Pancake Party

One does not realise what a blessing 'average health' is until one becomes ghastly ill. Simply put, "you don't know what 'chu got till it's gone" or in my case, until you have norovirus. The second half of last week was a completely write-off when I caught the highly infectious norovirus (yay!) and passed it on to my housemate who then took it a step further and then developed gastroenteritis. The damned house was like The Masque Of The Red Death, with everyone spasming, shuddering, and calling out for sweet, blessed release. All I can say is...thank God we have a bathroom each to ourselves. 

Overdramatic and gory imagery aside, the moment it all cleared up I seized---with newfound appreciation for the simple joy of no longer having to sleep by the toilet---my rediscovered freedom and the car keys, and sped away to the other side of town for a wholesome little Sunday brunch. Oh, the fresh air! Oh, to travel! Oh, to be able to operate heavy machinery!

The ecstatic face of one who's finally seen the sun after 3 painful days of abject physical punishment.

I picked up my mistresses from Dalston, to share with me my newly acquired freedom...

Barnsey hitting the roof hahaha.

In lieu of a group shot I (un)skilfully photoshopped Lucy in.

We arrived safely---why shouldn't we?---at Carlisle Mansions just in time for a light brunch, drinks, and  chatter.

Nick hard at work in the kitchen, making his famous pancakes. A man who can cook knows his way into a woman's heart.


After half a week of surviving eating only medication and Vitacoco, these carbs were a welcome sight. Nutella, syrup, whipped cream, blueberries and strawberries...oh blessed day.

Any relation to you, Lady Butterworth

With Nick, who's so tall I have to stand on my tippy toes just so both our heads would fit in the picture.

I love wholesome, chilled out Sunday house parties, it's all incredibly laid-back, with none of the usual posturing and attempted one-uppance that comes with the territory of Friday nights at the club. Live simply and without stress, I find myself thinking now that I'm a bit older and much more mellow.

Oh, and pancakes are to be involved at all house parties. Of course.

April 29, 2013

Pancake Party

One does not realise what a blessing 'average health' is until one becomes ghastly ill. Simply put, "you don't know what ...

Sunday Wise

I spend Sunday at the Ivy Club, at the very kind invitation and hospitality of Hamish. T'was a nice change from having a lie-in (read---hangover) and feeling serious religious guilt about missing church service, as I usually do. It was of course Sunday Wise, a monthly event at The Club at The Ivy, "for those who like to think while they drink" with "an exclusive line up of speakers, innovators and artists on the last Sunday of every month". Oh dear, I copied and pasted that from Sunday Wise's Twitter, but like i explained to Amber about the popularity of Tumblr and Pinterest quotes "They succinctly and eloquently sum up what I'm trying to say, kind of like carrying this handbag to express my personality". Oh god, did I liken fashion to quotes and to Twitter blurbs? Brain, how do you make these leaps? 

Being a good friend, I asked The Right Dishonourable Max Clarke (a courtesy he sometimes inadvertently fails to extend in kind *glares*) to join us for an afternoon of talks, networking, and Sunday lunch.

Typically caustic, all day he mocked me and called me a hipster. And for that I suitably punished him all day by punching the massive taxi-wound bruise on the back of his leg. Until he threatened to sneeze all over my glorious hair, from which point I was sure to administer damage to his bruise from a safe distance.

I had the last word, singing (screaming) along to Taylor Swift on the ride home. Trouble-trouble-trouble-oh-oh-OH! Michiekins, aren't you glad you're no longer my daily torture toy? 

The Ivy Club greets us with their iconic glass elevator and stunning orchid displays my mother would kill for. To say nothing of the tiny, sun-drenched courtyard filled with green that lifted my spirits and matched the clothes I wore.

Hamish and the ever elusive Viktor, Chancellor of The Last Tuesday Society whose shop of the same name is responsible for the curious and morbid artefacts that decorate my apartment. I've lost count of the people who've tried to steal my taxidermied crow and tiger cub skull...

Steve Nallon shows us why he's the best Baroness Thatcher impersonator there is; not only is his impression of her voice frighteningly and hilariously accurate but the resemblance (in drag) is uncanny.

I nearly split a seam laughing at his impression of The Dowager Countess of Grantham at lunch, "What is a weekend?" Oh, I was transported back to the good old days when Downton Abbey was still a happy place and everyone was still alive. Sybil! Matthew! *sobs*

Mr. Nallon doing what he does best.

Max Wallis treated us to a reading of his poetry, from his poetry film with Harper's Bazaar about the fashion world. Only he can wax lyrical about fabrics and buttons and make it sound so emotive. 

Amber Atherton talks about the impact and popularity of inspirational and motivational quotes. Many of the examples she presented I've spotted, pinned, and reblogged on Tumblr and Pinterest. Oh quotes! They are the accessory for the thinker, just as your shoes speak about your person, the inspirational quotes you reblog express the change you wish to see in yourself. I for one would prefer to be judged not by my threads but by the things I post on my Tumblr...oh wait...maybe used to be chockfull of darkness and nihilism. 

Viktor tells us a macabre little bedtime story, from the Brother's Grimm, in his imitable way. His singing about the boy who was killed, eaten, and turned into a bird will haunt me..."My mother she killed me, my father he ate me, my sister she buried me..." And they all lived happily ever after! According to medieval standards, that is.

The hilarious and incredibly inappropriate comedian Vikki Stone  titillated us with dirty ditties, filthy songs, and singled out Max for a song about, um, *whispers* manhood size.

To roaring applause, she sang a rousing rendition of the Jurassic Park song which will now be stuck in my head all week until I watch the movie at least 3 times to exorcise it.

  Danana! Dananana, danananaaaa----!   

In between the talks and comedy we sat down to a very civilised late lunch. Civilised as opposed to what, one asks? That, we do not speak of.

Making a first impression with my business cards, which went down a treat with feminists everywhere. The illustrations are from my Meat series, which is all about turning male chauvinism around and treating men as trophies based on their good looks. 

Beautiful little appetisers which I was mocked for taking photos of. I AM NOT A HIPSTER, but then again a hipster would say that wouldn't they? And now we're going to steal your flute sound bite!

Pretty little parcels of food, perfect for lighter summer meals.

I enjoyed the crispy pork belly.

Out of focus photo of crab, because I am bad at being a hipster.

Chocolate souffle and popcorn ice-cream. Popcorn is my new favourite flavour, and definitely deserving of being a food group on its own.

Ending with a blurry photo of Viktor and I.

Loved Sunday Wise, I'll be back for more.

April 22, 2013

Sunday Wise

I spend Sunday at the Ivy Club, at the very kind invitation and hospitality of Hamish . T'was a nice change from having a lie-in (rea...

Thought of the day; Plastics In Denial.

I try to empathise before I judge, and mostly I am half-successful---I may or may not understand the psyche of whoever is perplexing me but at least I can somewhat refrain from passing judgement. Or so I hope. Is having a silent opinion of someone's choices the same as judgement? If you don't express it, then it doesn't exist, right? So, is it by that same train of thought that women who've had 'work' done decide that if they deny it when asked, therefore it never happened?

Understandably, cosmetic surgery is a very personal choice and likewise a personal matter. And I believe that even if it is as clear as day that you've, say, had your nose shaved down to half it's size it is still very much your right to choose not to tell anyone, or even to not answer if someone openly asks you "Have you had work done?" Just be coy and change the subject. Freedom of speech allows anyone to openly speculate and likewise you're free to not respond.

But...what I'm having trouble understanding is individuals who go out of their way to condemn those who've had work done when they themselves have been under the knife. It's one thing to say "No, I did not get breast implants/liposuction/antlers attached to my forehead" when you did, and another thing altogether to say "No, I never would. I think people who get work done are better off spending that money on therapy to resolve their body issues." Or less eloquently "No OMG WTF I don't wanna look like a plastic freak."

Especially when said person is in the public eye, makes a living out of their opinions, among those of which is them openly expressing their desire to have their physical traits changed by the surgeon's scalpel. Hey, if you get a rush out of people hanging on to every word you say, just know that they'll also remember them. Especially the ones laced with hypocrisy.

Sure, your jaw-reduction surgery is as clear as day, your eye-shape changed dramatically overnight, those set of antlers on your forehead weren't there before (sorry, I've got antlers on my mind). And I adamantly believe you shouldn't have to announce it to the world if you don't feel comfortable about it. But...why are you going out of your way to malign and taunt those who have openly admitted to having work done?

Is it delusion? Self-denial? Do they think that by pretending it never happened, the (modified) elephant in the room will go away?

Or do they think that it gives them a 'moral trump-card' over those who have had cosmetic surgery done? Does it make you feel better, superior even, pretending the body parts you paid for were yours to begin with, and then going a step further and looking down your (rhinoplasty-ed) nose on those who've done the same?

If so, here's a widely-known fact---just because you deny it doesn't mean we don't know it. Not everyone is as short-sighted as you hope they are.

Mostly because they don't wear badly-made contact lenses.

Here's a truth, if I ever get any cosmetic surgery done, I may not openly talk about it and I may choose to not answer if anyone asks me about it.

But I would not assume the high-horse and give a lecture about how people who want smaller noses/bigger eyes/perkier bosoms have psychological problems and should just accept what they have.

Especially when said lecture is coming from someone who doesn't practise what they preach.


PS. In case I wasn't clear enough, I have no problem with 'fake beauty'. I have a problem with 'fake morals'.

PPS. Not saying that I would get any work done anytime soon, but if these darn double-sided eyelid stickers don't work properly I might look into getting blepharoplasty. Stupid right eye is smaller than my left.
April 04, 2013

Thought of the day; Plastics In Denial.

I try to empathise before I judge, and mostly I am half-successful---I may or may not understand the psyche of whoever is perplexing me but...

What's In My Bag; White & Gold

Louis Vuitton handbag // Chanel wallet // Chanel Poudre Universelle Compact (clair) // Chanel No.5 Eau Premiere purse spray // Chanel Rouge Allure lipgloss (No.68 Troublant) // La Mer the body creme // (fake) Beats by Dre // Leica D-Lux 5 Titanium // iPhone 5 // sketchbook from Kaison // white jade bangle // SmartCigs e-cigarette (menthol)

As the clocks move forward and the days become longer, likewise the new season calls for a lighter approach to accessorising. Why save white for summer, when all winter we've been deprived of brightness? Half-hearted semi-melted snow in the city does not count.

White & gold; my self-declared lucky colours for Spring. With of course touches of black here & there (lifelong habits take time to shed), and shades of grey & mint green.

If only I could spring clean & declutter my life as easily as I did with my handbag.

I got back to London this morning at 6 and have been unpacking all morning. Who knew that sorting and tidying a tiny apartment could be so tiring? Time for a power nap. Thank goodness it's a Bank Holiday! Not that it's relevant to us freelancing types, but any excuse to feel less bad about not doing any work today...!


April 01, 2013

What's In My Bag; White & Gold

Louis Vuitton handbag // Chanel wallet // Chanel Poudre Universelle Compact ( clair ) // Chanel No.5 Eau Premiere purse spray // Chan...