Product Placement

I hate to moan but you know what one of the downsides of this lovely weather is? Apart from the smell of other people’s feet on the bus, the rosé wine hangovers and the daily battle of keeping a hat and sunglasses on a toddler, that is. (Told you how I hate to moan.) Shininess. Oiliness. And then – spots.

The cause? It can be anything from hormones and stress to pollution or even a change of skincare routine. But at this time of year it’s more likely that you’re breaking out due to using suncream (which I hope you are), slapping on fake tan and sweating more than you usually do. Continue reading…

Surely, not another new feature for Product Placement? Anyone would think people actually read this. Well, it turns out that a handful actually do, which not only amazes me on a daily basis but also prompts me to say thank you very much, and without sounding needy, keep reading/subscribe/tell your friends etc etc.

Anyway, because these days I get sent quite a lot of information from beauty related folk, I thought it would be rather nice for me to start giving a little back, in the shape of any offers and deals that I hear about. I don’t profess to be some kind of industry insider (I leave that to the likes of the lovely British Beauty Blogger – if you haven’t subscribed to her then you should jolly well go and do it now.) This new feature is more a way of telling you about anything good that I happen to hear about, and possibly doing another competition or two at some point soon. Hope you like it. Now down to business. Continue reading…

“It takes more than a cold flannel and some Body Shop oatmeal scrub for me…” Not one of my own pearls of wisdom this time. No, it’s Edina talking to Saffy in Ab Fab. Even in my late teens I knew I had more affinity with the mother than the daughter. Not something I should necessarily be proud of, I know.

But the Body Shop has thankfully moved on – as has the whole industry. And these days, what were in the time of Lacroix and Bolly tentatively called ‘natural’ beauty products, are better known as botanical, pure, organic, plant-derived… (Organic beauty stuff obviously has to be organic, and there are a few pretenders out there so if you’re not sure – and organic is what you want – then check their credentials first.) 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…

‘Hardy’. ‘Tough’. ‘Outdoorsy’. If I could have a crisp fiver for every time I’ve been described as one of these… well, I’d be totally skint. Truth is, I’m a southerner. And even now, years after moving north of the border, I am frequently amazed at the fact that I have ended up living somewhere so poxy cold. I am often found standing by radiators, wearing an amount of layers normally seen on an OAP being cautious during a cold snap, and growling about the fact that there is clearly something wrong with the boiler/ thermostat/ world.

And don’t get me started on the beauty issues that go alongside living in the polar regions of the UK. No, actually, do get me started, because this is what today’s product chat is all about. Now, I’m sure that warmer climes come with their own dilemmas too, but frankly, I have very little sympathy for people who only have a bit of heat rash to worry about. So here are my five top tips for looking lovely when you feel like you live in Minsk. And I’m sure you’ll agree, they’re very, very timely. Continue reading…

We’ve all had them. Those presents that make you incredibly grateful that someone came up with the idea of gift receipts. I should know. My other half once decided to enter into ‘clothing and footwear’ territory. (It’s OK, he won’t do it again.)

What happened? Well, he knows I have small feet. But what he didn’t fully understand is that they are small for my height, not for a human being. So, after venturing into The White Company and scaring the staff (who naturally assumed he was a vagrant and tried to hasten him to the exit with spritzes of room spray), he managed to purchase a pair of slippers. And not only were they white, as opposed to my desired Mushroom, they were a size two. Yes, TWO. (Bear in mind I’m about 5 feet 10.) They looked like babies booties. When I opened the box, I thought he had some News for me. Continue reading…

Bad habits – we’ve all got them. I’m not talking about substance abuse, gambling, addiction to sex and all those types of things (which incidentally sound rather appealing when you’re perusing the ‘home fragrance’ aisle of Sainsbury’s on a wet Tuesday afternoon).

No, I’m not that serious, as I’m sure you know. The kind of habits that I’m talking about are trivial, appearance-related ones, which should come as no surprise. In fact, while I write this I’m actually demonstrating one of mine. I’m just relieved you can’t see me pause in the middle of each sentence, hold up a lock of hair to check for split ends and then pull out the offending strand. Revolting. And I wonder my hoover is bunged up with hair.

I’ve never been that fussed about nail-biting though. How can something that is structurally as strong as a horse’s hoof be an appealing choice of snack? (I looked up the bit about hooves, by the way. I don’t store that kind of knowledge in the same way my other half remembers the shoe size of everyone in Deep Purple.) And as for nose picking, I’m sure we’ve all indulged privately, but the idea of it becoming a habit just makes me want to shout WHY (it looks revolting) WHERE (do you put it) and STOP IT (right now). Continue reading…

My other half and I have been known to go out for a sherry or two together. These days, thanks to Offspring, it’s a rarer treat. But when it does happen, I find that during the evening, our tastes are remarkably similar. We both like a reassuringly expensive lager or two. Tops, if you don’t mind. And neither of us would say no to a famous bourbon with an equally famous cola-flavoured mixer, if you know where I’m coming from. All, obviously, in strict moderation, and never – ok, rarely – descending into any kind of consumption of the mutually venerated aniseed flavour liquor that’s usually drunk from small shot glasses.

It’s the next day that our tastes differ wildly. Feeling a little toxic, I can’t think of anything nicer to put into my battered constitution than some really fresh, healthy food. It feels like it’s only fair. I’ve done the crime, now I need to eat wholemeal toast with organic grilled tomatoes and poached free-range eggs. Thankfully, there’s no fighting over the hob. That’s because hubby is happy to pull from the fridge the likes of a Ginster’s Buffet Bar. It’s a kind of penis-shaped Scotch egg, with the egg part substituted with coleslaw. Seriously. Continue reading…

For some people, the phrase ‘brushing it under the carpet’ is just that, a phrase. For me, however, it is a grim reality, due to the fact that I not only loathe housework, I am absolutely useless at it and have a husband who wouldn’t notice if we were living knee-deep in excrement.

Any short cuts available are used on a regular basis. Visitors are conned into believing I run a tight ship by not being allowed into any more than one room (which I have hastily sprayed with Pledge minutes before their arrival, creating the illusion that I am at least familiar with cleaning products). To give you an idea of the level of my ineptitude, here are three scenarios, all but one of which are true: you have to guess which (a quiz – what larks!). a) I once found three foil-wrapped loaves of garlic bread in a cupboard (placed there before a party as ‘fridge overspill’, which explains it a little). They had been there, I calculated, for around TWO YEARS. Yes, years. b) On another occasion, I found a ball of dust behind the living room door of such proportions that my stepdaughter thought it was a long-lost soft toy. c) I once moved a sofa to reveal a squashed mouse that had taken on the form of one of those tiger rugs with the head still on. Answers on a postcard, please. Continue reading…

Laziness. It’s fun, isn’t it? Watching Extreme Fishing With Robson Green because the remote control is just beyond your reach. (It’s amazing what can suddenly join the category of ‘Entertainment’ after the best part of a bottle of Oxford Landing, isn’t it?). The use of a Loyd Grossman sauce, and the subsequent concealment of the jar under a couple of teabags in the bin. (Why does my other half always seem to particularly enjoy my ‘homemade’ pasta when I do this? Charlatan.) Leaving on your make-up when you go to bed and emerging in the morning looking like an even less attractive version of Jodie Marsh. (Sorry, Jodie… Actually, no, I’m not.)

Well, beloved PP readers, the first two are acceptable. The third is frankly not. I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about how one night with make-up on ages your skin a whole week blah blah blah. Poppycock, probably, but the fact remains that no matter how tired, drunk or (to tie neatly back in with this week’s ‘theme’) lazy you are, you should always give your face a bit of a wipe. Even if you can’t be arsed brushing your teeth (pah, you can always get falsies), wave something over your chops and you will thank yourself in the long term.

So, what to wave? Firstly, a credit-crunch-friendly offering from Boots, their 97p-a-pack Vitamin E Facial Cleansing Wipes. At under a quid, I’m under no illusions about the whole Vitamin E thing. They were probably made in a factory where someone once said ‘Vitamin E’. Or just ‘E’. But if you look beyond the rather cheap packaging (i.e. hide them) then what you get is a nice, very wet wipe that removes make-up a treat.

Moving (slightly) up the scale are Nivea Visage Refreshing Facial Cleansing Wipes (£3.29). I really like Nivea actually: I’ve got a lot of time for their Q10 body stuff. And these wipes are good, giving a satisfying ‘Turin Shroud’ effect by getting your slap off in pretty much one go. They’ve got a bit of a texture too, which I think is why they feel like they’re really ‘getting in there’. My only complaint is that they’re not quite moist enough. In the same price range are the rather unremarkable Simple Cleansing Facial Wipes (£2.93). Not much to report here: they live up to their claim of removing waterproof mascara, but are untextured, not that damp and smell a bit like cucumber. Never a good thing.

So the only thing I shelled out on this week was RoC Alcohol-Free Cleansing Wipes, which came in at £6.49. Not expensive in comparison to some of the other things I’ve tested, but remember what we’re dealing with here. In my book, although I applaud the whole alcohol-free vibe, it’s just not worth it for something you’ll probably end up using to wipe round the sink. Or is that just me?