87. The One Before The Big 3-0

31st March 2014, West End, London

It was unavoidable I guess. I have now arrived at what will be the last year of my 20's. Scary shit.

What wasn't so scary though, was being given the most perfect day to celebrate, all put on by the wonderful Hell's Bells.

The day was kicked off with a gorgeous brunch at the ever fabulous Riding House Café along with an expected food coma. I think the staff at Riding House are pretty used to us now and they're getting quite good at pretending to find it normal to have our eggs with a side stack of pancakes. Plus granola. And about 5 mimosas each. This time was no exception. Other than the candles on my pancake tower!

Between stuffing our faces full of every carbohydrate on planet Earth we did manage to agree on my adopting a pug for my birthday and naming him Pugsy Malone. Best birthday present to myself ever!

Seeing as I live in an apartment in Shoreditch with the closest green area to walk a dog being the next door football pitch where some very colourful crack heads also hang out, I had to settle for an adorable bunny bracelet from Marc Jacobs. So many gorgeous things in his Mayfair boutique - it's just a shame they have managed to recruit what may just be the rudest and most unhelpful staff in Britain.

After a long stroll through Fitzrovia, Soho and Mayfair we decided it was time for this year's first glass of rose. For those who didn't know - the first glass of rose wine is a surer sign of spring than birds singing, brighter evenings, pollen invasions and Brits wearing bikinis in the park at 15 degrees Celsius.

Ending this lovely day in a typical Me manner, I obviously realised at the very last minute that my storage space contract expires the next day! Cue creepy bus from Haymarket to the dodgiest end of Southwark and insisting to the lovely guys at the storage unit office that yes, I could empty my space in 7 minutes and oh by the way, did they have a lock cutter at hand? Shoving 25 pairs of shoes, a television screen, a pink hoover, a hundred odd pieces of tea sets from my 27th Alice in Wonderland party and a collection of Hello Kitty notebooks was not necessarily the way I had planned to end my 29th birthday. But it's still somehow very appropriate and reflective of my personality.

Here's to rocking the next 364 days!

Happy Bunny at Riding House Cafe

My lovely birthday organizer!

There's nothing wrong with buying yourself a present for your 29th!

86. Spring At The Tip of My Fingers

29th March 2014, Guys and Dolls Parlour, Brick Lane, London

Since my early 20's my regular manicures have generally been discrete blacks, pinks and reds - dull but appropriate.

What I really do love though are pretty poppy colours on nails, I very much enjoy the idea of my nails looking like little pieces of candy.

With spring having arrived and with a break from appropriate coming up shortly, I was giving Easter Egg inspired nails a go.

No better place to do this than my favourite beauty salon in all of London, the lovely Guys and Dolls Parlour in Shoreditch. All those lovely pastels gave me goose bumps. Plus they gave me champagne cocktails. So many of my favourite things in one go!

I think I'm off discrete blacks and subtle pinks for life now.

These things will not stop me having my cocktail....

Easter Egg Nails!

85. Queen of IKEA

28th March 2014, Shoreditch, London

Christians have church, Muslims have mosque and Jews have temple. Swedish people have IKEA.

With 35 million visits to Swedish IKEA stores every year, you are pretty much expected as a Swede to know how to work your flat pack furniture. In fact, if you are a real Viking you should be able to put just about any piece of furniture together without so much as looking at the instructions as it should all be completely intuitive.

I bring shame on my country. In the past I have had to rely on the help from Italians, Americans, Australians, South Africans and Norwegians to put my homes together. Its a wonder they've let me keep my passport.

Although I have successfully failed at assembling a number of various furniture types, beds will always have a special place in my heart.

First bed I tried to put together with the Bestie and our favourite girl from Minnesota in our flat in Sandweiler, Luxembourg. 6 hours after kick off, it looked beautiful. It was however not quite as beautiful when viewed from the floor after having fallen through it. We had to call in boys to fix it.

Now with the second bed, my entire group of Swedish girlfriends came to my flat on Belair, Luxembourg for Scandinavian engineering assistance and moral support. Another 6 hours later, I had a bed. Again, until I actually went to sleep in it and woke up on the floor the next morning. We had to call in boys once more.

As my new bed arrived in some beautiful flat boxes delivered to my house, I decided I was finally going to do it. I am a strong independent woman of 2014 and damn it, I will build my own bed. Possible with a very specific Destiny's Child tune in the background.

And Eureka! It does seem like after almost 29 years on this planet of which 19 were spent in the land of flat packs - I have finally found  my IKEA gene. In less than two hours my new bed was ready to be slept in. And no one fell through the frame this time!

Thank you Ingvar Kamprad*.

Challenge accepted!

Getting there...

Mission accomplished!

 

 

Two people needed? Pfffft....

 

 *Founder of IKEA

84. Pirates and Princesses

28th March 2014, Shoreditch, London
 
When I was little, I really wanted a My Little Pony cake for every one of my birthdays from the age of four. And now at 29, I thought the time had finally come.
 
I spent 45 minutes watching the YouTube tutorial on how to make a sitting down Pinkie Pie figure in sugar paste. Then I decided that the time had definitely not come. Maybe it's suitable for 30th birthday parties as well.
 
Another wish I had for a birthday cake theme, was Pirates and Princesses. In true feminist spirit, I never really got why in 2014, boys still automatically get pirate themes parties and the girls get princess ones when they're equally awesome themes.

Luckily, cupcake decorations for both pirates and princesses are much easier to come by than My Little Pony ones. I also had the luck of having the Trainee Housewife and her Little Lady over to help me prepare some really awesome cupcakes.

After an excellent lunch of Thomas the Tank Engine pasta and Swedish meatballs, we were ready to get to work. And 3 hours of intense cupcake making shortly followed.

There was no end to the creativity. Not only were there the very classic black pirate cupcakes and equally classic pink princess cupcakes - we also had princess and pirate weddings, princesses buried with crosses on their graves and pirates stranded on deserted islands with only a bottle of rum to keep them company.

I've said it before and I'll say it again; You are never too old for princesses or pirates.

My little helper cleaning the baking equipment

Preparation is key

Bringing out our creative side!

Enjoying the final result!

83. Dining With Robots

26th March 2014, Giant Robot, Clerkenwell, London

If your place is a bit quirky and doesn't have rats I will most likely want to go to there.

A good tip would be to name your restaurant Giant Robot and devote a whole section of your menu to 'Special Balls'. I'll be there in a heart beat. Well, I'll most likely be there 20 minutes late, but I will be there.

I was in fact 20 minutes late to meet with two of the Swafia* boys at this place. But as I saw it, a place with a robot theme is probably the best place to make boys wait for you in.

I must admit, I was a bit disappointed at the lack of man made creatures in the place upon my arrival. Fine, expecting R2D2 to serve me my Pinot may have been unrealistic. But the only robot in there was a lamp hanging from the ceiling. It did nothing to settle any of my many robot needs.

Other than that, this is a perfectly fine diner style restaurant. My pasta was fine, the boys' burgers were fine, service was slow but the wine glasses large. But I can't lie, whatever they would have done, it would still have been over shadowed by the lack of robots.

I still maintain that if you promise the people robots, give the people robots.

Why are the balls not special on the printed menu?

Some special balls to go?

*Swafia = the Swedish Mafia, my London team consisting of 50% Swedes and 50% people who live their lives eating crayfish with the Swedes, watching the Swedish Chef clips whilst having champagne and dancing around the midsummer pole.

82. The Fanciest of Goos

26th March 2014, Balthazar Brasserie, Covent Garden, London

I'm cliché when it comes to the fancy foods I enjoy - lobster, steak and champagne are all very much up my street.

Soufflés however... Well they just look gooey. Kind of like a sponge cake that could do with another 15 minutes in the oven. Yeah, I judge on appearance and I am not remotely ashamed to admit it.

With an entire afternoon to spare and the Balthazar Covent Garden experience so far being the perfect fashionable hermit lunch - I did wear Louboutins after all - I decided to give it a go.

And it came out promising. A fluffy edible tower smelling gorgeous of rhubarb and vanilla custard with another glass of free champagne (I think the second glass was because I was clueless and didn't know what was in a soufflé - the staff apparently found it cute).

Turns out, soufflé is... Gooey. And kind of... Eggey. In a bad way. Well, there were actually egg shells in there which I think was much more eggey than intended, but still. At least that added some crunch to the gooey-ness.

It's a shame really. I like fancy foods. I like French words with a pronunciation that makes some sort of sense. I like eggs. I don't like soufflés.

I guess I'll have to stick with Crème Brûlée. And I can sort of pronounce that as well.

Looks yummy, non?

Egg a la Goo

 

81. From Manhattan to the West End

26th March 2014, Balthazar Brasserie, Covent Garden, London

With a New York trip coming on soon and my abstinence growing stronger and stronger, I needed a Manhattan fix urgently.

I rarely go to New York without visiting the Steak Frites Heaven that is Balthazar at least once. In fact, one of the most ideal days I will ever have when visiting is a late 3 hour lunch with myself, a big old steak, a couple of glasses of something red and French and of course, the latest copy of Vogue. This will be after a very long day of shopping and it's also an excellent opportunity to relax and pretend like you'll never have to deal with the credit card bill following your grand tour of the Marc Jacobs store.

I knew saving my first visit to Balthazar Covent Garden until a time of need would prove to have been a good move.

Immediately upon my arrival I am presented with a complimentary glass of champagne as a single diner. Finally, someone is getting us singles freebies!

Not only did the waiter bring me free bubbles he was also adorably funny, polite, charming and really helpful. In fact, Balthazar always has brilliant staff even though it's definitely fancy enough to get away with having much snootier personnel.

The guests however, not so adorable. Or funny. Or polite. Or charming. Or helpful. Apparently, being on BBC every afternoon entitles you to skip out on maintaining any level of manners. And apparently it also entitles the girlfriend who is most certainly not your wife to be incredibly rude to absolutely everyone on the staff without any trace of the self-perception probably needed to recognise your own vile behaviour. Perhaps next time, eat your garden salad rather than pick at it and you may come out happier and more enjoyable as a human being on the other side.

Apart from the couple at the next table, I spent the next two hours revelling in joy over Balthazar London satisfying my wealthy housewife fantasy almost as well as it's brother across the pond.

More Steak Frites for the people!

A lovely glass of red and the even lovelier free glass of champers

The Steak. The Frites. The Love.

80. Little Man Not So Little No More

24th March 2014, Brondesbury Park, London

I have had the most ridiculous soft spot for this Little Man since he was born. Just. Look. At. That. Little. Face!

It may have to do a teeny tiny bit with the fact that he is the first baby amongst my London group of friends and I've known him from bump to toddler, but it is first and foremost just because he is super mega awesome and the coolest little dude on the planet.  

As I envisage it, 15 years from now I will be that terrible auntie-that-isn't-really-an-auntie-but-still, who will let Little Man get away with absolute murder and totally buy into the stories of he and his mates are just going to the cinema until 2 am on a Saturday morning. I also have a feeling that I will be his favourite fake aunt but not so  much his parents'.

I can't believe he is already two! And his birthday party is the best reason I've had to drag myself out of bed before noon on a Sunday since his first birthday.

Looking cool as ever in his little bow tie and pink trousers I don't think a toddler have ever had so much style - and he's up against the Beckham kids!

As per usual it was full speed ahead. When he was not running around logging his new train set around the flat or climbing up and down the sofa to grab his basket ball, his little hand would appear from underneath the kitchen table to grab a handful of mini muffins. And subsequently throw them all on the floor.

If all my friends keep having kids this cool I will never have to get stretch marks of my own. Keep up the good work gang!

Little Man and I, age: 1 week

Little Man and I, age: 1 year

Little Man and I, age; 2 years

79. Choco Shock

23rd March 2014, Dark Sugar, Brick Lane, London

Living where I live there are new little shops popping up day to day, one more fabulous than the other and with more than half of them I don't even get the chance to stick my head through the door before they are gone again.

I was very much hoping this would not be the case with Dark Sugar.

Walking past this amazing chocolatier shop every day, smelling wonderful dark quality chocolate over the Brick Lane curry houses it is really a disaster that a chocolate lover like me have not been in yet. I think deep down I have been worried of repeating the scene from the movie Chocolate, where the town's mayor succumbs to temptation, breaks into the chocolate shop and falls asleep in a pile of cocoa right in the window display.    

Believe me, it could happen.

Needing a hostess gift for Little Man's birthday party, I finally had an excuse to go in.   Spending 20 pounds on chocolate pralines to eat on your own in circa 2 seconds whilst watching East Enders has never quite seemed good enough.  

My timing was for once excellent and managed to enter the store just as a chocolate tasting was happening. And suddenly it was ever so clear why chocolate has been labelled food of gods. The samples were like chocolate explosions in my mouth with whiffs of red chillies, freshly ground Colombian coffee beans and clotted cream toffees.

Composing my very own box of luxury chocolates I mastered up enormous amounts of will power not to eat them in the store, walking to the tube, sitting on the tube and walking from the tube. Not quite sure how I did it.

To the very lucky owners of the spectacular box of chocolate - you better be enjoying them! 

The kind of overdose I can get on board with

Chocolate Heaven

Oh to sink your teeth into that....

78. Farewell To Mrs Higginsson

22nd March 2014, Beard To Tail, Shoreditch, London

With Mr Higginsson having abandoned us for the land down under already, I am taking advantage of all the time I can get with his better half before she is off as well at the end of March.

There's a lot of 'lasts' coming our way at the moment. And yesterday was the last girlie dinner with the original Swafia ladies and it was about as sad as I had envisaged. Which is why I had to have not one, but two little jugs of Bloody Marvellous to cope. And that was before the wine.

This lucky girl got 45 minutes of Mrs Higginsson one on one quality time before dinner which only made me realise even more that, oh my, will I miss her! No more Sunday lunch catch up sessions, hardcore list making, and the world's best pep talks will now have to be scheduled via Skype to fit in with the time difference! I won't get into how stupid Oz is again, but please note that it is very very stupid.

The other girls shortly showed up at Beard To Tail for this meal to mark the end of an era and although I love them all dearly, the gang won't be the same without Mrs Higginsson.

However, after this leaving dinner I have a bone to pick with all girls but the Floridian who stayed strong and stuck with the agreed strategy. This bone is for abandoning our agreed tactic and being all supportive of this move! It is not a good thing that's about to happen here folks - stop getting behind the madness! And, you know, be selfish like normal people.

Being very sentimental and up and down memory lane following this dinner I can at least appreciate how lucky I am to have had all this time with what has become one of my dearest friends over the last five years. And although she gets all adorably blushing and modest when anyone states the obvious, she is also without a doubt the kindest person I have and will most likely ever meet.

Also whilst being sentimental, here are my top 5 Mrs Higginson moments:

• Having had the greatest honour of being a bride's maid at her gorgeous wedding in and getting to be a part of the run up to her big day.
• Being seen to by nurse Amanda following a nasty accident a few years back where she was my private cook, Fanta deliverer, legal advisor and voice of reason for months and months to come.
• Almost eating ourselves to death Sweden and Australia style at the two day Orphan Christmas bonanza of 2011 - also known as the Red Angry Bird's birthday.
• Lugging live crayfish across in an IKEA bag across East London only to almost chicken out when the time came to cook them.
• Debating the rains being or not being on several Midsummer's Days in London parks. It can be debated if you want summer weather badly enough.

Mrs Higginsson will be missed more than I can even attempt to express in writing and although I still think Oz is a bit stupid, I know she will absolutely rock it down there.

And rest assure, I will come visit. Alert the town elders.

The guest of honour

Drowning my sorrows

 

Ladies of the Swafia

77. Duck Tales

21st March 2014, Battersea Park, Battersea, London

There are three types of people who genuinely enjoy visiting ponds to feed the ducks as a pastime; People who are retired, people who are about to retire and some easily amused toddlers.

And then there is me.

Normal people in their 20's do not go off on their own to parks on weekends in order to chill out and feed the ducks. This is why I am so happy that plenty of my friends' kids are now getting into duck feeding age and I can use them as an excuse. Same goes when it comes to going to the cinema to watch Frozen.

The road to the duck feeding was not as straight forward as I would have wished. I am the biggest time optimist in the world and I have a strong tendency to think that anywhere in London Zone 1 is within a 20 minutes walking distance. Several times I've discovered that this is not accurate the hard way, and by the hard way I mean the bleeding foot blister way.

New to London, my friend from back home, the Trainee Housewife also had to be harshly reminded of my somewhat unrealistic attitude towards time and distance when heading from Fulham to Battersea. It does not take 20 minutes, in case anyone was wondering.

After getting through about a million miles by foot, we had to surrender to a pit stop and organise for the promised ice cream to the very brave little lady who didn't complain once during the two hour walk to the pub and wine and coffee for the slightly bigger ladies who were unlike the 2 year old getting much crankier along the way.

3 hours after starting the journey towards the park, we are finally at the pond, armed with burger buns for the birds. The ducks seemed to like burger buns and both me and the little lady were loving it.

Time for me to retire and join a twitching club soon I reckon.

Ice Cream Pit Stop!

Happy Little Lady!

Happy Little Ducks!

 

76. Bengal Boozing

15th March 2014, Old Bengal Bar, Shoreditch, London

After chewing my lamb for about two hours, me and my date made our way to the New Street Grill's cocktail venue - the much talked about Old Bengal Bar.

I love a good al fresco venue. And I love the fact that London bars go through such efforts to make eating and drinking outside possible all year around.

After just the one visit, I am now in love with this bar. Spending two hours there was kind of like stepping onto the set of the early seasons of Mad Men. No Don Draper, but I might learn to live with that. Just maybe.

Big comfy 50's style sofas, exposed brick walls, lovely open courtyard. And amazing cocktails. No mixers and cheap Tesco booze as far as the eye can see here.

And I must, against better judgement, rave about the cigar bar. Look, I know smoking is bad for you, and I know I shouldn't be supportive of a bar selling tobacco as their main gimmick - but I love the smell of cigars. To me, they smell like celebration and success and 50's films and Mr Big.

The cigars also makes this place a really great people watching spot. There are few places in London these days where you can observe the real power players of London with their water combed hair and three piece suits drink properly dry martinis and speak about the business deals that made them great, all whilst puffing along on Cuban cigars worth more than I pay in rent.

Actually, now that I think about it. I might struggle to live with no Don Draper.

75. New Street Grill

15th March 2014, New Street Grill, City of London

New Street Grill is one of those fabulous City venues that typically enough popped up just after my deportation to Canary Wharf.

Considering the trek required for me these days to get there for after work drinks and meals, Saturday night dinner had to make due. Saturday night dinner with a severe jet lag at that.

Being a very swanky place set in an amazing converted 18th century warehouse I get why people rave about the place. Not to mention the lovely attentive staff, great wine selection and awesome location. Turns out though, on a Saturday night it the place becomes more appropriate for over the top romantic proposals rather than bankers celebrating a successful day of trading. This made things semi uncomfortable for what was intended as a very casual third date. But hey - if that leads to more dates at least we have a good venue for taking things to the next level!

Although there were so many things speaking for this place, it was a rather unimpressive dining experience. My salmon starter was both over and under cooked at the same time somehow, I had the most chewy piece of lamb anyone has ever had and the dessert was mush with custard. Shame on the amazing atmosphere.

Thankfully, the cocktails afterwards almost made up for the disastrous food.

74. Swim Right On In

14th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

The two things one will do to cool off in tropical climates are jumping in the pool or having a chilled drinks.

The beauty with swim in pool bars is being able to do both.

On this final day of what had been an amazing holiday it was time to finally check out the swim in bar at the beach side pool for that final frozen daiquiri. And I swear to God, those were the best daiquiris for that entire week in Paradise.

Not quite ready, but accepting our fate - we were now heading back home.

73. Party on the Beach

13th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

Having grown up watching Beverly Hills 90210 reruns I've always had a very unrealistic and romanticized view of beach parties.

Somehow in spite of going on frequent trips to sunny beaches, somehow there's been none of these much desired beach parties to date. Until now - and a Caribbean one should make up for 28 years of this missing aspect of my life I reckoned.

I reckoned wrong. My beach party experience was nothing like in Beverly Hills 90210. I'm still distraught.

Firstly, no one looked remotely like Luke Perry in 1992. Or even Luke Perry in 2014. I am not a happy bunny.

Secondly, the thing with beach parties they fail to divulge on TV is the sand. Sand literally everywhere. For weeks and months. Most likely I'll still find sand in my ears come Christmas.

Thirdly. I probably watched too much TV as a kid.

Apart from the sand and the lack of Lukes, it was quite fun actually. In true Caribbean reggae style.

There's a fourth thing. The kids in Beverly Hills 90210 were, well - kids, and most likely unlike us, they stayed at the beach longer than until 10 pm.



Beach Party Reggae Style

72. Yo-Ho-Ho And A Bottle Of Rum

13th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

Rum tasting on a hot beach? Obviously a great idea.

With the Dominican Republic being famous for their rum, it would be simply foolish and really quite rude not to jump at the chance of trying all the rum varieties this glorious island has to offer.

Turns out, that means a lot of varieties... And it also turns out that people from the Dominican Republic are very generous with their samples. It's not very shocking that after several shots of Brugal, a few more of rum cream and finishing off with the local and possibly deadly Mama Juana - we were more than a bit tipsy. And we were also ready to party.

Off to the bar and more cocktails. We did not need them bit they did bring on some pretty hilarious conversations with the America  pilots that found us in the bar. In 60 minutes we somehow managed to get through the topics of Nashville and country music, the crashed Malaysia Air flight, Hello Kitty business suits, Belgian Waffles and Emerging Market investments. In the middle of an analysis of the word 'please', the bar closed and Hell's Bells and I were getting ready to par-tay.

The par-tay went as far as passing out in our sundresses with an episode of CSI Miami on in the background. I blame the heat, not the rum.

The selection

 

One out of many glasses

Happy and rummed up Hell's Bells

Mama Juana!

Yumsters!

Rum Cream

MamaJuana up close looks a bit less appetising

 

71. Up In The Clouds (now also physically)

12th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

Hell's Bells is afraid of heights. I have an abnormally high number of nights spent in hospitals due to fairly serious accidents. So naturally, we decided that going parasailing together was a good idea.

I was calm on the little boat going to the bigger boat. Still calm when they strapped me into the harness and security gear. Still calm when they attached me to the parachute. To be fair, I only freaked out as we were taking off.

Turns out, I scream like a girl.

First few minutes up in the air were terrifying. Going through everything that could go wrong is a pretty bad idea when already flying along behind a speed boat. For those who wants to know, these are the things that could potentially happen when parasailing:

• The parachute coming loose and dropping you in the Caribbean Sea where you are eaten alive by giant sharks.
• The parachute coming loose and flying off with you to Haiti where you crash in the jungle and are eaten alive by man eating monkeys.
• You coming loose from the parachute and falling down in the sea, landing on the wind surfing board below you.
• The rope getting tangled in another parasailing rope and you dying squashed against another, probably sweaty,  tourist also feeling a bit adventurous that day.

Luckily non of that happened. Now that is not because it couldn't happen, it just didn't happen this particular time. I'm convinced all four of the above scenarios are all very common.

So, once we got over the first minutes of fearing death, it was actually quite peaceful up there, dangling our feet, waving to the fishing boats and admiring the views.

Unfortunately, they had to take us down eventually. That was less enjoyable. Had it been up to me, I still would have been floating about up there. Instead, I had to endure the excruciating fear of crashing back down again, being dipped in the ocean water like a sea bass and dragged up onto the boat again.

I have now taken parachuting off the list.

And off we go!

Up in the air, where no one can hear your screams.

Putting on a brave face

And dip time!

70. Dive In

11th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

I’m not a very outdoors-ey kind of girl.

I like spending my holidays slightly tipsy by the pool, getting loads of sun and having delicious dinners by the sea. Rest assure I will never initiate camping trips, sailing excursions or whale safaris. I like my comfort and I like my margaritas well chilled and in an actual glass, not a flask. Call me a princess, because I kind of am. One who very much enjoys running water and someone else making her bed.

However, I have over the last few years grown very fond of snorkelling. Granted, my sister, brother in law and nieces had to drag me onto a Thai speed boat and more or less shove me off it with a cyclops and a snorkel for me to agree to even give it a try. But once in there, I loved it. Who knew fish could be so much fun outside of a sashimi bento box?

The natural next step from snorkelling is obviously scuba diving. Again, being quite lazy and enjoying my comfort, this was yet to happen.

With Hell’s Bells getting a bit bored on the beach and me having burnt my knee pits in the sun, it seemed like free scuba diving lessons would be an ideal solution. It would also mean we could tell people that we had done something with our holiday other than eating, drinking, eating some more and going to bed at 10 pm.

Turns out that I'm a natural at diving. Once I was in my super cool diving gear, I was off like a dolphin. Or some other sort of speedy whale.  In all fairness, I was in a pool and couldn't get very far. But when the rest of the class were still getting the hang of breathing through the mouth piece, I was doing lap on lap closely inspecting people's feet and scaring small children.

Now, if I get my diving certificate, all I need to do is learn how to drive a helicopter and I will basically be a Bond girl. With a slightly bigger ass.

69. Caribbean Paradise

7th March 2014, Now Larimar, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

After being greeted with champagne upon our arrival at the very gorgeous hotel in Punta Cana I knew we would get on just fine there.  Never mind that the ‘champagne’ was reduced alcohol cava from Spain....

 

The deal we got when booking our trip to the Dominican Republic seemed way too good to be true so I entered the hotel with a great portion of suspicion and expected to find myself in a hot and humid version of Fawlty Towers.

 

Imagine my surprise when we enter an amazing and massive room with one of the comfiest queen size beds I have ever slept in (or jumped on). Fully stocked free mini bar, huge balcony perfect for wine and gossip and our very own Jacuzzi in the bathroom.

 

At first, the rose petals on the bed raises very little suspicion – maybe it was just Caribbean custom or I guess Hell’s Bells and I could technically be honeymooning… In separate beds. Plus I may have told them we were engaged so I would get myself some freebies. No, I have no real morals and single people are suffering discrimination every day not getting any romance related free gifts.

 

The bottle of champagne, fruit and chocolates, however – seemed a bit over the top perhaps. Then we realised that neither of us are called Natalia and neither of us turned 40 that day. But we were hungry and thirsty. Sorry Natalia. Later on in the week we also ate Anna's birthday cake. Sorry Anna.

 

(I'm not really that sorry)

 

Heading down to the beach for a late night stroll, the excitement at finally being in the Caribbean took over from the jet lag just a little bit, with Hell’s Bells dancing around the beach like the mad woman I already knew she is.

-Can you believe we are actually in THE CARIBBEAN??

-Yes, Hell’s Bells, we just spent 12 hours on a plane.

-But can you believe it?? We’re in, like, THE CARIBBEAN!

-Yes. Again – I was on the same flight.

-Shut up and be excited bitch.

 

In spite of nearly dying from the jet lag, we managed to make it to dinner. Seated on the patio, being served wine, fresh seafood and a mountain of little cakes, we were getting more and more convinced that we had arrived in Paradise.

The following morning as we wake up to glorious sunshine and the sound of the ocean, we get the final confirmation that this is actually Paradise. The breakfast buffet has an actual Bloody Mary and Mimosa station.

You have to jump on the hotel bed. It's the law.

Yep. Happy Birthday Natalia.

Standard wine and barbeque lunch.

A pretty decent breakfast view.

Hell's Bells at one of many amazing dinners.

Don't you give me those eyes Hell's Bells.

The beautiful Dominican Republic seen from the kayak that didn't tip over.