If you’re ever asked the question – as I often am – “how do you be a mum and stay cool with your faced paced ‘life’ ‘style’?” I simply point at my MomBag© and that tells them everything they need to know.
Mom-Hop© is for all us Moms out there who are just a little tired of being stuck in our little boxes – you know, the box with ‘Just A MOM’ written on it – and put back on the shelf. Time to show them a dynamic, new you. Time to show them that your music taste is just as eclectic as theirs – from Coldplay to U2, Paul Simon to Nickelback. And you want style? We’ve got MomBags© of it!
You’ll see us in supermarkets carrying all the ‘kit’ a Mom-Hopper needs – NOTEBOOK, PEN, GLASSES, TISSUES, MUESLI BAR, HRT – and suddenly…WHOA! What’s this? Is that Mom ‘beat’ ‘boxing’ ? She sure is! Time to drop a MOM-BOMB!!
You see Mom-Hop© isn’t just a musical attitude. It’s a way of life. I might wear a polo shirt under my neckerchief but I can rhyme ‘statins’ with ‘potato gratins’ just about any time I please!
You know what I love? Hip Hop. For every misogynistic, homophobic, teeth-grindingly unimaginative asshat of an MC (Chris Brown) there is a perpetually inventive, beat driven shamelessly ego pumped styler out there ready to take the Mic (Kool Keith).
I can’t rap. I think we’d both be a little more comfortable if I get that out there now. For all my homegirl ghetto credentials (I literally failed my Maths GCSE like, twice) I’m no better at lyrical alchemy than I am say, unicycling or cooking pancakes. In fact I’m so bad that my long awaited rap odyssey (‘Urban Street Tough’) failed within the first five minutes with these lines;
“If it don’t rhyme, it ain’t a crime,
You want me to do time?
Shutup! You’re lyrics aren’t any better than mine.”
Then I beatboxed a solo for twenty minutes while a girls crotch gyrated inches from my face and hair.
So I’d pretty much given up on hip hop until I read this tweet yesterday from Original Gangster, Homie, Bodycount Banger and star of the HBO drama Law and Order, Ice T:
People are always shocked when they find out I don’t drink, smoke weed or get high….. I always felt it COMPROMISED my hustle.
This is so mindbendingly brilliant I keep getting drawn back to it like a Goth to eyeliner.
IT COMPROMISED HIS HUSTLE. I think we can all learn a lesson there and that lesson is don’t do anything which compromises your HUSTLE. From anal sex to making jam, from Downton Abbey to Compton, from double denim to strikes on Syria, here is the world’s most brilliant excuse for anything at any time in any place ever in the world, like ever.
With that in mind I’m sharing with you some trinkets I recently picked up for very little cashmoney, yo.
So fresh it’s mountain fed and purer than triple distilled Vodka this real silver necklace consists of three dinky little charms – a heart, a cross and an anchor. So Love, Faith and Sailors. Whatever. This cost me a BITCHIN’ TWENTY FIVE PENCE-INGTONS.
A tin a tin, good for keeping things in. I’ve put the tiny still beating hearts of mice and hamsters in there in their barely congealed juices but you could use it for earrings or biscuits too! Tin (Of Small Rodent Death) Fifty Pences
“A Knife, A Fork, A Bottle and A Cork, that’s the way we spell New York.” Dillinger was of course wrong here, but what isn’t wrong is this art deco Disney New York City badge which is less a fashion accessory and more a MASSIVE hint to the cosmos that I’d like to go there one day and bask in it’s unparallelled weirdness.
I’m out homies. Peace.