Thursday I drain my cup of weak, tepid staffroom coffee and reluctantly lift myself off of the battered old couch just as the bell rings, signalling the end of the lunch break. Thursday afternoon. Shit! Fourth period. Fuck! A Level English Literature. I can already feel the anxiety build. A group of twenty-five eager-to-learn eighteen-year-olds will be waiting for me in the classroom on the floor below. But that's not the...

I stepped in through the front door and gratefully kicked off my sneakers, dropping my backpack and folio case in the hall. My college assignment could wait for now. All I wanted this second was a cold drink from the fridge and a shower to get rid of the sweat of the day and the smell of oil paints and charcoal. I'm Louise, but most people call me Lou or Lulu. I'm twenty and currently studying for a degree in art. I bumme...

Papers were shuffled, and the gentleman on the other side of the desk clicked the lid onto his Montblanc pen. "Thank you very much, Miss Reeves; we'll be in touch very soon." I stood up to shake the interviewer's hand and gave him what I hoped was a winning smile. I took the lift back down to the lobby and ruminated on the interview. It felt like it had gone well. Good flow, no awkward pauses. no raised eyebrows. The chea...

As the bell above the door jangled, the young woman gave us a farewell wave, and the shop door clanked shut behind her. My niece Jess leaned on the counter and gave a low, appreciative whistle as the pretty young bride-to-be skipped happily out onto the pavement. "Jesus H. Christ, did you see her bum in those jeans?" She exclaimed, her voice low and husky. "Jess, you are utterly incorrigible," I scolded her jokily. "She's...

It's a Friday night in June, and Dukes, our local music venue, is heaving. The place reeks of sweat, leather, spilt beer and whisky. 'The pit', the small audience area six or so steps below the bar area, is absolutely heaving with bodies. Tonight's band Shameless isn't a tribute band, but they are paying homage big time to all the glorious Los Angeles hair metal bands of the 80s. They look the part. More eyeliner than mos...

Oh, hi there. Lovely to meet you. I see you've found your way to my own little tale. The origin of how I came to be at Stateside Denims and how I came to be the guardian of a denim-clad harem of lovely ladies. I was in two minds about whether or not to commit this memoir to paper. But when I found Jean Therapy, I figured, why the hell not? If Linda can do it, so can I. I have to say, I was a little shocked when I stumbled...

What is it about a teenaged girl? No, not the ones who go around in vast painted sweeping herds. The hive mind where not a single one of them has an individual thought. The Clone Army, who all look the same, dress the same, talk the same, and listen to the same music. No, not those teenage girls. And not The Bad Girls either. The ones that travel in smaller packs, hunting the weak, humiliating the insecure, and generally...

'Let's go for a drink or two with Jay and his new girlfriend,' he said. 'It'll be fun,' he said. Famous...last...words. I shit you not. Against my better judgment, we did go out that night. And here I am, just a few weeks later, watching my boyfriend of three years pack the last of his things into his car and drive off without a backward glance. What led to this less-than-friendly breakup, you ask? Well, let me tell you a...

"C'mon Linda, this is the fifth bloody shop we've been in. How hard can it be to find a pair of jeans you actually like? The game starts in an hour or so." My husband Rob was in one of his moods. Grouchy, exasperated and stroppy. The same mood that seemed to wash over him every time I so much as suggested a Saturday trip to the local mall. "For god's sake, Rob, we've got plenty of time. It's only a twenty-minute drive hom...