117. The Fifth Turtle

20th April 2014, Century 21, Union Square, New York

I have a t-shirt collection that would make Sheldon Cooper proud. After all, who doesn't get cheered up by wearing a cartoon character on their chest?

Although the collection already play host to the textile versions of Pebbles Flintstone, Pop Eye with family, all the Care Bears, the geeky Barbapapa kid and a load more, some essential characters are however still missing.

I know I normally seem somewhat biased to My Little Pony as far as tacky 1980's cartoons go, but I'm much more versatile than that. I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles just as much!

When you think about it, it does make sense. They're all animals who talk, they hang out with human girls teaching them the harsh realities of the world, they're super colour coordinated and in their own ways, they all think that friendship is magic. What is not to love?

After browsing pretty much every single comic book store in the UK in an attempt to complete yet another cartoon related mission, I finally found them all - Leonardo, Michelango, Donatello and Raphael. They were hiding in Forever 21. In other words, I had risked being spotted at a Sci Fi convention for no good reason. The horror.

So technically it's a vest. Still counts. Still the epitome of cool.

Cowabunga godammit!

116. Fabulous Fables

23rd April 2014, Fable Bar, Chancery Lane, London

The greatest friends are those that you can meet every six months and still spend hours and hours with like you only saw each other yesterday.

Lollipop Woman is one of these people. My first real London friend after I first arrived here, 22 years old, all innocent and naive (or maybe not so much) from safe little Luxembourg in 2007 and the one who taught me everything a girl needed to know about big bad London.

And bits on the rest of the world too. Like the fact that South Africans don't keep elephants in their gardens as pets and thereby shattered my views on the outside world for good. But it's OK, I've forgiven her since - she taught me how to drink Savanna cider and to pronounce Afrikaans swear words afterwards to make it up to me. 

Following four years of basically having breakfast, lunch and wine for dinner together a lot of silly, serious, outrageous and hilarious stuff have gone down. Even though our outings together are not as frequent these days, I know this girl will always have my back - whether it's dropping everything to get to the hospital after I get myself maimed by a truck or laughing at my bad jokes that no one else seems to get. Although she still refuses to go running with me in my bunny ear muffs which is a bit snobbish to be honest.

Last time we met up they'd just put the Christmas lights up on Bow Lane and since then it's been a war against our packed diaries to get some time in for further wine dates. Finally we managed to squeeze this rainy Wednesday night into the calendar and it wasn't a day too soon.

Meeting up at The Fable was not purely based on the fact that it's on The List as the only Drake & Morgan Bar I haven't visited to date. There's also the fact that most bars in the City have been frequented by us back in the heyday and are associated with memories of various levels mayhem with many funny and sometimes rather embarrassing anecdotes as a result. And seeing as we are sophisticated grown ups nowadays, at least officially - new venues are much needed, where no one other than us hold the memories of said anecdotes.

As previously stated, I love all the other Drake & Morgan bars - but not quite sure what was going on here. I can deal with being seated under a staircase next to the kitchen, but if I have to go and ask the Maitre D' if they do in fact have waiting staff employed, it's not great. And just now it dawned on me why Lollipop Woman may have made a remark on me being a tad rude. But hey, I was thirsty and dehydration kills people every single day!

I have over the year realised that for the people eaves dropping on our conversations, our lives must seem extremely spectacular and interesting down to The Code. All those years of spending virtually all of our time together gossiping over virtually everyone crossing our paths have resulted in an extremely long list of code names and code words allowing us to do this out in the open. Discretion is overrated. Plus it's pretty hilarious seeing the looks on people's faces when we talk about what Elvis did to Bill Clinton with the baking pin. Too bad there wasn't any staff in this particular place to overhear it...

And shock and horror - we now already have two more days in the calendar within the next six weeks and that has got to be some sort of a record! I think it's down to the Pornstar Martinis - another alcoholic master piece Lollipop Woman introduced me to once upon a time.

Granted, I had to lure her in with free cocktails at Mr Foggs, but nevertheless the dates are in the diary and hers is an old fashioned paper one, meaning it can not be erased.

Plus they have biltong and tall men in safari gear at Mr Foggs - she will feel right at home!

Long overdue catch up with my favourite South African!

Now this is a Pornstar Martini smile if you ever see one.

115. Dowtown Italy

20th April 2014, Sofia's of Little Italy, Little Italy, New York

Little Italy is full of mobsters and going there is like asking to be shot dead outside a church. I have seen all the Godfather movies so I should know.

Braving the risk of our imminent death, me and Big Sis made our way to Sofia's for a serious carb feast on our last night in town. Not to mention braving our early night hangover brought on by a long afternoon of wine in the sun.

Imagine my disappointment when we enter this semi empty restaurant and the only other guests were a family of six having their Sunday Dinner, and although Italian, they were definitely not of Mafioso origin. Also, neither Robert de Niro or Al Pacino made an appearance. You'd think the least they could do is send out lookalikes to walk around Mulberry Street at night to give the neighbourhood the right vibe.

What did not help me get over the disappointing clientele was the food - it was without a doubt the ickiest lasagne I have ever had. To be fair, when I make lasagne I make my mum's lasagne which is the yummiest in the world, so I should refrain from ever ordering it in a restaurant. But still, it was really not good and I quite frankly don't get how you can get lasagne to taste like such a mushy mess. Now I'm not quite sure who Sofia was, but she'd turn around in her grave knowing what they've done to her lasagne. Yuck.

I wonder if they'll send a hit man after me now for hating on their lasagne?

Nope, still don't feel like I'm in Italy

Soggy lasagne

114. A Table At The West Village Market

20th April 2014, Market Table, West Village, New York

I just love those moments when pure coincidence ends up making an already awesome situation even more awesome.

After a first intense New York day of shopping, killing our feet walking and trying to teach Big Sis which is Uptown and which is Downtown, I get a pin drop from my favourite Ex Boss, no further away than the West Village!

Following some intense squealing, jumping around the hotel room and other rather intense expressions of excitement leading to my sister highlighting the fact that she has never seen me that excited about a man ever, Ex Boss and I establish that we are both in town over Easter. Although he denies it, deep down I know that he realised I was going to be on the same continent as him and immediately flew over to New York to surprise me. You know, a guy has to play it cool from time to time but I see straight  through it.

And to make things better, my other Dallas BFF was in town as well and I got to have them both for Easter Sunday brunch!

Getting to this much anticipated brunch involved a rather eventful journey from Brooklyn where Big Sis gave some poor woman an accidental lap dance before grabbing hold of her right boob to avoid falling on the floor of the subway. And that was before she smacked the same woman in the face trying to get back up. My sister, ladies and gentlemen.

Long lost Dallas BFF's or not, no one wishing to enjoy the pleasure of my company will get away from partaking in completing items off the The List. In other words, if brunch was on the agenda, Market Table was the only acceptable option.

Getting through the door of this adorable little West Village gem, I immediately spot the Ex Boss towering over the rest of the crowd and shortly there after I also spot the Dallas BFF. The squealing reassumed and my sister made the decision to put me on ADHD medication there and then.

Just the prospects of Bloody Marys and pretty much any type of cheesy eggs with bread can normally get my excitement levels well above those of a child visiting Disneyworld for the first time - adding my two favourite men in the world to the mix meant my levels over hyper happiness went through the roof. Not even the fact that the restaurant was out of Lobster Benedict was going to put me down.

I have to give it to them, it takes some serious mental strength to midst hangover handle me at that stage. After 2 hours I had basically made the decision for my Ex Boss to arrange for a London offsite in June so he can hang out with me for a whole week, given myself a job as a Dallas dog nanny and subsequently invited myself to come live in Texas, which included me deciding which house to stay in and how I would decorate my bedroom. The people who sometimes have said that I'm a handful may have had a little bit of a point.

This is officially the best catch up I've had all year and it didn't hurt that Market Table turned out to meet my expectations built up from strolling past there slightly tipsy two nights before. Great food, great Bloody Marys and really friendly staff. Plus I saw the chef coming out of the kitchen and he was kind of hot. That earns them extra credit as far as I'm concerned.

My New York weekend just went from greatness to pure perfection!

The loveliest Ex Boss in the world.

Cheese, bread, booze - what better way to start the day?

 

113. The Brooklyn Bridge Blues

20th April 2014, Brooklyn Bridge, New York

Back in the day when the economy was good (well, when I still considered credit cards to be free money) - I pretty much got a yellow cab absolutely everywhere I went in New York.

Seeing as no one is paying me to be a lady of leisure and my sister is an actual grown up with some sense of both general and financial sensibility, there's been a lot of walking this time around and I have actually learned how to use the New York subway. Get me right, I still don't enjoy using the New York subway, but that's not the point. The point is, I actually know how to get from point A to point B by using it. And that is what I'll be doing until someone gives me a job where I can still have a nap at 3 PM every day.

After three days spent up and down Manhattan we ventured out all the way to sunny Brooklyn. And whilst we were working on our tourist credibility we decided to get there via one of the most famous bridges in the world.

Getting onto the Brooklyn Bridge is not the easiest thing as it turns out. I mean, the bridge is clearly there and there are clearly people on it - but there should be some sort of an Idiot's Guide To Get Onto The Brooklyn Bridge available amongst the hot dogs, Statue of Liberty hats and Barack Obama postcards already up for grabs outside City Hall.

In the end, we figured it out. Granted, this was after I almost led us onto where the cars rather than the people cross the river. Big Sis was somewhat unimpressed.

On this  beautiful New York Sunday, we were not exactly the only people around who had thought a walk across Brooklyn Bridge would be a splendid idea. Cue, massive hoards of tourists of all shapes, colours and forms. And we all know I just love massive groups of out of town visitors not knowing how to walk in an efficient manner.

Finally on the bridge, halfway across, you can't really make any negative remarks with regards to the views. Once again, I really do love New York! 

And yet people can't find the bridge...

The view!

More views!

Big Sis, Big Bridge

Me, sans cab

And again - yet people can't find the bridge...

 

112. The Spud And The Waffle

19th April, Ottomanelli's, East Harlem, New York

I have a weakness for funny fries.

Crinkle cut fries are obviously yummier than straight cut fries and a portion of curly fries can make my day. And don't even get me started on animal or letter shape fries. Amazing.

Yep, I'm basically a child when it comes to food. I once had a friend's child over and was more excited about her Thomas The Tank Engine pasta than she was. She's five and I have  no such excuse.

But seriously, how awesome doesn't waffle fries look? And how do they make them? Who makes them? Other than the creation of Pringles, this is my biggest potato product making mystery to date. Fascinating stuff!

Enjoying happy hour on the terrace of a Harlem bar in a very sunny New York, whilst perving at the cute fire fighters driving past us, I saw them. My time had finally come. No need to go to Belgium.

And yep, spuds are tastier when shaped as waffles. Almost, but just almost as tasty as crocodile shaped ones.

Are they fries, are they waffles...?

111. The Harlem Shake

19th April, East Harlem, New York

There are few places in the world where you can randomly stumble upon a hoola hoop and rope skipping competition performed to the sound of a steal drum quartet.

When I talk about Manhattan neighbourhoods I tend to forget all about Harlem. And with my obsession with the The Villages - Greenwich, East and West, I have completely neglected to actually visit anything north of the Guggenheim Museum. Well, apart from that one time when I misread the subway map and landed in the Bronx rather than Williamsburg - but I'm still too traumatised to talk about that.

Big Sis met my suggestion to walk from the Plaza Hotel through Central Park all the way up to the - apparently - very scary Harlem, with massive scepticism. And considering some of the social media comments following our updates on the adventures to follow, quite a few people were rather unimpressed with the idea of two Swedish girls wandering the streets of Harlem on their own.

Truth be told - I think Harlem has taken over the third place on my list of favourite New York neighbourhoods. I was getting too old for hard core partying in the East Village anyway.

The people and areas of Harlem are the most fabulous, bonkers, stylish, outrageous and simply wonderful I've seen for a long time and it has that great mix of soon to be It area and gang land you don't even experience in Hackney anymore.

I have never seen so many pimped cars. They were amazingly tacky and blinged more than all of Liz Taylor's engagement and wedding rings combined. I really don't think I could pull off a blue and gold monster mobile with the speakers virtually hanging on the outside of the car and dollar signs attached to the grill, but God do I wish I could.

As it also turns out, Harlem is probably the best area for people watching there ever was. Never before have I seen a guy run backwards around any block and never before have I seen a dog with a crystal encrusted muzzle and matching lead. Not too sure I agree with someone walking a dog that looks ready to kill any man, woman or child getting in its' way - but I appreciate the fashion statement.

Who knows, maybe I'll end up living in Harlem rather than on Bleecker Street when I move to New York in a future life. I will practice using the word Holla with some credibility until then.

110. The Grandest Of Centrals

19th April, Grand Central Station, Midtown, New York

A gazillion visits to New York and I've never been to Grand Central Station. 

The reasons I should want to see the Grand Central Station is probably much more related to its' grand architecture and fascinating history rather than the fact that a scene from I Am Legend was filmed here. And I didn't even like I Am Legend. The zombie cannibal creatures made me cry and I didn't sleep in my own bed for about a week.

In a half hearted attempt to be a bit cultural after two days spent pretty much doing nothing but shopping and intense wine drinking, we left the gorgeous weather outside for a quick visit to the station.  

Yeah, I really do suck at architecture. I can tell the difference between pretty and unpretty in my own personal opinion, but as far as whether or not something is from the baroque, colonial or neoclassical era - I really have absolutely no clue whatsoever. I did however place Grand Central Station in the pretty category. Pretty windows. Pretty stairs. Pretty floor.

Oh, and they have a food market. With cake. Like loads of cake. And really expensive strawberries. Good place. I like it.

Tourist snaps!

 

Bunny cakes at the market!

109. A Pig Never Changes Its' Spots

18th April 2014, The Spotted Pig, West Village, New York

After once and for all realising that Big Sis really, really does not appreciate jazz, we left our swanky and posh cocktail bar for the West Village gem that is The Spotted Pig.

Although the Spotted Pig is known for amazing cocktails, Big Sis and I went against the hipster crowd in there and had wine and beer and longingly stared at their famous shoestring fries following our dinner of strawberries and prosecco. 

I basically fell in love with this place from the moment I sat foot in there. Actually, I kind of loved it the first time I heard the name. Then again I tend to love any place that has a name with a barn yard animal in it. I am a country girl after all.

Basically it's like the greatest combination of my two favourite places in the world, it has the feel of a Shoreditch pub with the Manhattan clientele and staff. Meaning, you can have a chilled out drink amongst beautiful people without having to be afraid to offend the bar staff by asking them to do their jobs. Plus the bartender was adorable and gave me my Old Fashioned for free. Guess I'm not just chilled out, I'm clearly also kind of easy...

I need this place to be my new local.



My sister and the hipsters

I want this as my neighbourhood bar

108. Not So Deliciouz

18th April 2014, Katz Delicatessen, East Village, New York

My big sis with a low blood sugar can be scary as fuck.

There's usually a gap between two and three hours to feed her - she's a pretty tiny person and masters the method of many small meals that I've attempted for years, but that also means that throwing her some crackers and a coffee at 7 am will not make for sustainability until noon.

Walking through the East Village, she was getting pretty hungry but put up a very brave face as we were searching every street from Bowery to East 11th in order to find something edible. Let's face it, the East Village is mainly inhabited by the cool kids, and the cool kids are barely up at 11 if at all and they'll definitely not be in fit shape to serve anyone food at that stage.

Then I spotted Katz Delicatessen. This 19th century icon and survivor of two world wars was an early entry on The List and I decided to seize the opportunity to tick yet another box.

Oh, if only things ever went that smoothly. After quietly admitting to myself that corned beef on rye will never be my idea of a delicious meal, especially not before regular people's lunch time, my sister not so discretely acknowledged the same thing. There was the disgusted glance at the sandwiches people were clearly queuing up for, a very pouty lip, a series of repeated head shakes and panicked stares towards the exit.

At least I was in there, that counts right? Kosher sandwich or no kosher sandwich.

In the end, we ended up having Mexican brunch. Granted, less iconic - but they did have Bloody Marys and home fries.

Clearly deli is not short for delicious.

Iconic evidently doesn't equal delicious.

Send a salami to your boy in the army?



Bloody Mary induced happy face

107. Manhattan, Up High And Above

17th April 2014, Rare Bar & Grill, Chelsea, New York

Few things will make you appreciate Manhattan as much as a good old New York burger, a bottle of Pinot Noir and a rooftop view - it was time I did all three in one go.

After a full on first day of intense shopping, a lot of walking and the teensiest bit of  sightseeing - we did throw a quick glance at the Statue of Liberty at one stage - I could kill for that piece of meat and a glass of wine to go with it.

Most days, nothing will beat a good old burger after a long day running up and down Manhattan and big sis enjoying her very first encounter with one of the crazy people that are yellow taxi cab drivers. This day was no exception.

After jealously eyeing my sister's pulled brisket at first, I had a bite of my burger and if you can taste love, this must be what it taste like. At least if the object of your affection is the city of New York.

The thing I love most with having dinner in New York restaurants is the amazing atmosphere and the great mix of people that you can really find nowhere else in the world. You have the stock brokers, the struggling actor waiters, the weirdest and most wonderful family constellations, the Jersey kids pretending to be actual New Yorkers for the day, the tourists, the movie directors and the old couples still having date night every Friday after 50 years of marriage. It really is the greatest city in the world for a night out.

Following a lovely dinner we got the lift up to the 27th floor, which is a rather unimpressive number in New York terms, for cocktails and views. And as per usual, seeing Manhattan and all its' giant buildings lit up in the New York night gives me butterflies and all sorts of soppy emotional reactions normally reserved for teenage romance novels.

New York, I really do love you.

Yep, New York burgers are better than all other burgers.

Ready to attack.

Me, big sis and a little building called Empire State.

106. Big Sister And The Bigger Apple

16th April 2014, Heathrow Airport Terminal 5, London

Following a pretty nasty run in I had with a truck a few years back, my wonderful sister left job, husband and kids to come and be my personal nurse for a week in a rather shabby Whitechapel hospital.

Following this I decided I wanted to treat her to a more pleasant time away from everyday life and seeing as she hasn't been to the Big Apple yet, I thought it was time for her to meet one of my greatest loves in life.

This was actually to be our first proper girlie trip away just the two of us and that alone is pretty fricking exciting! We both looked forward to spending our Easter drinking great amounts of wine, shopping in the West Village, catching up on our gossip and simply enjoying the wonderful island that is Manhattan.

Whilst my big sis successfully got on her flight from Stockholm on time with only one minor and boarding pass related breakdown along the way, I found myself in a less than lovely pre Easter traffic jam on the M4. Adding insult to misery, the cab driver continuously pointed out that you're really cutting it tight miss. Gee, did not get that whilst stuck in a taxi behind every single car in the United Kingdom. And judging from the driving style of some, possible a few from France.

In the end, I made it. And was greeted by my big sis and a huge glass of wine in one of the Terminal 5 bars. We are clearly closely related. And to make things even better, mum had sent along Swedish pickamix which for any Scandinavian living abroad is kind of like giving a member of Motley Crue a bottle of Jack Daniels the minute they get out of rehab. Perfect flight ahead.

Turns out travelling with my sister is quite similar to traveling with a small child. The minute we've been given our drinks she needs the bathroom which requires climbing over me and the girl next to me, she then curls up to nap on my shoulder and by the time we get into the cab from JFK I find myself repeating we are almost there sweetie, to a very tired but also very adorable sister. It's a good thing her baby sister is much more mature, spending the seven hour flight watching the Frozen movie twice and loudly singing along to Do you want to build a snow man the second time around.

2 AM we finally arrive at our downtown hotel and immediately pass out, getting ourselves ready and rested for a week of New York madness to follow!


Two very excited sisters on our way to the greatest city in the world. 

Best. Flight. Snack. Ever.

105.The Cheaper Breed Of Louboutins

16th April 2014, Guys and Dolls Parlour, Brick Lane, London

Experiment time!

Me and my personal Nail Guru had decided to make an attempt at giving me Louboutin style nails. It's a pretty style, it's a bit different from your standard manicures and it's most certainly hell of a lot cheaper than me buying any more of the actual shoes.

Firstly, said Nail Guru must really have the patience of a saint. After all, I'm the girl who will without fail turn up at east 15 minutes late, polish off her champagne and loudly share my thoughts on the probability of a not so crazy sex lives of crazy cat ladies, making my surroundings somewhat uncomfortable.

This time was no different. 45 minutes after my appointment and 55 minutes before my taxi to Heathrow was due to arrive, I rock up with two giant suitcases and immediately proceeds to replace the lunch I didn't have with the entire bowl of candy on the cash register. Oh, my parents would be extremely proud of my manners.

After calming myself down from the pre New York packing stress with a super tasty melon cocktail we started to tend to the multi coloured disaster that were my nails.

And as per usual, the results were amazing. I always leave that place feeling like a million dollars, and it's almost never down to me leaving the salon tipsy from all the champagne cocktails I've had.

Never before have my nails given almost the same satisfaction as the annual Selfridge's shoe sale.

Pretty And Red

Pretty And Black

 

104. Pea Green With Italian Envy

14th April 2014, Shoreditch, London

I have my Louboutins, my Jimmys, my Manolos, my Kirkwoods, my Atwoods and my Edelmanns. Now I finally also have my Casadeis.

Seeing as I'm off to my beloved New York in less than two days, I obviously needed some fabulous new shoes to trot around Greenwich Village in. And when I say 'trot', I of course mean stomp as it's been highlighted to me in the past that's apparently how I walk.

Some would argue I don't really need more shoes amongst the 196 pairs I already have, but they just don't seem to understand the harsh reality. It's Manhattan. People judge you by your feet rather than your face.

Plus, if we are going to be fair, I actually didn't have any Casadei shoes or any green shoes. So strictly speaking, I am killing two pretty exclusive and highly necessary birds with the one stone and really saving myself both money and closet space. I'm just trying to be a bit practical.

There is something about Italian footwear that just gets me every single time. And unlike Italian couture, Italian shoes actually do fit my stubby hobbit feet as well as pretty Italian girl feet and are not exclusively designed to fit Allegra Versace. There's such exquisite detailing and amazing quality in Italian shoes that you can not find anywhere else in the world and every time I can treat myself to a pair, it's like at least three Christmases come early.

These beauties are now getting cosy between the Pradas and the Miu Mius in the Italian closet section and so far, they seem to be getting on. What a relief, right?

It is always incredibly difficult bringing new babies into the family. Trying to see how they get along with the other children, who out of the older kids will accept and look after the new additions and who will just keep pinching them behind mummy's back and placing the blame on someone else. Oh, the difficulties of modern family constellations.

Now, what is 'Pea Green Perfection' in Italian?

Timeless Italian shoes on stubby hobbit feet.

103. Marathon Madness

13th April 2014, Tower Hill, London

 

As far as running the gazillion miles that a marathon consists of with all that comes with it - rather you than me.

 

To be honest, about a year ago I was actually quite keen on signing up for the 2014 London Marathon. But unfortunately a busted knee, 90 hour working weeks and every other excuse in the book have gotten in the way, so sadly no marathon for me. Bring out the violins.

 

I did however decide to take part and at least watch this time. With my hatred for crowds and general dislike of anything making feeling like Little Miss Joiner, it was probably not going to be too enjoyable.

 

Maybe getting to Tower Hill four hours after the start of the race was part of why I found myself bored. The people still running were sadly the strays who could not quite keep up and instead had resorted to walking and in some instances, crawling. Obviously it wasn't too thrilling, but at least I managed to avoid the worst of the crowds. I really do hate crowds.

 

So it wasn't the greatest of efforts. I did not join in with the first Pimm's of the year drinking, neither did I cheer or clap. I made a measly effort to find Hell's Bells and her crowd before I realised my closest gym was right around the corner and I really quite fancied watching Britain's Got Talent on a cross trainer.

 

But good effort you guys!

 

Crowds....

More crowds.... I hate crowds.

102. Eating like a P.I.G.

13th April 2014, Beard To Tail, Shoreditch, London

 

Exhausted from the poaching project earlier in the week, it was time to have someone else poach my eggs once again.

 

I love most varieties of Eggs Benedict, no matter what they call them. Give me a poached eggs, a muffin and loads of Hollandaise - then you can slap whatever else you damn well please on there as well. Like in this particular case, loads of pulled pork!

 

Soaking up the sun on my latest favourite place for brunch, dinner and everything in between with an enormous glass of their signature Bloody Marvellous may just be the most perfect a Sunday morning will ever get.

 

With their latest brunch menu comes the brilliant dish of Eggs P.I.G. Simply put, it's Eggs Benedict, less the ham but with added pulled pork and it is absolutely delicious. I may even have to revise my statement regarding Lobster Benedict and say that this is my new dream breakfast going forward. Plus the super cute waiter danced the bill to us. That's always good for extra credit!

 

Beard To Tail can clearly never fail.

 

About the time they gave the Bloody Marvellous its' place in the spotlight.

Lashings of deliciousness in the sunshine



One perfect Sunday morning and my second out of three cocktails to kick the day off.



101. Hanging by a Thread

12th April 2014, Guys and Dolls Parlour, Brick Lane, London

As stated before, I have dreamed about well defined, proper eyebrows since other little girls were dreaming about Malibu Barbie Beach Houses.

Sadly my eyebrows are blonde, skinny and impossible to work with. No wax, tweezers or tint will ever give me those amazing Brooke Shields eyebrows that I've envied ever since that first time my sister let me watch The Blue Lagoon even though I was technically not allowed. 

 

Do you know what is more unfair than anything? Back in high school, when the hottest trend were these over plucked, pencilled-in black straight lines at the bottom of your forehead, I stayed well clear of it. I wore the Buffalo boots, the hair mascara, the t-shirts with highly inappropriate prints, but even at the age of 14 I would not mess about with my dreams of gorgeous eyebrows.  

 

When a new stylist joined the crew at my second home of Guys and Dolls Parlour and receiving the greatest of reviews, I could not wait to see if she could work some magic on my limitations in the world of facial hair. 

 

After convincing me that a dark brown tint might actually stick to my evidently quite slippery eye brows for longer than the usual two days, she brings out the threads. Truth be told, I have always considered this whole eyebrow threading thing to be one of those nonsense beauty mumbo jumbo treatments that pops up every now and then and stays on trend for a year or so before they are forever forgotten. I was about to be proved wrong.

 

The lovely lady at Guys and Dolls, who from now on will be the only person touching my brows, gave me some interesting facts on the concept of threading. Apparently, it's an old Persian tradition and one the key benefits of removing hair through threading, apart from it growing back slower, is that it doesn't wear down your facial muscles the same way waxing or plucking does. With less wrinkles as a result! And come to think of it, every Persian woman I've ever come across in my life always have great smooth skin and perfect eyebrows. So clearly, they're on to something.

 

I'm not going to lie - it wasn't pleasant. Compared to a Brazilian Wax though it was child's play. So I will write it off as not too bad.

 

And the result - I absolutely adore my new eyebrows. They're freaking fabulous. I am officially never letting anyone near me with a pair of tweezers ever again!

 

Finally I have something resembling facial definition!



Well worth the life long wait!

100. Poaching Perfection

11th April 2014, Shoreditch, London

So I would have hoped that the hundredth on the list would have been a bit more intriguing than making eggs.

But in lieu of rock climbing, having an affair with a rock star and travel to Iceland - teaching myself to poach eggs had to make do. Let's face it, me placing hardboiled eggs on toast with Hollandaise from a jar and calling it Eggs Benedict is getting rather silly.

As it turns out Jamie Oliver, Delia Smith and Gordon Ramsay are all big fat egg poaching frauds! I tried doing this the Jamie way - the eggs fell apart. I tried doing this the Delia way - the eggs fell apart. And finally, I tried doing this the Gordon way - the eggs fell apart. No swirling or salting or making sacks out of cling film could save my eggs and my Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday breakfasts were all highly unpleasant as a result.

Then finally on Friday, there was a breakthrough. After abandoning the kitchen icons listed after my complete and utter disappointment in the previous three days, I instead went to the classic, red checkered and really quite dull cookbook that sits in every other Swedish kitchen. It may be the most middle aged object I have in my flat, but my God it is the most trust worthy source of cooking knowledge there is.

I will save a fortune on brunch.

 

The Jamie induced egg disaster.

The finale!

And, we have perfection.

99. Phene

10th April 2014, The Phene, Chelsea, London

In celebration of my favourite Chelsea crowd being back on our screens as of last Monday, it was time to finally go visit the Phene!

As per usual, I don't see the purpose of pretending that I have any other reason to insist on pre dinner drinks at the Phene other than the fact that they've shot plenty of very awkward Made In Chelsea silences there. And that is more than enough reason for me. Now, I'm not sure it would have been enough reason for normal people, but thankfully I was off for dinner with one of the Crazy Irish (I have 2 for my collection now!) and generally, there being a pub involved is normally enough reason for them to show up.

What can I say, I was completely and utterly very underwhelmed. Not by the Crazy Irish, but by the Phene.

It's fair enough to say that I need to stop expecting dry martinis to be thrown, ghetto slang to be randomly used in a Chelsea accent and Spencer Matthews to show up to ask everyone to leave the terrace so he can have a word with someone alone. Please. Manners are important in Chelsea after all. 

But even if we overlook my high hopes for every place I've stalked the Made In Chelsea crowd in, the Phene was a bit... Meh. The garden wasn't all that spectacular, the pub itself looked a bit like an imitation of what they expected a posh person's living room would look like and my wine tasted a bit like feet. Get me right, I finished it - I was in the presence of an Irish woman and didn't want to insult her religious views by pouring alcohol out.

Maybe I wasn't in the right mind set as I was getting quite excited about our Big Easy lobster dinner to come and had been having quite drinkable rose with Hell's Bells elsewhere just before heading to the Phene. But I don't think that's it. I think Lucy Watson & Co have just, for the first time since the Christmas special of 2012, truly disappointed me.

I expected more from you guys.

At least the wine matches my hair....

One of the crazy Irish with a drink that probably tasted a bit less like feet.

98. Just like Pinkie Pie!

10th April 2014, Shoreditch, London

No My Little Pony birthday cake this year either. So instead, I am turning myself into one of them.

For years I was extremely experimental with my hair. We're talking everything from pixie cuts to asymmetric bobs to WAG extensions and my head has been every brown, black, red and blonde in the book. For the last few years however, I've stuck with various versions of the blonde I was born with.

My lack of crazy hair cuts as of late is largely down to my job - no matter what I think of it, showing up with a Mohawk for client meetings tends to spark the wrong kind of reactions. I personally don't agree with that mentality, as crazy hair, piercings or tattoos in no way impacts how you work, but sometimes you just have to pick your battles.

With my current break from the corporate world though, I can get away with going a bit crazy. So trying to look like Pinkie Pie it is!

Thankfully my hairdresser, coincidentally the best hairdresser in the world, enjoys a bit of hair craziness and was not just fully supportive, but helped take my wishes that extra step. She is truly amazing and I don't let anyone touch my hair if I can ever help it. When I am extremely rich in the future, I am moving her into my house permanently whether she likes it or not. Kind of like Kate Moss and James Brown, only that my future live-in hairdresser comes with a cute baby and inventive ideas rather than racism and bankruptcy.

After three hours of colouring and cutting and as many cups of tea, the result is delightful dip dye bright pinkness making the world a much more cheerful place. And by the world I mean my flat. Although I may have to stop repeating Friendship Is Magic continuously and loudly like a religious mantra before venturing outside as there are already enough nutcases out there happily exposing the London to the full extent of their madness.

Natural is boring and I am not going back to it!

Pinkie Pie would be proud!

One happy and very pink bunny.