My Delia Moment

I'm nesting again.

I decided to make homemade Christmas gifts for my office - because what do you buy the Finance Director and Managing Director? Exactly. I decided they could each have a jar of the previously blogged marmalade, and that I'd bake gingerbread biscuits to go with. I felt pretty smug just thinking about my cunning plan.

I made efforts to keep a Sunday free from engagements, and I holed up with my ingredients and festive spirit for a baking extravaganza. Miracle on 34th Street was on in the background, and I pottered around my kitchen in Christmassy contentment.... I tend to veer between the ages of 6 and 60 during December.

So it turned out the recipe was a bit complicated - separating eggs and creaming butter and sugar and all sorts of intimidating technical jargon which generally just means 'stir'. This is the bit where you add all the lovely Christmas spices and mix it all about a bit.

This is the bit where it nearly all went wrong and I broke my whisk. I was temporarily fooled by the technical jargon (creaming, incorporating, folding), and so resorted to the failsafe of stirring. Worked a treat. And yes. That is my Macbook dangerous close to a bowl full of sticky goo. Evidence of me living my life on the edge.

My dough! This had to sit in the fridge in clingfilm for an hour before the intensive manual labour of rolling it all out - enough time for me to see Santa Claus speaking sign language to the deaf girl. A Christmas tear was shed.

The fun bit! Rolling and cutting and baking.

The best bit. Sampling. Before applying Vogue treatment to the unashamedly un-Vogue cookies - wrapping them in chic black tissue and placing in overpriced boxes. The only way to smuggle this amount of festive cheer into the building. Sarah-1, Humbug-0.

A Seaside Saturday

I really do love a visit to the British seaside. Obviously it doesn't compare to taking stroll along a stretch of white hot sand littered with palm trees, pina colada in hand. And given the choice I'd take the Seychelles over Brighton any day of the week...I'm not a fool. But there's something special, something real and something lovely about our coastline. And it feels like home in a way that a Thomas Cook postcard never could.

These photos were taken at Leigh-on-Sea in Essex, on my Mother's Birthday. A cold, grey, wonderful day, spent with the people I love most in the world. I took the train from the city to Upminster, where I picked up my parents and we journeyed on together to the coast. We had a long, leisurely and luxurious lunch at Simply Seafood - an amazing fresh fish restaurant in the unlikely setting of right under a flyover. The dichotomy is utterly charming, and the food is generous and delicious.

We walked along the shore, stopping occasionally to pet passing dogs. We boarded the train home, sleepy and full. The evening was spent by the fire, in pyjamas, snacking on chinese food and home-made brownies. Family doesn't get much better than that.

Love Wu

Dear Jason Wu

Please can you send me the dresses pictured below from your pre-fall collection? I heart them and I heart you. I feel like we could be best friends, if you'd just return my calls.

We can discuss our lifelong friendship at a later date - but if you could courier over those dresses in time for Christmas party season I'd be super grateful.

Love Sarah x

Not a shade of blue in sight

Sunday is fast becoming my favourite day of the week. Odd, because Sundays have oft presented difficulties for me - part of the weekend, 50% of it in fact, but so intrinsically linked to Monday I'd often be left drifting, slightly out of sorts, a shade blue. Eager to rewind to Saturday or fast forward to the onslaught of Monday. Not always, but sometimes.

Today I feel rested and content following Sunday. A Sunday which is translating into a happy and successful Monday. The trick is to do your favourite things, with your favourite people. A long, lazy lie-in is essential. As are eggs. A meandering walk through the common, punctuated by dogs and ducks, wind and rain. Wet jeans and a dripping umbrella dry off in a quirky cafe with mismatched china and mini teapots. Such niceties appeal to and please me.

A Sunday requires an element of practicality. A trip to Sainsbury's. A load of washing. Not too much - just enough. A Sunday requires hearty sustenance. Hours of gentle kitchen pottering to produce a near perfect risotto, and a dreamy, cloying Shepherd's pie. A Christmas film. A final. Much laughter and unabashed excitement.

A bath. A lot of sleep. A Sunday to make the rest of the week jealous. Not a shade of blue in sight.

Wonderful and Worthy

I'm thrilled that Richard Wright has won the 2009 Turner Prize. At 49 he only just qualifies - and as an entirely uncontroversial painter with little to no shock factor, he's a bit of a surprise winner too. This makes Wright a wonderful and worthy winner in my eyes. His work is so beautiful and subtle, and manages an existence of understated brilliance outside of the mass market art circus. His gold wall painting will remain at the Tate Britain until January 3rd. It really is worth seeing.

Rebecca

I felt a baby kick for the first time yesterday. And not just any baby. Rebecca's baby. A baby we have been waiting for.

I have loved Rebecca pretty much since I first met her, on my very first day of work, in my very first full time job. In all honesty, I wasn't very good at the job. Too many spreadsheets that I just couldn't make myself care about. But Rebecca seemed to think that I was funny, and that my incompetency at ordering reprints didn't really matter. I recognised her as a friend on sight. And soon after, her husband Gareth too.

In March there will be one more. A little girl. A little girl who is surely going to be the most adored little girl in the world. I absolutely cannot wait to meet her.

"The next best thing to having the world at your feet is to have a dog at your heels"

A subject close to my heart.

Every fabulous and fashion forward canine in town will be heading to Purdey's tonight, owners in tow, to celebrate the launch of Dogs in Vogue. Delving back 100 years into the archives, Vogue unearthed thousands of photographs of our furry companions taking centre stage. A few favourites posted below.

Ho Ho Galliano!

Does he ever disappoint?? A sketch of Claridge's Galliano for Dior Christmas Tree - in situ as of today and staying fashionably put until the 6th January. In lieu of baubles and offensive tinsel there will be crystals, orchids and a sleeping leopard. Now that's what I call the festive spirit.

God Bless America

Well, sort of...For Thanksgiving at least. After much cheek and charm (re: hugely inappropriate and over-familiar behaviour) I bagged an invite to the most prestigious and coveted November event: Thanksgiving chez Roach.

This was no easy feat. A year's work of general brown nosing and badgering paved the path to Cambridge, our dearly departed Becky (who left the hallowed halls of Vague House for academia and the pursuit of truth and knowledge... I know, I don't get it either) and the residence of eco warrior Martin and domestic Goddess Sally.

Thanksgiving is an uncomplicated holiday. It consists of one day, and one day alone. No time need be spent trawling the streets for the perfect tree/present/decorative reindeer. No need to spend the month prior organising wayward relatives, or seeking out remedies for Christmas card induced writer's cramp. In fact, aside from the chef (from whom all Thanksgiving goodness flows) all you really need to do is select something smock shaped to wear and brush up on your boardgame skills. Neither of which are particularly arduous tasks.

My Thanksgiving was the perfect Thanksgiving. A five mile walk, punctuated with gossip and a stop for carrot cake and scones. A practice round of articulate while our limbs recovered and we warmed by the fire. The feast. Turkey, sweet potato, mashed potato, two rounds of stuffing, corn muffins, green beans with tomato relish. Three deserts. Apple pie, toffee and dried fruit tart, pumpkin and ginger cheesecake. Champagne, wine, chocolates and peppermint tea. Artery overload, resulting in gorged appearance of one well into their second trimester. A contented train journey back to London Town, late at night. Sated and Serene.

I give thanks to my wonderful friend and her incredibly kind and welcoming family. My first Thanksgiving, my best Thanksgiving. Definitely not my last Thanksgiving. (Please Sally? x)