Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday.

Rants is officially 2 years old today! I can't believe it. In that time I have posted 126 blogs, had 4580 views from around the globe; started The Sarky Traveller on her way and basically vented and ranted at you lovely people. So thanks for that. I really would be even more messed up if I didn't have this outlet, especially now as I don't go out to work anymore. The old cabin fever does get a hold on you.

So in honour of my 127th blog and 2 year anniversary as a ranting bitter northerner, I feel I must return to fashion. I started back in 2011 with a blog about how much I loved London, which ended up moaning about the Huckleberry Finn, Shoreditch types. Well this is just a general, I hate fashion, everything is horrible, why don't they have a clothes store for things Helen would like, type of blog. Here goes:

Took a trip to Stratford Westfield last weekend to stock up on presents for the millions of May birthdays I had to buy for. And while there I thought maybe I could treat myself to something new, a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, something. Because being self-employed or freelance (feel the air quotes) really doesn't leave much funds for treats and usually my treats consist of new books. Who needs clothes when I could get through 60% of my week in pyjamas if I had to. But still, when two of your three pairs of jeans are almost revealing crotch, it's time to consider that treat.

Jeans are both the love and bane of my existence. Mainly because now you have to want skin tight, painted on monstrosities. They literally don't have any other choice. I'm not saying they don't look good on other people, but I'm not other people and if I wanted something that revealed all my imperfections and complexes then I'd walk around naked. Really. Whatever happened to the wonder of the wide leg jean or the flare? I miss the noughties.....the jeans were so good! I had so many beautiful jeans and I had money, which helped a little. But even bootcut is a joke. I tried a pair on and I could barely get my feet through, let alone boots. Bullshit!

So after a couple of shops (I have a low tolerance for clothes shopping), I gave up. Ebay would have to do. Buying other people's flared jeans that no one wants anymore, that's what I'm doomed to.

So jeans were off the menu, but what about a nice top or something? Well. It's nice to see slogan t-shirts are back in fashion, isn't it? (cough cough) But not only that, you can get slogan trousers and not even slogans, abbreviations or....what's that word when you have initials that stand for something.......oh that's going to annoy me.  Anyhoo, it seems that unless you want to buy a t-shirt with geek or nerd or dork on it, then there really isn't much choice. I don't need a freakin' t-shirt, it's pretty obvious when you look at me.
And not forgetting the jock t-shirt and LOL or WTF or OMG. Quite frankly I would like to shove those  acronyms (figured out the word eventually) down the nearest dork t-shirt wearing freak and have done with it. I HATE OMG and WTF! Why can't people find the time to actually say all the words. Soon we'll be communicating with sounds not words and eventually we'll regress right back to the cavemen with a system of grunts and butt scratches. But at least you'll all have an Iphone. ARGH!

Anyhoo, calming slightly, I have issues with the printed leggings as well and long dresses and the obsession with neon. Basically, I need them to open a shop with things for Helen, which would consist of flared jeans; flared cords (I miss them so much); lots of black cute dresses to wear over jeans; cute t-shirts with spots or anchors or hearts or stars on and lots of navy blue things, because I really love navy blue, especially in the summer. I could probably even get on board with coloured jeans and maybe even print jeans (again stars, anchors, etc) if they were flared. Really, am I asking too much????

Obviously I am. Well, it's back to ebay I go. Let's hope I can pick up a bargain. Ironically I just realised I am sat here in star print pyjama bottoms and a navy blue t-shirt. Ha ha. But I will have to get changed later when I go out to teach. Luckily kids don't give a crap if you're wearing shit you've had for years and is falling apart. They are so good like that.

I feel significant time has passed for me to talk about my traumatic fall of last week. I was walking home from my last music class of the week, around 6pm, coming from Temple. The sun is shining and I'm glad to be going home as A is back from another conference and I know I have the Prison Break finale to watch. Backpack on, shoulder bag on, hands in pockets, Ipod playing. So I'm sauntering along Fetter Lane and outside the Eat is some wooden benches. I didn't notice they'd removed one and I stroll through not seeing the four metal bolts they've left sticking up out of the floor. I think my jeans got caught in one and that's why I couldn't stop myself falling, splat and rather spectacularly forwards.

I must have just managed to get my hands out of my pockets as they grazed the hard paving stones but my left knee got a right bashing. So I sit up assessing the damage and making sure I have my bags and stuff, and there's a guy about a metre away who turns, looks in disgust and turns away. No, are you okay? Can I help you up? Now part of me was grateful for that as of course I was embarrassed but really, if you see someone fall do you turn away? Fucker!

It was then that I noticed the four metal bolts and I thought how dangerous that was and how if I had landed differently I could have impaled myself on one of them. Not the best thought to be having at this point. So I hobble up and have a slight panic about Frank (my Ipod) in my pocket and of course my beautiful vintage sunglasses but they're both fine. Then I have to hobble past a pub teeming with alfresco drinkers, though they didn't even bat an eyelid. I was thinking if that was up North they'd probably cheer as you went past, but then if that was up North, someone would have helped me up.

Luckily I didn't have to wait long for the bus but my leg was screaming out in pain. When I eventually looked at my leg, it was bleeding and grazed at two points and I could tell there would be a lot of bruising eventually. When A got home he brought a bag of ice and I sat with an icepack on whilst having a breakdown at the Prison Break finale. There was some minor sobbing, though I think my earlier trauma may have had something to do with it. Still, it's funny how things we did as a kid become more traumatic as you get older. I used to fall in the playground umpteen times a week but now, one fall really knocks you for six.

So after 6 days it's looking decidedly green and yellow and it's getting to that scabby stage where you want to scratch your leg off with a cheese grater but as long as it's completely gone in the next two weeks for the first of four weddings this year, then great. The last thing I want is my scabby knee sticking out of my bridesmaid dress.

Anyhoo, this free flow rant has become longer than expected. The words were just pouring out. I quite enjoyed that. Ahhhhhh (sigh of content). Here's to many more years of northern ranting, because let's face it, it's the best kind!

Cheers and I send virtual birthday cake to you all! (I'll let you decide what flavour it is.)