Festive cheer;

Well, today is another day and I am finally over my clothing related huff. In all honesty, I was over it once I’d posted the blog and had chance to shout at my long suffering lover before cuddling him two minutes later and telling him I was sorry for being an idiot. I do go on a bit though, don’t I? I think it’s as a result of me feeling pretty shit at the moment anyway, so every little thing is perpetuated into a giant exaggeration and I end up looking and feeling like a total idiot/bitch/insane person. However, I am loved by my darling man and all is forgiven when we see each other’s dopey faces anyway, so that’s good.

I managed to reiterate my stressful situation this morning to my mother, who told me that my sister had taken Boyfriend’s side! Decided that I was a loon and wondered why it took me so long to get dressed anyway! She didn’t have a clue about the whole plan I’d devised a week prior to the event nor did she realise that I had nought but a pair of ugg boots for company, thus relinquished her frowns and bad-gestures in place of giddiness and smiles.

I came home today to find the christmas tree up and decorations all over my house; it is definitely putting me in the festive spirit seeing colourful fairy lights twirling around the banister and witnessing the Christmas tree in all its blue and silver glory. I’m SO excited for the festive period to be here!!! I have so much planned and can’t wait until I can lie back on boxing day, heave a sigh of relief and think ‘yes, I did it, it’s all over with’ and get myself all riled up and excited for next year!

I’m not doing it.

There are moments in my life where I get so pissed off, I just want to tear all of my hair out, cry and move to a part of the country where I will never have to bother with anyone ever again. Is it just me, or is everyone, everywhere unable to produce thoughts that aren’t inherently selfish and inconsiderate of those around them?

Take My Boyfriend for example. Last week, he received an invite for him plus a guest to a party of for his work friend’s 21st. My mama and sister would also be present because they all work together, so we decided to go along for a good night out. The plan for this week would be for me to be in Heaton until Friday, I would then go home and get ready at my parents’ house on Saturday and my dad would drive me and mama down to Ikea to meet my sister and Boyfriend at half past eight, before going to the party. However, later on in the week, My Boyfriend decided he didn’t want to go because he wouldn’t have enough money for both this party and my birthday night out next week. Therefore, he decided he’d go to mine instead and not bother with his work friend’s. I told him that if he decided to go to the party that he was to tell me before Saturday.

As the week went by, nothing more was said, even today before he went to work so I assumed he didn’t want to go. That was until about six o clock when I received a phone call from My Boyfriend at work who asked me to get ready and meet him after work. I said sure, why? To which he replied that he’d decided to go to his work mate’s party after all. This was when my rage began.

I knew he would do this. I knew he would leave it until last minute to inform me that he’d decided to go to a party and I knew that it would be when he was at work, being encouraged to go by his work friends and just expect me to be willing to get all dressed up and go down to meet him for half past eight. Now, I am aware I sound like a total bitch, but firstly – he didn’t adhere to the plan we’d decided together; he decided that he wanted to do something and that I’d be more than willing to nod my head and agree to, going along with anything he had in mind. Under normal circumstances I would. For example, if he had said at three, even four o clock this afternoon that he’d decided to go along to the party, I would have got the bus home, got ready and went along with the aforementioned, original plan. However, he didn’t tell me until six, which left absolutely no time for me to firstly get dressed so I could be seen by the Newcastle public, get all my stuff together, get a bus into Newcastle, get a bus to the Metro Centre then get a bus back to Stanley, hop in the shower, have something to eat, dry my hair, do my make up, find something to wear and be presentable by half past eight. It would be simply impossible.

Also, the fact that he expected me to get ready and meet him considering he knows what kind of clothes I have here is actually quite insulting. The clothes I’m in possession of at the moment consist of casual, uni wear:

- a pair of jeans which I have already worn three times this week.
- an orange and black jumper which I spilled something on.
- a checky over-sized shirt from primark, but no vest top to go underneath it.
- a stripey dress/top that I’ve worn as a pj top all week and a cardigan which was used for the same purpose.
- a pair of wooly faux uggs for my feet.

I’m actually quite insulted that he’d think I’d be willing to go into a party situation and meet not only his, but my mama’s and sister’s work mates for the first time dressed like I’d just rolled off the back of a lorry or was about to go start my shift at the local market. He then informs me that my dad is going to bring my electric blue heels down to Ikea so I could put them on when I get there. Oh really? Well I’m sure they would look fetching with my orange and black jumper or my red and brown checky shirt or even my yellow and black stripey top… yes, I’m pretty sure I’d look fetching…especially with red hair.

It just irks me that whenever he makes plans, he is so indecisive he changes his mind about four times in a day and then concludes that yes, actually, he does want to do something and it’s always me who ends up looking like the bad guy when I put my foot down and say no. I have every right to, especially seen as he knows how I’m feeling at the minute and if he doesn’t then he obviously doesn’t realise that whenever I’m bursting into tears at seven o clock in the morning or having panic attacks in front of lecturers or even making comments like ‘i’m fat’ and having him switch the light off when we get intimate or even so much as covering myself in duvet, then in a t-shirt without letting him see my body is NOT THE NORM!

I’m so pissed off but can’t help feeling like I’m the bad person in this scenario. Like, I’m the one stopping him from doing what he wants simply because I’m not willing to embarrass myself turning up like a high class hobo to a party. A party where I won’t know anyone, so my insecurities will be sky high and therefore would need to wear an outfit that makes me feel amazing to balance out the shit-feelings.

I honestly don’t think he understands…

My very talented friends…

I’ve already posted a blog about these Geordie Gems on Little Less Reviews, which if you haven’t read, I suggest you do immediately! But I felt the need to write something else about them, as they really are the most talented band and a bunch of really awesome people, some of whom I love dearly, so I am going to post a link which I hope you all click because I honestly think deserve so much recognition by friends, strangers and rich people who will give them money. I presume that with all the nice things I write about them, I’ll be rewarded in penny form too, or on their talented little heads be it.

They have a myspace page: www.myspace.com/saintandthecynics

But they also have a new page, where you can download their excellent music and put it on your mp3 player so you can enjoy Saint and the Cynics all day long! I intend to, which may result in some impromptu bus/metro/street dancing, so watch out for that. Click here to listen!

Comment here and tell me how brilliant they are and if you like them, send links to all your friends!
If you are in the Newcastle area, get yourself down to Head of Steam on December 17th for not only the chance to come face to face with your favourite (ho ho) blogger, but an excellent band too! Yay!

The ‘D’ Word

I am aware that my blog has taken a downturn into the boring lately, and for that I apologise. During the summer I didn’t have all that much to do, especially in terms of essays, presentations and screenplays, therefore had a lot more time on my hands to write about actual interesting things. However, third year of Uni is proving decidedly difficult and stressful, thus my normal happy blog writings have taken a nose dive into a heap of steaming crap.

I currently have a lot on my plate. Not only do I have to start deciding what I would like to do with myself post-university (other than re-applying in order to become a student for the next three years…again and again until I die), I also have to pass this year with incredible grades in order to make me happy. Therefore, this year, especially the past few months have been stupidly stressful. Firstly, because the topics I had chosen were completely new and unreal to me; I was never a real fan of the horror genre, but was put into the horror module after the lecturer for my first choice left and thus the module cancelled. I had to prepare myself every week for a presentation which might traumatise me and a seminar full of psychoanalytical analogies that I didn’t understand, never mind enjoy and thus found it hard to apply them in terms of horror cinema! Writing for Performance has proven a lot more difficult than I’d imagined too, especially when faced with a lecturer who has proven himself time and time again to be an excellent writer. What I think is good, he tells me is not that good and thus pushes me to the very edge of my creative flair, making me doubt my abilities as a creative writer and scaring me slightly; if he doesn’t think I’m any good, what am I to do? My life is writing, if I fail this, I fail at my one true passion other than wine drinking! Plus, the whole dissertation drama is still an ongoing thing; no one has been in touch with me regarding the proposal project I e-mailed a few weeks ago, I still haven’t been able to plan a meeting with my tutor and am generally finding the whole idea of this dissertation horrible. I don’t want to do it, which isn’t a good outlook to have at all. I fully believe if I’d had more help, I wouldn’t be wanting to smash my head off walls whenever I think about it.

The strain I’m currently under has also been noticed by those around me; they have decided that I’m not my usual self. I’ve recently began to notice this too and have ascertained that my stress at university has had a knock on effect in terms of my weight, general appearance and desire to do anything other than sit in my pyjamas and read books. I’ve also had a huge confidence knock because other people have noticed this too. My mother, out of concern, mentioned something as innocuous as concern for my health and I flipped out, cursing her to high heavens and deciding she was a horrible, horrible woman for even mentioning anything that might upset me and determining that she was truly evil for wanting to put me in a bad mood. Did she do anything wrong? Of course not, my mother is my hero and would never say anything out of malice to anyone, never mind her first born baby. I decided that if my mother had noticed something changing in me, everyone else has too and it has resulted in me crying hysterically in front of the mirror and had me believing that I am ugly, fat and generally unattractive. I have often found myself wondering why My Boyfriend loves me and have found myself trying to hide my body from him out of fear he will see what I see and begin to find me revolting. I have resorted to wearing the baggiest clothes I own around my house and his, so that people don’t look at me and think ‘pff, porker’ – and this includes my family. I got incredibly offended and upset the other day when I defended Natalie Cassidy to my sister because she said that a girl of her size shouldn’t be wearing clothes like she did in Strictly Come Dancing because it’s disgusting. My sister, who is a beautifully skinny size ten doesn’t understand that any woman with weight issues will look at Natalie Cassidy with pride and decide that if she can do it in front of millions, they can do it in front of a few people. She then said that I was defending her because I look like that, which broke my heart into a million pieces. She didn’t actually finish her sentence, but I got her drift. I don’t think I look as big as her, I’m taller and have naturally big boobs and my legs are still very thin, I just have big hips and a pot-belly, but by no means am I as large as her… but the fact that my sister said something like that has had a knock on effect at my confidence, and, as dramatic as it sounds the words both my mother and sister, as well as the piss takes I get from my father (albeit said in jest) ring in my ears every day.

I think I’m depressed. But the thing is, I don’t really feel it unless I’m alone. When I’m with My Boyfriend I feel elated most of the time and generally happy. He makes me extremely happy and when I’m at home, with my family on a good day where I don’t have the piss taken out of me for my weight, I feel happy there too. But, when I’m alone I find myself thinking dark thoughts and crying a lot, which isn’t good. I am wondering if this has something to do with my University work load or my confidence issues, or if it is a combination of everything? I don’t really know, to be honest.

On Thursday, I was meant to do a presentation on Freudian Elements in Alien and found myself crying from the moment I woke up until I fell asleep when I got home. I got to University, found myself too nervous to speak, too nervous to get a cup of tea and then went up and down the lift in the building a few times crying my eyes out until I eventually stopped and went to the room I was supposed to be in, ten minutes before the seminar began. I went into the room and an instant fear seemed to wash over me. I began crying hysterically again, found myself unable to breathe and was shaking from head to toe. I felt far too hot but was shivering and I honestly didn’t know what was going on; I thought I was going to pass out. I didn’t give the presentation and was sent home to My Boyfriend and I cried myself to sleep in his arms. I’ve never felt like that before in my life. I’ve never been this unconfident. Generally, I am the big speaker in any conversation and am not afraid to talk in class or anywhere else for that matter. But, over the past few months it has become a huge fear for me. If a lecturer asks me to say something in class, I will say it in a tiny voice and then not bother going to the next lecture out of fear he will speak to me. I had a feedback session on my screenplay a while back and I didn’t go, because I didn’t want to speak in front of the whole class; the idea scared me so much I began crying then too and spent the day in bed.

I don’t think anyone truly understands it because the girl they know and love is silly, confident and chatty. But, the girl I’m turning into is not that way at all; she finds herself wanting to be alone a lot more, sleeping and playing mundane games like Cafe World in order to take her mind off her life.

Thank You, Thank You!

Hello dear bloggers, it is currently 3 o’clock in the morning and I find myself unable to sleep. My brain seems to be in a state of heightened creativeness and I found myself unable to think of anything other than running along a corridor which was paved in red brick with a cool, black floor coated in a dim yellow glow from enormous lightbulbs. So, I decided to write it up, begin a short story.

Usually, I find myself shying away from showing people my fiction. I find it a little too personal the majority of the time to allow people to read me at my most honest and raw. I’ve never let anyone read anything by me before, through shyness I suppose, but tonight/this morning is different. I logged onto my blog in order to check if there were comments / delete spam etc and noticed my blog count, so decided to click and see how many readers I’ve had since starting my humble blog. I was absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude that in the short few months I’ve had Little Less Vague it has received 2,307 views!

I am absolutely thrilled. So, as a thank you, my dearest readers, I am allowing you to access the introduction to my untitled short story.

Suddenly, my eyes are open. It takes me a while to adjust my eyes to the dark and I realise I find myself in an unfamiliar room. I take a look around; small and dark, a window in the corner. I notice the curtains are closed but I can see and feel the soft breeze emerging through the window and flowing into the room. I simply stare at the ceiling for a moment, relaxing as the breeze washes over me, to and fro. I then realise there is a light on the ceiling. I follow the path to its origin and see a door slightly ajar. I find myself consumed with curiosity and am incredibly interested in what is beyond the door. I pull back the duvet and notice that I am completely naked and for some reason I don’t mind this. I walk towards the door with mounting anticipation, it is pulsating through me with every step; as I reach towards the door my fingers begin to tingle. I pause and take one last look at the small, dark room I woke up in and open the door fully.

I step out into the dimly lit corridor and feel an instant warmth at the warm, yellow light beaming down on me. I look up and notice two abnormally large lightbulbs, which to me, looked like two suns smiling down at me, cheering me on as I start my day. I notice the floor beneath me is a cool, icy black and sends shivers up my legs and further to my spine. I turn right and begin to walk along the corridor I now find myself in.

I realise that I love this corridor; it makes me feel free. I begin to walk faster and faster until I find myself running along the seemingly never-ending corridor. I remind myself of horror films I have seen in the past and instantly fear for my life. I take a look behind me to see if the lights are slowly cutting out and am relieved to find them still shining their dim, warm, happy yellow glow onto the icy floor beneath it. I am instantly calmed and allow the pleasure of running to re-consume me.

Although I find myself unable to stop running, I don’t mind. I realise that the corridor makes me happier than I’ve ever felt. I am elated as I feel a breeze catching my face and making me smile with glee. It blows through my long, red hair and chases the loose curls. I am happy here. I carry on running, spreading my arms out wide like a bird.  I close my eyes and try to imagine myself running through a meadow or flying through the sky, looking down on a serene and peaceful ocean. I realise I can’t do anything but think about the corridor and suddenly, I feel my body reach a stop as it crashes into something solid. I cry out in agony as I fall to the floor. My elation is instantly evaporated and now all I can feel is a searing pain in my body. What happened? I slowly move my hurting arms towards my face and wince in pain as I touch the tender skin.

Thats all so far, folks! I hope you enjoy it, please give me feedback and let me know what you think. I’ve recently joined a writer’s society and have been trying to find something interesting to take along and show them without having them laugh and revoke my membership!

Again, thank you so much for your loyalty to the blog, I love you all! x

8 Years…

Today marks the eighth anniversary of my grandad’s death.

He died of cancer which he had been suffering silently with for a long time. No one in the family knew until after he had died and I think we all regret not being informed of his illness. On the other hand, it just makes us respect and love him even more for being so brave and battling this horrible disease for as long as he did.

When he died, we lived in Holland and hadn’t seen him for six months, which made it even more painful. I still haven’t gotten over his death, he was an amazing man and I miss him so very much every single day.

Patrick Lamb
Never forgotten.

Celebrate, good times, come on!

Having my birthday on Christmas Eve is the most exciting, yet depressing time of my year. Here is why…

In a certain respect, it is extremely exciting because I am reaching the day before Christmas as well as gearing myself up to be spoiled rotten for two days running by everyone in my family. Not only that, but I get to spend both days in a wine-y haze and am treated to extremely good food and dodgy paper crowns. The excitement of my birthday is only intensified by the excitement of Christmas which is by far my favourite day of the year, and I love waking up early each morning to receive gifts from my parents, my sister and cards from my family. Especially seen as the Christmas lights will be on as early as 8am and will stay on all day; I feel like Jesus would if he were alive today.

The downside to my birthday on Christmas Eve is that all of my friends, and I really do mena all of them, seem to neglect my birthday altogether. I appreciate that the run up to Christmas is a stressful time of year, and I also understand that everyone will have their priorities firlmly set on buying gifts for their family, so it would make it difficult going out to party with me. BUT, they have no bother going out for work nights out, or simply going round town or seeing friends during the run up to Christmas, so why is it so difficult to make the effort to come out with me?

I’ve noticed that a lot of the time my friends are more concerned about me making the effort to go see them and the things they like to do and when I don’t, I’m made to feel bad for not being there. Last year, I decided to go out two days before my birthday and I had work at 11 the next day. Every single friend, whom I had texted days prior, text me on the day, as I was getting ready to go out, telling me they weren’t coming. I don’t think any of them realised how much it actually hurt, especially seen as I had made the effort to go out for most of their birthdays, money providing.

This year I made an effort for My Boyfriend’s and My Sister’s birthday and that was it. I didn’t bother wasting my time to go out for my friend’s birthdays when they don’t show me the same courtesy come December. I had planned a birthday night a few month ago, giving my friends plenty of advance to arrange things if need be. Two of my friends took the day off work in order to come through and see me, which is touching, but the others just haven’t bothered. They clicked ‘attending’ with no real intention to attend. I then got upset and cancelled the party altogether because I can’t be bothered with another disappointing birthday, especially on my twenty first, but My Boyfriend made me re-schedule it because obviously, bless his beautiful heart, he wants me to be happy.

So now, I’ve invited friends and am awaiting a reply. In all honesty, I’m dreading December 12th more than anything because I figure I’ll be feeling the same stinging disappointment as I did last year.

“I think she’s seen that Ike and Tina Turner movie too many times”

I should really learn to not post details of my life on my blog when I really am not sure where the details of my life actually stand.

After I posted the blog last night, I ate pizza, drank wine and waited for it to turn seven o clock so I could meet Favourite Homosexual so we could go and see my friend’s band, Saint and the Cynics.

My Boyfriend arrived home at six and we sat for roughly half an hour in deadly silence. It was the most heart-wrenching and emotional pain I’ve ever been in. So terrible, in fact, that I decided I didn’t want to go out and get drunk anymore for fear of flinging myself over the Tyne Bridge in total despair. (joking)

So, I text Favourite Homosexual and my friend who’s band I’d planned to see and said I was going to just go back to my parent’s house instead so I could curl up on the couch and have them tell me how beautiful, sweet and brilliant I was. Plus, when I’m sad all I want is a cuddle off my dad, and I could tell from his ‘tell her to get home now’ and ‘arsehole’ comments from my dad when my mama rang me, that he wanted to do the exact same thing.

I packed my things and was about to leave when My Boyfriend jumped up and wrapped his arms around me tightly. As soon as I felt his warm body against mine, and smelled his familiar scent, I couldn’t do anything else but cry. I dropped my back and fell into the embrace with my whole heart; I realised that I didn’t want to not be with him – it may sound ridiculous, but he is the one for me, no one else would ever really compare. He evidently feels the same and as we stood there crying, the reality of our break up dawned upon the both of us.

He didn’t want me to go, and his tear stained face and genuine heartbroken expression made me stay. If he was willing to talk thing through, then why should I just ignore that and run home to mammy and daddy? So, I stayed.

I’m not going to go into details of what we talked about, but we talked for a very long time before deciding that we didn’t want to be apart.

It seems quite ridiculous breaking up, being back together and breaking up – Favourite Homosexual likened us to Ike and Tina Turner, in a joking way of course, and in a way, I do see the hilarity and undestand that people will probably think that we won’t last and that we aren’t serious and I panicked that I would look like a laughing stock to many, but when I think about how much I love My Boyfriend, I would gladly break up and make up with him every day than break up with him for good, simply because others will think I’m silly for doing so.

So, as you may have guessed, we are back together again. Very happy too

After everything was sorted last night, we bought some wine and cans and decided to have a boy’s night in until Favourite Homosexual decided we were going to town. He came round and we had a few drinks before booking the taxi and heading to Sinners. Treble Vodkas and Red Bull for two pound each saw us right for the majority of the night. There was music, there was dancing and there were two very, very drunk boys at each side of me. We then went to Mood for a while, witnessed a man fall over and be thrown out, had two annoying boys try to kiss Favourite Homosexual because they thought he wasn’t gay (how weird is that?) and then went back to the abode where loud singing and drinkin ensued.

There were some kareoke classics belted out using a giant hockey stick for microphone and eventually when My Boyfriend tired of Abba, Beyonce and Gloria Gaynor, he went to bed and Favourite Homosexual and I carried on. We found massive wigs and giggled at how fabulous we were and eventually, my lovely, darling friend went home and I crawled into bed with my man. I slept until three o clock this afternoon and have spent the rest of the day giggling, drinking cola and watching tv. Lovely!

And so it is again…

A week after our reconciliation, My Boyfriend dumped me. He decided that he was unsure about me and about our relationship and unceremoniously ended our relationship via text message. Brilliant.

The moment I realised our so-called relationship was actually finito, I was curled up in a ball crying – in HIS bed. I cried so loud that I snotted, yodelled and had myself a coughing attack before I finally managed to calm myself down. What’s worse is that his house mates heard me and were obviously shit scared that there may have been an exorcism going on inside so didn’t come to check on me. But, when I went downstairs to rinse out some glasses they did give me sympathetic/faux-cheerful hellos and my eyes welled up again at how grateful I was at their caring.

I am still in his house, in his room and sitting on his side of the bed using his laptop… by far the weirdest break up I’ve ever had.

I’m with the Band: Confessions of a Groupie’s Groupie;

Today, whilst browsing Twitter, I found that my favourite groupie of yester-year, Miss Pamela des Barres is a Tweeter! Immediately, I clicked ‘follow’ and let the stalking commence.

For those of you who aren’t aware of the brilliance of Miss Pamela, she is a former groupie and now spends her time being fabulous, writing brilliant books and holding writer’s workshops for fabulous ladies in America. I find her incredibly inspirational and I long for a chance to go along to one of her workshops and be amazed by the woman in front of me, rather than obsessing about her books and longing for her life alone in my bedroom.

She has written a few books in her time, which are all fabulous. Two of her most famous ones are ‘I’m with the Band: Confessions of a Groupie’ and ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together; Backstage Secrets of Rock Muses and Supergroupies’. I’m with the Band is her most famous book and contains an account of her life as a young woman, coming of age in a rock and roll environment and it is a truly excellent read. I think I must have read this book about twelve times and have loaned it to only my very special friends, who have all fallen in love with the excellent life of this remarkable woman. Let’s Spend the Night Together is also an excellent read and allows the reader to take a look at other groupies who have been inspired, moved and loved by some of the most famous men ever to have lived. I think that is the most remarkable thing about Miss Pamela’s books; she gives an account of the type of people our beloved rockstars were. When reading Confessions of a Groupie, I gained an insight into my rock hero, Mick Jagger and I was alarmed and slightly thrilled at the sorts of sexual antics Jimmy Paige enjoyed. Let’s Spend the Night Together taught me of the very intimate relationship Rod Stewart and David Bowie shared and I was also thrilled to learn about the legends that were Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra. I was also pleasantly surprised how modern-day groupies reacted to the supposed son of Satan, Marilyn Manson.

I do find myself amused by men who truly don’t understand the reason why myself and fellow women obsess about the brilliance of Miss Pamela; they dismiss her as a young floozy who couldn’t keep her legs closed, but, they couldn’t be more wrong. In the words of Miss Penny Lane in Almost Famous, Miss Pamela was a ‘band aid’ and, in every single case of her relationship with rockstars, she loved them deeply and with all of her heart. She did not just sleep with them in order to be close to someone famous, like a lot of men think. Keith Richards himself said that ‘with groupies, it wasn’t just boinky-boinky. They used to take care of ou, they’d rub Vicks on your chest if you had a cold.’ The relationships these groupies and Miss Pamela had with rock stars were just as real as any relationship you or I have been in and a lot of the time, these women would only have one rock and roll lover for an extended period of time and were certainly not the bed-hoppers that men dismiss them as.

I think groupies are some of them most important figures in history. They may not have won any wars, or been recognisable to anyone other than those in the know, but they were muses to our most beloved rockstars and were the inspiration for some of the most famous songs ever written, and were privvy to some of the innermost secrets of rockstars worldwide. Behind every great rockstar, there has always been a great groupie waiting backstage with a kind word and loving smile for their lovers/heroes. It may be easy for the uneducated to dismiss Miss Pamela and her kind as promiscuous bed-hoppers, but they couldn’t be more wrong. The bond a rockstar shares with his groupies is a strong one and the bond they share is limitless; there is a lot of respect between the two. Their arrangement may have been controversial and seemingly unorthodox, but it was true, it was real and it was beautiful.

I think Pamela is a preacher of history, in a way, and her books are an educational journey for any woman who has ever wondered what it was like to be a groupie and sleep with their favourite rockstars. I think it also allows us to mourn the days when women music was real, personal and inspired; raw and limitless. I love Miss Pamela des Barres and I will always consider her books close, personal friends regaling me with tales of a truly better time.