. I just don't understand a lot of the clothes out there today. Plus, I'll freely admit that I have an awkward body shape - by awkward, I mean big. Clothes just hang funny and "get caught" on my belly. What can you do?

I occasionally stumble across things that I love to wear, and I wear them to death. Some of them are a bit quirky, like the red beret I bought in Paris two years ago...

...which I wore in Paris, pretty constantly for summer 2010, for the entirety of last year's Gaeltacht, as a costume and teamed with a lovely red coat earlier this year. And all for the princely sum of 9 euro...

Some of them are completely un-interesting, like the leather jacket I bought in River Island the Christmas before last. I remember feeling sick to my stomach on seeing the 80 euro price tag, but thankfully the jacket is worn almost every day. It's been worth every cent...if only it was a bit warmer! Funnily enough, I have few photos of said jacket - I wear it with everything, but I always take it off when I'm inside.

So that's me and my relationship with clothes: in turns it's amazing, boring, depressing and exciting. I haven't been shopping in quite a while, but this post has made me want to go and take down half of Dublin city. Just in case anyone was wondering, here are my "fashion" tips:

• Hats are incredibly important. A hat got me a boyfriend. Never underestimate hats.
• Red, as Caitlin Moran says, is a neutral.
• Sometimes it's good to buy something you wouldn't normally - my flowery Docs, my rainbow suspenders. You never know. 
• If something isn't comfy, for Christ sake's don't buy it.
• Sometimes one has to step away from the floral. I own a hideous amount of floral clothes. Floral is cute but too much is just...no. I need to stop.
• Denim shorts + tights = lifesaving outfit.
• If you think something looks good, wear it. Ignore anyone else's ideas. One of my favourite dresses is yellow and ruffled. My mother did not approve, but I feel better in it than almost anything else.
• However, listen to advice sometimes.
• Always bring a spare pair of tights.
• Try to be interesting. It's all well and good to look like you've stepped out of a magazine (yay, you) but what does that say about you, really? My attempts at style make me look like a lunatic, but hey, at least I deliver what I promise.
• ACCESSORIES ARE GOOD. Outside of hats, I don't spend money on accessories, because I lose them almost straight away. What I have are a pair of earrings my darling friend Brenda made me, and a belt that doubles as a bottle opener. Buy accessories. Don't lose them. 
• Sometimes, sequins just have to be bought. I desperately want a sequin jacket. Then, maybe, I'll be cool. 
• ALWAYS BE WARM.

And that, my dear readers, is my part one of some on clothes, accessories, and what I have the nerve to call fashion. 

FAVOURITE DRESS IN THE UNIVERSE. 

I get fit! Part three: I go swimming!

Swimming has been a constant in my life since my dad threw me in the local pool at the age of three. My childhood years were spent doing lengths; I literally spent every weekend swimming for a couple of hours. Naturally, myself and my siblings progressed onto to competitive swimming, except when I didn't. At the age of eleven, I decided swimming wasn't for me, much less training several times a week. After several rows, my parents accepted that and while my brother and sister won medals, I sat on the internet.
Would I be writing my "I get fit" blog had I kept up the swimming? Probably. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love food far too much to be thin. A life without saturated fat makes me sad. I mean, I just ate a giant plate of goulash (I might even post the recipe. Hmmmm.) while writing this post. No amount of training would make me look like Kate Moss, and it doesn't really bother me. Much.

My role model for the past eight years.

Anyway, I've been working at the whole getting fit thing for a while now. I'm eating a lot healthier than I used to, I've been doing loads more exercise and I am sloooooooooowly seeing improvements i.e. I look like a living human being these days. The best thing I've found has been swimming!

I go swimming in my local pool, and my first go at it (in about two years) was horrific. I flailed up and down the pool for ten minutes or so, gasping after a mere five lengths. I managed to choke out a further five before I quit, promising that I'd build it up and bemoaning that I hadn't swam in two years. Funnily enough, I kept my promise - I've gone swimming five or six times since and this morning I swam thirty lengths, with the help of my wonderfully encouraging younger brother. I was so proud of myself, goddammit. Swimming is something that -  prior to the contests, the lengths and the rows - I really loved. I still do - it's a method of exercise I actually feel comfortable with, which means a lot when one's trying to get fit.

A lot of people my age refuse to swim, for fear of looking silly in a one piece. This is something that riles me no end, because once you get over that: swimming is fun, easy and absolutely fantastic for your body. Yeah, I'm still more manatee than model, but I don't mind. The lovely thing about a swimming pool is that people will always look worse in a swimsuit than you - they don't give a shit, why should I? It's all about body positivity and health, to me. Anyone who's laughing at my body needs to re-evaulte their life choices, and as long as I hold on to that mentality it's grand to swim. My thighs bump, my swimsuit is a bit dodgy, but I'm in the pool, thrashing around trying to change it. I'm not Superwoman, it's hard to deal with that, especially when guys from my year are hanging around. It's fine once you get used to it, and I'm absolutely loving swimming. 

Fitness as of now:

I'm finally starting to notice my body shaking itself up. I think I deserve a new swimsuit, a la this lovely picture via Frances' pinterest: 

Now if only we had the weather for it...