9 Things My Mother Taught Me (And That I Wish I’d Listened To)

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1) Don’t worry what people think (the people who matter don’t mind, the people who mind don’t matter, etc. etc. etc.)

2) Drink hot water and lemon before bed….no, its not the same as a fab cuppa Yorkshire but…

Apparently lemon clears skin – the vitamin C component flattens out wrinkles and blemishes (not that we have the latter or the former ever) and rejuvenates skin from inside the body. Lemon also has antibacterial, antiviral immune-boosting powers, it is also a liver-cleanser (undoing those Proseccos hurrah! and is a general digestive aid, ie: you don’t scoff during the day.

 

3) Don’t brush curly hair. Just don’t. Unless you want to look like you are wearing an old, backcombed wig that has been trussed up in a plastic bag then put on your head.

4) Save up and buy something you really, really like that is made of nice stuff.

5) Not to make plans unless you are absolutely sure you won’t regret it later. That goes for generic dinner plans and date plans.

6) Be discerning, always.

7) If in an awkward situation/doubt anything in any way, smile and be polite then make a mental note not to agree to see this person/go to said event again.

8) Be aware of everything and never assume (a wise man told me assumption is the mother of all mistakes).

9) Know that most things are always “exciting” (I quote my mother) and if you look at the world this way, I can promise you it will never go grey.

 

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Wintry Snippets of Home/English Countryside – Nostalgic Already

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Christmas

Christmas is almost upon us! With it the house is filling with food, fires, mince pies and an endless chain of hot drinks…

The Christmas tree in all its glory

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Back To London: Face Lift Friday!

No! Not a real one. Just a bloggy one. Less exciting and life changing but still important if you ask me. If I ever do have one I will certainly turn it into life-changing literature, which I’m sure it would be. There is a … Continue reading

Flying Back To Italy Today!

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It’s been a long and lovely holiday at home in London, but the time has come to head back to Italy to continue work. (I use the term work loosely of course, as working for the Italian family is proving to be a wonderful experience.)

I should mention, I don’t know how long yet I will be doing it for – as long as Italy will have me! There is certainly a whole wave of things I’ve yet to do and people I’ve yet to meet, dates yet to have. (I’ve been rather shy and slow in that department! I know, grow up!)

What with children, ice cream errands and pesto dilemmas on the one hand, I feel there is so much glamorous sunlit ground I’m still yet to cover on the other hand.

It Isn’t Eavesdropping If You Are Standing Right There, Is It?

A few days ago I was standing in the tube, in London during my Christmas visit home to England. Two women sitting on my left starting having a conversation about hot drinks. Naturally, I couldn’t move as is normally the case in the unforgiving London underground. So, naturally, I was listening in.

Here is how the conversation went:
Girl opens a packet filled with what looks likes sachets of hot chocolate/HorlicksStrong, Cockney accents.
“You don’t like hot drinks do you?”
“Oh God no,” Girl turns nose up at packet.
“Not even hot chocolate?
“No, I mean, you got drinks, why should they be hot?”
“Sometimes its comforting-“
“I see what you mean, yeah, but drinks are drinks, why ruin them by making them hot?”
“What about coffee?”
“Hate coffee, never liked it, never drink it, can’t understand why people do. I mean – okay – at a push I’ll have a cup of tea, but that is, you know, at a push.”
“What about soup?”
“Not soup, no. Well – if I have to it needs bits in, you know, to chew on.”
“But without bits you wouldn’t like-“
“No, without bits, it’s just, disgusting.” Girl makes strange noise with throat.
“Horlicks?”
“You know what, drinks are fine cold – that’s the end of that. I mean, why make everything hot? They aren’t meant to be hot. ‘Am like, leave them as they are.”
“Yeah I guess.
Pause.
“What about, hot Ribena?’
“Oh God yeah, I’ll have that any day.”

Underwear Underworld: Part 2

I have to add, the funniest thing about the Victoria’s Secret shop or indeed any underwear shop, is the GUYS. They look as if they’ve wandered into both a colourful ball pit for children, and a strip club, by accident, a bit late, wearing the wrong tie.

“GUYS….They look as if they’ve wondered into a mixture between a colourful ball pit for children, and a strip club, by accident, a bit late, wearing the wrong tie”

I suppose I would have that expression too if I didn’t know where to look or who to talk to whilst my girlfriend/wife/friend disappeared into a flurry of feather boas and glittery oil, leaving me disarmed, uncomfortable with no bean bag to sink away into, preferably into the floor.

BOYS: things to do when abandoned in said shop/when one wants to leave said shop:

1) Don’t catch anyone’s eye or touch anything

2) Look down mostly at shoes

3) Check i-Phone/emails/send text messages

4) Pretend someone very important has called and you must leave the shop immediately

5) Pretend to have spotted good friend outside the shop, pause and wave, stride out of said shop

All in all, the place is sewn together with shiny sophistication, a glamourous and adorned girly chamber of pants. The exciting thing is, you don’t need anything from it. Nothing is that necessary. Marks & Spencer’s squats on the high street for practical visits, with a modern thread of the naughty running through it, but Victoria’s Secret, is defiantly indulgent, a Narnia of sweet-scented excess complete with chandeliers tottering above your head and framed images of Godesses doing backwards, sultry yoga.

Marks & Spencer’s squats on the high street for practical visits, with a modern thread of the naughty running through it, but Victoria’s Secret, is defiantly indulgent… a Narnia of sweet-scented excess complete with chandeliers tottering above your head and palatial halls.

Fundamentally though, it’s a place where women treat themselves. This is the type of place where real, fluffy pillow-fights exist between fragranced-pink and bubble-clad women.

“All in all, the place is sewn together with grown-up, shiny sophistication, a glamourous and adorned, girly chamber of pants”