Addled with fail? Probably.

I am partial to few good adjectival phrases like, ‘riddled with gin’. Today’s adjectival phrase of choice is, ‘addled with fail’.

I suppose you could argue that this superlative usage could not be applied to the proceedings of my day. Perhaps I should refer to it as Largely Bi-Polar. 

And so, dear, darling reader, I shall leave the outcome of my day to your good judgement. 

This morning, I woke up - without my alarm set - on time. This is good. 

Ambling downstairs, I find my father making tea. Upon the arrival of The Mothership, I propose breakfast, and there’s much  banter as I prepare and burn an omlette. This is good. 

I get ready for my interview in London, and am ready in good time. Dad offers his taxi services but he takes half an hour to be ready and out the door. It is now 10.55, my interview begins at 12. It takes me 55 minutes door-to-door. This is bad. 

Arriving in Oxford Circus at 11.50, I meet Lovely Eliza from boticca, who gives me my beautiful Little Glass Clementine necklace - a delivery that has been delayed by an un-named weekly glossy (don't ask). This is good (the delivery, not the delay).

Little Glass Clementine

From Oxford Circus, my new, 5 day old, case-less, iPhone 4 provides me with directions to my interview location. This is good. 

I arrive on time, just, but still with my jeans on and my flat boots. My beautiful silk embroidered skirt from Coast (painstakingly preserved for the journey in bags and tissue), and Old Favourites stilettos will have to remain in my bag. This is bad.

The interview (sought-after industry specific business mentoring programme - not a job) goes well. An hour of questioning and some fairly well-constructed but leading answers on my part, they tell me yes, I have a place. This is good. 

They ask me for my trading address. My trading address is in Bristol. They tell me no, I don’t have a place. My trading address is not in London. This is bad.

I receive a message from a friend nearby, and we meet for a London Power Catch Up. He buys me a coffee, which I suspect is particularly because I look rough as arseholes. This is good (the catch up, not my aesthetic). 

I get a text from The Mothership, informing me I’ve left my Bristol keys at Taskis Towers (Chez Taskis and Casa Taskis have fallen from popular usage - where ‘popular’ means me). This is bad.

Getting on my coach, I take a brief, but wholly satisfying call from my best friend. She informs me she is baking a cake. This is good.

Splendid Cake

My coach pulls into Bristol and I head straight a local, friendly curry house. I am handed a beautifully brewed spiced chai masala tea, with a healthy dollop of Golden Syrup. This is good. 

Since my boyfriend is shortly due to arrive for dinner, I decide to change out of my jeans and into my skirt and stilettos in the spirit of ‘making an effort, because I fancy you’. This is good.

Changing, I hear a *clunk, crack*. My iPhone, 5 days old, has vacated my pocket and fallen to the tiled floor of the bathroom. The glass screen is shattered. This is bad. 

Sad iPhone

Despite the dismay and disappointment from the day (and my new found rhyming skillz), I begin to discuss some Fantaskis-grown plans for the future of ethical fashion in Bristol over dinner (delicious lentil dahl & chicken tikka masala). This is good. 

So, what do you think, reader? Addled with fail? Distinctly bi-polar? Gaining less than I have lost? In need of a dose of MTFU?

I am going to sleep as soon as possible to avoid anymore catastrophes. Tomorrow I will visit the Apple Store in search for a resolution. My pride, I think, will take longer to repair. And a relocation to London, perhaps longest of all.

Notes on a potential scandal - but probably not

This week, I’m investigating the supply chain of the maxi dress I bought from Nefertiti Fashions, a shop based in Swansea, on Thursday, in time for an evening's socialising on the Friday.

I have got my hacker hat on, so to speak.

The dress sported the label ‘Stella’. From 50 pages of hits from Google, I cannot locate the company ‘Stella’ - there were 5 ‘Stella’ clothing returning hits, but they did not match the font and style of the logo, and I couldn’t find the dress in their online catalogues.

I returned to the shop over the weekend, and spoke to the shop assistant, who replied with some hostility, ‘what do you want to know that for?!’ I replied that I felt that every consumer has the right to know where their garments are sourced, and I would like to know where they bought the ‘Stella’ line from.

I was told, with some alarm, that the owner did the buying, and I was refused contact details - ‘we don’t give them out, sorry’ and bluntly told that I wouldn’t be contacted if I should leave my details.

Luckily, my partner boyfriend spotted a certificate with the name ‘Perrix Wholesale Ltd’ mounted upon the wall behind the cashier's desk. The search results were slightly more fruitful than the last - certainly less disheartening. Perrix do not appear to have a website, but there are several Company Directories the pointed me to their Head Office in Cardiff, and a good deal of hits returned in non-English languages.

At this stage, I wonder two things: is 'Stella' a clothing line from an unnamed company, and is Perrix Wholesale Ltd owned by a parent company, accounting for the absence of a 'company website'? (Though, this isn't an exhaustive conclusion - Topshop, Miss Selfridge et. al. have their own websites, despite being owned by Arcadia Group.)

For now, I’ve got a friend who works for parliament researching consumer rights, textile trade in the EU and the freedom of information act to see whether I can establish some kind of legal counter response if/when I’m refused details.

This is could, ultimately, lead nowhere but the shop assistant’s alarm and guarded attitude to the whole situation has, naturally, raised my interest. There could be another blog to follow shortly with some answers, but equally, there could not.

Ennini upcycled fashion showcase

Waiting for the Ennini show to start, I’m knocking back the (surprisingly scrummy) complementary ‘apple fizz’. More importantly, I’ve dragged two friends to sit with me in the front row. If I’m honest, it’s to be closer to the catwalk’s fairy-lit trim to show off my sequinned jacket (it’s The Final Year, and I don’t get out much). The only other attendee with sequins is an old lady with a massive sequinned handbag. I spy Helen Ball (the local designer) and she walks around looking surprisingly calm in a purple, floral maxi dress. When I manage to grab her for a few seconds to offer some vague amateur coverage, I forget to ask whether it’s one of her own pieces.

Returning from London working with Traid, Helen hopes to set up the central Traid point in Wales with this new, thoughtful individual collection. The profits from this evening’s charity event was going directly to the Llys Nini animal rescue centre - licensed by the RSPCA.

I realise quickly that ‘ethically-sourced fashion’ is not, actually, what this is about. As Siany from The Wave gives her keynote speech, modelling one of the backless halter-neck tops, we’re about see some creative ‘upcycling’. Upcycling, we are told, is the name given to new unwanted materials that have been reused for some higher quality piece. ‘I’m in charge of rag-bag sorting and cleaning,’ Helen says, `I sort out what I can use for new pieces - and I love crochet table-cloths' (later, we find out she dyes the fabrics herself, too). It sounds very modest, but actually Helen’s done an incredible job. She takes the garments, that can’t be sold on (think unflattering £1 t-shirts from Tesco) and recreates them into affordable, individual and, importantly, sellable pieces. ‘I’ve charity-shopped since I was 16 and then customised them from there.’ You can tell. The pieces have a home-made feel, without that cringing well-meaning, but badly-hemmed look.

As the lights dim and the audience is hushed, my Blackberry’s already buzzing with activity, soundbiting like a bastard on the new Twitter app. (#swanseafashion #ennini). The beachwear collection opens the showcase, notably with polkadot, low-backed halter-neck tops. Within minutes the daywear collection is streaming alone the catwalk and I’m struggling to keep Twitter updated. Pastel-coloured floral prints are a favourite, and I’m with the rest of the audience semi-opened mouth. I can hear murmurs of ‘ooh, I like that.’ Of course, there are exceptions to this general theme; the crowd-pleasing monochrome cocktail dress and full-length jungle red gown go down with a typically-British noise of approval. The clapping accompanies the maxi dress collection - which have a Grecian feel more so than high street maxis this season - and it’s opened with a pink floral piece, which Helen confesses is her ‘favourite’.

The models themselves range widely in shape and talent. Walking for free, I wonder who are friends, who’s doing it for experience and, at times, I’m annoyed by the over-thrust hips and exaggerated hip- holding, more so than the model led by her heavy shoulders. Perhaps I am merely resentful that I spotted a fellow hopeful in a recent modelling audition (I was sent home in the first five minutes, she later appeared on telly). I am delighted, however, to report the models were all stunning, but - I feel - importantly, they were well-proportioned. The whole showcase is designed for women who have got a pair of tits, and forgive potentially slightly wobbly hips.

Helen impresses upon us all that she wants to promote affordable lines. The maxi dresses range between £20 - £30, and the collections go on sale from Saturday 2nd May, 10am at the RSPCA charity shop, Newton Rd in The Mumbles.

The detail of the fabric contrasting with the simple lines of the pieces and the accessories are creatively produced - a broken in half vinyl acts as a clutch flap. As an advocate of alternative sourcing for fashion - ethical, sustainable, recyclable and, now, upcyclable - if this future of fashion, sign me up for the next showcase.

HJ Taskis