Wednesday 4 August 2010
This must be what love looks like
Daniel battled the undergrowth in my garden (glorified alley) and cleaned my windows because I was afraid of potential spiders. Coincidentally, this was also the day that feminism died.Monday 2 August 2010
Too British For Yoga
This weekend I found myself with an unexpectedly free Saturday. I cannot remember the last time this happened, and so instead of frantically calling in back-up, I decided to embrace some (*cringe*) me time, and spend the day selfishly and happily alone.
It started out innocently enough. I read the papers, inevitably fell back to sleep and embraced some menial household tasks. This brought me to about 11am. On a whim, I booked myself onto a two hour yoga class at my gym.
Now, it is fair to say I am an open minded person. I was up for a bit of chanting and incense, and I was even prepared to forgive the hemp, tye die and ironically narrow scarves that informed my fellow yoga goers sartorial choices... I will not forgive the two hours that followed.
We began with some chitchat about our earthly selves and our spiritual selves, and the importance of transcending our human form and human urges. We were told we must move beyond our thirst, our hunger and our sexual appetite. This was where yoga and I first began to part ways. I'm not sure I want to transcend my human urges. In fact, scrap that. I definitely don't. I like to be in control of them (IE, not obese, alcoholic or a nymphomaniac), but during my time on earth, I think I'd like to spend it doing earthly things - rather than floating hungry in the ether.
30 minutes later, and I'm hoping we'll start the stretching bit soon. I thought yoga was all about stretching! Apparently not. A lot of it is about balancing the majority of ones weight on ones head, and then discussing ones resulting dizziness in terms of reaching a higher state and getting closer to your goals. Considering my goal in attending an exercise class was a smaller bottom, I felt an overwhelming sense of being in the wrong place.
After balancing on our heads, we chanted 'Sat Nam' for an extended amount of time. Sat Nam sounds alarmingly like Sat Nav when repeated constantly, and I'd be lying if I said I was entirely focused after this discovery.
After Sat Nav, came the song about love. This is when yoga and I parted ways permanently, and irrevocably. I just haven't got it in me to sing a song about love with my eyes closed with 15 strangers. I felt remarkably stupid. And this really isn't to say I thought my fellow singers were stupid - far from it. I admired their ability to find meaning in it, and to engage with it without embarrassment or inhibition. There just wasn't an ounce of meaning in that room for me.
The next day, I headed to the gym with an iPod full of prodigy and ran. And ran. And ran. I felt free and alive and invigorated. I ran without embarrassment or inhibition. I found meaning. And maybe even a smaller bottom to boot.
It started out innocently enough. I read the papers, inevitably fell back to sleep and embraced some menial household tasks. This brought me to about 11am. On a whim, I booked myself onto a two hour yoga class at my gym.
Now, it is fair to say I am an open minded person. I was up for a bit of chanting and incense, and I was even prepared to forgive the hemp, tye die and ironically narrow scarves that informed my fellow yoga goers sartorial choices... I will not forgive the two hours that followed.
We began with some chitchat about our earthly selves and our spiritual selves, and the importance of transcending our human form and human urges. We were told we must move beyond our thirst, our hunger and our sexual appetite. This was where yoga and I first began to part ways. I'm not sure I want to transcend my human urges. In fact, scrap that. I definitely don't. I like to be in control of them (IE, not obese, alcoholic or a nymphomaniac), but during my time on earth, I think I'd like to spend it doing earthly things - rather than floating hungry in the ether.
30 minutes later, and I'm hoping we'll start the stretching bit soon. I thought yoga was all about stretching! Apparently not. A lot of it is about balancing the majority of ones weight on ones head, and then discussing ones resulting dizziness in terms of reaching a higher state and getting closer to your goals. Considering my goal in attending an exercise class was a smaller bottom, I felt an overwhelming sense of being in the wrong place.
After balancing on our heads, we chanted 'Sat Nam' for an extended amount of time. Sat Nam sounds alarmingly like Sat Nav when repeated constantly, and I'd be lying if I said I was entirely focused after this discovery.
After Sat Nav, came the song about love. This is when yoga and I parted ways permanently, and irrevocably. I just haven't got it in me to sing a song about love with my eyes closed with 15 strangers. I felt remarkably stupid. And this really isn't to say I thought my fellow singers were stupid - far from it. I admired their ability to find meaning in it, and to engage with it without embarrassment or inhibition. There just wasn't an ounce of meaning in that room for me.
The next day, I headed to the gym with an iPod full of prodigy and ran. And ran. And ran. I felt free and alive and invigorated. I ran without embarrassment or inhibition. I found meaning. And maybe even a smaller bottom to boot.
Friday 30 July 2010
Tuesday 20 July 2010
The Deposit
Princess Jasmine and I have had a bit of a falling out. Truth be told, I've gone right off her.
At approximately three o'clock this morning, my foot collided with a steaming pile of present, personally delivered by HRH.
Now, I know what you're thinking - 'Ah, poor little thing. Probably didn't know what to do or where to go' - that furry little beggar is the most vocal creature I have ever come across, and howls like a banshee at my window when she wants to come in. But when she wants to go out? A truly deafening silence.
My second point of contention is her choice of depositing spot - the mat directly below the toilet. One would have to be a gymnast to miss it - especially in the dead of night. I did not miss it. I, infact, was right on target.
I could almost hear her cackling as I rather unceremoniously shut her out in the garden, and began to load the washing machine with soiled goods.
I have had better mornings.
At approximately three o'clock this morning, my foot collided with a steaming pile of present, personally delivered by HRH.
Now, I know what you're thinking - 'Ah, poor little thing. Probably didn't know what to do or where to go' - that furry little beggar is the most vocal creature I have ever come across, and howls like a banshee at my window when she wants to come in. But when she wants to go out? A truly deafening silence.
My second point of contention is her choice of depositing spot - the mat directly below the toilet. One would have to be a gymnast to miss it - especially in the dead of night. I did not miss it. I, infact, was right on target.
I could almost hear her cackling as I rather unceremoniously shut her out in the garden, and began to load the washing machine with soiled goods.
I have had better mornings.
Lion Heart
Last May Florence told me I had to be a lion hearted girl, who was ready for a fight. And last Thursday night she sang it to me.
Florence and the Machine played to a sold out Somerset House, on a brilliant Summer's evening in the capital. In the company of Hannah, one of my all time favourite people, and with three days of Lovebox just around the corner, my rabbit heart couldn't have been any lighter.
The Concrete Jungle
Arriving in Manhattan amidst busy bustling people, smoke and smog and general agitation was like coming home. I am, and have always been most at home in a city. I know how cities work - how to get where you want, and what you want. Cities energise and inspire me and I love meeting a new one.
New York City and I got on like a house on fire.
Daniel and I were city dwellers for five days, living the tourist dream with trips uptown and downtown, to the lower east and upper west, and pretty much everywhere inbetween. We battled Times Square and Rockefeller Center in the morning, spent a sunny afternoon in Central Park and climbed the Empire State Building at night. We ate Italian in Greenwich Village, Vietnamese in ChinaTown, cheeseburgers on 5th Ave and mexican in Williamsburg. We partied with the indie kids in Brooklyn and the lost kids on Coney Island. We shopped in SoHo and got cultural at MoMa. We took a boat to see the Statue of Liberty, a subway to see Ground Zero, and a yellow taxi everywhere else.
We had a really, really wonderful time.
Tuesday 13 July 2010
The Empire State - Goshen
First stop JFK, second stop Knapp Terrace, Goshen. Upstate New York, home to Judy, Mike and David Osburn.
The first leg our trip was a homecoming for Dan, a chance for me to meet his wonderful and welcoming family, and to experience the New York not so many people see. This New York is green and lush and quiet. This New York is about long walks and iced coffees, swimming in fresh water lakes and picnics. It is about barbecues, a bonfire and my very first smore. This New York has groundhogs and chipmonks and deer in its backgarden. This New York goes to see drive-in movies (with extra film lovers smuggled in the boot), eats ice cream and cheese burgers and chicken wings by the dozen. This New York attends eighties parties and dances to Madonna and Culture Club - and jumps over official looking ropes to watch fireworks from the top of a hill on the 4th July.
This is what this New York looks like.
Wednesday 23 June 2010
Can I get a Kauwfee?
My first day in America! Upstate in the town of Goshen.
A seven hour flight followed by a two hour drive from JFK through two of the five boroughs, Queens and then the Bronx. I glimpsed a sneak peak of the Manhattan skyline before we slipped out of the city and further into New York. The sky scrapers gave way for lush, rolling green fields. This is what suburbia looks like.
Jet lag reared it's ugly head... I managed to keep my eyes open for dinner with Dan's wonderful family before succumbing to the inevitable.
Morning came early. Half past four to be precise. We tried to dose before admitting defeat at six, and sitting on the porch with coffee, enjoying the day's first rays of sunshine.
It's very peaceful here. There are no fences between the houses, just wide open spaces and tall, tall trees. I'm on the look out for deer and skunks, but no luck as of yet.
We decided on a low-key, all American day.
We went to visit Dan's grandparents who live right down the street, where the smell of pancakes and bacon was already heavy and inviting in the air. The streets are lined with star spangled banners - 4th of July preparation or just general patriotism, I'm not sure.
Dan drove me through Goshen so I could get an idea of the place. It's a bit like being on the set of The Wonder Years, houses with wrap round porches and cheery mailboxes at the end of each drive. I haven't seen any little old ladies in rocking chairs yet but I hope it's only a matter of time.
It seems that going for coffee is the national pastime here, and me and the Osburn boys made a few caffeine stops throughout the day. Using my first American dollars was fairly thrilling - everything here is familiar but different, new and exciting.
Dinner was a traditional restaurant in a quaint little town called Sugar Loaf - a bit of an alternative to Woodstock - and we managed to fulfill two holiday goals on our very first day:
1)"I love your accent! Are you English?" - Cue a very excitable Brit.
2)We were served by a girl that used to be mean to Dan when he was younger. We indulged in a moment of Schadenfreude.
We're heading off to a lake for swimming and sunbathing and maybe a little hiking (I've been promised this just means walking) - It's ten past eight and 24 degrees. I could definitely get used to this.
A seven hour flight followed by a two hour drive from JFK through two of the five boroughs, Queens and then the Bronx. I glimpsed a sneak peak of the Manhattan skyline before we slipped out of the city and further into New York. The sky scrapers gave way for lush, rolling green fields. This is what suburbia looks like.
Jet lag reared it's ugly head... I managed to keep my eyes open for dinner with Dan's wonderful family before succumbing to the inevitable.
Morning came early. Half past four to be precise. We tried to dose before admitting defeat at six, and sitting on the porch with coffee, enjoying the day's first rays of sunshine.
It's very peaceful here. There are no fences between the houses, just wide open spaces and tall, tall trees. I'm on the look out for deer and skunks, but no luck as of yet.
We decided on a low-key, all American day.
We went to visit Dan's grandparents who live right down the street, where the smell of pancakes and bacon was already heavy and inviting in the air. The streets are lined with star spangled banners - 4th of July preparation or just general patriotism, I'm not sure.
Dan drove me through Goshen so I could get an idea of the place. It's a bit like being on the set of The Wonder Years, houses with wrap round porches and cheery mailboxes at the end of each drive. I haven't seen any little old ladies in rocking chairs yet but I hope it's only a matter of time.
It seems that going for coffee is the national pastime here, and me and the Osburn boys made a few caffeine stops throughout the day. Using my first American dollars was fairly thrilling - everything here is familiar but different, new and exciting.
Dinner was a traditional restaurant in a quaint little town called Sugar Loaf - a bit of an alternative to Woodstock - and we managed to fulfill two holiday goals on our very first day:
1)"I love your accent! Are you English?" - Cue a very excitable Brit.
2)We were served by a girl that used to be mean to Dan when he was younger. We indulged in a moment of Schadenfreude.
We're heading off to a lake for swimming and sunbathing and maybe a little hiking (I've been promised this just means walking) - It's ten past eight and 24 degrees. I could definitely get used to this.
Wednesday 16 June 2010
Princess Jasmine
Introducing Princess Jasmine.Princess Jasmine is my brand new pet. A pet all of my own, to love and to cherish from this day forth. Well, sort of.
Some of you may remember that 18 months ago, I awoke one Saturday morning to a tapping at my window. Somewhat alarmed, I peered cautiously through the blinds, to find the bright green eyes of a pedigree feline staring back at me. JOY OF JOYS! I thought. My pet has finally found me. Today is my special day.
Alas, it was not to be. I tempted Benjamin (it seemed to suit him) in through the window with about ten quids worth of ham. I quickly shut the window and trapped him - success, i thought. However Benjamin was feisty and not to be tamed. To cut a long story short, he bit me and i threw him out of the window. It hurt me more than him, believe me.
I thought that was the last I would see of Benjamin.
I was wrong.
Last week he returned, back at the window, but this time timid and thin, although still as beautiful as ever. Alex and I quickly stocked up on cat food and Benjamin seemed to fit right in, even staying the night on our sofa and purring contently on our laps. Resident cat expert Dan expressed doubt as to Benjamin's masculinity, and after a quick and slightly unpleasant google search, it was revealed that Benjamin was, in fact, a girl. Even better we thought. We renamed her Princess Jasmine, which seemed fitting to such a fine and exotic specimen.
We very much hope that Princess Jasmine is here to stay.
Thursday 10 June 2010
The Holiday Drawer
Daniel came face to face with the extent of my neurosis this morning, when he inadvertently came across my holiday drawer.
As anyone who has come within ten feet of me recently will know, I am New York bound on the 21st of June, for two whole, glorious weeks. Not only is this the first fortnight holiday I've had in an age, it is also a perfect excuse for me to get my organisational kicks. I have been in planning mode for a good three weeks now - comparing travel insurance deals, fretting over hotels, planning the much anticipated Sex and the City tour and, of course, panicking over my number 1. holiday fear - lost baggage.
Apart from delegating the odd menial task, I have managed to keep a large extent of my neurosis hidden. Until this morning. I do believe that Daniel's discovery of the holiday drawer has led him to see me in a new, and not entirely flattering light.
My holiday drawer (which, to add salt to the wound, was the draw I grudgingly gave him for his stuff) is now full of holiday essentials, which I have been hoarding for some length of time. Suncreams, toothbrush - holiday size shampoos, shower gels etc. The crowning glory? The holiday documents folder. Divided into alphabetised sections and including a blow by blow itinerary of our trip.
I learnt a lesson this morning. MUST GET A LOCK FOR THE HOLIDAY DRAWER.
As anyone who has come within ten feet of me recently will know, I am New York bound on the 21st of June, for two whole, glorious weeks. Not only is this the first fortnight holiday I've had in an age, it is also a perfect excuse for me to get my organisational kicks. I have been in planning mode for a good three weeks now - comparing travel insurance deals, fretting over hotels, planning the much anticipated Sex and the City tour and, of course, panicking over my number 1. holiday fear - lost baggage.
Apart from delegating the odd menial task, I have managed to keep a large extent of my neurosis hidden. Until this morning. I do believe that Daniel's discovery of the holiday drawer has led him to see me in a new, and not entirely flattering light.
My holiday drawer (which, to add salt to the wound, was the draw I grudgingly gave him for his stuff) is now full of holiday essentials, which I have been hoarding for some length of time. Suncreams, toothbrush - holiday size shampoos, shower gels etc. The crowning glory? The holiday documents folder. Divided into alphabetised sections and including a blow by blow itinerary of our trip.
I learnt a lesson this morning. MUST GET A LOCK FOR THE HOLIDAY DRAWER.
Wednesday 9 June 2010
Glamour Girls
Last night saw London's Berkeley Square transformed for summer's hottest ticket, the Glamour Women of the Year Awards 2010 - and it truly was a veritable fest of glamour and gorgeousness, eccentricity and egos of epic proportions.
Arriving to the inevitable anti-pap (emerging from a blacked-out vehicle to a hundred very disappointed photographers - some of whom actually sighed), we skipped in and made the most of the Laurent Perrier on tap - while partaking in the mandatory celeb spotting - Jason Lewis (SATC's Smith), David Gandy, Cheryl Cole (a vision of doll-like perfection) and Florence Welsh (minus her machine) being amongst my personal favourites.
After mingling and canape scoffing we took our seats for the awards and dined on sea bass, scallops and a knickerbockerglory (left untouched by 95% of female guests), before James Corden kicked off proceedings. Highlights included the very hilarious Rob Brydon and Michael McIntyre, with the low light shining determinedly on Patrick Stewart who took on Corden and lost... badly. See the second most read story on the BBC news website for further car crash details.
Two afterparties, three treasure chests, one stuffed goody bag and some new and entirely inappropriate friendships later I headed back to my bed in Brixton, and the reality of the impending working day began to set in... My desk is a less than glamorous place to be right now.
Milling and mingling before the awards
Shameless posing
Host for the evening James Corden and the very hilarious Michael McIntyre
The extraordinary Florence
Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden, radiating smugness and telling bad jokes
Zoe Saldana - less recognisable minus Avatar Blue body paint
National treasure, our Chezza (who thanked her dentist in her acceptance speech)
Supermodel David Gandy kept badgering us for a photo... seemed rude to say no.
Wednesday 26 May 2010
Hard Knock Life
Photos from the gorgeous weekend - picnics post partying on Clapham Common (with every other 20-something in the world) followed by another strenuous day of lounging, this time in a garden in Ealing (Eden?) complete with sun-bed and M&S tapas.
Spot the difference between the one photo I took, and the nifty numbers from happy snapper Dan and his sickeningly arty iPhone App.
Sarah Deeks: Graduate of the call a spade a spade school of photography.
Glorious
London was blessed with unusually glorious sunshine this weekend - makes the world of difference doesn't it? Simple tasks become pleasures and time is oh so easily spent lounging when the sky is blue and the sun is on your back.
And I got off to the best of starts. I left work early (my boss taking pity on my longing looks out of the window) and dashed home to get ready for the arrival of some of my nearest and dearest friends, who were all gracing chez Deeks and Clapham's finest danceries for Lucy's Birthday. I met Lucy six years ago now, within an hour of arriving at university for the first time - a blonde cheerleader from Manchester with legs up to her armpits - it is impossible to ignore her charms and we have been friends ever since.
Friends tend to fall in to different categories, home friends/family friends/work friends/school friends.... and of course university friends. Friends you are thrown together with by chance, friends you will live with, succeed with and make massive, all emcompassing mistakes with. Friends you will get into the most mischief with - friends you will have the most fun with. University friends are a special breed, and I really hit gold with mine.
Friday night we reverted to Freshers once again - mixing drinks, singing in cabs, dancing in clubs and can-canning all the way to McDonald's at 3 o'clock in the morning. Not sophisticated, not grown-up, and definitely not very Vogue. Not a thing I would change for all the money in the world.
Personalised Birthday cake - courtesy of cake-maker extraordinaire Jess
Drinks and presents - post cake, pre burger.
Moments before the infamous can can...
The way all truly epic nights should end...We made it large.
Friday 21 May 2010
Elephant Invasion!
London is under seige from a parade of elephants. 258 to be exact.
The colourful creations are part of the city's largest ever art exhibition, which intends to raise awareness of the plight of the Asian elephant, and raise money for their preservation.
Each elephant is unique, and designed by a different artist or celebrity - and you can buy them too! The elephants are being individually auctioned off to the highest bidder, with all proceeds going towards protecting the habitats of these majestic creatures.
Moving Day
STOP THE PRESS: Rupert Sanderson's flagship Mayfair store has moved!!! .... a few doors down.
The new and improved three storey super-shoe-shop complete with showroom and swanky PR office, can now be found at 19 Bruton Place - I was predictably on hand to check out Rup's new digs and sip champagne in the springtime sunshine.
The new and improved three storey super-shoe-shop complete with showroom and swanky PR office, can now be found at 19 Bruton Place - I was predictably on hand to check out Rup's new digs and sip champagne in the springtime sunshine.
Tuesday 18 May 2010
The 6th of May
Isabella Blow. Vogue House Alum, Style Icon, British Eccentric, Muse and Champion.
An aristocrat without a penny to her name who went from cleaner to Anna Wintour's assistant. From Editor to Fashion Agent Provocateur.
A Christopher Colombus in couture, she discovered Philip Traecy, Alexander McQueen, Sophie Dahl, Stella Tennant.
A woman with almost as many alter-egos as hats - ""I think hats will take over from drugs. I loathe drugs and I think the excitement of hats is that they can conquer them. And it's so much healthier than having a shot of heroin or a line of cocaine or something." A classic Blowism - mad, witty and delightful.
Issy died the year before I joined Conde Nast and just months before my work placement at Tatler, where she was Fashion Director before becoming a contributing Editor after her move to the Sunday Times. I never met her, but I could feel her in the heavy shock and sadness that surrounded her suicide in the corridors that were usually so full of frivolous fun and scandalous gossip.
I am thinking about her today, because her wardrobe is up for auction at Christie's (my article at vogue.com) and I discovered that she died on the same day as a dear friend of mine - the 6th May. My friend died young and beautiful at 23. Issy died older, and at her own hand. The people and the manner polarised, but the loss is the same. The loss is always the same.
I think I would have loved Isabella Blow. I feel sorrow for those who loved and lost her.
An aristocrat without a penny to her name who went from cleaner to Anna Wintour's assistant. From Editor to Fashion Agent Provocateur.
A Christopher Colombus in couture, she discovered Philip Traecy, Alexander McQueen, Sophie Dahl, Stella Tennant.
A woman with almost as many alter-egos as hats - ""I think hats will take over from drugs. I loathe drugs and I think the excitement of hats is that they can conquer them. And it's so much healthier than having a shot of heroin or a line of cocaine or something." A classic Blowism - mad, witty and delightful.
Issy died the year before I joined Conde Nast and just months before my work placement at Tatler, where she was Fashion Director before becoming a contributing Editor after her move to the Sunday Times. I never met her, but I could feel her in the heavy shock and sadness that surrounded her suicide in the corridors that were usually so full of frivolous fun and scandalous gossip.
I am thinking about her today, because her wardrobe is up for auction at Christie's (my article at vogue.com) and I discovered that she died on the same day as a dear friend of mine - the 6th May. My friend died young and beautiful at 23. Issy died older, and at her own hand. The people and the manner polarised, but the loss is the same. The loss is always the same.
I think I would have loved Isabella Blow. I feel sorrow for those who loved and lost her.
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