Monday, 27 July 2009

Time for Tea

What to do when the credit is crunchy and the banks and loan sharks are after your blood? Why, throw a defiantly lovely tea party of course!

After hot-footing it down to the Harrods homewares sale and buying lots of Maxwell & Williams' gorgeous floral crockery (okay, it wasn't that frugal!), I laid my table with a linen tablecloth (donated by Mum), gold cutlery from Zara, napkins from the supermarket and candlesticks from Tiger (opposite Primark in Hammersmith). A smattering of flowers later and the table was set. Food was bought from Iceland (I felt like Kerry Katona for a terrifying second) and brought by friends. In the teacups? Earl grey followed by Gordon's Gin. Everything seemed to taste great in this setting.

I thought you might like to see the pictures of my birthday tea. If you are an ardent feminist who loathes florals then I would strongly suggest you look away now...

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

News Just In: The Invisible Festival is Here!

Have fun holding an indoor festival from the comfort of your own home (with Spotify) and help Cancer Research UK at the same time:

Blow(dry) Your Cares Away

I stepped through the glossy doors of Harrods’ Urban Retreat looking (and feeling) like a bedraggled, tired mess. Downtrodden by life in general, I went to meet the newest stylist on the block, Ady. After a friendly chat, several hairbrushes, a lot of heat and a gentle mist of Elnett later, I was ready to face even rush hour with a smile. I had been transformed into a hair-tossing goddess, full to bursting with the sort of confidence money CAN buy. The best part? It even stayed in for work the following day. I strongly recommend (and am going again on Friday!).

Book your appointment:

020 7893 8333

Urban Retreat
Fifth Floor, Harrods

Tuesday, 7 July 2009

Ten Words of Desire

01. Diamond
02. Encrusted
03. Anita
04. Ko
05. Ring
06. Is
07. Exquisite
08. But
09. Over
10. 3K

Sunday, 5 July 2009


Waking up at 7.30am on a Saturday morning would not be something I would usually do. I made the exception for Wimbledon and, stumbling bleary-eyed down Church Street, realised that I was even excited about the day ahead – strawberries and cream, toned young men in white shorts and cool, fruity Pimms – all of this made Wimbledon seem like something I definitely wanted to get involved with. Upon entry, we ignored the over-zealous, camping-overnighters and assumed our position in the scorched field.

It was so hot even that early in the morning and I began to realise we were in for a rather long day. After polishing-off the first Kronenbergs of the morn, we were each handed a ‘queue card’ which allowed us to briefly leave the queue for loo trips and suchlike. My card read ‘11398’ – far from promising. I looked up and pondered the eleven thousand, three hundred and ninety seven people ahead with slight weariness. Along with the queue card, we were also handed a leaflet entitled ‘The Wimbledon Guide to Queuing’ this was met with initial derision (“we are British, I think we all know how to queue!”) but a few hours later, it was the most scintillating read at our disposal and an invaluable commodity. Yes, the queue was long (we arrived at around 9am and got through the entrance at 4.30pm) and there was little to do but the atmosphere, the banter and the wonderful weather made it a much more favourable activity.

Wimbledon itself wasn’t actually all that great - I think you really need proper court tickets to see some actual tennis but the heat of the day combined with mucho drinking perhaps impaired my enjoyment somewhat. By the time we got in all I wanted to do was have a drink of water and a lie-down in the shade - not to grapple with a load of sweaty people for a good position on Henman’s famous hill. I would go back though – perhaps next time I will try camping or, better still, win the ticket ballot.