Sunday, 3 August 2014

Glorious Goodwood

On Friday I went to Glorious Goodwood. It was my boyfriends mums birthday and I was lucky enough to score an invite.  Anyone who knows me will vouch for me being a complete and utter cheap skate. My purse strings are tighter than the Virgin Mary. So when it got to 2 days before Goodwood and I still hadn’t found a suitable dress on eBay or in the back of my mums wardrobe then I decided I might as well do my job and make one. Considering I haven’t worn one of my own designs since I was 16 and my cardboard dress split down the middle on the dance floor, I was skeptical but cheap enough to persevere, so myself and my cat got to work.

The day ended up breaking down into a five finger challenge. I was faced with Challenge One; to sit, when we arrived at the coach. The simplest of things can get a bit a tricky when wearing rubbish, but id planned ahead and made the dress from jay cloths and bubble wrap, meaning although I en-gulphed anyone within a 2 seat radios, I was in fact sat down, and with an admirable amount of ease as well. I probably saved my self some from some sort of disease or STI from the old-school bus seats spotted with questionable stains and crusty patches- an unforeseen perk.  

Immediately I was presented with Challenge Two; staying sober enough to network. It was Goodwood, everyone looked stunning, we were celebrating a birthday and the sun was shinning- all these things put together meant I was having trouble seeing by 11:30am. Considering we didn’t even get there until 12 this was an impressive feat.  It was made apparent when we arrived that the dress was going to cause quite a stir, meaning I was going to have to take advantage and network whenever someone approached me and commented on what I was wearing. This lead on to Challenge Three; being pleasant for an extended period of time. I Occasionally have a potty mouth that could make a drunken sailor cringe. Having to keep this under wraps, whilst drinking and for hours at a time was possibly the hardest challenge of them all. I’m not an overly confident person, and having people come up to me makes me feel uncomfortable and immediately awkward. My normal go to way to deal with this is say an inappropriate sarcastic comment and walk off. But i was there representing my company so the real Daisy couldn’t slip out. Not even for a second. There seemed to be a lot of cameras snapping pictures and newspapers asking for details, thankfully I scrapped my heels before I even left the house so at least I had a chance of standing up straight and my boyfriend was on call to stop me doing anything stupid like picking my nose whilst being pictured for the Daily Mail. So apart from the occasional hiccup (like when an elderly gentleman popped a piece of bubble wrap and I replied with a horrifically inappropriate comment about how "he could pop me anytime" or "I could sit on his lap and absorb any spills." Daisy you tit.) I think so far all was going well.

Then bang. I was struck by Challenge Four; going to the toilet. As I already said, the dress had enough volume to engulf two bus seats, so fitting it into a tiny toilet cubical was like some sort of Houdini trick. Me being sufficiently drunk found this hilarious and I’m sure any of the other females hearing me giggling in the stalls along with the sound of rustling and popping of bubble wrap would have thought there were some extra curricular activities going on other than just the call of nature.

(Yep I'm on the loo- yep I'm taking up the WHOLE cubical)

Then finally, as the day was drawing to an end, Challenge Five; rain, became a reality. It was left in the hands of God and he must have slipped up and spilled his drink or something because we had a short, sharp burst of rain.  The birthday Girl is an absolute whirlwind, an undeniable force that oozes the actual real life emotion of ‘happy’, she is magnetic and in being so manages the most incredible feats. So whilst she was conducting the whole brass brand  in the Richmand enclosure to play Happy Birthday to her the heavens opened and my dress took it like a man. I both absorbed with the jay cloths and repeled with the bubble wrap, and by the end of it all the dress was left unscathed. A waterproof rubbish creation.

I had a lovely time at Goodwood, a lot of valuable connections were made and the amount of interest the dress generated was enough to settle the niggle in my mind saying “wat dat heck yo playin’ at Girl. No one wants a paper dress!” (The niggle is voiced by a 90s rap star) that sometimes arises after pushing on a lot of closed doors.

So there we go! Bish Bash Bosh Goodwood done.

Thursday, 24 July 2014

I'm Not Dead

'Blogger' emailed me yesterday and kindly informed me i haven't posted for 69 days. Yeah thanks Blogger for highlighting my lousy work ethic. I'm not dead, I've just been, well... I've been tanning if you must know.

To sum up the last couple months-

- Im no longer part timing as a 'marketing executive' I'm now working in a studio doing Graphic Design things. I'm in a dark corner facing the wall, much like harry potter in the cupboard. But i get to listen to the radio and i no longer have to type really loudly and say 'spreadsheet' every now and then to make it look like I'm working. I actually enjoy it believe it or not. Although cleaning out my old desk was a definite downer. 

- Im going back to uni to get a proper degree. This time if i make it past year 2 then i'll be happy. I'm living in halls and everything, its got a bit of a Rolf, Jimmy vibe about it but I'm hoping that everyone will be too drunk to realise I'm in fact 5 years older than them, at least for the first couple months anyway.

- Ive started training properly again, meaning I'm in the gym at 5 every morning. Lifting stuff twice my weight and ramming in 7 meals a day. As a result i now look like a cross between a stick man and Arnie. Hard to imagine I'm sure.. so I've drawn a quick sketch to help those with little imagination. 

- Had a delightful Danni Daisy Date Day, i painted a plate in the shape of a heart and Danni painted a morbidly depressing water jug that looks like a chamber pot.

- And to save the best till last... i joined the bloody library. They let you take books for free. FOR FREE?! the guy was so shocked i didn't know how a basic library worked that he called over his work colleague to mock my disbelief and amazement. I was truly baffled that i was about to walk out of the building with a book that i didn't pay for. All i had to do was bring it back in 30 days. Then he told me i could get audio books, DVDs, Magazines.. everything... for free. Up to 30 items at a time?! Its safe to say this has had an immense negative effect on my relationship as I'm now a level 5 recluse. I've churned through so many books in the last month i feel like i could host QI.

Anyway, back to Dumpster, which is apparently the whole reason anyone reads this thing in the first place, i was going to say all the super great things going on, but I'm aware I've just blabbed on for long enough that I'm surprised if anyone is still reading this far. So ill save it all for another post, its exciting too, it involves a new website and a very important CEO of a very important international company wearing rubbish crafted by my own fair hands.

More on that to come... and it won't take 69 days this time, Blogger won't let me.

Oh I've also been skydiving, tree climbing, sunbathing, cycling, helterkeltering, hen do-ing, illustrating, designing

Thursday, 15 May 2014

FAB Networking

So yesterday I had a FAB (fashion and business) networking brunch in Brighton. Being from Portsmouth this meant that I was up at the crack of dawn to arrive in time for 09:00. I don’t know why it is, maybe its just my incompetence, but something always seems to go wrong from the start- First I lost all my business cards, heading to a networking event without business cards? Yeh, not good. I managed to scrape together 13 and decided id be the cool company that got to pick and chose who was worthy of receiving my contact details. Second, I had to decipher what to wear, teetering on the very fine line of smart vs. slag; brunch is too casual for a blazer but far to early for bare legs. The third, when getting cash out for the ticket I forgot my pin number, after a few attempts at some different combinations I gave up and used my other card- but on no, I forgot that number too. Literally it was pitiful how inept I am at even the basic tasks of life. Perhaps its because this was all before 7am.

Thankfully I was saved by Kim (account manager and close companion) who was smart enough to know her PIN number, she got money for both of us and put me in the car as not to cause further harm or accidents. Then we were on our way! I had obviously thought about our road trip tunes and bought a collection of questionable CDs (I can remember that but not business cards-priorities?). It was sunny, Shaggy and Craig David were blaring and we were feeling good.

Despite the nasty traffic and a satnav that didn’t play ball we managed to arrive on time (ish). Felt fun and important picking up our name labels and instantly judged those who just had a sticky label with their name in biro- suckers clearly weren’t on the list.

hahahaha oh Kim

Then proceeded the bizarre ritual of ‘networking’. For me being ‘on form’ and in business mode for an extended period of time, or for any period of time for that matter, is quite a big ask. It’s only a matter of time before an accidental curse word or inappropriate comment slides out. I had Kim with me, thank god, who is very professional-when she wants to be, and could schmooze the fashionestas with me. There was a vast array of people but whichever douchebag chose size 12 for the nametags needs to lick a battery, it resulted in starting at someone’s chest for a solid three-five seconds before figuring out whom you were talking to.

It was all very courdual and we dotted around the place pretending to drink our too strong coffee (clearly made for adults) until we were seated for the food. It felt like trying to decide where to sit in the lunch hall, there were 3 long (very thin) tables and you had to pick quick before you were left eating in the bathroom. Kim and I went smack bang in the middle of the middle table- no better way to network than to put yourself in the center of it. I was sat opposite a nice man from a bank. The tables we extremely small which meant our knees were slightly interlocking. Thank god I went tights rather than bare legs or I could have been at risk of impregnation. I saved the potentially awkward situation with “Hi im Daisy, I work with rubbish and this feels like speed dating”. If it was speed dating then Kim got stood up. Left sat opposite an empty space until finally a lovely lady came and took on the role as white knight. She was a firecracker of a women and ended getting us some delightful Dubai connections because of it.

No zoom-we really were that close

Anyway, there were speeches and food. The guy opposite me got mentioned in one of the talks and I felt like a proud girlfriend. I did some more schmoozing giving look books to the best of the best and a lowly card to others. That’s one thing I learned- there are so many different shapes and sizes of business cards. I was there with a standard 85mm x 55mm card, while others had some circles laser cut from plastic?! I’m sorry love but I struggle getting my own cards in my purse, im going to leave your 1.5cm thick ‘card’ in a bin for safe keeping. People with a biro name badge and a normal size card must have felt truly worthless. 

It was interesting talking to other people and seeing how deeply engrained the basis of the industry is, 'Fashion' is built purely on the exploitation of others. Everyone is doing everything for free to better them selves and progress further, but when does it stop? There was a very successful designer who gave a speech- Kate Moss and Lady Gaga were just a few of the names she had created for. Yet in reality she was just me 20 years on, still broke and still fighting for more. My nametag might as well have read ‘daisy, dumpster design, still broke, still poor, give me money’.

It felt like Kim and I had run two marathons back to back and it had only just gone 11am. The event started to wind down so we stole as many goodie bags as we could (I say ‘we’, it was me, but Kim is guilty by association) and were on our way. ‘The Thong Song’ came on just as we were arriving back to the office. A perfect way to end a very interesting and informative morning I think.

Made kim take a picture of me and some beachhuts to prove i was actually there.


Monday, 14 April 2014

The Hackney Picture House

I had to headline an catwalk for ASSERT charity at an event in Hackney. This was all very well and good but when is it ever simple ay? I woke up in the morning and it felt like I had either been stabbed in the back by a pirate sword or I had a somewhat less dramatic, trapped nerve. This resulted in minimal movement without severe pain. I asked my boyfriend if he would let me wee the bed, he said he would look into plastic sheets like toddlers have but this time I was going to have to get out. So spent the next 10 minuets rolling around on the bed like a disabled turtle struggling to find its way to the sea. Needless to say-not a very good start to the day.

It all went downhill from there really. The dress I created was called ‘the doodle dress’ and came about after I showed my dad a cool picture I had done on Photoshop- I expected some sort of “wow looks ace Dais”. Instead I got a “so what. Make it.” Parents approval- strike one. So always searching for the seal of pride, I set out to make it. For the last four weeks I have been engulfed in spray paint, foambord and electrical tape. The finished product looks cracking but I am looking forward to not finding black tape stuck to bizarre and inappropriate places on my anatomy.

So we convoyed up to London, Pipcorn at my side as always (23 and cant go anywhere with out my mum. And what). I was in the back clinging to the dress like the wooden man trying not to move my head to the left. The first great thing was that the event was the same day as the London marathon, which meant we had a super fun game of dodge the traffic and road closures to arrive on time.

When we got to the picture house we were escorted by the security man through the back stage of the whole cinema, the corridors were built for Frodo et al. which resulted in doodles getting hooked on weirs and stuck in sockets. I like to leave my mark where I go, but this time I very easily could have wrecked a whole film screening by a bit of lone foamboard left lodged between two weirs. When carrying the dress I turned into the incredible hulk- I was like the worlds strongest man, running on adrenalin and too much sugar, I lifted and pushed and climbed and at some point I’m fairly sure I flew. However after I got the dress to safety I was hit by disgusting amounts of back pain. I felt like the dog of that old man on family guy who drags himself around.

I sought comfort and calm in the café downstairs however this didn’t have the desired effect. I was in Hackney- I expected to be surrounded by an air of style. But I was severely out of my depth, even the café mocked me, mum got what I thought was a harmless flapjack, but when I went to try it I found out that the red filling parading around as raspberry jam was in fact red kidney beans…in a flapjack?! You know you don’t fit in somewhere when you get out-trendied by the menu.

After I recuperated we went back to the event room and tried to figure out what was going on, I’ve found that with these events the only way to get out alive is to relinquish all control and resign yourself to ‘going with it’. It can sure as hell result in some interesting outcomes- like my dress being crushed by a DJ deck (more on that to come) but it seems to work. While everyone freaked out with fittings and models and hangers, I went and set up camp by the catwalk. I asked mum if she was proud of me- headlining a catwalk event at the infamous Picture House in Hackney, going to both New York and Vancouver Fashion Week, being crowned radical designer of the year etc.… and she said “no. I’m not proud of you because you told me to be quiet in the car when I was trying to help with directions”. Pah! Parents approval- Strike two. Swing and miss. Once again. Maybe ill have better luck on strike three, just can’t get the right parents these days.

The room started to fill up with London’s finest, dressed to the nines- someone wearing a leopard print blazer with a snapback, a man in a cravat and sandals?! It was like being lost in a drag act/pantomime/gay pride parade.

The show started off with a collection inspired by the following …
A girl who is struggling to fit in, so she starts drinking to impress her peers, then she starts taking drugs as well, and then when she is high on drugs and drink she has underage, unprotected sex and falls pregnant. The collection is inspired by the things she was seeing at this time with all the drink and drugs reacting together forming a trippy world” 

Genuinely. You just can’t make this stuff up. Everyone was looking around in complete disbelief at what the presenter just said. I could hear mum chuckling next to me; I caught the eye of some guy across the room both of us stifling back laughter.

This was then followed with a lingerie collection by a young girl inspired by “femme fatal and her father”. After that I was gone, totally lost it, I was in a fit of giggles, I had so many tears running down my face I couldn’t even look up and see what the garments were like. I caught the last one and it really was stunning (and highly provocative) lingerie…thanks daddy.

At the interval I went backstage to sort my dress out and track down a model willing to take on the challenge of corredenating stairs whilst in the beast. I then found out that the safe cubby hole I chose to place it in, was in fact at the bottom of a slight ramp and a huge 200 pound unit containing DJ decks with amplifiers had slowly slid down the ramp and crushed the dress against the wall. Its amazing that everyone can just stand around and watch me struggle trying to pull away this unit with my back about to snap and only (funnily enough) two hands. Anyway, I was in my mist of nonchalance and just dealt as best I could with the damage- nothing a pair of scissors and duct tape cant fix. Cough.

Did my business as usual and closed the show, people ooo’d and ahhhh’d, model didn’t face plant-always a bonus. But then I was unexpectanty called out on stage as the 2013 radical designer of the year, this was fine until they called up this years competeing young designers as well…Needless to say my boots with a hole in and brothers hoodie looked a bit odd compared to everyone else who put in oodles of effort in for their first ever catwalk show.

Anyway! All done now, and although full of calamity’s as always, Hackney is another one I can tick off the list. However I’m writing this in the most horizontal, stationary position possible on my bed. I have to turn my whole body one way just to look at something. Was it worth it? This time I actually just don’t know…

Obviously kidding. It’s always worth it.
Ps. Thanks mum.

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

I love you, Mum

It’s that time of year again, the strangest of all celebrations, where we are meant to thank our Mother’s for making the beast with two backs and as a (sometimes unwanted) result, gracing us with life. We’ve all seen the sickening billboards depicting a lady with a smile that only psychiatric patients find natural, clutching some form of supermarket tat hidden under questionable Christmas wrapping paper found in the last minute pressure of the whole the charade. Oh yes, here at Dumpster we are more than aware of our previous twenty-something years of gifting flowers, chocolates and generic ‘you’re female’ items. So, we though, hey – Let’s get RADICAL.

This year, we’re embracing the day and daring to dodge the tat! There will be no sparkly pink paper, vom inducing poetry or novelty shaped sweets. We’ve bashed our heads together and decided to spread our words of wisdom and give you some inspiration for celebrating the day.

For the over-the-top Mum: A bracelet made from your used dental floss.
You know the ones, she may still have a lock of your hair and first tooth knocking around the mantelpiece, or perhaps, just perhaps in the most extreme of cases - a segment of her placenta that encased you for those treasured nine months. Now you’re all grown up and able to fight back, why not play her at her own game?

For the truly average Mum: One of these cards.
We’ve been scouring the online realm and you have just enough time to nab yourself one of these beauties. Available from

For The green fingered Mum: A recycled plant pot right from the ass of mother nature (well, a cow).
We’re a sucker for some good old 100% recycled product, so why not give her a cow pat! These plant pots are everything eco and we know first hand- they are in fact odour free. It is amazing the over whelming decision you are struck with when faced with a dried cow pat… to lick or not to lick? Yes… it’s us, of course we licked them. And you know what? Its wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.

For The Alcoholic Mum: A wine bag.
We love a little tipple now and then, but this mum really takes the biscuit. She could incorporate alcohol into a toddlers party if she really tried. So why not help her out. Make that habit portable!

For The Chunkier Mum: A somewhat less-than-subtle fridge magnet.
She’s cuddly, well, she was a few years ago. Now it’s time to bring out the big guns, and highlight that issue with the funzies we all enjoy so much. (And, no, we’re not suggesting throwing about some ‘yo mumma so fat’ jokes).

For the Posh Mum: A hamper of the low-brow delights she is missing.
She knows her posh shit, and she likes it. Who are you to mess with the breathing time of her wine tannins? Well, it’s time to show her what she’s missing! We suggest a home-made hamper full of these wondrous creations.

For the cheap mum: Wipe away her shame.
Children of the cheap mum, we feel your pain. All those years of her insisting on buying the bootleg version of everything. Peering into your lunch box and spying that Wild and Whippy, whilst eyeing your Bessie chowing down on their luscious branded Milky Way. We can at least diminish the embarrassment of having to leave the house with a mum sporting a cheap green stained neck from where her Primark necklace has began to dissolve into her skin. These handy wipes will eliminate those stains branding her (and in association, you) cheap, and save you a slither of dignity.

-Kim Dollard

Sunday, 2 March 2014

The Mikado

No… not the tasty chocolate treat. If that was the case this post would be a lot more positive. So on Saturday night my friend and I managed to sway our comrades to come to the opera. We thought why the heck not, it’s a Saturday night, lets get cultural. The show we went to see was called the Mikado, I had never heard of this before, and was instantly hooked by the blurb…

“Nanki-Poo is in love with Yum-Yum, but she is engaged to Ko-Ko. Ko-Ko needs to find someone to execute, and when he sees Nanki-Poo about to commit suicide it seems he has the perfect way out. But Nanki-Poo’s price for acquiescence is that he lives his final month married to Yum-Yum; chaos ensues!”

As im sure you can see why, I needed no persuasion. We later found out that this was in fact a very well renown opera by Gilbert and Sullivan. Don’t worry, we were punished for our ignorance. We had to sit through a 2 hour operetta surrounded by die hard fans, getting judged for every giggle and laugh that escaped our lips.

It was made apparent within the first 4 seconds that it was quite clearly an amateur production. Im not going to sit here and slag off a university’s drama department- some people were loving it, Its just God didn’t grace me with such a forgiving nature. We were like 4 school children sat at the back of the bus, passing messages to each other and trying to not get chucked out. It didn’t help that I forgot my glasses and the only ones I had with me were my prescription sunnies. Which meant I was deemed a troublemaker from the off, sat in the back of a pitch-black theatre wearing shades.

The woman in front of me was convinced she was the conductor, bobbing along with every song like she was on a freaking dinghy. She was humming with such vigorous attitude that I thought at one point she may actually have been part of the cast. After the first act it became clear the two hip flasks we bought with us were never going to be enough, so at the interval we went to the shop and stocked up with double the amount to face the second act. After this it all became a lot more tolerable. 

At one point while Yum Yum and Naki Poo were singing some wildly inappropriately sounding song, I totally lost it, the giggles got the best of me and i had genuine tears running down my face. It all became too much- There was a short stubby girl who looked like an umpa luma who had lost her way back to the factory. There was a man in a motorised wheelchair who didn’t know the words and (funnily enough) couldn’t keep up with the dancing. There was one character who was hidden under a table and would pop up when the word tittyshop was said. Oh lord, it was an experience to say the least.

We came out feeling slightly shaken and drained of all laughter. On the way out of the theatre I saw a flyer for ‘Dreamboys’ why the hell we didn’t go to that instead is my new biggest regret in life. It has over taken updating my iphone to IOS7.

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

Looky look at my book

Hot damn i should change my name to Good Deed Daisy. In the last three days I've helped a blind woman cross the street in 50mph gales, i’ve saved an Injured frog from the middle of a road, and i’ve designed and created my whole freaking look book. Oh and i’ve also gone got a ton of interviews to progress my intellect further. 

Thats right guys. Im going back to school. Had my first little taste back into uni life on saturday, i watched the rugby at the union and ended upside-down hooked between a hand drier and a sink;  to say i’ve got a good chance of achieving greatness is undeniable. 

So back to the most exciting of all the above- MY LOOKBOOK (sorry blind lady, you just got trumped). They got delivered yesterday, the cover feels like its been dusted with an angels soul and the inside pages have been printed using unicorn tears and wizardry. Its bizarre having my last year of achievements in the form of a book. Its also funny because i left a couple of the main ones out- cough Dior. Yeh i know…tit.

Anyway, these are available at the most reasonable price of £8.99- i mean thats the equivalent of a starter at any average restaurant. And it will sure last longer than bruschetta or something equally perishable. Email a request through the contact form on the website, go on, it mentions pigeons at one point- Surely just that creates enough intrigue to fuel a purchase. 

Yeh its 10:37 on a Tuesday and I'm in bed in my dressing gown. i work hard, cut me some slack. Also i think thats a bit of kitkat on my forehead.