Brighton

Not going on holiday abroad, the Wiganer and I decided to brave the wet and the wind and embark on the traditional British holiday by the sea. Brighton is a mere 45minutes from Clapham Junction, a seaside city with shopping, eating and drinking all within walking distance and with the added bonus of sea views.

So we booked a guest house (Cross Street Guesthouse - really lovely and highly recommended). £45 for the two of us in a double room with a shared bathroom - not that we had to share with anyone, and the perfect distance from the shops, bars and seafront, without being in the middle of a drunken warzone come 3am.

We hopped on the train just before midday. I had barely had a decent snooze when we arrived in Brighton just after 12.30pm. We walked (well, were blown actually) along the seafront to our lovely guest house, dumped our bags, and re-emerged into, in my opinion, the best seaside town that England has to offer.

Having been to Brighton on a number of occasions during my sixth form, I assumed I would know my way around with no trouble. However, most of my time spent in Brighton back then was masked under a heavy cloud of drunkeness, and after about 5minutes we realised that my usually infallible internal GPS system was well and truly off.

Not to worry, Brighton is easy. We pottered to the Lanes, and had some tea and shared a cupcake (Angel Bake House again HIGHLY recommended) and then pottered some more, and had some lunch, and then had some more tea - in fact when we were on the train home we realised that most of trip involved eating and drinking at various establishments.

The second cafe was truly lovely, and truly inspired. Called Tic Toc, it was in the lanes, and yet had a view down a little road to the sea. And right outside was a perfect suntrap - it still had the sun at 4.30. But in case it was a little chilly, there was a big pile of fleecy blankets to wrap up in, provided by the owner. The milk was in an old glass milk bottle, and the victoria sponge was perfect.

After shopping, we headed back to the guesthouse, stopping for warming hot spiced rum en route, and then for wine, and nearly for a wash and blow dry (the dozy Wiganer had brought straigteners but no hairdryer, and this place offered any hair service for £9 - dangerous when drunk we decided).

And we went out, and had a great night, from having those first sophisticated cocktails, to the less sophisticated sambuca shots, and the totally unsophisticated dancing like a pair of loons, and finally the wobbly walk home, supported by a bumper bag of crisps (Kettle Chips no less - not all vestiges of class were lost).

And we were home and in bed, and then in the morning up and had breakfast, walked along the prom, drinking plastic cups of tea, and then headed to the station and then we were Londoners again. All in 24hours. It has made me bump Brighton back up to one of favourite places in the world. And the Boyfriend and I shall be revisiting imminently.

Growing up in Bath has given me unrealistic expectations of urban areas. And living in Stockwell has worked well at stamping out a few elements of snobbishness on my part. But being in Brighton, I realised how much I love being surrounded by beauty and space, and the comparitive tranquility. Coming back to London, and a tiny piece of me really sank when we rejoined the crowds. But the bigger part of me surged back with the excitement that, ever since moving to London, has never fully disappeared.

Legally Blonde

The Wiganer and I were due to go away at the end of February, but due to restricted funds, and the recent booking of another holiday at the end of April, we decided to save the pennies, and instead enjoy the wonders of our very own England.

When you live in London it is easy to overlook the many and various things that make this city possibly the greatest on earth. And I must admit that I am often guilty of such a vice, and so I was determined to rectify this situation - in doing so I booked the two of us tickets to Legally Blonde, the Musucal.

I am blonde. I have my moments of dizziness. This film very nearly made me reconsider my career and become a lawyer. The Wiganer just loves a musical. So we were happy all round.

Irritatingly the Wiganer had given up chocolate for lent and so a bumper pack of minstrels for the performance was a no-no. Instead we had to settle for some yoghurt covered raisins (really not a bad substitute for others in a similar situation).

And we turned up at the Savoy Theatre, expecting a wonderful performance from Sheridan Smith (we both saw her in Little Shop of Horrors and she was an unexpected delight - funny, great singer, good dancer, wonderful presence, etc).

Sadly both her and Duncan James were not in our performance. Initially this did prompt a little moaning. But once the show started the two understudies were so good that we both agreed we could have asked for nothing more.

It was really really good. Catchy songs, enough laughs, no boring conversations or irrelevant plot developments, they kept close to the film but not too close - I cannot recommend this show enough. It was fun and fast (I must admit I was contemplating having a snooze at the start as I really was tired, and can sleep anywhere - it happened in the first scene of Oliver! much to the Wiganer's annoyance). But the minute the lights went up and the music started I was bright as a bee and even the men in the audience had a great time.

Please go. You will not regret it. Even if there is a lot of pink.

Grooming

Recently, I've been working a lot of early shifts. And early means EARLY - starting at 4am, so waking up at 3am. It's ok once you're in a routine, the shift is fun, and generally I really don't mind it. I have to be in bed by about 8.30, but at least until then I can have a social life.

One thing though that does take a backburner is the old grooming. Getting up that early, I can only really face a shower, washed hair (not dried - too loud and also means getting up 20mins earlier....er no) and obviously warm clothes and UGGS. I won't lie - I hardly look like a dazzling style symbol. In fact, most of this week at least one item I have worn has been inside out.

Now, the upside to starting early is that I finish early. And it is normally after work that I indulge in my grooming habits, and so one would think that given that I am done by midday I would be looking particularly groomed.

But when it is cold, and you are tired, that last thing I really fancied doing was going to my local beauty salon (Sajna, off clapham high street - brilliant. It is open til 11pm, it is cheap, they will always fit you in, and it is even open on a Sunday) and having a brazilian bikini wax.

But on Wednesday I bit my lip and went. And this is when Sajna comes into it's own. In I went at 1.09pm. Had a brazilian bikini wax (OUCH) and got my eyebrows threaded (amazing, definitel worth doing, and a snip at £3) and was out by 1.24. I spent £15, but felt (to be cliched) a million dollars. Sorting out your eyebrows works wonders for your face, and having a bikini wax always makes you feel a little self-righteous.

I then went and got myself a pedicure (45mins of BLISS) and then the ultimate indulgence of an eyelash perm. If you have never experienced this wonder then find the nearest beauticians to you that does this and go NOW. You will love me forever for introducing this phenomenon into our life. You can throw out those gunky eyelash curlers, and everyone will comment on how well you look.

And that is the extent of my beauty regime. It is pretty basic, but it covers the essentials. And the eyebrow/eyelash treatments are the cheapest way to revolutionise your face.

V.I. Warshawski

I've always been a reader. Reading and books are my lifeline. When I can't sleep, feel homesick, miss people or places, am overcome with anxiety/sadness/anger/frustration, 10 minutes of a Harry Potter, an Agatha Christie, or Adrian Mole, and perspective is restored and calm resides again.

I have always loved a crime thriller, and while a dedicated follower of Agatha Christie, Sue Grafton, and more recently Steig Larsson, I am always on the lookout for more. And thanks to my step-mother for introducing me to the wonderful Sara Paretsky, and her heroine, the ballsy, brash and sarcastic VI Warshawski.

I have managed to devour two and am currently on a third in recent months. The series is ongoing, and chronological (although reading them as such is not a necessity - I have failed miserably at this and am still addicted).

The stories are fast-paced, at times dangerous and violent, but there is a confidence that you, as the reader, has in the heroine. She is scatty, untidy and disogranised. She drinks neat whiskey, can't start the day without a run, and lives in a permanent state of disarray and untidiness. Maybe it is this that has instilled such great confidence in her. She is a real person, and for all her messiness on the outside, I empathise with her - I am the same. A mess on the outside, yet obsessive and organised on the inside.

She is quick-witted, impulsive (often to the point of regret) and dry. Her sarcastic put-downs make for satisfying reading, and the many characters she has in her life are people one can recognise in one's own life. The interfering and yet well-meaning neighbour, the close, yet judgemental female friend, the ex-partners, some of which remain friends, others that quickly become enemies.

Each story starts feeling a little mundane, and then the pace quickens, the various plotlines are pulled together, and the story climaxes with some near death incident. Everything is explained (often not clear as crystal, but who cares - you know on closer inspection it would hold) and often Warshawski has successfully bought down some corrupt institution or company, and in the process is righting some social ill.

They are, all round a satisfying read; perfect for a sleepless night, long tube journey, or lazy holiday. And because the heroine has no qualms about indulging regluarly in a large, straight Johnny Walker, there is not a hint of guilt to settling down with the book and a large gin and tonic.

S&M

Having developed a new found love for the North (of London) I have been venturing up there fairly regularly.



And last night, on a particularly cold and frosty evening I met one of my oldest friends. She picked the place (being a native North Londoner) and we met at the S&M cafe on Essex Road.



Now for those of you that are unaware of the London chain of S&M caffs, don't worry. They are not dark lairs filled with chains and leather, but cosy, greasy spoon esque (but cleaner and newer, and making more effort for the retro look) cafes with perspex chairs, and bakelite tables, and hand scrawled specials.



We first discovered this chain on long ago shopping trips to London aged 16. Every half term and holiday Mini, Sophia and I would venture to the Bath bus station and get on a National Express coach to London at the crack of dawn.



And at the other end we would stumble off the coach and it would still only be about 9am, and we would make our way to Portobello Road, to the mecca of all 16yr old girls - the market.



And it was here that we first discovered the S&M cafes. Sausage and Mash Cafes. Where you choose what sausages you want, with what mash, and then pick a gravy, and it all comes over to the scrubbed tables, with an array of sauces, steaming hot.



Or they do incredible fried breakfasts. With the obvious central component being big juciy flavoursome sausages (and fried bubble and squeak mash). Or sausage sandwiches - big slabs of bread, or a baguette overflowing with sausage and sauce.



And after filling up with S&M the three of us would be ready to face the world of markets, and Oxford Street, and Knightsbridge. And shop til we drop, returning to the coach laden with bags and boxes, often filled with useless novelty purchases, but also sometimes containing one of those perfect purchases. Those things that become so well loved and used, that it is not until they fall apart that you realise how important they are to your life.



My lifelong purchase were a pair of shoes from Tom Cat Leather on Neal St. They were wooden wedges, with a 50's bikini babe design, and the wooden heel had a heart shape carved out of it. They were impossible kitsch, terribly overpriced, and loved to the point of destruction (they about a year ago they finally succumbed, and cracked straight down the middle).



Mini, among her other purchases got a lovely black leather bag. It cost £100, which, as a 16yr old schoolgirl, seems like lifelong savings. But now, despite being a little more battered and squashed, and having new zips and a strap held together with duct tape it is as charming as it was that cold morning in Ladbroke Grove. We were both admiring it in the warmth of the Angel S&M cafe, laughing at our younger selves, and reminiscing about nothing and everything.



Visting the S&M cafe yesterday was wonderful. Not only was it with Mini, but it was a place that held so much significance for my younger self - it was the place in London that locals used, that I, as a 16yr old Bathonian, and foreigner to London, felt was a bit of London that I knew and owned. And now, having been a London resident for the best part of 5 years, I often forget that feeling of awe, and fear, and that tiny bit of desperation to fit into London life

Jumpsuits

I really want a jumpsuit. They are easy (no faffing about with tops and bottoms, and matching things and all sorts). They look smart, and there are lots of lovely ones about at the moment.

Initially I had one concern - that they may look ever so slightly like a one-sey. And I do not want to be turning up for work in what looks like an oversize baby-gro.

Yet on contemplating this in the office, the consensus was not that it might look like toddler nightwear, but the resounding opinion was "you're too small".

At first I ignored this comment (it did come from a boy) but on further reflection, I think that putting my 5'2 1/2 frame into previously mentioned garment is most probably going to make me look

a. like i'm dressing up in my mother's clothes
b. ridiculous

And so any thoughts of the jumpsuit are to be temporarily put on hold. That is, until I find some seriously skyscraper shoes.

Gavin and Stacey

I was never one for soaps. They just don't appeal, and I find that they leave me feeling a little depressed.

I've never really been one for TV, especially given the dire state of my current one (please see previous blog).

But in the last year or so, the Boyfriend and I have got really into watching series. It all started with Family Guy, and then we moved onto Heroes (but gave up partway through series two). We then discovered the InBetweeners (true comic genius, in its barest form - as a friend said, Skins is what you wished you were at school, InBetweeners is what you actually were), and Enrourage. We tried The Wire, and will try it again as we failed to see the attraction, but have been told to persevere.

And then the other day, the Boyfriend surprised me, by stating that he had got the first two series of Gavin and Stacey. It really had not struck me as his cup of tea, and to be honest had not really featured on my radar.

So we watched the first one, and then the second one, and the third, and then we had watched the entire first series in an evening. We are totally hooked. I find it charming, hilarious, heart-warming and real. I can see elements of my family, and friend's families in all of them. They have terrible arguments which end in laughter, they are selfish and grumpy, with smelly feet and bad breath, they are caring and kind and funny and good. There is no attempt to gloss over the imperfections of normal life, but instead they are celebrated and provide the core for some truly brilliant humour.

We've just seen the first Christmas Special. I want Nessa and Smithy to get together. I want Gav and Stacey to live happily ever after in Wales. I want to find out what happened between Bryn and Jason on the fishing trip, and how Doris's toyboy is. I just cannot wait to watch the last series.