Expression 32: Baleful
To truly illustrate how much Ambridge loathes going to the vet, I need to go back a few months to when she stopped eating.
To be clear, Ambridge does not wish to stop eating. She is what one pet website politely terms “food-focused”, to the extent that I had to replace her automatic cat feeder with the feline equivalent of Fort Knox, sourced by H when she mastered how to burgle and eat its predecessor’s contents in five minutes flat. Continue reading
The best sign I saw in New York
2014 has been a very, very long year. 365 days. Many, many hours. Some quantity of minutes that I do not possess the mathematical ability or interest to calculate and oh my God, maths, I’ve already bored myself.
I find looking back on a whole year a bit of an impossibility, like trying to fit an entire packet of digestives in your mouth without taking the wrapping off first. Continue reading
I went into journalism wanting to be Laura Barton. I loved her writing in the Guardian, I still do. At university in Durham, my friends and I would always turn to her stuff first. On Mondays, we’d sit in Riverside Cafe and pore over the (then massive – oh how things change!) jobs section in Media Guardian and plot our move from the north of England to Fleet Street.
My reason for wanting to be a journalist was that I wanted to entertain people. I had a lovely vision of having a column somewhere, which luckily didn’t happen, because when I was in my early 20s I used even more adjectives than I do now. The one thing I didn’t particularly want to do was to use my life as the basis for features. Again, how things change. Continue reading
After a week in the new job, and an evening of eating the ultimate yellow dinner (mac and cheese, mashed potato and cauliflower cheese – mmm, Sunday), it’s time to talk shoes, and a seriously awesome photography exhibition. Continue reading
A Light In Chorus
Yesterday, H and I spent six glorious hours trawling EGX, the video games expo in Earls Court which runs til Sunday. SUCH joy. The cosplay! The Streetpassing! The hunt for new games we’d heard of, and new things to fall in love with and throw our pounds at in the near future.
Towards the end I was hungering for new Street Fighter so wasn’t wild about visiting Rezzed, the indie zone, but blimey it’s grown since I last went a couple of years ago. And double blimey – this year’s had some of the most beautiful and entrancing games I’ve seen since playing Okami, that gorgeous watercolour RPG reboot. All the ones I tried were works in progress, and these ones were my favourites. Continue reading
I’ve managed to keep two secrets of late – three, actually, but one is so secret it is not actually allowed to exist. Let us never speak of this again.
First in the successfully-kept and disclosable section, H’s birthday present. I kept schtum about that for two months and by God it nearly killed me. Second, this collaboration between Taller Than Your Average and Long Tall Sally which I wanted to tell you about last week, but was asked to keep schtum til today – handy, because that’s when it actually goes on sale. Continue reading
White and red vermouths, handmade in Mele e Pere, and a really fearsomely disgusting hyper-dark vermouth which I am not adult enough to enjoy
With Elizabeth locked away in her flat until she’s finished the first draft of The Book (I know I’m biased, but bloody hell it is SO GOOD), we put a date in the diary weeks ago for a catch up.
“Erm, do you fancy a vermouth tasting?” she said. I assured her that I am on board with pretty much anything that is suffixed by the word “tasting” and we duly booked, and headed off to the vermouth bar in the basement of Mele e Pere, an Italian restaurant on Brewer Street just across the road from the Glasshouse pub.
Now, let’s have a quick pause for you to sign up, because I haven’t encountered this sort of ridiculously good value in London in aeons. Mele e Pele’s vermouth masterclass is £15. FIFTEEN POUNDS. For reasons that will soon become apparent, this isn’t so much a steal as a giveaway by an incredibly courteous saint. Continue reading
Instead of wearing a cross – bit Buffy for me – I have this beautiful bracelet which my godfather gave me for my confirmation
Nostalgia week – commence! After four and a half years at The Times, it’s my last day next Thursday. Of the many opportunities I’ve had here to write about something I feel really strongly about, my 2010 series about being a feminist, LGBT-supporting person getting confirmed was one of my favourites. I know, sexy subject, right? Nothing says “This won’t alienate people at all!” like talking earnestly about faith, religion and small sacred biscuits that are actually really difficult to swallow. Continue reading
I’ve got a piece in this week’s Grazia about Fifi Geldof hiding her depression, and my experiences of same. I am SO PROUD of this – I know I bang on about mental health problems a lot, but that’s because if I were still ill on a day-to-day basis, there is absolutely no way I would. Continue reading
HELLO WARMTH, I’VE MISSED YOUR WOOLLY EMBRACE*
*sun does not count
Guys, can we forget that it’s Indian Summer territory and pretend it’s freezing? Thanks. Let’s chat warmth. Continue reading