Tag Archives: thoughts

B-E-A-You-Tiful!

1 Jun

Disclaimer: To my male readers – you might want to come back next time :)

Define beauty.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Yet beauty is only skin deep.

Even the Oxford dictionary is confused by the meaning of such a simple word:

A combination of qualities, such as shape, colour, or form that pleases the aesthetic senses, esp. the sight.

A combination of qualities that pleases the intellect or moral sense.

So if you can’t seek help in the dictionary, where do you go to define such an innocuous word and make heads or tails of the mixed messages that society throws at us?

I’m in no way a feminist. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in the equality of women and men, but I still think that it’s nice every now and again to be treated like a lady. Offer to carry my bag, hold the door open for me – it doesn’t go unappreciated, but I do baulk at the messages that the press feed us on how we should look, what is deemed ‘normal’ and who we should aspire to be like. I don’t believe that we ‘pretty’ ourselves for men, but I do find it interesting that we all seem to follow the norms of society like lambs to the slaughter.

This message was recently highlighted in the press when the CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch, Mike Jeffries, was reported as having said about his brand:

‘Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.’

As a kid, I was awkward. And that’s a total understatement. I went through senior school hiding behind my glasses and keeping quiet. It was a mission to get what I needed out of it, do my time and get the hell out of there, and I think I did it pretty well. But in my experience, the kids that had a lot of friends rarely had a great attitude, and peaked at senior school. The kids that were intent on making everyone’s life a misery didn’t get much further, and that shows ‘ you grow into your personality. You learn your skills, you begin to believe in yourself and you shine. Just perhaps not in the way that you are expected to shine at school; fastest runner, most popular, and in some cases, shortest skirt.

Now, as a big sister, a cousin and a Godmother to girls of different ages, the marketing for fashion and beauty products by retailers still bothers me, not to mention the blatant judging attitudes of gossip magazines across the world. Too ‘fat’? Let’s stick a variety of unflattering images of women in bikinis on the beach, and let the general public know why that’s wrong. Too ‘skinny’? They have that covered too. Weekly gossip magazines featuring stick thin shots of people also grace the magazine aisles. Can we win? Of course we can’t. Whatever the shape or size of a person it’s deemed to be wrong and there is nothing that you can do except ignore and be comfortable in who you are.

Not so easy for a 14 year old just about to take on high school, is it?

Perfection. Its non-existent, like unicorns and elves. It’s a nice thought, but not something that is tangible.

The condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.

So I thought I’d step out of my comfort zone and try something a little different. My name is Laura and I’m a cosmetics addict. I have 3 years of working for a high end beauty brand under my belt, plus a solid devotion to finding the next mascara that will do wonders for my lashes, or the next skin cream that will get rid of dryness and make me look as fresh faced and bright as the day I turned 18. Which, if I’m totally honest, would be no mean feat.

Today was the first day I have visited the supermarket sans makeup in a long time, and I would never go to work without it, for fear of being asked (again) if I was ill. Nope, it’s not for me.

So how do I feel about putting my bare face out there for the world? Since I started growing old gracefully, I’m actually pretty OK with it.

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Eek! OK,  here goes…..

What does it all do for us? What does the slapping on fake tan and the dying our hair (plus the majority of the bathroom) do? How does that time spent in the morning applying layers of foundation, lashings of mascara and a swipe of lip colour change us?

The truth is, I don’t think it makes that much of a difference. I conducted a scientific* experiment where I analysed myself in the cold light of day, with the gloop, and without all the gloop. If you have a nervous disposition or are slightly fainthearted, please look away now. (Just kidding, even I was surprised at how little feelings of terror swept over me).

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Three stages – fully made up ready to leave the house (OK, slightly more makeup than I would wear on a normal day), left half makeup free, right half still caked in cosmetics, and totally makeup free.

In all honesty, I don’t see much difference. Sure I look a little tired in the final image, and my eyes don’t stand out as much as they do when they are framed in eyeliner and weighed down with mascara, but on the whole I’m fairly comfortable with the overall result. The overwhelming thought that I am left with is why do we spend so much money on this stuff? (And that I need to sort out one of my eyebrows!)

So I learnt something today. I’m not going to go back to my roots and throw the lot away, but I feel a bit happier that I could survive a weekend without makeup, and can have a bit of a product cull.

How do you feel about going bare faced and makeup free?

* I have no scientific knowledge to back this up, but i did it in the bathroom where its fairly white, and therefore clinical.

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Celebs without makeup

 

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A Wintery Weekend At Borough Market

1 Nov

It’s a rare occurrence, but this weekend was mine and mine alone. No neatly penned scribbles in the diary, no vague plans with the girls carried away into the air when we previously parted – nothing.

Exciting. I love the thought of a free weekend spanning out across the horizon with nothing interrupting it as it drifts away, and so I went about that brilliant hobby of making last minute plans to fill my day.

On Friday evening we decided, out of the blue, to go out in Camden. There was a bite in the breeze as the season is turning, but we had great fun drinking and dancing and talking with strangers. It just goes to show that when you are with your best friend, time passes too fast and very happily. No fair weather friends, just me and my partner in crime, having fun.

My Weekend In Photos

My Weekend In Photos

On Saturday we went to Borough Market. If you are based in London and haven’t been, or ever get to London, it’s a must. Lane upon lane of food stalls, the hustle and bustle of people browsing butchers and fishmongers, and the delightful smell of food stalls whetting your appetite and tantalising your taste buds. It was so hard not to stop at the first stall and chow down on paella, but luckily we resisted as we eventually came to a hog roast stand with cracking and applesauce. Yum!! We finished wandering the market and found an independent cafe to have some tea and warm our bones before heading out into the sleet to go home.

I woke early on Sunday, as the clocks had changed and took the train home to spend the day with two poorly little girls. We had great fun making pizza faces, watching movies and playing, with the kind of clingy cuddles that only sick kids give you, when they don’t want to be out exploiting and discovering, just having cosy cuddles.

How were your weekend? Seems like an age ago now!!

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Philosophical Friday

5 Oct

I spend a lot of my day working with fashion and beauty clients, and therefore am immersed in society’s view of perfection on a daily basis. Eyebrows just so, blusher to give a rosy sheen, eyeliner to create a different shape to the eye….. The list goes on. And the things you can buy to achieve your ideal of the right coloured hair, the softest skin and the most kissable lips could turn a millionaire bankrupt.

But what is perfection? I listened to myself yesterday talking about buying a house, and I said “I don’t think I could commit to something unless it was perfect. And perfection doesn’t exist”.  Am I right, or have I the sort of personality that finds fault in everything, to keep my ivory tower around me and prevent myself from letting my guard down?

It got me thinking. What is perfection? And, as with beauty, is it in the eye of the beholder?

To me, beauty can be found in the craziest of places. It’s a measure that is as high as the sky or as deep as the hole that Alice fell down, but ultimately, she found herself in Wonderland, right? What I deem to be beautiful could be seen to someone else as entirely plain. I rarely leave the house without makeup, feeling exposed without a dash of liquid liner and a dusting of bronzer, but is beauty on the surface, or does it shine through from your personality – is it the sparkle in your eyes or the light dancing off your skin? My sister, to me, is beautiful. She has the creamiest complexion and the biggest, almond shaped eyes that show the depth of her personality. She sees eyes that need a sweep of mascara and spots. Perfection is, indeed, perception.

So is the crux of it that beauty, or perfection, is happiness? The happier you are on the inside, the more you radiate it on the outside. The more people warm to you and the more you exude a sense of calm, a feeling of balance and equilibrium and the capacity to be able to take things on the chin and ride with the waves when the going gets tough. And so surely the ideal is to work on being happy, taking each day as it comes and surrounding yourself with people who build your foundations and help you stand tall and face the world. It’s about cutting the negativity from your life and realising that you can only change your feelings and actions, and not the way people around you will react. So if society spent more time encouraging impressionable teenagers to love themselves and the rest will follow, rather than discouraging them from being comfortable in their own skin, then we might have a better time of it. I know I was the kid in the corner at school who never really felt like this was the place for her. Fifteen years on and I know who I am, who I strive to be and what I want from life. I surround myself with people who encourage me to be slightly different, a bit quirky, sometimes selfish, often thoughtful, and above everything, human. Who wants to be an identikit airbrushed model who can’t eat food on a weekday anyway?

As Marilyn Monroe once said “I’m selfish. Impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times I am hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, you sure don’t deserve me.”

What do you think?

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Under The Sea

4 Oct

I’m sitting here writing while listening to the waves lap on the shoreline, and the wind gently rustles the leaves on the trees above. I imagine its dusk, and as the twilight descends, the sky is turning pink and all you can see from the sand is the calm of the ocean, mimicking my mood.

I imagine? Sure. I imagine. The reality of it is that it’s well past witching hour (I’m testament to the fact that Roald Dahl was pulling my leg as a child. The BFG isn’t real, and he hasn’t come to find me. My eight year old heart lies broken) and I’m listening to the dulcet tones of the sea from an app on my iPhone. Insomnia, my old friend. I wish I could say I’ve missed you.

And what have I done in the hours your weary heads rested on your pillows? Nothing productive. I’ve plucked my eyebrows with a magnifying mirror (dangerous habit, often resulting in the accidental removal of most of my eyebrow) given myself an alternative French manicure in lilac and green, changed my duvet cover, finished my book, stared at the ceiling and pondered my life. And now I have resorted to an app with a choice of whale song, metronome, robins chirping (WTF? Don’t even ask), frogs (likewise) or the beach.

So please excuse me while I get back to pretending I’m shipwrecked- but in a cool, not-to-worry fashion rather Tom Hanks in that film that I can’t remember the title of because I’m tired, but where his best friend is a football.

It’s worse than I thought.

The problem with me is I over think things… Oooh, a parrot!! I wonder who else is on the beach…..Gah!! Just gave myself a minor heart attack by lying on the volume button and causing lapping ocean to become more monumental high tide sweeping loungers off and causing residual water damage. Oops. Must try to be more careful!! Normal volume has been resumed but I don’t think this is the app for me; it’s just making me need a wee.

Just as an aside- if anyone sees me tomorrow looking frazzled, with unbrushed hair or my clothes on inside out, make me a coffee and avert your eyes. We’ve all been there!!!

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Want VS Need

27 Sep

I want.

It’s a demand that dances from the mouths of the majority, fuelled by glossy magazines and a throw away culture of opulence and aspirations; always wanting the newest and next generation across our entire lives. It spews disregard in its wake; a mess of rubbish and packing discarded, abandoned feelings and processes, and leaves us feeling empty, and predominantly unfulfilled.

I want success, love, support and money in abundance, but the chances are I won’t get a full house on this one, and to be honest, what would I do with it if I had it? Its fun to build a massive house full of mod cons and objects, but if you have no one to share it with you may as well be sitting in a cardboard box on a street corner, by yourself.

As the Rolling Stones once said, “you can’t always get what you want, well if you try sometimes, then you might well find, you get what you need”

So stripping it back and thinking hard, what do I actually need to survive and flourish? Support and sustenance. That’s all, folks. I need the love and support of the people around me to pick me up and dust me down when I fall, and to celebrate with me when I succeed, and I need to be healthy and sustained to do so. And ultimately, that’s it.

So I can say, hand on my heart, that the people around me are the people I need. I’m impulsive (you might say flighty, but I will beat you) and I lose interest very quickly. I have a short temper, although as my years grow, my fuse grows with them and I’m stubborn to a fault. If I disagree when you tell me to do something, I will struggle to play by the rules. I think it’s the way I’m made.

But despite that, I’m loyal, considerate, and if I love you I’ll never leave you. Just like my little blog, which despite having been absent from in the previous months, I put my hand on my heart and promise to give a little more love. It’s turned into a weedy and overgrown garden, and it’s time to get pruning.

What do you truly need to survive?

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Adulthood Isn’t What I Expected.

4 Sep

When I was 15, 26 seemed like a really long way off. I figured by the time that I got to that ripe old age I would definitely be married, have a child, and own a house.

Adulthood isn’t what I expected.

I thought that I would feel like all the women I saw on the train in the morning; poised and well put together, with matching underwear sets for each day of the week and a perfectly organised handbag full of all the daily essentials that one might need, and be able to organise my way through daily life without a hair out of place.

The reality is rather more sobering. Some days I get to work and realise that I have my underwear on inside out (this actually happens more often than you would think!), and if my bra matches me knickers then it has to be a major league event, like the Diamond Jubilee. Sometimes I can’t even find a pair of socks, let alone a pair that match. My makeup is done in the morning through a bleary smog, and by the time I get to work, having negotiated the intricate labyrinth system that we refer to as the tube, it has worn off in patches, leaving me resembling a giraffe. And don’t even get me started on the days that I have to wear tights, which normally results in me putting my toe through them and having to rush to the shops to buy a new pair.

I didn’t think I’d be still waking up on a Sunday morning with last night’s makeup on, hair all over the place and bedroom looking like a tornado had swept through, lamenting that vodka isn’t my friend and what the hell happened to everything in moderation? And my wallet, for that matter.

I didn’t think I would still warble at the top of my voice when I thought that no one else was listening, to show tunes or cartoons. Sure, it used to be a whole new world, and now its tunes from Wicked, but Defying Gravity is still hollered through my house while I am doing the hoovering.

I didn’t think that I would still be calling my mother on a regular basis with any medical emergency (or non emergency) that happens. I think ill be all grown up, and then I get a rash on my arm and I check Web MD, freak out that I have meningitis and call my mother, who calms me, tells me to roll a glass on it and concludes ‘ive probably come into contact with something scratchy. Thanks Ma!

What are you finding different to how you imagined?

*thanks to Fibronomy Awesome for inspiring this post. You can read hers here*

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“OMG. That Was Totes Awk”**

8 May

“The existence of other people is essentially awkward.”
― Lionel Shriver, Checker and the Derailleurs

There is nothing more awkward than misunderstanding a situation and having to deal with the fall out afterwards, when your brain doesn’t catch up with the moment until you are well and truly knee-deep in misunderstandings. It often happens around the microwave at work during the busy lunch period (“Are you feeling OK? You sound sick.” “Are you saying I look rough? My boyfriend dumped me” Oooooooouuuch.) or when making polite conversation on a conference call while waiting for all attendees to dial in, but the most awkward one is when you accidentally overhear people talking really loudly and can’t help but laugh at their conversation. It happens a lot on public transport when you either overhear a really inappropriate chat or someone misunderstands the conversation you are having. I can assure you, this happens to me, Awkward Annie, at all times.

On Saturday I went for a lonesome jolly around London (one of my favourite pastimes) and hopped on the bus as my little legs were weary, to take me home. I sat behind two twenty something boys who were whinging about their girlfriends and the lack of fun in their lives. My ears pricked up. I’m nosy, and was hoping to uncover some sort of weird fetish that would provide me with a story for my friends at a later date. None of that, but it didn’t take a psychologist to work out what the problem with this guy and his girlfriend was.

“I just don’t get it. She literally doesn’t want any physical contact with me anymore. We’ve only been together three years!” Poor him, I thought, that doesn’t sound nice.

“Ah mate” his friend replied “Does that mean you haven’t had sex since dinosaur roamed the earth?” Good line..

“Nah not really. She doesn’t like the fact I play Xbox in bed, and also she thinks it’s bad that I thought the clitoris was a Greek God till about two years ago”.

I snorted. I couldn’t help it, my iPhone battery had died (again) and I had nothing else to do but listen in! They turned around and scowled at me like I had mugged their grannies, and then I made it worse. Of course I did. “Sorry, but it WAS funny”. I know, I’m going to hell without a get out of jail free card, but if you are sensitive about this kind of chat then please, for the love of Christ, don’t talk about it on a busy bus.

And then, this morning, when getting the Tube into work, he and I were laughing at the fact he never gets angry over anything, except the amount of people in the tube station. I get annoyed at a lot, but funnily enough the amount of people at the Tube isn’t something that bothers me. The way i see it is everyone needs to get to work one way or another, and sometimes you get a bonus cuddle with a hottie if the tube is full. Or a tramp, which in all honesty, is the more likely one to happen to me.

Image sourced from hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com – check Allie out, she’s hilarious!!

So I was laughing at the rage of the happy kid and how he turns from this smily character in pretty much the image order above, and said, not in a loud voice; “Try not to assault anyone on the platform today, Hulk. It’s not the done thing.” I didn’t realise however that a woman was actively listening to our conversation, and as he got off the tube at his stop she visibly shrunk against the side of the train to let him pass, like the rage was catching and she had a low immune system. She then proceeded to try to catch my eye for the rest of the journey, and scowl when she did, and I swear she stuck her foot out when I got up to get off the tube. To give this some background, he isn’t exactly rocking the Rocky look, smiles at everyone and when we were out one Friday night, after walking past a homeless girl, he doubled back and gave her a tenner because it was cold.

You know what though? Life would be far less amusing and easy to get through without an awkward situation or two.

Have you ever overheard something really funny when you probably shouldn’t have been listening?

** I would never actually say this. This was another overheard bus conversation, but this time, amongst teenagers, a breed I don’t understand and a language I am not fluent in.

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Backstreet’s Back, Alright?

1 May

There are some times in a girl’s life when she regresses back to her pre teen days, and she frickin loves it. And this weekend was one of those times for me (plus two friends and my sister) when we got the chance to go to see the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys hybrid tour.

It. Was. Awesome.

I’m a little young (it’s rare I get to say that!) to really remember New Kids on the Block, but I could hum along to enough of their tunes to be OK with going to see them, but the Backstreet Boys are a band I knew as a child, mainly because my sister had a massive obsession. She loved them and listened to their music all the time, and by osmosis the songs perforated my hearing and nestled in my head.

So I was surprised when I emailed her to say I had tickets, and she seemed quite disinterested. Fine! I thought. Plenty more people who will come with me!

But she came, and it made me laugh when, about half way through, she looked across at me and mouthed “I LOVE Brian!” gone was the emo kid with a cool taste in music, replaced by a ten-year old who wanted nothing more to grow up and marry a Backstreet Boy.

It was so cool. Have I mentioned that? It did get a little inappropriate when New Kids on the Block, who don’t fall into the ‘kids’ category any more, were thrusting in their PVC pants. We all looked away, a little embarrassed that they were pulling out all their best Chippendales moves and we were ever so slightly repelled, and half of the party decided it was a good time to take a trip to the bar and/or the bathroom. After all, they are older than they used to be. There was also a chant that they were all trying to start, which went N-K-O-T-B-S-B, which was all too much for us (in fact, the whole crowd) and we got lost at the K and mumbled the rest. Plus, I was perturbed by the fact that they had missed a ‘b’ out in the middle.

But the Backstreet Boys were nothing short of legendary. Well, except the weird faces that Nick Carter was pulling. I try to keep my thoughts about his quiet as my friend Charlotte loves him, but when he pulls the face, it makes me feel like a teenager that just got inappropriately groped by a youth in a nightclub. Sort of dirty and like you want to curl up in the foetal position and rock. I think it’s the sweaty curtains that were only borderline fashionable in his heyday, let alone fifteen years later.

I recorded a lot of it on my camera, but unfortunately the over excitement got to much for me, resulting in some real Blair Witch Project style filming, not to mention the drowning out of the actual singing by the four of us screaming out lyrics and whooping at regular intervals. Embarrassingly, at one point you actually hear me say “Im so excited!” and my friend replies “i think I might cry!” hahahaha.

So my two close friends, my sister and I had the best night we have had since the days when we used to make up dance routines and sing into our hairbrushes, swooning over the appeal of those hot American boys. And I have had The Right Stuff stuck in my head for the past 48 hours.

Some things never change.

Thanks to the people at Superbreaks who provided us with the tickets. They offer hotels in London, and sponsored this post. But all opinions are, as always, my own!

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Currency Confusion

30 Apr

I know I’m not the only one who has this problem, but I really can’t get the hang of other currencies. In the UK I’m pretty careful with money and have a really clear view of what is a reasonable cost and what isn’t, but if I have to get on a plane I lose all concept, like I suddenly have money vertigo. OK, I might think that something is expensive, but too pretty to not just go ahead and buy it anyway, but the little person in my head (normally with my dad’s cross face) makes it clear I’m behaving impulsively when I go ahead and buy it anyway. I’ve never been one to listen.

Other currencies baffle me. I just spent 25 euro on a taxi, and sitting here in the airport waiting for my flight I have consumed 6 Euros worth of chicken nuggets, totally oblivious to the cost per pound of my reconstituted chicken armpits. I normally go by the rule that if that’s too expensive in pounds, then it’s too expensive. This works in America as it’s roughly half the cost, so angry dad in my head is subconsciously keeping track of my spending, but anywhere else it’s anyone’s guess.

But this is where holiday mentality kicks in. On holiday, it’s OK to have a glass of wine in the airport at 6am, or eating ice-cream as a staple food every day, isn’t it? Just like it seems to be OK to spend money as if I have been shrunk down and popped onto a Monopoly board, trying to avoid being eatedby a giant dog or stomped on by a massive boot as I make my way around the city.

Holiday logic. You wouldn’t drink more than one jug of sangria in a twenty four hour period at home or you peers might rush you off to the nearest AA meeting, but as soon as the sun is to and the people are speaking a different language, it’s OK. Holiday logic.

Everything is more fun when you are on holiday and sounds far more magical, but I hate the fact that I only speak my native tongue, At school I was good at French but my horrible teacher told me not to apply for it to A level as I wouldn’t meet the C entry requirement at GCSE. When I walked out of the exam with an A* (in your face, horrible French teacher) the course was full. I don’t have a natural aptitude for languages though, unlike my beautiful friend Aimili who speaks Greek, French, Italian and lots of others fluently. I get muddled up. Ask me to count to twenty in Spanish and I get to twelve and revert to French. Industrious.

The Spanish language is beautiful though. The taxi driver told me this morning that I was a ‘Bella chica’. Although he was middle aged and could have benefitted from a wash I went a little weak at the knees, when he was essentially just  calling me a ‘fit bird’, something that would have induced a full body shudder in the UK. The guy at border control then called me ‘bambino’ and I smiled sweetly and carried on. Being called baby by anyone at home causes me to involuntarily retch, yet in a different language it sounds musical and seductive from whomever’s lips the words are spoken.

I probably should learn Spanish; it would help me with uncomfortable situations like the one I found myself in yesterday. After trekking round the city we stopped for tapas and a much needed loo stop. Off I went, being pretty confident that I spoke enough Spanish to find the right loo, identifying myself as a senorita. There were no pictures depicting a dress or trousers, and no ‘s’ option on the door. I hopped from foot to foot trying to work out if I was an ‘h’ or a ‘d’ until I figured that it could be a font issue and after reasoning that if I squinted, the ‘d’ looked like an ‘s’, I plumped for that one.

So by the time you read this I will be firmly back on British soil, excited about seeing New Kids on the Block. But for now I must wait for my plane and try to ignore the enormous diet coke that came with the nuggets, for fear that I might need to use the bathroom on the plane and get sucked from the plane, to my death.

Do you speak any languages?

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My Guiltiest Pleasures

16 Apr

My good bloggy friend Jules made it to Freshly Pressed this week, and when I saw her mug shining out at me from the home page, I must say, I was proud.

So in homage to the mantra of Geeking out on Guilty Pleasures, I have compiled a post of my guiltiest pleasures for your entertainment. And if you want a lifetime of guilty pleasures, I suggest you follow her blog!

1)      Stilettos. In the cupboard. Never worn.

Every now and then I find the most jaw droppingly awesome pair of shoes in a shop. You know the ones; they sparkle like Cinderella’s glass slipper at you from miles away, and they play on your mind when you aren’t close to them. They are the queen of the gorgeous shoe, and you simply must have them, regardless of how expensive they are / how painful they will make your feet / potential of breaking a bone. You buy them. You are victorious.

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And then they sit in your cupboard for the rest of their life with you, never worn, and sometimes with the label still firmly stuck to the bottom of the shoe. The last time I fell off the wagon and bought a pair of stilettos that i darn well knew I wouldn’t wear was just over a year ago. I was slightly peer pressured into the purchase as I tottered around the shop and my friends marvelled at how awesome my feet looked and how wonderfully sleek my legs seemed. I bought them. I then danced around the house to the Spice Girls in them a few times until a wobble left me scared my ankle would soon be broken, and every now and then I get them out and show my sister, wondering at their sheer beauty. They will never know what it feels like to have tarmac beneath them, as I value my ankles too much.

2)      The alternative food groups: cheese, chocolate orange, diet coke and sushi.

Some days, I will eat only these, or combinations of the four. I might shake it up by throwing in a jaffa cake, but when you are at your lowest or most hormonal there is nothing that isn’t made better by a piece (read, block) or Wensleydale or a tube of Jaffa cakes. Some foods just make the world go round. I am the chopstick queen of sushi, chowing down on sashimi, edemame and California rolls and I often get the ‘wasabi nose’ when I venture across too much of the green stuff.

3)      Boybands

Be it One Direction (bless their chubby little cheeks), Five, Take That or Backstreet Boys, I am guilty of totally embracing my inner tween and warbling away. Now I have sold Betty Blue I can no longer make sure the windows are tightly shut and crank up the stereo, singing to my heart’s content, but when offered tickets to the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys mega tour, I couldn’t say yes quick enough. If only Wham would make a comeback then my life would be complete.

4)      Pugs and Kittens

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My lifelong dream is to gather an army of pugs and ginger kittens. I don’t know what it is about pugs but their faces make me melt. I saw one near Edgeware station the other day dressed in a Burberry body warmer and being dragged by its owner, and its eyes said it all. “Don’t look at me! I’m so ashamed! I hate this woman with over expressive, drawn on eyebrows… SAVE ME!”

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FML! A frickin unicorn!

5)      Ryan Reynolds.

Ah come on, you didn’t think id miss the love of my life out did you? On my last trip to California I convinced my cousins to go see Safe House with me. They are teenagers, and boys, so weren’t convinced that my choice would reflect their interests. When we left the theatre they both marvelled at how well I had picked a storyline they would enjoy. My response?

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“I bloody love Ryan Reynolds.”

I rest my case.

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