A Very Theatrical Weekend

When I was in school, I dreamed of nothing but being an actress – spending my afternoons in drama classes and performing in every show I could.. and here is a rather embarassing photographic evidence of a 1996 production with Helen O'Grady Children's Drama Academy and some very bad hair...

Inevitably, it was the realisation that I rather enjoy having a reliable income and don’t have the discipline to work hard enough to make it.

Forgotten Songs

With The Boy out for the night on a Bro-Date, I had a blissful evening to myself. Hurrah! 

And it was after the dishes were done, and I had watched a rather awful program I recorded last night (Breaking Amish on the new TLC channel. For reference it's a pile of bollocks) that I did something I have not done in a very long time. 

I turned off the television, and put on some music. That's right, I am listening to albums, long forgotten in the depths of my iTunes. 

I have 3,347 songs in my iTunes, a modest collection by most standards - but the thing is I very rarely listen to most of them. I don't like to wear headphones when I'm on public transport, mainly because my father raised me to be paranoid and I like to be aware of what is going on around me. 

Too old for Topshop

A recent trip to Oxford Street left me with a sinking feeling.

It all started when I thought to myself - I haven't been into Topshop in ages, I must pop in and see if I can find a pretty spring top. So I enthusiastically walked in and was hit - very suddenly - with the feeling that I was far too old to be in there.

By the top of the escalators were what I can only assume were trendy teens, midriffs and bum cheeks on display, wearing mouse ear headbands and uncomfortable looking shoes.

What I thought was relatively fashionable office wear (navy pleated Ralph Lauren skirt with a tight crisp white blouse showing an appropriate amount of office cleavage), felt frumpy. But I battled through the giggling girls and descended into fashion mecca.

Going Gluten Free (sniff)

For those of you who may have known me 10 years ago, you would know that even the thought of "gluten free" would not enter my mind.

Working at the iconic Natural Foodstore on the Sunshine Coast, I scoffed loudly at the fools spending ridiculous money for wheat free cake and gluten free lasagne sheets. And here I am, at the ripe old age of 29 doing exactly the same. It would seem that in fact, Karma is officially a bitch. 

After a constant battle with my eyes to stay open at my desk, looking bloated enough to get offered a seat on the train and the requirement to be within running distance to the loo within an hour of eating a pizza I decided, perhaps this wheat intolerance thing isn't baloney after all. 

So a small test to cut wheat out of my diet had miraculous results. Energy! A flatter tummy! Regular bowel movements! 

I wish I could be thrilled about this decision but I am not. For anyone who suffers similarly to me, you will know that gluten free versions of our favourite foods, do in fact taste like arse. In fact, Sainsbury's don't even bother to insult our intelligence by calling their Free-From bread "bread" - they call it LOAF. 

And while the pizza base I made from The Gluten Free Student Cookbook was an excellent substitute, when The Boy arrived with his glutenous pizza, and I saw how much better his looked I wanted to cry.

I do honestly feel that my years of attrocious eating habbits have finally caught up with me, and I can hear my former Natural Foodstore colleagues saying I told you so, despite them being on the other side of the world. 

So wish me luck in my continual battle. Because as much as anyone tries to deny it, giving up a delicious slice of fresh white bread, a wedge of Victoria Sponge or the odd Domino's is a very hefty price to pay for your health.

Fifty Shades of.... Meh

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Social Hibernation

Hands up who's on a budget?

It currently seems that whilst many people proclaim their need to save money and how skint they are, it seems that in my social circle I'm one of the few that is truly attempting to stick by their goals.

I am turning down most invitations for social engagements in favour of staying in. The boy and I are attempting to combat the inevitable frustration that being housebound brings by playing on the Wii, making up stupid games and working our way through 1001 movies you must see before you die. We've also become mildly addicted to playing Castleville via Facebook.

A Magical Journey: Harry Potter Studio Tour

On Christmas Morning I awoke to find a ticket to the Warner Brothers Harry Potter Studio Tour, courtesy of my amazing boyfriend (who is very thoughtful, and I am very lucky, but I won't bore you with that now).

So ticket in hand, last Saturday I arrived at Leavesden at my allocated time slot, wanting to dance with excitement but maintaining a cool exterior as I queued to enter.

As a dire fan of the series, I was eagerly anticipating the tour, yet was slightly apprehensive at the same time. My worry that it would be a disappointment (like so many of the movies) was thankfully however, unfounded.

From the moment you step foot into the studio, it truly is magical. To see things so familiar to us after 8 films, in real life was quite amazing, and unlike the Harry Potter Walking Tour of London (Which, is a gigantic waste of money), I felt like I was experiencing a part of the series first hand.

Old School Charm

One thing I genuinely love is my readers, and I particularly enjoy it when my readers come up with a rather interesting blog topic. Hence this post. Many times in the past have Mrs N and I discussed our mutual love of handsome movie stars from a bygone era and yesterday I spent a good hour or so daydreaming about their raw sexual energy.

Their charisma and charm made young girls swoon and you can tell just by watching them that they were men, not boys. Men who could seduce women with their words and a simple glance rather than their looks.

Confessions of a secret eater

I have a confession to make. I'm so ashamed.

Yesterday, as I was walking on my lunch break - I had a McChicken Burger from McDonalds.

My supposed healthy eating regime and budget conscious ways have just gone up shit creek this week, and I've been without the proverbial paddle.

Honestly, I can't control myself. The desire for bread, cheese and fried food just outweighs all desire I have for salad. And yet, I want to be slender and sexy with a toned ass that men admire as I walk down the street.

In fact the only place where I have been losing weight is my once exquisite cleavage. And this makes me very, very sad. 

So, I resolve to get back on the bandwagon next week, with power walking, pilates and salads galore.

Wish me luck xx

Afternoon Tea - Review

Sometimes I find the time to drag myself away from my blog and write for other people...

Here's a little recent review of Afternoon Tea at The Mayfair Hotel I wrote for the lovely team at Afternoon Tea

Go to article at afternoontea.co.uk


xxx

A Flat-Packed Dream

Yesterday I woke up battered and bruised, aching all over and cuts stinging my hands.

I hadn't been for a big night out, I hadn't been in an accident nor did I partake in any rough bedroom shenanigans.

My maladies are in fact, a result of spending my weekend putting together (or attempting to put together) flat pack Ikea furniture.

Spring is here, again, apparently

Spring is here, the daffodils are in bloom and the pages of the glossy magazines I now have to read for work are full of gorgeous floral dresses and colourful shoes sandals.  

Yes, it's that time of year again. The time when we paint our toenails and fill ourselves with foolish optimism that this summer is going to be the best summer ever.

Lessons in Lipstick with Daniel Sandler

One of the perks of living in London is that occasionally I get to go to some fabulous events, like last night when Sophie and I popped along to a makeup and hair event at FOUR London.

Now, I am someone who is not adventurous with either my hair or my makeup, however I thoroughly enjoyed my evening and learnt much from the exquisitely wonderful makeup master, Daniel Sandler.It turns out that even I, a freckly ginger, can wear red lipstick. 

The evening reminded me that in fact, makeup is a wonderful thing. Yes, sometimes I really can’t be arsed wearing it however whenever I do spend ten minutes putting in some extra effort I always feel 10 times more awesome 

Tights

The rain is falling down on London today, however the weather does not trouble me. These cold, dreary days are the perfect excuse (if you need one) to adorn legs in colourful tights!

If there was ever an item of clothing that I truly loved, it is tights. They hold everything in, and stop unpleasant wobbles.

Restraint

It’s London Fashion Week and my Visa card is currently hiding in my wallet, terrified that it will soon be hit with an onslaught of charges involving pretty, shiny, silky, sexy bits and pieces.

I am currently in love with this seasons clothes and have spent many a lunch break daydreaming over the Topshop and ASOS websites, and Saturdays spent fondling pretty things in Westfield. But, much to my surprise I have not indulged myself like I once used to. Instead I am making do with what I have, and purchasing only the bare essentials.

The fact of the matter is, I think I’m growing up. My desire for a house of my own far outweighs my desire for a gorgeous Ted Baker raspberry colour coat, and with the property market in its current state, it will be many years of depriving myself of beautiful things before I will have one.

However I would like to remind my loved ones that it is my birthday in November. Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge. 

It All Ended… Disappointingly

I promised to post this review last weekend, but I found myself not only too busy and sore, but slightly too frustrated to write.
I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone when I was 18, jumping on the band wagon a little later than most but quickly becoming hooked. Ten years later, I lined up outside the Odeon in Leicester Square awaiting the start of Deathly Hallows Part 2 with child-like anticipation.

Luckily, I was expecting to be disappointed. And this expectation was fulfilled – don’t get me wrong, the acting was good (especially when compared to the trio’s efforts in 2001), the effects were outstanding, but once again severe plot deviations left me, and i suspect many other Potter fans, slightly fuming.

Warning: Spoiler alert

Character deaths, such as George Weasley, left me emotionally drained whilst reading, but here they were rushed and almost glanced over.

Harry’s solo walk to the Forbidden Forest to meet his fate, was one of the most moving scenes in all 7 books, but yet they had to throw in a hug and long winded speech from Hermione, whilst Ron (once again) is sidelined and silent. Not only that, there was no confessions to Neville to kill the snake – so how did he know how to destroy it?

And don’t even get me started on the whole Harry & Voldemort zooming through the grounds of Hogwarts. No mention that love could redeem you, just unnecessary CGI.

Gaping plot holes left open through emissions from the last 7 books became clearly evident and to be honest, if you hadn’t read the book I don’t think you’d understand what was going on.
Some things though, they nailed. The Prince’s Tale had me weeping unashamedly (Alan Rickman you are a legend), Professor McGonagall had me, and the full house, cheering just as she did in the books while Ron & Hermione’s much anticipate snog, whilst not canon, was fantastic.

And now, as the plethora of outdoor advertising across London tells me – It all ends. But I beg to differ, it’s a saga that will undoubtedly be passed on down the generations encouraging children to read and inspiring adults to use their imaginations again.

For me, re-reading Harry Potter is like visiting  an old friend, one you know will always make you smile, comforting like an old pair of slippers. This may make my nearly 28-year old self particularly geeky, but sod it all – long live Potter.
Mischief Managed.

My Latest Obsession

Since arriving in London I have a new obsession. Cupcakes.
Not the cupcakes that The Ex used to give me (that sort of cupcake involves farting into your hand and then holding it up to your unsuspecting girl’s face), but delicious gourmet, overpriced cupcakes.
My quest for the perfect cupcake has so far seen me venture to The Hummingbird Bakery, Northcote Road and Selfridges Food Hall. But a perfect cupcake isn’t just about the icing, decoration or the moistness of the cake,  it’s all about the packaging. 
The Hummingbird Bakery on Portobello Road was full to bursting with Japanese tourists on a Saturday morning, however my vanilla cupcake (yellow icing this time) came perfectly wrapped in a chinese-food style box, and sealed with a sticker, just so I wouldn’t forget where it was from.
The markets on Northcote Road, Clapham Junction are full of tasty treats for yummy mummys and their brats, and my vanilla cupcake with purple icing was delicious, however by the time I got it home in its brown paper bag the icing had stuck to the paper and my cake was squashed. Fail. 
But what takes the cake (no pun intended) was Lola’s Designer Cupcakes in Selfridges Food Hall. They delicately placed my two cupcakes (one vanilla with pink icing, one lemon for the man) in a tray, and then folded tem into a delightful carry box. To be fair – at £2.50 each they were by far the most expensive cupcake on my quest so far, but by far the best.
So this Saturday I shall once again venture on my quest to find London’s best cupcake. If anyone has any suggestions, this girl would be delighted to hear them.

Fine Dining

My dining experiences have mainly been limited to chains, or cheapish restaurants. But in this day-and-age, with bargain basement deals flying into my inbox quicker than I know what to do with, and being in one of the best cities for eating out in the world, fine-dining is at last an option.
So last Saturday, the man and I headed to the Kings Road for a bit of meaty goodness at Marco Pierre White’s Steakhouse. Clutching our voucher we joined the cue of diners waiting to be seated (who were also clutching their vouchers) and proceeded to spend a very pleasant hour and a half eating yummy food and being waited on by smart looking European men dressed in black.
The steak was delicious, as was the sides. I enjoyed my water being poured in a wine glass. I also enjoyed the said men in black magically appearing to refill my wine  (which was also very good). All this was rubbish in comparison to the exquisite crème brule that I devoured before I had to share too much with my other half.
There was cloth napkins, crisp white tablecloths and the toilets were, of course, lovely,  but I have to say, I would not go there again unless it was with another deal. The fact is, the food was just not worth the full price it commands. Am I cheap? Maybe, but in the Kings Road Steakhouse you’re not paying for the food, you’re paying for the brand.

Story? What Story? I Was Perving on Downey Jr

Today I went and saw the new Sherlock Holmes film.  And I have only one opinion – Robert Downey Jr is SMOKING HOT.

In his 40s, with obvious grey hair and some wrinkles he’s not your obvious sex symbol.  But there is something about him that I know if I ever saw him I’d strip off my clothes and beg him to have his way with me.

I think it is the combination of vulnerability, manliness, scruffiness and the twinkle in his eye, that makes him irresistible.  I like my men a bit rough around the edges, but who obviously sometimes need a cuddle.  And the eyes, that look that men get when you know they want to ravish you. But at the same time, you can see that they are nothing but trouble. Mmmm. 

The only thing that could make Robert Downey Jr any hotter would be a Scottish Accent. Then I’d be well and truly weak at the knees.

Mr Darcy, You Are Just Not Rude Enough.

I am enjoying a delicious, rare day off where i have nothing planned and nothing to do.  So to indulge myself I have made a plunger coffee and am sitting down to watch some Regency finery in Pride & Prejudice.

NOT the classic 90s BBC Mini-Series with the delectable Colin Firth, but the atrocious 2004 version starring my nemesis Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen.

I have many problems with this movie. The first being Keira Knightley is a wooden actress and a terrible choice to play one of the greatest heroine in literary history. It always looks as if she is trying to hard and can’t breathe. 

My second issue is that Mr Darcy is all wrong.  Usually I enjoy MacFadyen as an actor, especially in Spooks,  but he could officially be the worst Mr Darcy in history.  Hot, yes.  Haughty? No. Disdainful? No. He’s all over the place. 

Mr Bingley is portrayed as an idiot and they only give him one sister (Did Mrs Hurst die in some strange accident that the movie goer is unaware of?).  Mrs Bennet is not nearly annoying enough.

Also the movie goes against societal mores of the time. When Jane Bennett is sick in Netherfield, Mr Bingley would NEVER have presumed to go into her room.  To do so would be practically to confirm and engagement.   

So I am baffled as to why I put this movie on this morning on my day off. Especially because I am perfectly aware that Knightley makes me want to staple my ears and eyes shut so I don’t have to look or hear her. 

Next time I’ll stick to Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle.