Topshop tweed oversized blazer: £27. Topman black tee: £8. Sugarhill Boutique polka dot trousers. Faux fur pom hat: c/o South Beach. Rotary watch: gift. Clarks loafers. Pale lips: winter.
We're definitely not in Munich any more, but it's just as cold. Putting things down to being a December baby, I always used to say that during the winter months I'm in my element (geddit??), but as time moves on and my ability to buy sensible clothing escapes me, winter's turning into that annoying friend you had from school that pops up and long outstays their welcome - we've just got to deal with this one for the next four months. Despite this, there are still a few little wintry nuggets that I adore, and fireworks are one of them. As someone who doesn't have pets or small children, bonfire night is one of my favourite celebrations after Halloween, obviously, rubbish ghost trains included. Last weekend I popped down to the park to watch pyrotechnics set to the most cliché playlist ever (it included "Burn", although they avoided Perry's "Firework" - probably because they forgot - so I've decided to include my own as a blog title too), changing my loafers for wellies as it tipped it down.
I've got a busy week at work coming up which I can't wait to share with you on instagram so make sure you're following! To make up for this, I spent the weekend with J Rox drinking in east London (however odd that SW Londoner found the experience), eating brunch and getting sassy at a Nicki Minaj dance class, then heading out for "one drink" back in Essex (every time, Rebecca. Every. Time.) and am now staying in my pyjamas for as long as feasibly possible before tomorrow's alarm. Long live the non-moving weekend.
