Yes, I know, another ethical, 'save the planet' calico bag, but when elite designers start getting their mitts on them you know you can only expect the finest. Eley Kishimoto has teamed up with Cancer Research UK in aid of raising money to help fund research towards beating cancer by launching a self-effacing, reusable organic cotton bag printed (with water based inks, might I add) with a humble orange owl upon a vivid blue moon. No fat 'I’m not a plastic bag' slogans all over the front, this simple bag aims to cause effect without having to rub it in everyone’s faces.

I am not one for drumming the fact that we’re practically killing the planet just by breathing, into your sullied ears, but if we can help out Mother Nature as well as donate to a reputable charity that saves lives, then surely it’s worth forking out a measly £2.99 for this little gem? With countless designs of new reusable bags on the scene it’s become easier than ever to become slightly greener, but add that extra solicitous factor by choosing this bag in particular. Take your wee owl home from March the 1st at all Cancer Research UK shops.

Cruel schoolyard carrot-top (FYI, Redhead Lauren says carrot tops are actually green you bullies) nicknames are to be no more. Gingers got a makeover courtesy of number one, handsome Ron Weasley, and number two, the quiet but feisty popstrel from Girls Aloud, Nicola Roberts.

In collaboration with luxury cosmetics brand Jelly Pong Pong, the less talked about girl band member has introduced a new make-up range in celebration of pale-skinned Celtic beauties, such as our lovely fashion Ed, Miss. McColl. Dainty Doll offers beautifying products from neutral bases and eye shadows to blushing pink lip-glosses; everything a girl needs to achieve China doll cheeks and plumped up babydoll lips to compliment the whitest of complexions.

For the lucky sun-kissed goddesses out there, their finest offerings include shimmering Venus magical pearls for highlighting your most exquisite features, and gourmet lip salves (which claim to rekindle your soul), comprised of the most indulgent ingredient list of chocolate, sugar, milk, liquorice and honey. Yum yum. Packaging is just as decadent - little pocket-sized boxes in all shapes and sizes, gilded, embossed and ribboned, all dusted off with a little sparkle. If you’re one for splashing out on such facial décor then succumb to these divine temptations, but be prepared to shell out for such extravagance.

If Kate Bush was a man, joined a book club with Joy Division, had Patrick Wolf over for cups of tea on a regular basis and they all did each others' make-up on ketamine, this collective of genius might have produced sounds equivalent to FrYars' musical offering. Following last year's EP The Ides, The Perfidy is a keyboard-borne manifestation of this scenario of auditory dreams, but with unique elements that only FrYars - the pseudonym of nineteen-year-old Ben Garrett - could create; songs formed from prose, telling melancholic folk stories of treacherous impregnation, 'evil' and the collapsing marriage of a novelist: "Now you can see there's a mess you're in/ No problem solved without ketamine/ And it's probably best that you stay in your hole/ For I'd rather stick to my ethanol". The video for Olive Eyes is like a French film noir starring Garrett as a New Romantic enshrouded in horrifying shadows, contemptuously eating a bowl of cornflakes. Indeed, there is something of the k-hole that lingers in this slightly nightmarish scene, but something equally intriguing and seductive; a conflicting attraction which the music itself also provokes. I imagine it is most probable that when he finished the making of this EP, FrYars raised Lord Nelson from the dead, had a duel with him, and won; such is the strength of the message that anything is possible, subliminally communicated through FrYars' astonishingly original work. Kismet, Hardy! I'm off to join that book club.

With such dry, ironic observations as 'home is where the house is', Superabundance introduces itself as a melodious continuation of the faux-geek, insightful pop-rock that first emerged in Voices of Animals and Men, but proceeds to take us on a spiralling journey into the dark depths of the Young Knives' psyche. In Terra Firma, we are confronted with the beginnings of the climactic incantations that slowly envelop us in a humming and howling hypnosis in Current of the River, which follows a sombre, medieval chant in the delightfully foreboding, pagan harmonies of Mummy Light the Fire. I don't like to compare bands, but I found some of their wistful, nautical narratives redolent of the Decemberists' historical fictions.

While the insinuations of suicide in Counters left me feeling tempted to phone the three band members to see that they were alright, Rue the Days has a positively nonchalant nineties feel and Flies, a gentle meditation on the natural world, seems to encapsulate a recurring fascination with human-animal relationships; a little idiosyncratic perhaps, but I get the feeling this album is somewhat an eruption of the Young Knives' musical multiple personality.

I listened to every word of the album, and realised it was poetry; a super abundance of philosophical metaphors immersed in a synthesis of unexpected genres, undulating from pensive, orchestral flickers to thick, satisfying explosions of bass, good old enthusiastic shouting and some of the catchiest hooks around. It may leave you weeping, but it may just as well have you running out the house in your dancing shoes.

Seven pound alcoholic 'Coconut Grenades' combined with WAG central a la Mahiki Bar was perhaps not the ideal location for treating my ears to a lovely bit of Swedish pop. However, I was determined not to let jersey sequinned smock dresses and trout pouts get in the way of seeing my new favourite female artist, Lykke Li, who EVERYONE who is anyone is talking about, singing her wee heart out whilst shakin’ them hips, and proceeded to squeeze my way to the front of the unjustifiably ostentatious venue.

The best thing to come out of Sweden since momma’s homemade meatballs, this innocent-looking, (looking being the operative word) Bambi-eyed 21-year old starlet knocked me off my feet that fine evening, and left me hungry for more. Performing late in the night under extremely dim lighting - advanced apologies about the video quality - it was initially hard to get into the mood, but when Lykke’s alluring voice rang out to Dance, Dance, Dance it was effortless to let go of all previous pent-up bitterness; a perfectly chosen track to start off the show. Creating an all round exhilarating but unperturbed ambience, she continued to deliver hefty handfuls of arousing yet sensitive, alternative pop, with tracks such as I'm Good I'm Gone packing a jaunty punch with an attitude, the heart-wrenching Tonight, and the most painfully addictive song of the year, Little Bit, which just happens to be her forthcoming single. Sincere and honest words of unrequited love, pain, lust and heartache were sung in an omen to the most complicated of relationships.

With dance moves as quirky as her Princess Leia inspired hair-do, and mountainous amounts of raw energy, the pretty young thing owned the stage and was within her own element, even with the rather challenging audience present. Hopefully the next time Lykke will be down in London town her team will be able to find a better-suiting venue to compliment such fine talent. Now if you excuse me, I shall be off to listen to her album, Youth Novels, on repeat again and again. And again.

Lykke Li performing 'Little Bit' live @ Mahiki - for more Amelia's videos click away: AMELIA'S VIDS.

The Wave Pictures have been badgering away for a long while, producing a significant amount of fine output without the widespread acclaim they justly deserve. I Love You Like a Madman is another example of the low-fi dirty sound they produce, and as with almost all of their tracks; it has a beautifully crafted melody. The song is also complimented by a rather fine brass section running underneath it, adding another level to the band's usual, more broken down sound. Lyrically, David has that rare talent of being able to write an unapologetic love song, declaring unabated obsession for some girl or other, without ever seeming wet or drippy. No one likes a drip.

I Love You Like a Madman plays itself out with a lonesome saxophone playing a meandering solo to draw the curtains on a near perfect pop single.

Glasgow School of Arts textiles degree has churned out some pretty talented folk in its time; Jonathan Saunders and Pam Hogg are just two of their previous students. So all eyes will be on the graduates showcasing their womenswear collections in the Fashion as Textiles show at the Atrium Gallery. This exhibition aims to explore the relationship between textiles and fashion and dispel the idea of these as two separate disciplines.
Suspended from the ceiling Emmi Lahtinen’s simple shift dresses hang like clouds, weightless yet substantial. Inspired by Finnish minimalism and Cecil Beaton, Lahtinen’s dresses embody a sense of light, depth and wonder. Her rain-soaked palate of greys, blues and greens are created using a mixture of screen printing and dying with digital inkjets.
Inspired by the stained glass windows in Glasgow’s Burrell Collection, Lori Marshall’s collection features high-waisted leggings with digital-prints of stained glass, laser etched velour and layered tops of sheer fabric with Tudor-style ruffled necklines.
Florence To moves away from conventional approaches to textile design. Working in neutral colours, To wraps strips of raffia and polyvinyl around wooden rings. These are linked together to create large-scale accessories, which are draped over tailored silhouettes, creating serene and lightweight designs.
Combining woven fabrics with synthetic materials, Shona Douglas’ collection challenges traditional approaches to weaving. Using raw edged silks and wools cut to fold around the body, Douglas’s skirts and tunics combine a rough-hewn aesthetic with a minimalist approach.
Huddling in the corner like a murder of crows, Louise Browns blue and black coats are dramatic and elegant, featuring appliquéd velvet roses, and topped with light-as-moor-mist ruffles. Brown focuses on volume and as a quote from Coco Chanel overhead reminds us: ‘Fashion is architecture, it is a matter of proportions’.
Although the layout of the Atrium means that some of the students have had to cramp their work into one corner, the gallery is flooded is light and its size allows intimacy, encouraging a closer view of the clothes and highlighting the details that are missed in fashion shows. That these textiles stand up to this level of scrutiny is a testimony to the talent of these promising designers.

The effects of global warming are clearly upon us. Whether it’s on the front page of the newspaper, or staring us right in the face, climate change is the greatest environmental challenge facing us today. Blooming and reproducing in February; even nature and wildlife seem to be getting confused what time of year it is! The world seems to be wilting before our eyes. Environmental activists have been pushing the seriousness of this problem for a long time now, and thankfully the rest of the world are starting to take note. Artists, historically, are often first on the mark too, defining such issues. ‘Climate 4 Change’ exhibition does just that.

Leaflets and posters emblazoned with ‘Campaign against climate change’, and ‘Do you know the constitution of human rights?’ overwhelmed me as I entered. The smell of incense hit my nose.

Allie Biswas’ ‘No Rave’ painting (below) propped against the wall on the floor. Her abstract blue painting was organic, with orange, green and yellow forms, often dripping down the canvas. Frustrated with the ‘anonymous’ theme running throughout the exhibition, she claimed her work by scribbling her name on a post-it-note, and sticking it to the wall.
In the 'Bombastic Bureau', a man with his oversized army jacket, wearing a shiny wrestling mask protests: ‘Don’t worry I’m here, here to kill the rabbit!’ As the notes on a keyboard haunted the space, on the wall were projections of war. In a small room on its own was a short film where hands pushed and pulled, gripped and slipped throughout, defining gravity.

There was a small, perspex house, suitable for a hamster, but filled with furniture, beds, a TV, kitchen, even a parked car outside. Sawdust covered the floor, and food pellets spilled over the sink. Opposite, a man sat on the floor and asked me to shred pages of newspaper. As I proceeded on doing so, he took the tears, put them in a sealable food bag, and signed it ‘Don’. “What does it mean?” I asked, “It would take too long, I’ll tell you in the pub afterwards! Make of it what you want,” he replied. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to make of it, and maybe he didn’t either, but the bag is sitting next to me now, so thank you Don!

I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH.

Young Love is the beautifully melancholic ode of a one-night stand. The Mystery Jets are bang-on in featuring Laura Marling, the latest young darling of the music scene, on the first single to be taken from their second album, Twenty One. I’ve never been a huge Mystery Jets fan (I wasn’t fooled, and I most certainly wasn’t called Denis) but the dialogue between Laura and Blaine telling both sides of a brief encounter won me over within the first ten seconds.

In a move I haven’t seen since the works of Jane Austen, the love affair is cut short by that damnably unpredictable British weather. Far from regarding this as twee, the lyrics “you wrote your number on my hand but it came off in the rain” melted my icily sarcastic heart.

Laura sings of how “young love never seems to last”, and it’s with this stark honesty the dialogue tells of the ephemeral nature of youthful liaisons and the quiet acceptance of the pains of growing up. It’s this self-effacing honesty combined with the vintage handclaps, oohs and aahs that create one of the best pop songs of this year.

Oh, and check out the video: it’s bound to be at the top of the YouTube hit parade in no time, as Laura and the Mystery Jet boys are involved in a game of human curling. Now that should be an Olympic sport.

Walking into Gramaphone five minutes into Tom James Scott's set was not a good idea. His music sounded so delicate that even the whir of the drinks refrigerators was distracting, so the sound of a door opening and two stumbling youths almost threatened to destroy the ethereal atmosphere he had created. His fragile guitar sound had an almost filmic quality; evoking images of cinematic landscapes. The performance seemed shyly self conscious, perhaps a little fractured, but in a way that only enhanced its subtle beauty.

The acapella sound that began Wounded Knee’s set also demanded the audience’s full attention: the quiet fell once more. The singular figure of Drew Wright concocted an alchemy of sounds that ranged from the ghostly to the jubilant. Relying on effects pedals to build up intricate and textured music, the songs still sounded firmly traditional. Who’d have thought that a looped kazoo and bassy scat singing could sound so Gaelic! His music contrasts a sense of history with a playful method of music-making to create a joyful racket.

Having been lulled into a state of wooziness by the last two acts, I’m not sure I was quite ready for Jenny Hoyston. Perhaps it wasn’t that well-considered a line up by Upset The Rhythm, as previously I was more than eager to see the solo efforts of Erase Errata’s vocalist/guitarist. Hoyston’s back and forth with the audience seemed to amuse most people present, but to me it jarred after the pathos of James Scott and Wounded Knee. However, there’s no doubt that the slightly scrappy sound of Hoyston and her drummer revived me slightly; driven on by the sparse yet considered drum sound. Brief, low fi songs shined when they included rhythmic Krautrock references. It’s just a shame that the vitality of Hoyston’s music seemed oddly displaced after the previous acts.

'Five Portraits of Cloth', a large scale, cunningly crafted work by Jayne Archard could have been an enveloping piece – if it hadn't had to compete with cramped canteen style tables and chairs. The Tricycle Gallery suffers a problem often seen in community arts spaces: areas are not properly defined, meaning that an exhibition space can be transformed into a cinema’s ante-room, and a café’s overspill seating space. I’m all for showing artwork in something other than the traditional White Cube, but it can only be a hindrance to the work when you have to battle with a chair to see it properly.

‘Other Visible Things’ is part of the Tricycle Gallery’s Recent Graduates 2008 programme; giving artists like Archard and Knight valuable exposure that can be difficult to achieve so soon after graduation. Regrettably, in this case the work shown doesn’t function as well in the outside world as in the bubble of the art college – why should the artists assume that all the gallery goers would be able to read, or even care about, the references to conceptual art history? Adam Knight’s ‘Studio Corner (After Mel Bochner)’(below) is an interesting photograph that investigates illusion and the documentation of a sculptural object, so why the need for the clever nudges and winks to those with a subscription to Art Review?

Even the title of this show is taken from Bochner’s influential exhibition: ‘Working Drawings And Other Visible Things On Paper Not Necessarily Meant To Be Viewed As Art’. In the confines of the art college studio, Archard and Knight’s works are accessible as the viewers are more likely to have a similar knowledge to that of the makers. In the Tricycle Gallery, a space attached to a café, theatre and cinema in Kilburn, the art history allusions can seem like an elitist in-joke. I can see that Knight’s work in particular could be viewed as a playful re-working of ideas about Minimalism and Conceptual Art, but unfortunately the humour falls short.

Photograph by Jason Nocito

Thrilling things happen when oddballs get their hands on dance music, and Hercules And Love Affair are the perfect latest example of that. These five colourful characters currently breathing new life into disco are an NYC-based collective comprising of Hawaiian-born jewellery designer/DJ Kim Ann Foxman, Amazonian CocoRosie and Debbie Harry collaborator Nomi, gay B-boy dancer Shayne, Miss Piggy-loving ex-waiter Andrew Butler and new rave hoodie-donning keyboardist Morgan. And then there’s Antony Hegarty of course, he of the Johnsons fame, and it is his beautifully crooning vocals combined with the pulsing rhythms, incessant bassline and playful horns of Blind that has worked both dancefloor enthusiasts and bloggers into a frenzy since it leaked onto the internet late last year.

The outfit’s self-titled debut is littered with more of his famously melancholic performances over shimmering beat-driven efforts, but do this eccentric bunch have the talent and songwriting capabilities to sustain an entire album? The answer is yes - by the bucketload. Hercules And Love Affair slinks delicately into action with dark and sultry opener Time Will as Hegarty pleads “I cannot be half a wife” repeatedly over finger clicks and minimal backing before segueing nicely into Hercules Theme; a more upbeat affair driven by sweeping strings, soft female vocals and discordant brass snatches. This track along with the light and breezy sway of Athene, Iris’ stripped down stomp and the headspin-inducing walking bassline and scat singing of closer True False/Fake Real prove that Butler and co. can shine magnificently even when they don’t play the Antony trump card. One trick ponies this lot certainly are not.

Blind, of course, is sumptuous, sounding more and more like a classic with every listen, but it is cushioned by album tracks that each stand up admirably alongside it, and which reference everything from Chicago house to punk funk, techno and disco simultaneously through the irresistible ice cold veneer conjured up by killer production duo main-man Butler and DFA’s Tim Goldsworthy. In fact, Hercules And Love Affair is the perfect example of an epic work so cleverly constructed that its wide-ranging influences seep out subtly instead of bombarding the listener. Heartbreaking and dramatic yet utterly danceable, it boasts intelligence, heart and soul and features musical prowess that will stop you dead in your tracks. Prepare for this to soundtrack your life for months to come.

Who would have thought you could be sexy whilst riding a bike? Now you can! Tower Hamlets and Hackney councils organised the fashion show as a part of London Fashion week on the streets of the Columbia road. It is a quirky idea to combine the idea of cycling and fashion. The purpose of this event is to encourage more people to cycle around in London rather than using a car with dirty exhausts, so really this event promotes action against global warming.

There were six or seven designers presenting their collections there. All the clothes had light reflections so it sparkled when light hit the garment. I liked the cape, which looks like a simple brown tweed cape, but in flushes it goes to and from silver and black; I would love to wear that when I cycle around in London! During the show the models were riding the bikes and towards the end, fashion became a circus-like performance, as a boy and girl were doing tricks upon the bikes. He was riding a bike with out utilising the handles, and the girl was riding a unicycle with his handle and constantly swapping around on the seats.

It was very cute show - I felt very warm seeing these people show off their work and that so many people went to see it. There were a lot of cheers every time models walked onto the catwalk and I felt the power of a community. It reminds me of Brick Lane when it started to get regenerated.

Following a classic English tea (in vintage cups) and biscuit reception we were lead up a grand old winding staircase to a large room where, if I remember correctly, the national anthem was playing. An impressive blood red velvet curtain fell parallel to a large gathering of press lined up along the back wall, and above the seated audience below. We were greeted by Antoni and Alison who gave a short but sweet welcoming and introduced a ‘A Spontaneous Piece of Work’ inspired by the black marker pen.

Grand atmospheric music played for what seemed a good few minutes and the audience and the press, cameras at the ready, waited in great anticipation of the unveiling of whatever lurked behind the theatre curtain. The music continued for what would usually have been a thumb twiddling, looking around few minutes but my eyes were glued to the red drapes and my bottom was on the edge of my seat! Ten female models were revealed-in a line and with their backs to us they turned towards the audience one by one, almost in slow motion, and like robot Stepford Wives they removed their headscarves.

The A/W 08 collection consisted of beautiful prints and vintage floral patterns, which were basically doodled over in a variety of thicknesses and techniques. Antoni and Alison had attacked these models with the black marker pen; headscarves, dresses, handbags and even their exposed legs and lips had become victims. I’m not being critical, these were great clothes and beautiful patterns and detailing had been created. Some scribbling was as the title of the collection suggested - spontaneous, whereas some of it was more controlled. The marker pen effect had also created precise detailing in the form of dots and bow illustrations.

There was a definite vintage air about the collection, something that I felt was lacking throughout the previous six days of LFW. The press release listed items called ‘quickly sketched jumper’, ‘ruined hunting scene headscarf’, ‘carelessly folded wool check shirt’, ‘jersey blouse t-shirt with ink-spot stag’, ‘badly drawn handbag’, ‘boring tweed headscarf with random line’ and ‘spoilt red tartan handbag with rush embellishment’.

The marker pen theme ran throughout the show, the invitation we had received was an upside down gas bill quirkily scribbled over. Portraits of the queen hung in elaborate gold frames and even they hadn’t escaped the vandalising marker pen. And in our goodie bags we found a special edition scribbled mug and the next best thing to a black marker pen- a chunky black eyeliner.

This supposedly haphazard and spontaneous collection I think was actually quite on the contrary, yet still brilliantly creative. Feminine, classic, vintage and pretty, with the cool urban contemporary twist of the marker pen. Bravo.

Royal College of Art Graduate designer Erdem Moralioglu has revealed his A/W 08 collection on Valentine day’s in London. I recognised a few key faces in fashion such as Hilary Alexander from Daily Telegraph and Caryn Franklin from the Clothes Show was there. It was a bit manic when the show was about to start as people from the back row attempted to get into the first row, and the cameramen started shouting; it was chaos for a second! And then show commenced….

It all started with classic violin music. Models walked steadily and it was very smooth until the first model’s shoe got caught on the tiled floor and came off causing her to carry on walking unevenly. The collection was elegant with evening dresses in marbled colours. The variety of fabrics ranged from thick silks and cotton to light weighted chiffon, all adorned with the same print designs. Also, there were plain bright colour high collar jackets, which made the whole collection contemporary; it was like Victorian meets Modernism. My mind wandered to stone castles in fields robust with flower. I especially liked Mac coats that had contrasting front and back aesthetics, evoking totally different feelings. The Mac coat’s back was created with white laced frills - It was unexpected and mismatched but it was somehow still slick and gorgeous. The finale of the collection was a stunning marble coloured top entirely made out of crystal glasses.

Once upon a time there was a hunter, who woke one day to find himself transformed into the deer he killed before he had rested. Is he now the hunter? Or is he the prey?

Fashion, performance, and storytelling merged into one as Daydream Nation's design duo Kay and Jing presented their ominous tale ‘Good Night Deer’ at the Institute of Contemporary Arts. Whilst the audience sauntered in, a man stood behind the branched mic stand donning a furry animal head. He cackled, and whistled, and screeched, and crooned ‘There’s nothing in this world for you my dear’, whilst the band played at his side. The stage had morphed into a forest.

The lights dimmed, and the performers crept in with what looked like a white drum, acting as a moon. Each of them haunted the stage wearing sleeveless t-shirts in dark brown, with bark print on the front. By pulling them up over their heads giving the illusion of trees, the indoor theatre became a night scene. With all the garments made by manipulating old clothes, Kay and Jing create new myths each season. Two girls merged together in one outfit and became a deer, whilst others had t-shirts, and dresses in earthy beiges, browns and greens, and were embroidered with antlers and deer’s.

A large silver sheet was laid on the floor, with the hunter concealed beneath it. It rustled, and lifted, before finally revealing the deer. Looking up at its audience, it was literally a deer caught in the headlights. Draped coats fastened up with bows, and a brown pinafore was worn over a silk, blue blouse. Daydream Nation’s show was an utterly enjoyable evening, full of enthusiasm and creativity.

With the current proliferation of animal-loving musicians playing with tambourines and haunting harmonies, it is interesting to see that The Ruby Suns are experimenting with their musical menagerie Sea Lion; they have bravely avoided finding a sound that 'works' and sticking safely to it, taking a wildly different approach to each track. Blue Penguin, There Are Birds, Morning Sun - what was that I said about a revival of Romanticism? The increasing emergence of animalia and flora in song lyrics is enough to convince me that today's bands have been having words with the late William Wordsworth. To solidify my argument, Morning Sun consists almost solely of the lyrics; 'When I wake up, I get the morning sun', sung in such a high-pitched repetition of solar-worship it almost had me falling sideways off my chair in a brainwashed, slumbering heap.

In the flip of a sea lion's tail, the album oscillates between eighties electronic drum machines, latino guitar flicking and melancholic cult wailings, which may leave you asking, 'Quoi?'

But each track is a singular gem, luminous and curious; the ecclesiastical It's Mwangi In Front Of Me, which summons up images of smoking church candles and, towards the end, the ever-decreasing hallways of Alice's rabbit hole (you'll know what I mean when you hear it), precedes the wistful, dreamlike vocals interspersed with gentle wind-instrumental spates and apostolic chanting of Remember. Curiouser and curiouser.

Who doesn't want to believe in magic? Whether we can suspend our disbelief or not, I'm certain that a little bit of enchantment in our lives wouldn't go amiss. The seven female artists in 'Sex and Witchcraft' (Hilary Jack, Anne Marie Kennedy, Rachel Tweddell, Lisa Penny, Kate Street, Susan Taylor, Beata Veszely) explore the ideas of the occult in very different ways; resulting in works that range from the exuberant to the quietly melancholic.

An essay by Gary Lachman, an author interested in links between the occult and modern culture, contextualises the work nicely. I’m one of those exhibition-goers who laps up any kind of socio-historic background to work, particularly when the essay in question gives such valuable tit-bits such as that sleeping with the devil is akin to being with ‘a stallion among mares’. Although there is undoubtedly an undercurrent of sexuality to some of the work, I saw the exhibition more in terms of ‘sex’ as a celebration of the feminine.

Highlights included Kate Street’s ‘Orchis’, a drawing of slow, considered beauty. The work seemed somewhere between a memento mori and a botanical catalogue image, fusing delicate petals with skull-like imagery. According to the ancient Greeks, orchids sprang from the spilt semen of mating animals; this rather earthy belief contrasts with the delicacy of the work.

Beata Veszely’s video piece ‘On the Way to Heaven’ also seemed to comment on the inherent beauty in nature; it celebrated in a dream-like way the power and movement of a white horse. The interaction between nature and the artist was a recurring idea in the exhibition, fittingly so since so much of our ideas of witchcraft are tied up with Wiccan beliefs of nature-supreme. The icon of the white horse is unavoidably linked with the unicorn, well at least in my child-like mind it is…and this is why this exhibition is so enjoyable: work that explores ideas of witchcraft persuades us to be as imaginative and as open to ideas of magic as we were when we were children.

Even though it was 9:30 in the morning, there were a lot of people gathering at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. I have not been to the Royal Opera House before so I was excited to visit this venue. The whole place was covered with the smell of perfume and as soon as I entered I was served breakfast with coffee by a gentleman with a tuxedo. Very posh, but I liked it!

After a short while I got in. I only had a standing ticket but I found quite a good spot and it was not packed with people like all the other shows, meaning I could relax and view the show comfortably. Whilst everyone was still finding their seats, there were many photographers trying to take pictures of fashionista guests. With the solo piano melody, the show had started. The collection was slick and sophisticated, toned with browns, blacks, greys and reds. I especially liked the way they used red as a key colour of the collection. Also, flower motifs were used a lot in the collection upon brooches, prints and embroidery. I also personally enjoyed a skirt where the hem of was cut out as a flower motif. I can imagine smart career girls, who daydream about running around in fields of flowers, wearing Nicole’s clothes. Music by Regina Spektor went well with the collection and added a jolly feeling to it. I got shivers by the end of the show, as I was very excited. I think shows should be like this more often to make people full of pleasure!

Yorkshire tea and quintessentially British cake preceded a long and tedious wait for 'the world to come'. But the setup was unusual, which I appreciated; the audience was divided into three rooms, so the models glided through from one to the next like a strange narrative when they eventually emerged. They were an embodiment of old English country-dwelling aristocracy, carrying books in their leather-bound palms and live chiuauas in their arms, harking back to a classic past yet obscuring it in a slightly vampire-like manner. All the models had a groomed, Dickensian look, pale, preened and ghostly, which echoed in the shuddering orchestral music. There were shawls that looped around the crown of the head, huge lapels, a cow-hide jacket, enormous, decadent floral corsages and tights the colour of Colman's mustard. Sitting on wooden chairs in the fitting location of the Mary Ward House, a listed turn-of-the-century building, it felt like we were part of a 1930s English murder mystery film. Close-fitting black and maroon leather gloves made a frequent appearance, as did red netting draped elegantly over the shoulders. Peacock feathers poked out of the men's trilby hats, over shining quiffs of brown hair, while the women were surmounted with red satin tiaras. A dazzling performance.

Unconditional share their marketing budget "with those whose lives are fragile", and their funds support Save The Children.

Whether this comes as good or bad news, this is quite different from last year’s Barnaby. Unlike the aforementioned computer game electronica, there is something outdated about All Over My Face. It could rest easily in 1997 with Morcheeba and The Sneaker Pimps. At least this trip-hop approach shows that My Toys Like Me are more than a one-trick-pony.

Frances Noon must be bored of people describing her voice as “childlike” or “infantile”. If all you had to go on was Barnaby, then you could be forgiven for assuming she can’t sing. But she definitely can and this is the proof.

Noon’s voice shimmers over Lazlo Legezer’s dub beat, mariachi horns and acoustic guitar. Her overdubbed vocals spiral out from behind this mix hauntingly along with a smattering of electronic noise that sounds like owls whistling. Lyrically it’s a little pseudo-romantic but the only marvel of this track is its construction around Noon’s compelling tones.

This single is released with two other remixes. The J-star mix brings the horns to the front but also increases the bounce with a reggae guitar line. On the other hand, the Hostmix augments the original’s creepiness, taking the edge off the dub and stripping down the accompaniments. Worryingly these tracks precede the original mix on the copy I was given, which suggests they are as underwhelmed with it as I am.
Although beer companies no longer use this kind of music in their ads, you can envisage sitting on a leather chair in some bar full of wood-trim and orange neon. It lacks any of the spunk or grit that My Toys Like Me have shown before. If nothing else, All Over My Face is an exercise in versatility and they have proved they can make decent background music.

It was my last London Fashion Week show, and I didn't think anything could shock me. How wrong I was: the first model walked like a newborn Bambi with rickets and was quickly followed by one who wasn’t wearing any pants. Oh my.

Models aside, the collection by London College of Fashion graduate Ioannis Dimitrousis single-handedly brought crochet out of the 1970s and back into the LFW collective consciousness. This show was entitled ‘back and forth’ and the multi-coloured weave design on the invitation hinted at what was to come. On the catwalk, the weaved fabric of the garments represented the intertwining between different sexes, seasons and trends in fashion, focusing on the ease with which menswear can be translated into womenswear and Spring/Summer collections can be substituted for Autumn/Winter. It was a rather existential move for a collection, but one that does ring true in our current social and environmental climate, where boys can be girls and British weather can turn tropical.

In a quirky move, bells were sewn into the crochet ra ra skirts. The models sounded like kittens (or those delicious Lindt chocolate bunnies) jangling their way down the catwalk. Short flamenco-style dresses were a favourite, styled out of ribbons, plaited fabrics, weaving and tassels. Perfect for any showgirl.

Vibrant make-up had been applied like trailing stardust to the faces of both the male and female models. These were like the tears of a clown, and on the male models it didn’t just fall down their cheeks, but made its way to their navel (the gratuitous nudity was not limited to female models: go equal rights!)

This kaleidoscopic collection was just the thing I needed to perk me up on a Friday morning, injecting some much-needed humour into my day and the whole of LFW. Disliking ioannisdimitrousis would be as impossible as hating a rainbow.

The invitation to the Aganovich A/W show promised a Valentine's Day massacre. From that moment I knew this show would definitely not be short on theatricality. Once seated, the mood music that had been piped in to calm the frantic diva nerves of the industry elite morphed into a pounding heartbeat. I was on edge. Then the strains of Frank Sinatra singing You’re Sensational began, and out stepped…a bride. This was a little surreal, especially as it was more like a conventional Home Counties bride and not some sexed up Quentin Tarantino version. Quizzical looks flitted across the front row as she swanned down the catwalk, but these were soon quieted as she made her exit and breakbeats set in. Once the ironic Valentine’s Day gesture was over, the real show began.
The archetypal bridal up-do was exaggerated on the Aganovich models to create a modern and subversive take on this classic style. Hair was either quiffed, or the fringe was styled to cover one eye. The make-up paired copious amounts of gold and silver face paint with Clockwork Orange style lashes. It was Grace Kelly in High Society meets Blade Runner.
The strong silhouettes created by the tailored jackets and military coats complemented the hair and make-up as shoulders were defined and padded out. Gold zips and chinoiserie prints brought some flashes of colour into the rather dark collection, while the traditional set of pearls worn by a bride was re-imagined into a half beaded dress.
The Aganovich label has always been intent on exploring paradox in its collections, and A/W was no different as silk dresses were finished with snakeskin detailing and sharp tailoring was created using cashmere. Two things made this show memorable. One being the willingness with which Aganovich desire to push boundaries, and the other being that the chosen soundtrack meant I got to mention breakbeats in a review.

Danish born Louise Amstrup made her London Fashion Week debut at On/Off on the concluding day of the bi-annual trend event.

For AW08 Amstrup took inspiration from film director David Lynch and the modernist artist Man Ray. Interpreting the surreal representations of mysterious women in Lynch’s films and TV drama Twin Peaks, Amstrup combines their perfection and dark hidden agendas and the mood of Man Ray’s art with the surreal ‘reverse negative prints’.

The powerful music began, the bright lights lit up and astute looking women took to the catwalk. Two graphically sharp and nipped in, belted coats were the initial pieces in a collection of lavish clothes. Strictly constructed surreal and dreamy draping was contradicted by hints of chiffon, leather, wool and silk. Striking exaggerated folding methods and pleats erratically, and imaginatively cropped up here and there. Detail also took place in the form of tassels and fringing on garments, as well as on scarves and shoes. Oversized bags, killer heels and a turban headscarf acted as accessories. There was a satisfying colour palette ranging from cream and bran tones leading to dark and dusty blues, greys, burnt ochre and plum with black.

A surprising pair of trousers made the odd appearance- surprising not because this was a collection primarily comprising of skirts and dresses but because they were rather peculiar in their own right. Ill fitted, high wasted, wishy washey cream and jodhpur-esque, these trousers are going to be my only criticism in this otherwise pleasant show. I was also taken aback by Amstrup’s treatment of her models- alluring long hair was shaved right up the back of the partings! Surely this couldn’t be the case I thought to myself, then again it is the final day of LFW, and one can do whatever one pleases to these model's barnets now right? But then this is only newee Amstrup’s show, not Vivienne Westwood’s. It took three or four models for me to realise that this expected extremist haircut was merely just a cunning hairdo and that no hair clippers were involved in the making- just clever hair stylists.

Welcome to London Fashion Week Louise Amstrup, a superbly talented designer making dreamy yet simultaneously powerful and shocking wearable works of art.

It's the last day of LFW and plied with cups of steaming Yorkshire tea and moist lemon cake to ease the wait I was prepared to be blown away, save the best 'til last right? After much london underground hustling and bustling into the Conway Hall for Jensen's latest offerings, I was more than a little trampled on - what, with there being a whopping 4'11 of me. My height anguishes pushed aside, we were lead to wooden pre-school benches (a recurring theme this week) where three dimly lit tents with a painted starry night backdrop sat upon a stage.

World ethicality and being at one with nature has essentially become the talking points of this year, and this underlying theme creates the foundation for 'Candice-Nature'. Traditional barn-dance folk and country music set the scene and tartan skirts and suits paired with woolen knits in shades of autumnal muddy browns, foggy greys, sullied oranges and mossy greens walked the walk. The art of crochet and knit were executed and woodland animal motifs were prevalently seen on the aforementioned cosy jumpers as well as t-shirts. Metallic but neutral macs with giant hoods were next, practical enough for rancid mud-bashing Glastonbury go-ers, yet remaining extremely easy on the eye for onlookers. For the less adventurous, flouncy prairie skirts for daisy-chain makers were also on show. Modern twists came in the form of comic-strip T-shirts, dressed-down with traditional woollen skirts and trousers, adding a twist to an otherwise rather placid and dare I say it, safe, collection. Accents of a brighter orange and turquoise manifested in feathery hats, and futuristic shocking pink gloss donned the models' lips. Bed-hair, crimped and back-combed, completed the country look, whilst the male species made like best friends with hair gel, perfecting the modern comb-over. Lop-sided overgrown chef hats in grey and black, however, threw me off; I don't really know what to say about them apart from what the hell were they about?!

Overall, Peter created a very down-to-earth, wearable collection Mother nature would have approved of, plus a few gimmicks. Perfect for the hardcore veggie-lovers out there in their combine harvesters, but give me a much more eccentric Gareth Pugh any day.

Gareth Pugh has always been certain of his vision, and with this collection he stayed true to his strong aesthetic whilst making it just a tiny bit more wearable (but still mental enough to cut a vicious silhouette).
The show began an impressive 90 minutes late. But everything from the venue to the atmosphere and the champagne sponsorship was perfect. Once the Moet begins to flow, time delays are easy to forgive.

The spectacle began with electrical storm sound effects and the Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West screaming “I’ll get you my pretty”. Then came the under-rated stomping classic Killer by Seal.
The models, including Coco Rocha and Agyness Deyn, had their features blotted into obscurity by white make-up. Their lips and eyes were painted blue, further accentuating the look of deathly pallor. It was like seeing a Fashion Week re-make of Dawn of the Dead. Agyness and co were armoured in corrugated rubber designs and walked down the runway in magic no-heel shoes from the hotly tipped shoemaker Nicholas Kirkwood. This gave the models a predator-like presence as they stalked along. If I had those shoes on I wouldn’t have been walking anywhere but towards a broken ankle. Goat hair added texture to the dark palette of the garments. It featured on the dresses, coats and oven-mitt gloves (see below). Making the perfect gift for any decadent housewife out there. Meanwhile, a dress made entirely of safety pins managed to look both threatening and visually arresting.

Champagne glasses were smashed everywhere as the audience took to their feet with a standing ovation as the models did their final walk out to Gary Glitter ‘I’m the leader of the gang’. You’ve got to love unchecked arrogance. And I so want to be in Gareth’s gang…

At last, a collection that is entirely wearable and that would be flattering to a wide spectrum of women. This description shouldn’t be interpreted as dull and uncreative because it certainly wasn’t- Margaret Howell’s A/W 08 collection just wasn’t as out of reach and eccentric as a lot of things that have been making their way down the catwalks this week.

Thick knits, tweed, cashmere, corduroy and riding boots created an air of country chic and represented classic English style. Wide leg and high-wasted tailored trousers and dresses in earthy winter colours of sage greens, browns and blacks were the base of the collection. Heavy belted coats and casual t-shirts accompanied this skilful tailoring. Beautifully tailored and with detailed pleating, Howell’s clothes were wonderfully designed and would be key pieces to any woman’s imminent winter wardrobe.

Hints of hot pink checks, subtle red coat linings and blue denim and silk shirts spiced up the mild winter colours. Occasional evening glam items cropped up in the otherwise casual, yet smart and elegant collection. Rural windswept waves and plenty of mossy eyeshadow completed this sophisticated and wearable every day fashion.

Half an hour before the appointed time, Lauren, Charlotte and I strolled up to the doors of H&M's new flagship store, anticipating a monstrous queue for the overbooked launch party.
"Excuse me, can we go in now or should we wait 'til seven?" I politely enquired to one of the suited doormen - "the store isn't open to the public 'til tomorrow" was his aloof reply, followed by an embarrassed 'wuh-oh' face when I told him we had tickets. Not a good start, but I was still convinced it was going to be a fantastic night. Once joined by Miss Jade Mortimer, we filed in along the red carpet and were greeted by a neat line of young men in black bowler hats and braces serving flutes of champagne from nifty perspex trays, and the store was revealed to us; a shiny cave of wonders with two enormous escalators as a dramatic criss-crossing backdrop to the rear of the cavernous ground floor. We swanned around, trying to avoid getting carried away with the twenty-five per cent discount and graciously accepting the frequent offers of a champagne refill.
Downstairs we discovered a banquet fit for Marie Antoinette that consisted entirely of confectionary: red and gold sweets on silver platters, stacks of brownies sprinkled with silver glitter, pastel-coloured cupcakes and bouquets of strawberries dipped in chocolate, not to mention the towers of pink layer-cake and caramelized custard. Oh, how we indulged. It must've cost as much as Queen Antoinette earned in a year too, hinting at a healthy flow of cash which somehow gets hidden away when it comes to advertising. The invitation itself was also a little on the over-the-top and un-environmentally friendly side, in the form of plastic slides which slot into a large plastic viewmaster, never to be used again! Anita Roddick will be turning in her grave.
Lauren and Jade became distracted by a sighting of some rather delectable spotty socks, so Charlotte and I trotted over to visit the nice lady with a tray of oysters, which added a mature, savoury element to our dinner which hitherto consisted of champagne and sweeties.

Sophie Ellis Bextor was perusing the kids' section which we were standing in for about forty minutes, along with Kelly Osbourne, whilst waiting for one of the two toilets to become available. By now, the endless flow of champagne was starting to take effect, so I thought it was about time I made a fool of myself in front of some people from Hollyoaks (hi, Max). Determined to track down Guy Burnet - the lovely Craig Dean of the aforementioned soap - who I had spotted a few moments earlier, I grabbed a reluctant Charlotte to join me on a Craig-hunt through the sea of guests, which was sadly unfruitful. Blinkered by my adoration for Guy's fictional character, I managed to miss most of Mark Ronson's performance, but it sounded pretty awesome as I wove my way between fashionably-dressed bodies - now alone as Charlotte had given up on the quest.
Three and a half hours later the party was ending, the champagne and cocktails had run dry, and once we'd spotted the free heart-shaped boxes filled with further sugar-coated goodness (I thought I was being naughty taking three until Lauren showed me the five she had discreetly wedged into her bag) we felt content enough to leave. The cold air smacked our rosy cheeks and we scurried off to the tube station where we drunkenly decided it would be an ace idea to lie on the floor with our heart-shaped boxes and take photos. H&M, welcome to Regent Street.

Probably THE most illegal album ever, Pittsburgh-based cut and paste mash-up DJ Gregg Gillis puts the oo in booty shaker.

Sampling from the likes of big guns P Diddy, Kanye West, Busta Rhymes, Ludacris, Missy Misdemeanour and 50 ‘I would f* myself if I could’ cent, to name but a few, Gillis throws together every genre under the sun to create a truly pulsating head-banger of a record.

Night Ripper essentially favours old-skool hip-hop beats and lyrics, which are remixed with the most unlikely of partners. In homage to Jay Z’s unusual, but highly praised collaboration with Linkin Park some years back, this album blurs the division between very separate genres on our musically charged planet. The suspects which threw me most were a sudden appearance of emo-led Phantom Planet, a bit of Britney pop we all know and love, and believe it or not, some Spandau Ballet, as well as a little sing-along Oasis. Punjabi MC relives a few seconds of fame and lucky us, we also get to see the return of the Mack somewhere amongst the intelligent mess. A little birdie has told me that all in all 164 artists are included in just forty minutes of sampledellic heaven. The catch is that you now have to find these little gems - good luck.

It is impossible to identify the amount of thieving this album has consummated as every track delivers about five seconds - if you’re lucky - of one snip-it, and then flips over to something utterly different before you’ve even comprehended what the track sounded like those few seconds ago. Each second, no, millisecond, offers something fresh and so clean, clean, and jerks around like the bum which WILL automatically bounce up and down once you put this album on, even if you would rather it not. Remix albums are not uncommon in this day and age, but Gregg has perfected the art of piecing together a thumpin’ great, illegitimate compilation every shindig needs. I for one am addicted; it’s every ravenous music fan’s dream. So what if it’s not legit? It’s always more exciting that way. POW!

People say fashionably late. Is this because all the fashion shows get delayed? Well… it seems like it. We arrived on time and waited in a queue for at least half an hour with still no sign of entry. I generally hate waiting and this was the longest wait I had to do this year…

Anyway, we finally got in and a lovely lady in white fairy dress welcomed us. We were seated on black benches where a ring sized chocolate box wrapped in a ribbon lay. Good thing is that berube show started short after we were seated. The collection was called Audrey’s Dance and showed at On/Off. Socking pink lips and incredibly wedged fur shoes attracted my initial attention. The whole style of the collection was purely white, grey, black and hot pink. Although the dresses were simply one tone colours, they were played around with different kinds of folding skills, draping and pleating. Also every now again, I saw shiny and glossy jackets and skirts, which made the style exciting. Soft and light chiffon was used a lot within the collection to create sagging pockets and smock dresses. It went well with romantic jazz music that sounded like the night with its occasional owl sounds. But I felt the show finished very quickly. I did not feel satisfied to be honest. I feel it could be more and the show was cut off in the middle of something...