Insta-What? & Colourful Sprouts

Have you been on Instagram at all recently?

I accidentally click on the app on my phone then remembered just in time I was avoiding the digital version of a pesty tick also known as checking Instagram every dull moment during the course of my attempted tech-free holiday (writing The Signorina excluded of course. Ahem.)

The question is, what did we do before instant access to pouty, picture-perfect, beanie-clad, eye-lash wafting gorgeous humans bouncing out of our screen in all their filtered glory? Or indeed, bikini-clad lovelies posing against trees when all you wanted was a couple of yoga tips? Or of course the ever – present ‘avocados and nuts is all I’m having’ pics.

Where are the ‘slumped against the Christmas tree after too many [insert fave Christmas nibble here]’ pictures?

Or, indeed, the ‘bundled up in granny’s one hundred year old jumpers because I left my fluffy H&M one on the side of a gate when I was chasing sheep?’

Or… ‘Me with thirteen mince pies in my mouth and still smiling’?

OR…I could go on.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for the ‘be the best eva yet that you can be eva’ mantra and delicious, eager healthy plates of colourful food is going to be all I’m about come January.

But for now, a little more of the cheeky, “you wouldn’t catch me doing this if it wasn’t Christmas/New Year” stuff, please.

In the mean time, a piccy of tangerines and their pals parsnips and sprouts (don’t see many sprouts on the web do you?) as I like the colours.

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food

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Vogue Night Out

Here are some pictures from the Vogue Night Out I attended recently.

Serene ballet dancers performed sequences in gleaming shop windows; a glamorous string quartet embellished with handsome waiters clutching trays of fluorescent Aperol Spritz, beckoning you in.

Bursts of white flowers placed as gorgeous centrepieces, like elegant frothy explosions in the middle of the floor, cherry-flavoured vodka poured silkily into pristine cocktail glasses…

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5 Must-Read Books!

If you haven’t already devoured them…

I love the weight of a new book in my hand and the scent of fresh pages. I love the airy stillness of a bookshop, and the shiny new covers of bestsellers or old classics on tables near the front door. People are respectful in bookshops, delicate as they take the book from the shelf and place it away. People don’t bombard you like in every other shop in the world…

‘Hiya what can I get you everything alright let me know if you need anything,’

then a moment later:

‘Hiya what can I get you everything alright let me know if you need anything,’

(Ok I know they have to.)

But we are losing this culture, and according to statistics only a measley third of all consumers buy their books in bookshops, the rest online. Bookshops are being disastrously plucked from the high street, and I think it is quite sad, for I know the next time I go back to my local town up North my childhood  bookshop may be replaced with a grotesque, gleaming pile of dirty hair-bobbles, socks and polyryrinethyroestrine lounge trousers, (aka, Primark.)

So here’s to a cosy Christmas with some recommendations:

1) The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

International bestselling romantic comedy, it is warm-hearted where the protagonist encourages us to see the funny side of our own often incomprehensible behaviour.

2) Stoner by John Edward Williams

This vintage classic has been dubbed as ‘the greatest American novel you’ve never heard of.’ Stoner has been described as ‘anti-Gatsby.’ Its prose is austere, the book perfectly constructed and is essentially a mesmerising account of one man’s failure. It is dusty with sadness but will weigh on your mind long after you’ve finished it.

3) The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

This is a fabulous tome, vividly weaved together and at times unbearably moving. The intricate details picked up by the narrator will resonate within the reader, the protagonist wandering into your mind and tugging at your soul.

4) Tigers in Red Weather by Liza Klaussmann

Ok, a little more of a summer than winter read but all the more reason! Dripping with a Great Gatsby-esque glamour, there is murder, sex and mystery in 1950’s New England. Magnetically delivered through the eyes of five characters.

5) Mrs Hemingway by Naomi Wood

The tempestuous genius that is Ernest Hemingway had four wives. This novel portrays their lives, enticing, mysterious and often heart-wrenching. We are drawn behind the curtain of his lives and the absurdity of the fact that Ernest could not help proposing to his mistresses.

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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”