Camping, with long socks on

Oh my god this place is AMAZING. Not amazing like Alton Towers, or popping candy or cats in hats or anything, but in a picturesque I feel-like-I’m-in-Scandinavia-but-I’m-actually-just-in-Wales kinda way. It’s FashionBratt blog worthy because I need others to know how good it is. First look at the pictures.

Those white bits are people, and we walked up that.

My 21 year old brother saw these photos and his only comment was: ‘You’re wearing those socks for a joke right?’

[Socks: H&M]

Right, so that’s not some mountainous area of Norway, that’s Cwmcarn Forest – just north of Newport. The boyfriend (@trendplanner in case you’re nosey) and I decided to go camping and I found this place in the Cool Camping guide – Wales edition. These Cool Camping books are great btw – whether you’re a seasoned camper looking to try out somewhere new or a first timer needing a bit of direction, the sites they’ve listed are so varied and interesting, I want to try and visit them all and I don’t even really like camping that much!

Cwmcarn forest campsite is completely surrounded by woodland, so although there’s a small town with a Tesco a couple of miles down the road, you can be completely oblivious in your coniferous enclave. The facilities aren’t too shabby, the staff are friendly and very helpful and the place is also famous for mountain biking – with some pretty hardcore trails – so lots of fun to be had! Even if you hate camping, I’d suggest go for the day and do the ‘forest drive’ (a figure of 8 loop around the forest with various stop off points with amazos views and free barbecues!)

Stranger than fiction

If there is one film you see this year, make it Catfish. Admittedly, I was unsure at first but then I am stupidly fussy with films and often (and I hate myself for it) judge them all by their posters/names. I’d heard of Catfish from film buff, cinema season ticket wielding friends, who endlessly professed its brilliance – which was almost enough to put me off in itself. And when I heard what it was about, I was sceptical that such a story could make a very interesting film…and really I thought it sounded a bit… boring.

Catfish has all the makings of a pretentious independent: it’s a low budget, controversial, grainy documentary that has been clever enough to throw up questions surrounding its authenticity, leading to various debates and chat from film critics and the public alike. But in fact, it is completely bereft of pretension, and is actually a shockingly candid film with relatable ‘characters’ and a troublesome topic we are all too familiar with.

The film begins with Nev, a dance photographer, filmed by his brother and friend, innocently embarking upon a facebook correspondence with a little girl, after having received her paintings of his photographs. Phone chats and more facebook messages with the rest of her family ensue, and lead to a semi-romantic cyber relationship with the girl’s older sister. What gradually transpires is what makes Catfish one of the most absorbing films I have ever seen.

And I can’t say anymore.

…Which I think is the problem when trying to sell it – as Tom Charity of LoveFilm puts it: ‘The more you know about Catfish, the less impact the movie will have.’ Don’t try and seek out a synopsis or hope for an in depth answer when you ask what it is about, because knowing anything more than just what happens in the first 30 minutes will probably ruin it. Juuuuuust trust those that have seen it already and watch it yourself. And when you do, turn your phone off, because the sound of a text message could completely destroy the fantastic suspense of some of the scenes.

Here’s the trailer anyway, which is eventually what persuaded me to watch it:

A Review: The Roxy, London

I’ve decided to incorporate a little reviews section on this here blog, for all the non-fashion things that I am bursting with opinions about. You may find it helpful, you may not, but either way I must get some of these vents (good and bad) out, and would love to hear your opinions on these things too!

First up then, is The Roxy, a bar/club in Central London.

Now, if it’s a Saturday night, and you’re sporting your finest wincklepickers and most-vintage of all your bowler hats, and you’re looking to dance to, say, a bit of Death Cab…. DO NOT, I repeat, do not go to The Roxy (unless of course, your indie exterior is a show for all your scenester mates, and the first album on your ipod is Ultimate Cheese Party Volume 2) Because S Club 7, Chesney Hawkes and Queen are at the top of the DJ’s playlist for Saturday nights. My music snobbery is not the issue here though, if I’d have been prepared for scores of hens dancing to ‘The One and Only’ I’m sure I could’ve had a ball! The issue is plastered all over the internet are promises, some made by the venue itself, that The Roxy is an alternative club, pumping out fresh indie licks 24/7. I was so ready to re-enact some of the pictures from the Dickhead Song video, but instead I found myself doing the time warp…. again! Great for a funky, girly, cheeeeeesy night out, but just bare in mind, they are liars.