62. Peruvian Adventures

23rd February 2014, Andina, Shoreditch, London

When this new Peruvian restaurant opened on Shoreditch High Street I came to realise exactly how little I knew about Peru.

So my knowledge of Peru is largely based on Tintin - Prisoners of the Sun. Like with most Tintin comic books, it's probably not the most reliable source of data. Now if it is, people should really not go touristing along the Inca trails, because being turned into a wax statue by the secret indian tribe who will make you eat magic cocoa beans really does sound like a bitch.

So what do they eat in Peru? I figured same as in Mexico....? And soon thereafter realised that as much as I shake my head at people assuming everyone from Scandinavia survives solely on pickled herring - Peruvians will probably think the same of me.

Turns out - Peruvian food is delicious and not at all Mexican!

Weird but delicious and super healthy smoothies to start with - perfect on this somewhat hungover Sunday lunch with the lovely Mrs Higginsson.

After spending 20 minutes or so trying to interpret the menu - they even had a much needed glossary on the table - we were presented with the most amazing ceviches there ever was. Truly and utterly amazing. Raw fish in veggie goo have never tasted that fabulous.

However, whilst I have been on the hunt for the best Bloody Mary in London, I wasn't actually on the look out for the worst. I regret to say, that I have now found it. Beetroot has no place in my brunch pick me up. However, the ceviches totally made up for it!

 I bet Tintin never have sea bass ceviche when he was in the temple. Tintin - Me 0 - 1

Sunday lunch with the lovely Mrs Higginsson

 

Fantastic menu - I will be back to try the rest

 

The very essential ingredient glossary

The best ceviche anyone has ever had.

Mini ceviches - also delicious

 

A most unfortunate decision - these people must hate Bloody Marys and trying to get everyone else to join them

61. The Tate and the Klee

22nd February, Tate Modern, Southbank, London

As previously clarified, I am not a very cultural person, but there is a number of artists who's work I would very much like to see one day.

I am  normally the person who will go to a museum solely for the gift shop and a glass of wine. I know the menu at Blueprint Café inside out, but not quite sure what they show at the museum it is in. I also tend to buy artsy books at the Tate, but don't you think for a second that it is down to actually having been to any of the exhibitions.

Now that's a lie. I have been to one of the Tate Modern exhibitions before. The main piece was used soaps on a string. I did not get it.

Thankfully my friends are general much more cultivated than I am, so I immediately got on board when asked to come along to the Paul Klee exhibition by my favourite Yummy Mummy.

Now see, my friends all know me very well. Which is why it was immediately suggested we'd pop up to the members lounge for some wine on the terrace before actually looking at any art. Now this is why I love museums.

With my favourite Yummy Mummy was my favourite Little Man who napped through a very long and intense gossip session and woke up in time for the exhibition.

See, I think my lack of art appreciation has to do with an extremely short attention span in combination  with most exhibitions going on for ever and ever.

The Paul Klee exhibition was big, but split into small sessions allowing even me to appreciate it. And Little Man loved it too. Lots of gorgeous colours, big canvases and great details.

I'm not going to lie, I did hit the gift shop. I now have Paul Klee tea towels - just so everyone will know exactly how cultural I am.

Little Man at the Tate - loving his Paul Klee magnets.

Now this is my type of coffee table book!

Me and Little Man both excited over the cultural enrichment we've just experienced.

 

 

60. Bridge of the Millenium

22nd February 2014, Millenium Bridge, Southbank, London

London has about a gazillion bridges. Many of them iconic and beautiful and great symbols of the city.

I have however never crossed Millennium Bridge. This is totally unrelated to the Harry Potter scene where the Death Eaters curse it and makes it explode.

It does look a bit unstable thought doesn't it? So if the Death Eaters were to come - if would only be so easy for them to send everyone down the Thames. And I don't want to swim in the Thames. I'd probably come out of there with an extra ear growing out of my back or something.

If there is one thing I fear more than Death Eaters, it's tourists. Why is that presumably reasonable people turn into complete idiots when facing placed in a different city? And London is super easy to be a tourist in. They have clear signs everywhere telling you not just where to walk but how to walk. It really is not that hard.

On this lovely spring day - never mind that it's just February - I made my Millennium Bridge debut along with approximately 4000 other people.

No Death Eaters in sight.



Just me and two or three other people....

The view. Of the other bridges.

59. Double Dipping

20th February 2014, Sushi Samba/Dirty Martini, City of London

Just so we're clear - no dipping of any sort took place this evening. Although I could have done with some hummus or something four cocktails in.

Wrapping up a week of intense dating, I decided to squeeze two dates in on one night. Partially because it would make me feel quite empowered, but also because I wanted to stay in and watch EastEnders with a takeaway on Friday night like the rockstar that I am.

So, date number one is the 38 year old, divorced stock broker who got my number on after work drinks at the Anthologist ages ago. After having moved past the fact that I am now at the age where we date divorcees, I started to realise that the guys is actually quite sweet, funny and smart.

Drinks at Sushi Samba was obviously a great start - the bar is amazing with gorgeous views of London. Plus their cocktails are really amazing.

Off to an awkward start and an in depth analysis of whether or not the mild winter would mean we should expect a crappy summer, it got better after the first drink. I speak fluent sarcasm and enjoy it when others do the same - so a few rude jokes in, I remembered why I'd given the guy my number in the first place. Plus he looks great in a suit.

Trying to make up an excuse to leave in time for my 10 pm date was not the easiest thing. We were having a great time and I had a feeling that telling him he only had a two hour and two cocktail slot wouldn't exactly increase my chances of a second date.

Either way, at 10 pm I was ready for date number 2 at Dirty Martinis which meant more delicious cocktails to come.

Second date is a 30 year old recruiter who I'd imagine have been single for exactly that many years. For some reason, when it comes to recruitment agents and estate agents they have a tendency to suffer severely from the Peter Pan syndrome and are the last men to ever even consider settling down and stop being the notorious bachelors. And I am very jealous as they can get away with it!

It seems like I hit the jackpot twice this evening as recruiter man was also lovely. Really charming, handsome and clever. And with great taste in cocktails which definitely puts his overall ranking even higher!

After an evening of two dates, as many bars, four cocktails and a snapped heel - I have a much greater understanding for people choosing committed relationships. Dating is truly very exhausting and after a week of it, I am totally beat.

58. On The Line

18th February 2014, Calloh Callay, Shoreditch, London

I have always been sceptical with the idea of online dating. I get that these are modern times and I should accept that this is how people meet nowadays.

I do however prefer the old fashioned way of meeting men. In other words - getting smashed down the pub, meet a cute guy and wonder why the guy turning up for the following date is nowhere near as cute as you recall. Or as tall. Why are they always shorter the second time around?

Due to the already mentioned great concern with regards to my love life amongst friends and family, I allowed myself to get talked into it. And made someone else pay for the eHarmony subscription.

So, after a lot of boring, disgusting, random, peculiar and absurd messages from the single men of London (plus five from Essex and one from Kabhul...?) - someone actually came across as decent and normal. Yes, in the online dating world, I apparently give guys credit for 'normal'.

Anyway, Non Weirdo proposed a date after some semi rude messaging back and forth for a week or so. Still being not being sure about the whole online dating thing, I never the less  agreed to meet him for drinks.

It all seemed quite promising. He suggested Calloh Callay which is a venue I absolutely love - some fun nights have been had in there. This was not one of those nights.

There are some core rules to first dates that everyone should be aware of after the age of 12. Rules like don's eat garlic before the first date and if you must, do brush your teeth ahead of said date, don't open up the ex files at any stage and don't talk about intimate details such as male Brazilian wax jobs (true story).

Another one that I thought would be a given is not showing up high as a kite and disappearing to the bathroom every minutes for what I can only assume were top ups of unidentified, most likely white, substances.
If you do that, it really doesn't matter how much money your company is making. Oh yeah, repeatedly pointing out how much your company makes and what a catch you are - also not a thing to do for the first date.

Some other pointers when it comes to first dates for the clueless and obnoxious:

• Referring to the waiter and bar staff as 'lesser people' is generally a bad idea, unless you are certain your date believes in a class system where 'labourers' are unworthy of interacting with the 'better people'. Good luck finding that date in London anno 2014.
• Keep your shirt on. Just do.
• Don't try to snog a date who has already told you that she would rather want Patrick Bateman to walk her home. It is not a compliment.
• One text to check your date came home OK is cute. 10 are less cute.

In other words, if I started this off with scepticism it has now turned to actual fear. I will not be doing this again. Now if you excuse me, I have some cats to buy as that is clearly where my future lies.

57. From Chelsea to Hollywood

16th February, Hollywood Arms, Chelsea, London


-Hello, my name is Me and I'm a Made In Chelsea Addict.

I swear, I have it under control. It's not like I will cancel dates on Monday nights to get home in time to watch my favourite Chelsea crowd. And it's not like I will immediately switch to E4+1 at 11pm to watch it again. And I have most certainly never googled 'Made + In + Chelsea + Jamie + Lucy + Together'  to see if those love birds will finally get together. They need to understand that they are meant to be.

I swear, I have it under control. Really.

So maybe it so happens that the one time when I walked past Hugo Taylor at Brinkley's I may have gone 'Hey Hugo, how's it going?' and only realised after several minutes of polite small talk that this was not actually an acquaintance of mine I just had difficulties placing. And maybe, just maybe I was so star struck when I saw Millie Mackintosh in Peter Jones that one time that I ran outside and called my then flatmate screaming 'I saw Millie! She was beautiful!'.

But I have it under control. I do.

I tend to get a lot of inspiration from the show when I venture out in West London - I am a Shoreditch girl after all and can't say I'm as much of a Chelsea expert.

It may be that my insisting on going to Hollywood Arms for Sunday roast with the Camel was somewhat based on the fact that it is where Spencer got ditched by the Russian girl. But mostly, a girl has got to eat right? Plus I have like 7 more venues to tick off the MAde in Chelsea list!

In all fairness, it is a lovely pub. Really cute venue, super comfy chairs and really has that old Victorian pub feeling to it. The bloody Mary's were fantastic and the roast was really delicious and perfect start to a boozy Sunday.

And a boozy Sunday it became. All in the spirit of stalking the Made In Chelsea cast. This includes standing on Battersea Bridge trying to look deep into thought. Probably not about something more complex than the number of calories in a glass of champagne, but when in Chelsea you do as the Chelseans do.

Wrapping up at the Botanist with bubbles - it was the perfect Sunday afternoon with the lovely Camel.

And Hollywood Arms - I will be back. Please make sure fit Andy is there that time.

 

I love a bit of roast with a side of posh

The Camel and the Bloody Mary

No Sunday without the Mary's

The Camel deep in thought on Battersea Bridge

 

Not so deep in thought but in my fabulous coat

 

56. Running with the Posh People

16th February 2014, Battersea Park, Chelsea, London 

Say what you want about Victoria Park, but it would be nice running through a park that doesn't smell like pot for once. 

Battersea Park is supposedly the best spot for a run in London. And whilst having the afternoon devoted to Chelsea anyway I figured I might as well finally make it to there for a run where the posh people live.
 
Now, spending an hour on the tube on a Sunday morning may not be what I'm normally that keen on - again due to usually being massively hungover. But after a week of intense storms - that big yellow thing in the sky could make anyone motivated to leave bed before noon.

And I didn't regret my decision for a second. I do love a good run and the fact that I wasn't chased by pitbulls or crazy women who think they're John Lennon was definitely a big selling point.

There's something about running along the Thames that always makes me fall in love with London all over again for the millionth time. The only thing that really beats it is a cab ride in the middle of the night from West to East - that's when I really do realise how much I love this city!

So, apart from the gorgeous views - Battersea Park is amazing for people watching. Like the posh edition of people watching. Never have I seen so many Barbour jackets and pugs in Louis Vuitton bags in 10 k ever and it was actually quite a nice change from skinny jeans and skateboarders.

I will be back Battersea - you're lovely. Plus I love outrunning skinny rich girls.

55. Just Browsing

15th February 2014, Guys and Dolls Parlour, Brick Lane, London

I am not a particularly hairy person and the hair that I do have is very fair. Which is great in many ways - I save a fortune on hair removal every summer.

However, my eye brows have always left a lot to wish for. They're blonde and weak and very unlike the Elisabeth Taylor brows I would ideally want.

I have made the attempt to sort them out, but for a girl with a very high pain threshold, I can not deal with eye brow plucking. Plus there's the fact that my sister generally is the one tasked with shaping my eye brows and I think she actually enjoys hurting me.

As I am too lazy to fill in my eyebrows most days, something had to be done and that by a pro. Thankfully, I have the lovely Guys and Dolls parlour literally around the corner. And now I am never leaving my eyebrows be again and I will keep getting them professionally done forever and always. It took literally thirty seconds to get the entire shaping done and I now have actual colour on them!

I love anything that allows me to continue my laziness.

54. Pink Fluffy Angora Dreams

15th February, House of Vintage, Brick Lane, London

Several rom coms have taught me that when you see The One, you just know.

It was just like that. Except without a Hugh Grant close up.

The rom coms have also taught me that The One will be in the place you least expect it.

It was just like that. Except it wasn't climbing up my balcony to the sound of opera music.


As made perfectly clear previously - I don't like vintage clothing. At all.
Never the less, at yet another vintage shop searching for a 1940's dress for the Floridian - there it was. And it was everything I could ever have dreamed of. Every pink angora inch of it.

For years I have been determined to find the perfect coat. And I don't mean Burberry trench coat classic perfection - I mean perfect for me and my personality. Something I'll love for years, classic enough for me not to get bored with it - yet unique enough to reflect my somewhat special personalitybeing.

I think I may have scared the shop assistant with my excitement over this coat. Leaping across the store and hugging one of the mannequins is apparently not what most people would call normal behaviour. Then again, this is a coat from the 60's. People did LSD in the 60's. It will be used to odd behaviour.

My long hunt for The One seem to finally be over.

Pink perfection!

Me and The One out and about in Chelsea.

53. Goldfish in a Bag

15th February 2014, The Drift, City of London

For anyone who is yet to notice - I'm a sucker for an inventive cocktail.

And the lovely people of the Drake & Morgan bars and restaurants tend not to disappoint. They're my fail safe option across the city of London, whether it's crazy nights out at the Anthologist, people watching at the meat market that is the Folly, or today's choice of the Drift.

Today I wasn't actually so impressed. Having looked forward to one of their signature drinks - Goldfish in a Bag - the very least I expected was for it to come in a bag... But not only am I informed when I get there that my goldfish will not come in a bag, they miss to inform me that they'll basically just give me a gin & tonic with a piece of grape fruit cut in the shape of a fish.

Next time it'll be a real goldfish in my bag.

Expectation

Reality

Possibly the saddest looking fish I have ever laid eyes on

 

Putting on a brave face in spite of my massive disappointment in a wine glass

52. It's Vintage Darling

15th February 2014, Spitalfields, London

I have a confession to make; although I live in the very heart of Shoreditch which is basically vintage heaven and literally next door to Beyond Retro - I really don't particularly like vintage clothing.

There are several reasons for this:

1. People were really tiny back when. Hence the clothes were tiny. Queue anxiety attack in a badly lit changing room, that isn't really a changing room but a broom cupboard in the old button factory that the cool kids of East London have converted into another hot spot in vintage mecca.
2. Vintage shopping is just damn inconvenient. There's no organisation, no structure, nothing is available in another colour or another size (up).
3. The smell. Sorry, but vintage shops smell like other people's old clothes. There's a reason for that. Same reason why I'm not buying it.
4. The hype that has evolved over vintage clothing is completely and utterly ridiculous. Suddenly every piece of fabric with someone else's sweat on is not used, not handed down, not second hand - it's vintage. Sorry, but I won't pay 50 pounds for an already worn H&M top from two seasons ago.

Spitalfields Pop Up Vintage Market is, in spite of my disliking of vintage clothing, one of the London essentials I have so far missed. Primarily due to being massively hungover on most Saturday mornings. 
And even if I'm against the clothes, I am open to vintage bags and shoes. As long as they aren't too smelly.

My vintage market date was my very favourite Floridian - one of few people I know who can actually fit her teeny tiny little waist into 40's dresses. Which was actually the aim of our vintage shopping trip - Floridian was off to a blitz party, as you often are, and her wardrobe full of 50's style attire just wasn't going to cut it.

If I thought the Spitalfields Vintage Market was going to be my vintage epiphany, I was wrong.
Half of it was new stuff made to look old. If you're going to tell people it's a unique post war piece, at least hide the other identical and unique post war pieces readily wrapped up in boxes behind the stall. 
The other half was new stuff, now more expensive than before someone else wore it. And I can almost guarantee that the someone else was not famous and therefore cranking up the prices. If it's a piece Betty Page once wore - I could kind of almost get it.

This is why I have to ask again, what is with this vintage hype?

After a tour of the market, observing tourists getting ripped off on their not so unique vintage pieces, neither me nor Floridian were impressed. And no Pearl Harbour inspired dress had been sourced. At this stage, we just gave up and went for lobster.

To sum it up - I'll continue to buy my clothes unused.

51. Blind Leading the Blind

7th February 2014, The Narrow, Limehouse, London

Nor do I enjoy, nor am I particularly good at being in relationships.

Yes, when you do fall for someone and care enough about the person, the hassle is worth it. But no matter what my not so single friends try to tell me, relationships are most certainly a hassle.

I am a very stubborn being and a royal pain in the ass. I don't do compromise. Seriously, I do not do compromise. There have been actual break ups over my refusal to spend any time in public with a man wearing a sports jersey. I don't care who's playing and how important the game is.
I also have a desperate need for enormous amounts of personal space, I don't hold anyone's hand in public, I'm a massive drama queen and I have the very charming habit of actually picking fights. Yup, I will actively search things out to argue over.

Not everyone are as comfortable with my chronic singlehood as I am. In fact, every year the line of;  'I know this really nice guy. You guys would really hit it off', gets more and more frequent. News flash people, because one person is single and another person  is single - it is not an automatic formula that they will be hitting anything off. Demanding drama queen does not seek cuddly teddy bear who lives with his parents.

But lately I have been thinking, what happens the day that this really nice guy is actually nice? And willing and able to handle all the drama that comes with dating me?
So after a friend with particularly good judgement several times highlighted how much me and her dear, also single, friend had in common I caved. I was going on my first ever blind date.

Now, the biggest mistake a guy can make when taking a girl out for the first time is take her to dinner or worse, to the movies. You risk either getting stuck suffering in awkward semi silence for at least two courses ending with an even more awkward conversation where you're repeatedly insisting on going dutch as you don't want to feel like you owe the guy a thing. Or, the even more appalling alternative - he takes you to the movies and you're stuck in the dark with a stranger you can't even snog if the movie is boring. 
Which is why I was very happy when this guy suggesting drinks in a lovely pub, that is not his or my local - awkward situations in the future therefore avoided.

I got to the pub and the guy (let's call him.... Ryan Gosling) is actually not half bad. As I said, this friend knows her stuff. Tall, good hair, good shoulders, wearing a proper shirt and no psychotic behaviours at a first glance. I know this from spying on him from the bathroom for five minutes before actually going to the bar. After already being 20 minutes late. As far as first impressions goes, I declare Ryan Gosling the winner.

First dates are normally awkward as hell no matter how you met the person. When you have never met the person before and all you really know is that Ryan Gosling is 31 or potentially 32, is originally from Melbourne and once streaked across a rugby pitch it doesn't make it any less awkward I'm afraid.

After half a vodka soda and the very slow conversation largely consisting of the crazy weather we've been having, what we do for work and me claiming I enjoy yoga we finally hit a breaking point.

-Look, you seem to be finding this situation as uncomfortable as I do.
-Correct.
-I've really never been on a blind date before.
-Me neither and I'm starting to re support that decision.
-What do you say we just get really hammered until  we find each other interesting?

There and then, I loved him.

Out came the Jaeger Bombs. And with that, this was no longer a disaster. Until the next morning when I tried dragging my hungover ass to work, but that's a different story.

Four vodka sodas and as many bombs later, I knew he was in fact 31, that he detests people eating on the tube as much as I do and that he like I speak fluent sarcasm. So far so good.

Fifth Jaeger Bomb was a bad move. Like a bad, bad move. That's the thing, cross a certain line of drunkenness and all romantic prospects are out the door. Get me right, Ryan Gosling is still a really fun and exceptionally cute guy - but you'll never get romantic with a guy who shoes off his best but bad break dance moves on the first date. It's a shame, but we had to evict each other to the friend zone - but luckily for him, he has himself a new wing man. I'm looking forward to my new role.

Overall, given the right filtering process and some detailed questionnaires for the arranger, this blind date business is not so bad. Just make sure the next one is also bloody cute,

50. The Cocktail and the Canary

6th February 2014, One Canada Square, Canary Wharf, London

When I was first deported to Canary Wharf, I thought my life was over.

Oh yes, I was being exactly that dramatic. When I told my managers that they would have to drag me there kicking and screaming they probably thought I was exaggerating. I was not.

In spite of a very detailed and lengthy sales pitch of how I could set up my office in the St Paul's Starbucks and allow my boss to use the money for my desk rent towards the annual Christmas party, I was shipped off to Canary Wharf one gloomy May day in 2012. It was awful. They put me on a bus and once I got there the coffee they gave me was disgusting and I suspect, instant.

My then boss was however very impressed by my presentation and financial calculations that came with it. I have a feeling he wished I applied the same passion to my actual work....

I have come to terms with the place. Get me right, it's grey, dull and lacks any type of personality - but at least I no longer step off the DLR and cry. Loudly. Whilst wailing 'why God, why me?!'... Actually, come to think of it. It is probably me because I only speak to God for having to travel to Canary Wharf and when the Christian Louboutin sample sale doesn't stock my size.

So I learnt how to deal with the abysmal shopping, the fact that my lunch always has bread in it and the people who sweat near me on the public transport I have now been reduced to using every day. But the worst must still be, the after work drink venue options. They now consist of All Bar One and Corney and Barrow. That is all. And that, my friends, is just not acceptable.

A few feasible options have turned up over the years and I have had a decent cocktail or two since the emigration from real London - but it is very much hit and miss and I generally land myself with very bland Pinot.

Then came One Canada Square. When I first heard of this place - a place in the land of doom with actual mixologists - I was convinced it was a joke. But it seemed that God had heard my prayers. As he clearly has nothing better to do.

As it was time for a massively overdue catch up with another ex boss, one who was present at the time of the 'I rather die than go to the Wharf' pitch, but not the subject of it - I decided we needed to try out One Canada Square. One, I really needed a drink and two, I demonstrated some maturity in having come to terms with my fate of eternal damnation in the CW.

This is the ex boss who both accepted and appreciated my obsession with keeping daily lists and tidy piles on my desk, one of few who can beet me in sarcasm and who also makes the damn best cupcakes in the world. I was thrilled to finally get some insight into the last six months or so of her very hectic schedule with travels, an adorable daughter and life back at the old office.

One Canada Square did in no way disappoint. Starting off with a simply scha-mazing shrimp and scallop burger, I am in love with this place. Combined with some fantastic wine and finishing off with cornflake sorbet and salted caramel popcorn ice cream, I am never agreeing to set foot at a bar chain again. No sir.

Then there was the cocktails. My rhubarb and rose water gimlet was orgasmic. Just watching the guy make the drinks was an experience and the drinks was delicious. Never give me roses in any other shape again.

Canary Wharf - I still hate your guts. But at least now I can do so with a good quality buzz.

Beautiful, delicious AND with rose water coming out of a 1920's perfume bottle. Thank you for saving me.

49. Gherkin

4th February 2014, 30 St Mary Axe, London

Granted, I hate sightseeing. Never had an interest to go see the 'must-have-been-to' spots in the world and prior visits to the Eiffel Tower (what's the deal with all those stairs?, St Marcus' Square (I can be pooped on by pigeons anywhere on the planet) and the Sydney Opera House (there's a bar there...) has been very much someone else's bright idea and I have basically been dragged there. Fact, first time in New York I insisted on a helicopter ride to get it all over and done with.

As much as I loathe sightseeing, after 7 years in London - all of them in the East End, it's pretty embarrassing to never have made it to the Gherkin. Or knowing how to get there when you can clearly see the building from anywhere.

Honestly, I never got what the fuss was about. It's a funny looking building and 'the Gherkin' is probably the most polite nickname it has, but other than that it doesn't seem so special. However - if it's between that and Madame Tussaud's, London Eye, Buckingham Palace or any other over crowded tourist spot, I'll happily settle for the Gherkin.

Rather than doing what a normal person would have and just go to the champagne bar on top - I decided to mix business with semi pleasure, and went for a lecture on expected changes in financial regulations in. It was interesting. I guess. Not to mention there was an open bar. And mini burgers.

I'd say that's my London sightseeing done for 2014. Thank God for that. 

48. Kicking it to the Curve

2nd February 2014, Virgin Active, Broadgate, London

Love running, hate the treadmill. With a vengeance. It just takes all the fun out of it and push you no way near as hard as actual outdoors running.

Having been afraid to try these new mystery gadgets having appeared at the gym a few weeks back, I tried to get my trainer to explain it to me. Well, first it took him about 15 minutes to understand what on earth I was talking about - apparently 'it's like a treadmill but shaped like a banana' was not a helpful description.

Apparently these things - curved treadmills - are designed to make you drive the run without the treadmill doing the work for you. Which in theory fixes the problem I have with ordinary treadmills.

So, on this very hungover Sunday I decided to give it a go.

I climbed up on it and immediately when I started to move my feet, the machine kicked off, took me by surprise which inevitably resulted in me flying off it and landing on a bozu ball. Twice. Elegance and grace - that's me!

I did pull it off in the end. Nevermind that one of the gym staff had to come hold my hand and block my flight attempts.

But you know what? Running isn't quite running without the crack dealers outside of Royal London Hospital, being chased by an angry mastiff in Victoria Park and colliding with bankers when running through Moorgate.

Treadmill or no treadmill - bring on marathon season!

Mystery machine from outer space.

47. Mojito Master

1st February 2014, Brick Lane, London

My favourite drink, all times, is a really good mojito. I could easily have buckets of it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not that that's for, not with.

Although I am a fairly decent cook as well as an excellent champagne pourer, cocktail making is most definitely not my forte. I once made a post dinner coffee drink that allegedly tasted like smoked salmon. Says it all really.

Considering that I drink my weight in mojitos on a monthly basis, learning how to actually make them would probably do my finances a few favours - not to mention the close approximately to my bed once I've hit mojito number 12.

I like over complicating things. In other words - just making a plain mojito was obviously not a feasible option. Pear and Raspberry Golden Rum Mojito anyone?

Suddenly, I have loads more respect for several bartenders, who in all fairness, I already had a lot of respect for. Mojito making is freakishly hard word. I'd like to think I have pretty decent arm strength - but after 10 minutes of muddling I realised this is not the case. Serious arm cramps.

In spite of the fact that the mojito making was harder work than the chin ups in my PT session that same morning, my mojitos were seriously delicious.

Mango mojitos with my broken biceps next time?

The Mojito Master in action!

Hell's Bells enjoying my master piece!

Perfect start to a girlie night in!

 

46. And the Domestic Goddess

1st February 2014, Brick Lane, London

Confession time. Having lived in my flat for 4 months, I have not once hoovered any of the rooms in it. This is partially down to having a weekly cleaner, but mainly down to the fact that the hoover in my flat is a machine from outer space. I have realised this needs to be done, but there are literally no YouTube tutorials on the topic. Disaster.

Following two haircuts though, it had to be done. Much to the amusement of my hair dresser who had to step up as hoover tutor. I think she very much judged me for this. But after a quick demonstration of its' functions, a further explanation to simplify the demonstration to me as I did not quite grasp the full concept and a few failed attempts at getting the hoover to do anything other than blow the hairs around - I was finally doing it.

Martha Stewart would be proud! Or maybe not so much...

I'm doing it! It's happening!

45. Banging it

1st February 2014, Shoreditch, London

I look fricking adorable with a fringe. Truth.  

I also have the most amazing hair dresser in the world. The woman is nothing short of a hair genius. After 3 years, 2 salons, 4 house moves and 1 baby, I think she has accepted the fact that she is forever stuck with me as a client, slash stalker. And as if that wasn't enough, both Hell's Bells and Mrs Higginson also have realised the extent of her brilliance. Therefore, getting our hair done usually entails a full day of hair pampering followed by a girlie night out after having solved all the world's problems. I think the ammonia fumes encourages the most clever ideas.
Unfortunately, Mrs Higginson was off on a romantic trip to the Ice Hotel with Mr Higginson so she had to give it a miss this time. I almost consider that a reasonable excuse.

Having already decided to go with bangs this time around, I was already prepared for the cuteness to come. And after 2 hours of bleach in aluminium foil, chopping and fluffing - I was once again in love with my hair cut. I believe that everyone should cut a fringe at least once in their life, you're guaranteed to suddenly be cuter than Gizmo in Gremlins. God, I love the Gremlins.

Still not over the extent of my adorability; Zooey Deschanel - eat your bangs out. 

 

Rocking my fringe!

Bringing back the blonde!

 

Still banging it at 3 AM after countless cocktails.

44. King of Casseroles

31st January 2014, John Lewis, Canary Wharf, London

In the 10 years since I moved away from my parents' house, I have had approximately 16 changes of address. This is the beauty of renting in large cities with the global economy going like a rollercoaster.

After these 16 or so rounds of changing addresses, there's been countless pieces of home ware having gone missing or simply being thrown out due to lack of space and moves across Europe. After house move 8 or so, to a Hackney dump with a leaking roof and crazy flatmate with very little regards to personal space, I simply gave in and decided my flat inventory from then on would be purely IKEA.

Now however, after having stayed put in my previous flat for a whopping two years and being quite settled in my current flat - I've gone all domestic bliss and have actually started to purchase some relatively long lasting household items without any Hello Kitty patterns whatsoever on them.

There's a few essentials I've decided I needed and the crystal flutes have already been provided by my favourite bubble drinking buddy - the polka dot, smash safe, fake glass ones just didn't say 'class' anymore.

Another thing I need for my kitchen is numerous le Creuset pieces. They're cute and they make me feel like a grown up, even though I still maintain it's ridiculous to pay £100 pounds for the thing I'd mainly make instant noodles in. And occasionally conduct experiments with various blends of warm booze.

I started myself of with mini casserole pots. I like miniatures. Especially if it's miniature horses and pigs, but pots will do.

My new selection of tiny pots.

The mini pot debut - mushroom risotto, giant prawns and baby shark!