Do you occasionally browse through the kind of magazines that draw ‘circles of shame’ around celebrities’ ‘flaws’ just to make us mere mortals feel better about ourselves? Me too. Only in the hairdressers of course. I would never spend my hard-earned cash on such a thing. And if you believe that you’ll believe anything. Continue reading…
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…
Do you remember a few weeks ago I reviewed the Scholl HydraStep? It was exciting, wasn’t it? I bet you wrote about it in your diary. And if you didn’t, you might have a few emotional lines to commit to history about today. Because it’s time for another competition. And this time, I’m giving away something really flipping fancy.
It’s not just a prize, it’s a goodie bag. A Dr Scholl goodie bag, to be precise. And unbelievably, it contains a pair of the aforementioned foot-softening flip-flops (which are pink, in a size 6/6.5 and normally retail at £24.99). It also contains the following Dr Scholl products: Continue reading…
I’ve always admired people who look well groomed. You know, really immaculate. I could never look like that, due to my hair. Oh and also due to my laziness, which I tend to repackage and sell as ‘busyness’.
And it’s not just my hair. I’ve always got that one aspect of my appearance that lets me down as I enter a terribly important meeting (which I rarely do, but bear with me). A yanked-off cuticle that has caused a small haemorrhage and is now tourniqueted with toilet roll. The day before’s knickers, unintentionally lingering up one of my trouser legs, causing an unsightly bulge. Or heels that look like they are made of wood.
The first is a bad habit, the second slovenliness, but the third is fixable. So, following on to my pedicure spa review a couple of weeks ago, I thought I would share with you the products I’ve been trying to maintain soles as soft as Dannii Minogue’s. No, I don’t know why I chose her either. Continue reading…
I’ve never been much of a scientist. I toyed with it at about 14 when I took physics, chemistry and biology as my ‘options’. It was partly because I wanted to be a vet (like most 14-year-old girls), an idea that seems farcical now. I feel under pressure removing a woodlouse from the living room – imagine how I would feel wrist-deep in Yorkshire terrier?
The other reason I took ‘The Three Sciences’ was because I had a small crush on the tweed-jacket-sporting physics teacher Mr Keen. But don’t worry, I didn’t even last a term before I switched to the much more airy-fairy choices of Art History and Italian. I had a Road To Damascus moment when Mr Keen was teaching us about Ohms. I looked at him and thought, I might fancy you, but this is just not worth it. 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…
Like me, you’ve probably had that moment when you’ve caught a whiff of something, such as a type of furniture polish or an aftershave, and been transported back 20 or 30 years. It’s quite an intense feeling, and it happens because smell is the sense that’s most closely tied to human memory. I always get it when I smell a rose – it takes me back to playing in the garden with my sister as a child, when making ‘perfume’ was one of our favourite games.
As beautiful as the smell of the roses were, the end result of our junior forays into perfumery actually stank. So hats off to our mother, who often dutifully dabbed the mixture of rotting petals, water from the water-butt, talc and Charlie onto her pulse points – without visibly retching. Continue reading…
Apparently, according to our beloved experts, what’s on your desk says a lot about you. In fact a ‘study’ (yes, I read stuff) claimed it could reveal the true personality, habits and ambitions of the desk’s owner. So cast your eye around your own workspace (as IKEA would call it), and take a minute to become your own ‘expert’. I’m going to do it too, don’t worry.
Item 1 is an open copy of Grazia magazine. What does this say about me? That I’m not really concentrating on my job? That I’m terribly fashionable? That I needed something with a slightly absorbent texture to lay my coronation chicken sandwich on? You decide. Item 2 is a toilet roll. And this tells us what: that I bring my own Andrex Aloe Vera from home because the office paper just isn’t good enough for my backside? Or that said sandwich is quite runny and the deli didn’t give me a napkin? You’ll never know. Thankfully, item 3 is easy, and leads us seamlessly as ever into this week’s test-fest: a tube of hand cream. Which tells you that I do not want to reach fifty with a face like my toddler’s backside but hands like Mrs Haversham. Do you? No? Then read on. Continue reading…
It would certainly be more rational to have a profound fear of something that could actually harm me. Sharks: makes sense – they do after all eat people. Snakes: not that friendly, despite what some Goths would probably tell you. Spiders: small admittedly, but they do come in a few lethal varieties. But no, my phobia is one of those annoying, girly, nonsensical ones: I absolutely loathe moths and butterflies.
I inherited this hatred from my mother. Despite her best efforts, if one of the offending insects got into the house when we were kids, I could somehow sense her fear when she closed the door on it, “so we can show daddy when he gets home”. I think in retrospect the fact that she turned white and had beads of perspiration on her brow was a giveaway, even at the tender age of four. Continue reading…
A few weeks ago, at a fairly ungodly hour of the morning, I was making the baby some breakfast when I heard a strange noise coming from the living room. Crossing the hall to see what said offspring was destroying, I realised that the noise was a) not the baby b) coming from upstairs and c) oh my god what the hell is it?
It became clear at this point I would be no good in an emergency, because I froze, listening to the noise coming from above me that sounded like four Frenchmen having a party. A few more seconds passed and the penny dropped. The slight featheriness to the banging and crashing made me leap to the – correct – conclusion that a bird had come down the chimney into our bedroom.
I’d like to tell you that I swiftly handled the situation and that normality was soon restored. The truth is, however, that I grabbed the baby, and, both in our pyjamas, ran out into the street. Give the girl a Victoria Cross. Thankfully, two council workers who were emptying bins came to my rescue, after initially giving me some “Step away from the crazy woman” looks. I think the slippers and the fact that all I could say was ‘”There’s something in my house!” over and over didn’t help. Continue reading…
