You know what I don’t do enough of these days? Apart, that is, from sleep, drink really good white wine and hang out with Joaquin Phoenix (pre excessive facial hair/ public breakdown/ embarrassing rapping debacle). No, the answer is, exfoliate. And I’m not just talking body scrubs. Mais non. I am talking facial scrubs and ones just for your tootsies, too. Continue reading…
It’s time to tell you about another lovely offer that I think you should jolly well take advantage of. This one is really good, and it comes from my current brand-crush, Aromatherapy Associates. I know, I’ve been going on about them almost as much as I go on about Elemis but it’s for your own good. Continue reading…
The toddler can be disturbed by many things of a night (hence my passion for coffee). Sometimes it’s his dreams, which reveal their subject matter when we hear him talking in his sleep though the monitor.The dreams sound pretty action-packed: lost zoo animals (“Where’s e-phant gone?”), the great outdoors (“Not touch bumber-bees”) and the confusion surrounding certain nursery rhyme characters (“Humpy Dumpy: Man? Egg?”).
The other thing that keeps the poor chap awake is itchiness. He’s got eczema, and although I am reassured it’s very common in the under-twos and will ‘resolve itself’, I can’t help being on a constant search for the mildest and least irritating bath products I can find for him. Continue reading…
Isn’t it great when you come across something that’s gorgeous to use, doesn’t cost the earth and really works? In the world of beauty products this doesn’t happen that often. I sadly tend to find that the expensive stuff does a better job, that the hard-working cheaper stuff smells a bit funny, that the pleasant-to-use moderately priced stuff is nice but has little effect…
You get the picture. Anyway, if you are an avid Product Placement fan (and I’m talking to both of you here) you’ll know that this headline announces the arrival of a bite-size chunk of beauty chat, centred on a single product that I’m trying out and enjoying (hence the title). It’s not, as my husband pointed out, a lazy way of avoiding thinking up another headline. Well it is a bit. Continue reading…
Before I continue, I would like to make it clear that I love Jennifer Aniston, and if we met in real life, we would get on like a house on fire and end up being inseparable and possibly swapping clothes. (Except that she would put mine in the ‘garbage’ and I would not being able to get into any of hers. Whatevs.)
Last week though, some shocking news landed in my inbox from one of the many quality publications I subscribe to for research purposes. (Heat, probably.) Jennifer has a flat stomach. I know. It has taken me until today to pick my lower jaw up off the floor. After all, she’s never grown a baby in the aforementioned abdomen, and has thousands – nay millions – of dollars to spend solely on looking phenomenal. Continue reading…
Not me. Don’t be absurd. I am a ray of sunshine. Except this morning, when I barked at the postman for not bringing me anything interesting. Oh and earlier, when I yelled at the toddler for removing the ‘M’ from my laptop keyboard. And just now, when I told the woman who called asking if I was happy with my kitchen to… (I’ll stop there. Family members read this.) Continue reading…
I still haven’t got used to the fact that Mother’s Day might actually involve ME receiving anything. Surprising, really, considering I haven’t exactly held back when it comes to sharing the niggling pain (OK, agony) of childbirth, the unrelenting glamour-free state of being a new mum, and the perpetual drama of looking after a toddler. And doubly surprising when being a mother takes up every waking – and sleeping moment of my day. Oh and night. Even when I’m sitting at my desk, toddler safe in the hands of his carers, I find myself humming the theme tune to Chuggington. Or worse, exclaiming enthusiastically to the department “Oooh, what a NOISY car!” when one revs loudly in the street outside. Continue reading…
I’m an ex-pat of sorts. Not, I hasten to add the sort who wears animal print when it’s not even ‘on-trend’, has skin the texture of a pickled walnut and gets satellite in her Costa Blanca villa so she can watch Dancing On Ice instead of ‘all that rubbish Spanish TV’. (I’m not sure where that outburst came from. I was clearly poisoned against Brits Abroad by Eldorado. Apologies.) Continue reading…
I hate it when people moan about having colds. Especially the ones who proudly announce (usually from their desk, while eating a sandwich) that ‘it’s actually flu’. Unfortunately, I have in the last couple of days become one of these moaners. I haven’t told anyone it’s flu though. I may be shallow but I’m not a liar. No, I see myself more as a tragic figure much like Beth from Little Women. (Actually, did she not die? Maybe not Beth then…) I long to be found, pale and ghostly in a nightdress, wandering the house in search of my smelling salts, a fan and someone to loosen my bodice. Continue reading…
How’s your January been? Personally, I’ve got through this joyless month with copious amounts of hot coffee in the morning, and equally copious amounts of Aussie red in the evening.
As far as I’m concerned, January is difficult enough to endure as it is without adding some kind of hideous ‘detox’ to the slow march towards payday. Isn’t leaving for AND returning from work in the pitch dark grim enough? Why throw fennel tea and some kind of homemade granola into the mix? The thought of it makes me want to slam my head into the keyboard before hotfooting it to the ‘drinks cabinet’ (bottle of cheap red by the sink). Continue reading…
