MAC PLUMFUL REVIEW

Part of me can completely relate to the addictive euphoria inherent in using a brand new Chanel mascara or Lancome eye-liner for the first time and feeling the need to rush to my laptop to review it.  However, I am a huge advocate of ‘empty reviews.’  

I read my first empty review on Jessicachri, by Jessica Rivers, and thought it was a genius concept.  It is easy to be dazzled by a new beauty product the first few times you use it, but in order to give a true test of everyday value the empty review is surely the answer?  As I am rapidly coming to the end of my most treasured cosmetic, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to dip a proverbial toe into the world of beauty blogging and what better way to start than with the darling of my make up collection: Mac’s Plumful lipstick.

Now that Autumn colours are once again taking over my wardrobe, I spend most of my days in rich, berry hues.  With all these deep tones going on, it would be so easy just to stick to a nude lip colour and let the outfit do the talking, but the thing I love about Plumful is its versatility.  A dab on the lips at the beginning of the day subtly glams up my work attire for hours and then the full application shebang (prime, lip line, apply, blot, apply… you know the drill) goes with every evening outfit I can throw at it.  Whether it be an LBD or skirt and top combo, this lipstick is the perfect finish to my Autumn outfits.   Some dark lip colours can make me look washed out, but not Plumful.  It is very forgiving when I have not managed to find the time to top up my tan, as it somehow turns my complexion from ‘pasty’ to ‘alabaster,’ (don’t ask me how, it just does.)  

So do yourself a favour this Autumn/Winter and add this cosmetic gem to your collection, you won’t regret it.

Fashion versus Style

Just a comforting sentiment for all my fellow 'normals' out there, for whom the closest shot at walking a runway is probably a Staff Only door at Heathrow Airport...

THE THING ABOUT TEA

So here’s the thing: last Christmas I received a beautiful hand-stitched cushion which read ‘Tea is liquid wisdom.’  This got me thinking about the magical properties of my most adored hot beverage.  Think about it, the kettle is the first port of call when you get a visitor.  It breaks the ice, makes you feel like a splendid host/hostess by giving you an excuse to use your best mugs (or tea set if you are really keen) and sets everybody at ease by giving you something to do with your hands after the obligatory hug or handshake is out of the way.  Similarly it helps regulate temperature, providing warmth in the winter and quenching thirst in the summer (although I am certainly not one for this insane American tendency to serve it with ice.)  It is also an excellent comforter in times of need; a physical offering of support and understanding in stressful situations.  Not to mention all the health benefits, what with herbal teas being integral to any self-respecting detox campaign these days (not that I’d know.)  Tea is an essential part of my day and I wanted to dedicate a little time to describing my favourite source of this liquid wisdom.

I am currently sitting in a medium-sized room, in a medium-sized building which shares roughly the same symbolism for me as Buckingham Palace does for the Queen:  Betty’s Tea Rooms, Harrogate.  It is my spiritual home, my meal-time Mecca, my most adored haunt for a tea treat and it is my view that everybody should share in this particular cup of liquid wisdom.  For the tea obsessed, this hundred year old institution is so much more than a cafe/restaurant.  It is here that one can come and enjoy the sensation of being brewed in a unique blend of Victorian England meets Swiss hospitality, warmed by the ever present china-tinkling echoes of the past.  The upstairs houses a gloriously bright, Victorian-chic cafe, with flawless bay windows providing irresistible glimpses of the confectionary bar inside.  Meanwhile, the downstairs tearooms are a cosy cornucopia of thick carpets, marble tables and intriguing Swiss wooden artwork cladding the walls.  A magnificent collection of bespoke teapots, varying from porcelain houses to famous figures of the past (who all happen to conveniently possess striking enough noses to encompass a spout in the design,) tastefully line the walls, giving every attendee the impression of each cup served being, literally, steeped in history.

Whilst their tea room blend and English breakfast are some of the best brews I’ve tasted, the delicious delicacies served beside these pots of tea-time gold become a talking point long after the last croissant flake and scone crumb have left the pristine plates.  Their eggs benedict, traditional gruyere rostis and ceasar salad are of particular note but I have never known any dish to be remotely disappointing.  Evening meals are often accompanied by a pianist and a recommended ice cold glass of refreshing Swiss white wine, the perfect way to wind down after a busy business day or shopping jaunt in the charming local stores.  Their service is also impeccable.  Staff are dressed in slightly modernized Downton Abbey-esque maid uniforms and maintain an air of pleasant competence, seemingly dedicated to making your dining experience as relaxed and resplendent as possible.  Any Austen or Bronte buff would relish the opportunity to slip back in time and enjoy that which we had in common with our regency heroines, for it takes very little imagination to imagine Mrs.Bennett sipping from one of the delicate china tea services, or enjoying a freshly baked scone from the solid silver cake stands.

On your way out you are drawn into the warm confines of the gift shop.  This is the final cube of sugar in the perfect cup of tea.  More ‘maids’ await your pastry pleasure behind a worn wooden counter above glass cabinets housing a dream of fondant fancies, brownies, cupcakes, scones, cookies, macaroons… you get the idea.  However, the piece de resistance preens in the shop window in the form of a wedding cake display to make even the coldest matrimonial feet turn warm and toastie with mouthwatering anticipation.  No joke, I would probably tie the knot just for an excuse to dig into one of these culinary works of art!  The tins and boxes along the back wall bring us full circle to a veritable library of tea tisanes, tonics, leaves and infusions, presented in traditional caddies with Betty’s artwork adorning the facades.  

Stepping out under the black iron Victorian awning, I take a deep breath of crisp October air and snuggle further into my duffle coat, enjoying the residual Betty’s-infused warmth which will remain with me for the rest of the day.  Tea might not have actual magical properties, but every sip can provide health, warmth and comfort.  Sounds pretty magical to me...

10 THINGS WHICH DRIVE ME IRRATIONALLY CRAZY

Google Images: Tom and Jerry

You know when you get a paper cut and at the time it feels like the absolute worst pain imaginable?  Sometimes, I will be overcome by a wave of seething anger at what I like to call a 'first world problem.'  That is to say something that in the grand scheme of things is not actually that bad but nevertheless causes unheard of levels of fury for several seconds when it occurs.  Here are 10 of my triggers of irrational rage:

1. When tweezing and that one, tenacious little hair refuses to be plucked no matter how close you get to the mirror.
2. When your phone battery inexplicably jumps from half charged to 10% in five minutes.
3. When my boyfriend comes to my house to ‘spend time with me’ then immediately steals the remote and puts football on.
4. When you treat yourself to a bottle of wine only to find your Dad/Brother/Sister has quaffed it.
5. Liquid eyeliner smudges.
6. Finding empty packets of biscuits in the cupboard.
7. When my cat decides to scratch on my bedroom door in the middle of my new relaxation app.
8. When you run a bath only to find out the hot water ran out midway.
9. Unwanted predictive text amendments.
10. My alarm clock.

THE THING ABOUT TERMS OF ENDEARMENT

Anyone who has ever spent more than five minutes in my company or read my blog might have sussed out a rather strange dichotomy in my personality.  After much reflection I have coined an appropriate term for this paradox: cynical romantic.  So what is a cynical romantic?

Well, on the one hand my childhood and teens were so saturated in Disney, novels and romcoms that I had a pretty adamant belief that, at some convenient time in the not so distant future, I would stumble across my Prince Charming. Now that is not to say I was completely deluded.  For one thing I don’t attend nearly enough polo matches or Ascot meets for the whole white stallion thing to be likely and real life princes are nowhere near as prolific as they are in cartoon films.  But there was definitely a Versace suit and some moonlight involved in my daydreams and come to think of it the guy did hold a remarkable resemblance to Eric from The Little Mermaid… but I digress.

So imagine my surprise when I fiiiiinally landed an actual boyfriend and he brought me a bouquet of flowers, just because.  And what was my response to this wonderful gesture?  I laughed and cracked a joke about wondering who he had cheated on me with to warrant such lovely flowers in order to dispel the romantic atmosphere.  After that it became clear that although I was more than comfortable with copious amounts of romance in literature and on film, when it came to reality… not so much.  

Therefore, I approach the concept of pet names between couples with conflicting sentiments.  When I come across cute old people who have been married for hundreds of years calling each other ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Dearest,’ it fills me with a snuggly warmth as if I’m watching teacups and candlesticks dance around an enchanted ballroom.  However, at the same time the idea of my boyfriend of four years calling me ‘Honey,’ or, heaven forbid, ‘Darling,’ makes me feel… stressed is probably the most apt word for it.  You see?  Romantic cynic.

This leads me to a warning for all my fellow romantic cynics out there, inspired by observing some of my friends.  I once read a book in which the heroine described an immensely awkward conversation with her soon-to-be ex boyfriend about how he wanted to start calling her ‘Honey’ and he wanted her to call him ‘Darling.’  Her sheer panic at such a request was worryingly familiar but it made me think of the couples in my general vicinity.  A friend’s boyfriend calls her ‘Angel,’ in a tone which is always dripping with so much sarcasm as to make it acceptable to us romantic cynics.  And yet, is it my imagination or is there a pinch less sarcasm in his voice every time I hear it?  The same goes for another of my friends who married her childhood sweetheart and early on they began to call each other ‘Babes.’  Ten years later I often hear them refer to each other in this manner, only now it is without an ounce of irony.  Is this how it started with our parents?  Does the foundation of the dreaded term of endearment lie in repetition?

A while back my own boyfriend began to finish his goodnight texts with ‘Night, Dearest,’ finding perverse enjoyment in my real-life romantic squeamishness, and yes, you guessed it, each time I read it I become a little more inured to the concept of a term of endearment.

What is the most sickeningly sweet term of endearment you have come across?

SO APPROPRIATE...

The world's most apt Birthday present...