Confessions of a Psychiatrist: Cocaine in Crafts Corner

Dr Max had a patient who had had come to him with a number of woes, one of which was quite apparently ADD. Before he was able to prescribe her any medications, she informed him that she had a habit of snorting cocaine.

For many psychiatrists it is normal to come across patients who are self medicating; it is also no mystery to psychiatrists and chemists that cocaine has a very similar chemical structure to the commonly prescribed ADD medicine, Ritalin. Both amphetamines the effects of these chemicals can be compared, even though cocaine's extremely fast acting euphoric high is only the beginning of what makes it an infamous class A narcotic.

When home alone, she would snort her coke and keep her cross-stitching close by, her high activity of choice. She said it would help her relax being able to focus on her craft.

One can only imagine how furiously.

In Case of Emergency...

On what was proving to be another typically blustery Northumbrian day, I awaited my seven year old nephew in the school yard (desperately hoping that I wasn't going to be mistaken for his mother - I would have been all of fourteen when he was born). It was while I was standing there willing myself younger and thinner, that my attention was caught by what appeared to be a faceless, trouserless pair of legs, that on further inspection emerged as a decidedly windswept mother.

Her comment as she hurtled past me was something along the lines of "Thank Christ I'm not wearing my old grey knickers with the frayed elastic!" - or at least that's what I translated it as - for before she could finish she disappeared once more under a froth of pink skirt hem, exposing what I deduced to be a very well chosen pair of Agent Provocateur smalls.

Which got me thinking - while it seems like a great idea to squeeze ourselves into some butt busting, stomach sucking, uplifting all-in-one; there could be nothing more mortifying than exposing your flesh coloured miracle worker in the unforgiving light of day.
I began frantically trying to remember which pants I'd grabbed from the drawer that morning, when it dawned on me - I put so much consideration into my outerwear (well, on the rare occasion that I can be bothered), and yet I consistently spend no time what-so-ever contemplating what lies beneath. What if I got hit by a bus? I would actually DIE if the Northumberland Fire Department had to whisk me off to A&E sporting my Christmas knickers.

Which is why I've currently set my sights on this newest offering from Myla -
Cost of one ridiculousy impractical set of underwear - £178
Smug satisfaction when your skirt blows over your head - priceless.

Extremely What?

Following on from the success of 'Everything is Illuminated' Jonathan Safran Foer's second literary foray is a tragi-comic work of genius. Narrated by the eternally inquisitive, marginally autistic Oskar Schell, the novel documents his extremes of emotion as he wrestles to come to terms with the death of his father in the attacks of 9/11.

Far from being your average nine year old boy, Oskar is a cynic, a pragmatist, a scientist - he fills his daybook 'Things That Happened To Me' with countless images snapped with his grandfather's camera. He scours the internet to find answers to his unending string of questions and writes letter after letter to his hero, Stephen Hawking.

And so it is, that following the accidental discovery of a mysterious key, Oskar, dressed only in white, embarks on a quest to discover which of New York's 162 million locks it unlocks - certain that success will somehow bring him closer to his absent father and help him to understand why he can't be where he is. However, during his travels through New York and the five boroughs it plays host to, Oskar finds that his mission takes him on a journey through much more than just districts...

'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' handles the tragedy of September 11th with great sensitivity, and it's lead protagonist becomes a beacon of hope in the aftermath of disaster. Oskar wears 'heavy boots', he gives himself bruises and repeatedly meets with obstacles and yet, as he meanders through the streets of the story, his boots gradually become lighter, along with his heart.

'I moved over to Grandma's side of the limosuine and told Mom, "Why would I need a key to her apartment?" She could tell that I was zipping up the sleeping bag of myself, and I could tell that she didn't really love me. I knew the truth, which was that if she could have chosen, it would have been my funeral we were driving to. I looked up at the limosuine's sunroof, and I imagined the world before there were ceilings, which made me wonder; Does a cave have no ceiling, or is a cave all ceiling?'

mY Style Legend

Trend whore, fashion victim... just a few of the 'affectionate' titles I've been honoured with over the years. Still, while I can accept that I have had a myriad of fashion disasters, I am a firm believer in the notion that sometimes, in order to get on the best dressed list, you have to prepare to end up on the worst. Hence my dalliance with a purple jumpsuit (very Barney the dinosaur), a monochrome animal print shirt (featuring leopard, zebra and snakeskin), and, in my earlier days, a well loved pair of acid orange dip dyed flares.

Still, these sartorial catastrophes have not deterred me in my quest to find the ugliest items I possibly can and attempt to pull them off with aplomb.

Hence, with Yves Saint Laurent endorsing black lipstick and bowl haircuts, I am already clamouring to get my hands on some midnight pout perfector and have been apprehended on several occasions, hazardously wielding a pair of pruning scissors with a pudding basin plonked determinedly on my head. Still, for those of you who are not quite as fearless (aka. stupid) as I, Stefano Pilati's latest collection for Yves has much to be admired - the kind of classic creations that can be worked into any wardrobe.

Black is once again, the new black and yet, far from being funereal, Pilati has fashioned an ensemble for every occasion. From beautifully tailored 'power' suits, through to the perfect winter coat, his pieces are structured but feminine - gone are the hardened 'warrior woman' silhouettes we've seen in previous seasons - this time around, it's all about wearing the trousers, but knowing it's okay to take them off.

A Lesson in Love

I watched the Julie Delpy film 'Two Days In Paris' last night and was astonished to discover that the character she plays is almost as irrational as me.

"It has always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that it's over, that I'll never see him again like this...well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life when you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can't live without him. Even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses."

P.S.

These are what I am currently hankering after. They should tide me through to the autumn with a more than moderate dose of discomfort.

No pain. No gain.

Best Foot Forward

So, with the British summertime having been and gone in a matter of days, I couldn't help but get excited thinking about the season ahead. I've scarcely dared to look at a pair of flip-flops this year for fear of torrential rain, so what better way to while away the hours indoors than by planning what to wear when the collections are more weather appropriate? Cue: Givenchy, Calvin Klein and YSL. Or, in other words, Sartorial heaven.

All three of these big hitters featured looks I LOVED on their A/W '08 runways. From Annie Hall-esque masculine chic, to Morticia Adams meets Jane Austen, their silhouettes were diverse, injecting some much needed variation to the winter wardrobe. Strucutre is back, heralding the end of flitting around like a fairy in a dress printed with....fairies? (Prada, I love you, but you're bringing me down).

At Givenchy, models stalked down the catwalk looking pretty but petulant, clad almost entirely in black. Givenchy coupled skintight 'treggings' (I hate the term but what other word is there?) in both matt black leather and high gloss PVC, with elaborate black shirts or the merest suggestion of chiffon. The outline was top heavy, creating the illusion of endless legs and a bust where there otherwise may not be one (myself being a case in point). Just add a crucifix and an healthy dose of hedonism and you're good to go!

Next Post: Yves Saint Laurent...