Totally addicted to... balm?

About 3 years ago, my lips started getting chapped quite often, especially in cold weather. This, I’m sure, is pretty common. My skin in general does seem to become irritated rather easily, but I took this as being expectedly in line with my personality. I now find myself in a pretty dark place, one dominated by dependence to one substance, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever be able to wean myself off it. Maybe I need an intervention or something. As the song goes, ‘I know you can tell just by looking at my face, a word about my weakness, I’m totally addicted to...’ well, as it turns out, balm. And it’s getting serious.

I have theorised my problem, and am definitely in the used-products-so-much-you’ve-convinced-yourself-you’ll-die-if-there-isn’t-a-coat-of-balm-on-your-lips school of thought. And the symptoms are real. My lips have become so used to being smeared in something greasy that they get withdrawal symptoms after seconds of it wearing off. They rarely look that chapped, but they feel awful.

However, fashion magazines assure me this is normal, and that I should continue to invest in tubes of lippy goodness to ensure I never go without/insane. In every coat, bag, hoodie, and room, is evidence of my addiction. And I must say that for someone who takes ridiculously good care of their lips they’re not noticeably different to anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because the whole world’s hooked. Kinda like the X-factor of self-grooming.

I’ve had a few favourites in the past, but nothing really beats a good-old pot of Vaseline Lip Therapy. I have them in every variation: classic, aloe vera, rosy, cocoa butter, and both big and small sizes. I got particularly excited this Christmas when I spotted this super-sized tin with every variety inside (below). Unfortunately, my family refused to acknowledge this entry on my Christmas list in disgust that I could possibly need more Vaseline. Santa would never be so cruel.

The only thing I would complain about is having to dunk your finger into a pot of goo, especially when you’ve had it on your person all day (rule number one for budding balm addicts) and it has morphed into the consistency of warm wallpaper paste. Luckily I’m not too fussy, but I find myself constantly surrounded by people who are (notably my younger brother who, at the age of 21, still insists that I put it on for him). I often feel disappointed that Vaseline pots last so long too. I just can't supress the urge to buy new and exciting things!

The real beauty of the humble pot of Vas’ is its infinite possibilities. For instance when applying to my lips when I’ve got a cold, I habitually continue northwards, onto my upper lip and nostrils, with little regard for how shiny it makes my face. So for those of you that insist on blowing your nose with super-strong kitchen roll every 2 minutes (no judgement), Vaseline is the perfect antidote to your sore-skin woes.

The balm that first got me hooked was Benefit’s Dr. Feelgood (£21.50, benefitcosmetics.co.uk). When I first purchased it, it came as a duo pack along with a rather exciting lip exfoliating balm that you applied first to remove dead skin, and the wiped off. This was the reason I bought the product, but I didn’t really rate it and I’m pretty sure the full tube is hidden in my vast reserves of makeup that were surplus to demand (take note, trial and error is the only (expensive) way to find out what products work best for you). But the balm was a god send. And for six months it never left my side. I left my hoodie at work once and came close to tears when I realised I’d have to go an evening without it. I used Dr. Feelgood until it ran out and was so disgustingly tattered you could’ve confused the silver tube for a dead mackerel. And to my great despair, it doesn’t seem available in tube form now, only in a pot. So like Vaseline, if I wanna Feelgood (see what I did there?) I’m gonna have to get my hands dirty.

I’ve tried lots of other things over the years, and most have failed to impress. Too glossy and it's not simple enough to apply regularly, too sticky and it replaces a tight, dry sensation with an equally irritating one. And it needs to be discrete enough to sit nicely under lipstick, for which Vaseline is often too wet and shiny, but Dr. Feelgood does the trick with its relatively thick coverage and matte appearance.

I’m hoping that when the time comes that my bank balance doesn’t make me weep, I’ll be able to treat my lips to some seriously good stuff. Here’s just a few, both affordable and pricey, that I’ve heard really tick all the boxes.

Malin + Goetz Mojito, £10, spacenk.co.uk

Lanolips Lemonaid Lip Aid, £8.99 victoriahealth.com

Crème de la Mer The Lip Balm, £37, cremedelamer.co.uk

Burt’s Bees Honey Lip Balm, £3.69, burtsbees.co.uk

 Aromatherapy Associates Moisturising Lip Balm, £13.50, spacenk.co.uk

Clinique Superbalm, £10, clinique.co.uk

Another past-fave, from my days as an Avon rep (I don't judge snotty kitchen-roll blowers so don't you judge me), is Avon's On Everyone's Lips daily lip refiner. I can guarantee that my Gran has a cupboard full of the stuff, so I'll sleep easy at night now that they've discontinued it. As much as my Gran used to force it on me (perhaps we're seeing the cause of the problem: a simple bit of child abuse) I do remember it being a bit on the thin side, and not quite as silky and thick as I like 'em. And as my lips are perennially chapped, maybe it's for the best that this one has been resigned to the history books.

Perhaps I’m not sick after all. I’ll probably never know, because I sure as hell won’t be going clean any time soon. If anything I enjoy my obsession for lip balm as one of my many qualities, as I do my love of trash TV or similar addiction to washing my face. (There’s the perfect fodder for another article; my, my, the wisdom I could impart about facial cleansers.) In the hour it took me to write this article, I’d estimate that I’ve applied my Vaseline 4 times. That’s once every 15 minutes. It’s the first thing I do on a morning, and the last thing before I clamber into bed at night. Sometimes I even sleep with it under my pillow. I know I’m not the only one out there, and I can say that with some certainty having infected my boyfriend with the same addiction. He prefers the aloe vera Vaseline if you were wondering.

Nutter graduate jobhunters, the world's full of 'em

Three weeks ago I quit my job and moved back to London. This was a total no-brainer: stay in York, harbour an ever-growing hatred for my parents (the people that bought a house so small Middle Earth-roaming hobbits would spit on the doorstep before squating therein), work extremely hard at a horrible job in a horrible company for the pitiful wage the government thinks I deserve, OR move to the big city and give myself a chance of happiness.

Shocker isn't it?

So here I am, back in my home-away-from-home in the gorgeous Mile End. The only pickle, if ever there was one, was my thereafter lack of income. Despite the fact that I am lucky enough to be lodging with people who offer me an extremely reasonable rate of rent, as the old saying goes, money don't grow on trees.

Therefore unsurprisingly, I've spent the last few weeks frantically applying for jobs. And it hasn't been all too pleasant. There's nothing like rejection from positions you thought you were perfect for to make your life seem altogether crap. Regardless, I remained my picky self and avoided going for jobs unless I was sure I wanted them. Nobody wants to be stuck in a job they hate, and until I get really desperate neither do I.

Maybe another problem has been the dilemma of having too many interests. Either I'm really arrogant and think I love and know more about everything than everyone else, or I have a genuinely wide range of interests. I mean take this blog for instance, I was certain that I should follow my childhood dream of becoming a sports journalist, after all I do know a lot about most sports and it's a lifelong love of mine, so that's the line the blog took. But I soon realised that in doing that I was leaving behind so many other things I wanted to write about: fashion, music, books, everyday life. Is this where I've been going so wrong with jobhunting? Is my struggle to commit to one area or industry the reason nobody wants me? Is it the classic 'master of one' versus 'jack of all trades' scenario? The old sayings are coming thick and fast today. If only I'd thought about my degrees before I embarked on them, I might be qualified in something I actually want to do. Take note kids.

I was beginning to lose hope this weekend. It may have only been a few weeks since I quit my job, but I've been applying for better things since I finished my masters in September. That's 6 months of rejection.

But today, I got offered a job. And one I was sure I hadn't got. A really great part-time admin job that pays double what my last job did. And not only that, but I secured another two interviews at really interesting places: one an internship at an audio book publisher, and another an actual proper job in online marketing at a cosmetics company. (I'm thinking the latter would be a dream graduate job for me.)

So things are looking up. And the moral of the story is: don't give up. Not until you hit the depths of depression and are considered so mental that you're sectioned and homed in a clinic for no-hoper recession-plagued graduates that is. But I have evaded that fate, at least for the time being.

An Epiphany

I walked past Somerset House today, the penultimate day of A/W LFW.
I was on my way to Covent Garden for an interwiew, and breezed past a few fash pack kids in my just about interview-appropriate outfit. Thankfully I didn't feel too out of place, instead I felt something bordering on a sense of belonging.
I definitely haven't always considered myself well-dressed, but I've finally hit MY style on the head.
So here it is...

My tip for an interview (not that I'm claiming to be a pro!), is always look at least well-groomed, and at most marginally stylish. I'm often vaguely tempted by an outrageous get-up or two, and it simply isn't worth jeopardising your chances at a job. In this case I kept it smart and unfussy, with just a hint of style peeping through. My skirt was knee length, and paired with the buttoned-up shirt gave a nicely secretarial feel.

BOOSH. Rings - family jewels and charity shops.

Skirt - Zara. Shoes - Office. Socks - Topshop.

Belt - vintage.

Shirt - charity shop.

Mirror - is dirrrrty.

I was wearing a vintage leather jacket, but it's downstairs and I'm lazy, so? Yeah.

It's quite clear that I need a new camera. Actually, this bad boy ain't even mine.

Oh and just to spite all of those fashion blogs, packed to the bloody rafters with poser shots INSIDE the security check of Somerset House, here's one of my very own efforts. I happened to pick up a ticket for London Fashion Week(end - vom) in a Mayfair Hotel goodybag. Note that I tried considerably to step-up the fashion this time around!

Silk top - vintage Topshop Boutique. Kimono/cardigan - charity shop. Faux leather trousers - Topshop. Scarf - Topshop. Lipstick - "Ruthless" Topshop.

Snooker’s New Master

Does the all Asian-final of one of the toughest competitions on the calendar predict a future swing to the East?

Sunday evening saw the first all-Asian final in World Snooker. In the prestigious Ladbrokes Mobile Masters, held annually at the Wembley Arena, Ding Junhui of China comprehensively defeated Marco Fu of Hong Kong by 10 frames to 4. The game has since sparked a furore of speculation amongst Snooker insiders and experts on the possible future regularity of all-Asian, or more specifically, all-Chinese finals.

Undoubtedly, this is great news for the game. Despite its tradition in the British Isles and Ireland, it has never truly succeeded in penetrating sporting habits elsewhere in the world. Snooker is a sport that has always seemed destined to centre on the quintessentially British pub culture. But Sunday’s Masters final suggests this is all changing. 

The recent development of the Chinese love for snooker is sparking discussion about the landscape of the game in the future. Seven-time World Champion Stephen Hendry commented on Sunday that it is likely that half of the World’s top 16 players will be Chinese in ten years time, and his colleagues at the BBC displayed optimistic agreement. It is estimated that over 100 million Chinese people tuned in to watch Sunday’s final.

Of course, it is inevitable that as China continues to modernise and match Western nations in terms sporting infrastructure, the nature of the size of its population will undoubtedly produce world-beaters in all sports. Furthermore, the developed nations of the Far East have an admirable tendency for fanatical support, and this has apparently grown to include a sport that has so far failed in its export from the British archipelago. Australian Neil Robertson’s World Championship victory last year made him the first overseas player to win at the Crucible since Cliff Thorburn in 1983, but it is still considered relatively unlikely that the game will take off in any big way in Australasia.

Even before this year’s Masters began in early January, the sport’s biggest star Ronnie O’Sullivan was predicting a Chinese revolution. The Rocket was quoted as saying: “I think it could be takeover one day,” and rightfully predicted the victory of World No. 4 Ding Junhui in this year’s Masters. And O’Sullivan warned his British compatriots that they would have to up their game to continue producing the talent to challenge the unquestionable population advantage of the Chinese: “It’s a numbers game. In China they have 100 million or a billion people, statistically it's in their favour.” The grassroots opportunities for budding, young Chinese cueists is reported to be considerably healthier than those in Britain, so it appears that World Snooker’s Chairman Barry Hearn has a tough job ahead trying to maintain British and Irish influence on the World scene.

 

After its relatively recent ascendancy in last decade, China already holds three prominent events on the Snooker calendar. The country is host to two ranking events, the Shanghai Masters and the China Open, and the non-ranking Wuxi Classic. And this meteoric rise comes at a time when the game is suffering financially in Britain. World Snooker depends on sponsorships, and the Chinese market has no shortage of corporations wanting to cash in on the sport’s golden popularity. So as Snooker’s popularity in Britain slowly declines, the move to the East provides welcome financial reinforcement to the World Professional Billiards & Snooker Association (WPBSA).

Aside from Sunday’s finalists, Liang Wenbo of China makes up the trio of the Asian contingent in the top 40, ranked at No. 24. The scattering of Asian players further up the rankings remains sparse, with an additional 4 Chinese and 3 Thai players in the top 100, but the weight of popularity suggested by recent viewing figures hints at a new generation of players emerging from the Far East.

Sleepless Suzuka

Well, Suzuka has definitely ruined my sleeping pattern, and wasn't fully enjoyed as my viewing was generally semi-conscious. Attempting to rush away from a grimey York nightclub at 1.30 AM after one-too-many vodkas to catch qualifying was inevitably pointless. I awoke with pretty limited knowledge of the grid positions and an all too throbbing reminder of my consumption patterns from the previous evening.

Luckily, I had remembered to record the race itself before the drinking commenced, accepting the similar inevitability that I'd be deeply unconscious by 6 o'clock. As is always the danger in these situations (a danger I apparently insist on placing myself under with any televised sporting event), I had to guarantee avoiding the result, but only within the narrow confines of my own home. No matter how many times you begin a conversation with "don't mention anything about the F1," things rarely fail to escape your knowledge. It was, on this occasion, a mishap on my behalf; I couldn't resist the sound of an F1 engine from downstairs, and craned my neck to listen only to hear "number one spot for Sebastian Vettel." This piece of information on its own was manageable, as the one thing I could remember from last night's inebriated viewing was that Vettel was on pole. Unfortunately, I couldn't resist shouting at my father to turn it off, only for him to reassure me that he'd finished watching the race himself. So from the outset I knew the name of the winner. But it was always a likely outcome. The beauty of Formula 1 is that there are so many incidents and battles besides those at the front. And the 2010 Japanese Grand Prix proved plentiful.

I'm beginning to think that my analysis of a race is pretty redundant considering: a) the wealth of analysis the BBC provides throughout a racing weekend, and b) my lack of knowledge compared to those on our screens. I must confess that I'm a relative newcomer to the sport, having begun watching religiously from the middle of this season. Nevertheless, it has fast become an obsession of mine, and I long for grand prix weekends as if it were a lifelong love. In fact I find myself becoming increasingly disinterested in football compared to F1, something I could never have predicted. Surely that is testament to the excitement of this season, as my father assures me F1 has been predictable and stale in recent seasons. Although I must qualify that floundering interest as the Premier League and International game; my love of the football league is as strong as ever. To prove my commitment to the lower leagues, I'm currently working on an article in honour of some of my local clubs that are no longer with us. Having recently become a resident of the fine county of North Yorkshire, I'm remembering the history of Scarborough Town and Halifax United, two teams that are present in my memory of the football league as a child, and who sadly cease to exist.

On a more upbeat and promising note for our smaller clubs, my boyfriend, a life-long Manchester United supporting Londoner, has made the conscious and honourable decision to start supporting his local team, Leyton Orient. This I applaud, although I do wish he'd opted for a club with a marginally less obnoxious chairman.

Quick fire fun in Glasgow?

This weekend was a treat for sport lovers, and for me in particular. Obviously nothing can better the glamour and trepidation of Formula 1, but Snooker comes pretty close in my world. This does hold a degree of irony, considering the vast gulf in wealth and image of the two sports.

Whilst I was enjoying the Snooker World Open I was reminded of this gulf, and the social divides these two respective sports provide when juxtaposed so poignantly on the BBC Red Button! The working-class pub game on the one hand, and the frolics of the privileged few on the other.

I like to play up my working-class roots, hence I'm never ashamed to profess my love of staring at the balls on the baize every now and again. But I remain undecided about Barry Hearn's "revolutionary" new 5-frame format for the World Open, and if you love snooker you definitely love the long battles of the World Championship. So, I'm left feeling betrayed, as the sport tries to attract a new, impatient audience and neglects the adoration of its true supporters!

And why revert back to a traditional best of 9 in the final? This seemed to betray a week's worth of ranting about and analysis of the best of 5 frames format, making the finale just like that of any other tournament. I appreciate that the final should've arguably given each player a greater shot than the rest of the tournament provided, but why deny its entirely experimental nature when it matters most?

In reality, little really changed about the way each frame was played. There was just fewer of them. If Hearn really wants to make the game quicker and (allegedly) more exciting, then a time limit on shots seems the only solution. I certainly would welcome this as an experiment to mix things up. The performance of the sloth-paced Peter Ebdon in the World Open is proof enough that the new format doesn't automatically create a more exciting spectacle.

Oh what a night!

This weekend provided my first viewing of the infamous night-time Singapore grand prix, and I wasn't disappointed. Bernie Ecclestone is quoted as saying the event is the sport's greatest achievement, and you can see why. Not just the track quality and organisation shine through, but the bordering-on-annoying shots of the Singapore skyline were warranted for their demonstration of what a beautiful metropolis it is. I especially couldn't keep my eyes off the Star Wars-like triple scraper with palm trees and infinity pool perched on top. This place surely is the modern-day Monaco.

Fernando Alonso may have raced to another victory for the once beleaguered Ferrari, but little of the attention seemed to be on him, as miraculous as his drive was. Surely man of the evening was Mark Webber. A fantastic, gripping race from the Australian, with contended team tactics galore. Surprising though it is that Sebastian Vettel remains far faster than Mark, driving the same car and with fewer points for the season, Mark is getting it right when it counts. He may not have the same blistering speed of Alonso, Vettel, or even the two Maclarens, but he is a calculated tactician with a gutsy nack for overtaking on even the tightest of circuits.

Undoubtedly the biggest loser of the weekend was Lewis Hamilton, once again he didn't get it right, although his last two DNFs were hardly his fault. Nevertheless, no-one can legitimately blame Webber for the collision that caused Hamilton's elimination: they're the biggest rivals in the top 5 and Webber couldn't afford to concede any ground at such an opportune moment. It was merely a case of Hamilton's inability to see Webber in his minute F1 mirror.

And what a drive from Robert Kubica. The Renault man is beginning to embarrass his team mate Vitaly Petrov, whom he overtook on his way back up the standings late in Sunday's race after a puncture forced him into his second pit. Surely Kubica is headed for a team with a faster car next season. Rumours about a move to Ferrari for the Pole are beginning to circulate, but judging by the way Massa has been forced to play second fiddle to Alonso this season, even the best of drivers wouldn't fancy that challenge.

Finally, it's a hoorah for Heikki Kovalainen! Yes, he took an alarmingly long time to get out of his flaming Lotus, but criticism that he failed to take the car down the pit lane is plainly ridiculous. The chance of an explosion in a crowded area was something he wasn't willing to risk, and that he was willing to risk his own safety on the track is remarkably brave.

As ever F1 weekends are over too quickly, so I'll refrain from bellowing "bring on Suzuka" in the hope that the season lasts for a little while longer.

Victoria Beckham @ NY Fashion Week

Victoria is allegedly "celebrating curves" this season. The Guardian have reported that the popstar-turned-WAG-turned-hottest designer on the planet had banned super-skinny models from hers shows. In that case, allegations that Victoria isn't very 'hands on' with her label are pretty believable.

I saw the shots from her runway show prior to reading the Guardian article and couldn't have been more shocked that they hadn't questioned the choice of models. Victoria is quoted as saying: "I do take my position seriously and I wouldn't want to use very skinny girls." Clearly, Posh sat this one out. Her models couldn't have been thinner.

Personally, I love skinny models and have many an argument with my friends about it. But to claim your line celebrates a "normal" woman when your clothes are hanging from the bodies of absolute waifs, is downright outrageous.

Aside from that, I loved VB's A/W line, especially the nude pieces.

Forza Fernando!

I'm in two minds about today's F1 result. Obviously, I support my fellow Brits Jensen and Lewis, but I was secretly pleased that Fernando and his perfectly manicured eyebrows managed to keep the Monza crowd happy. It certainly was a spectacle and the right result for any sentimental F1 fan.

As predicted, Spa and Monza have left us with an even tighter driver's and constructor's championships, and I can't help but wake up every morning wishing it was a grand prix day. It is undoubtedly the most exciting F1 championship for years, and with Lewis failing to finish (well, failing to start really), it is wide open.

I so want Mark Webber to do it. But instinct tells me he's too nice a guy to get what he deserves. It's just like those poised situations when you've avoided the scores all day to watch MOTD on a Saturday night, and a lowly relegation-threatened team is playing one of the big boys and winning 1-0 in the 95th minute. By the nature of the eternally subtle BBC editing, you know what's going to happen.

So I continue to revel in this season's F1, with a huge sense of foreboding over my man Mark's chances. Regardless, he is the people's champ.

Progress is on the horizon!

Currently I'm bogged down with my dissertation and getting ready for Barcelona and Benicassim a week today, and my brother's 21st birthday on Saturday.

Unfortunately this has meant I haven't had time to have my own World Cup blog which would've been amazing, but rest assured that I have been verbally blogging to anyone who'll listen.

I'm so incredibly excited for my holiday! This year is going to be a good one. No doubt it'll be the subject of many-a-post when I return.