Frankie

Last weekend I walked into my room at around 7pm with a bag full of green tea, Green and Blacks chocolate and a plenteous supply of lemsip. Not exactly the coolest Saturday night, but sometimes (ie. when your voice sounds as sexy and hoarse as Lauren Conrad's and your nose is running faster than Usain Bolt) all you want to do is sink down into your duvet and get your cosy on. My standard sick days at home were spent in the company of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, this tap dancing duo usually got me feeling sprightly in no time. Unfortunately, in efforts to look vaguely cool upon coming to university my DVD collection here is more Martin Scorsese than musical cheesey and I was forced to turn to the pages of Frankie magazine for comfort. It definitely worked. Despite having a name that conjures up images of bad 70s teen publications *cough* Jackie *cough*,  Frankie, an Australian magazine, is refreshingly different. The writers are sort of sarky, the images are simple yet chic, the features are varied and their music taste hits the spot. I almost want to say its like the magazine for non-magazine buyers, people who can't get their quirky fashion fix anywhere else, who want to be inspired and not patronised, and who want a dosage of papery goodness that is (in Frankie's own words) 'as smart, funny, sarcastic, friendly, cute, rude, arty, curious and caring as they are.' In other words, It's damn good. Only managed to find it in the wondrous Wadour street newsagents though, if your in London I'd recommend a visit...see below post for more enthusiastic ramblings about what I am beginning to believe is the greatest shop on earth.