Apr 29, 2012

My Day at the Zoo, by Alex Sheppard (aged 23 and a half)

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Remember when we came back from half term, we’d get to write stories about what we’d got up to over the holidays? My belated birthday trip would contain enough material for at least FIVE of those. I’d fill out a sheet of A4 and then some.

The BEST sign

My birthday surprise started with a pre-train ride brunch at The Breakfast Club. Not knowing what the day ahead had in store, I ordered the carbiest thing on the menu (pancakes, hash browns, various fried meats slathered in syrup). I’ll spare you an Instagram of TBC, but it’s a nostalgia overload. Particularly liked the My Little Pony wallpaper in the Ladies and the fact that our waitress wore a backwards baseball cap. We’re still not sure if she was being ironic.

Aside from early onset diabetes, brekky bought with it a clue to how we’ll be spending the day:

What could it mean!?

Then it was time to take a train to somewhere called Broxbourne, a mere 25 minutes from Liverpool St. Station. Once we were in the ‘burbs, a mini bus with a very chatty driver (do people ignore boundaries the further you get from Zone 1 or something?) took us to our destination: Paradise Wildlife Park! “So much to see…So much to ZOO!” said the tagline, and they weren’t wrong.

The main draw was a tour of the big cats, followed by afternoon tea (hence the clue). But we had time to kill so took in the main attractions in an eerily empty (of people, I mean) zoo. Like this chinchilla:

These amazing otters:

And a cockroach display that lets you stick your actual head inside. I wasn’t brave enough, but Sian seemed more than happy to try-OH GOD WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO HER

All in all, it was a wonderful belated birthday gift from Sian and brilliant way to start the week. Every Monday should have tigers and handsome zookeepers instead of spreadsheets.

Pictures all taken by Sian. I was too busy cooing over goats.

Filed Under: Fun & Games ·
Jan 8, 2012

Things that I made: Butter!

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I happen to think butter is one of mankind’s greatest achievements, alongside the printing press and surgeons washing their hands. I have it on practically everything.  Granted, I probably have the arteries of a middle-aged Texan but to paraphrase Joy The Baker, who needs slim thighs when you can have Slightly Salted Lurpak on toasted squidgy malt loaf in the morning?

Unlike homemade bread, making butter from scratch isn’t cheaper, tastier or healthier than the stuff in the supermarket. But when I saw a recipe in the brilliant Bust DIY Guide To Life, I had to try my hand at it. Plus, it’s strangely rewarding. Making something basic like butter from scratch has a whiff of Little House On The Prairie which I can’t help but find appealing (hey, I never said I wasn’t a wanker).

And if I can make butter from scratch using an electric whisk with one attachment missing (our kitchen is where utensils go to die), then so the hell can you.

Simply tip a carton of double cream into a bowl and whisk until it starts to look like scrambled egg:

Yummers

Then whisk some more.

And more.

More.

Is it all starting to clump together with a watery liquid running off? Now you can stop whisking. Pour away the buttermilk, and if you want to get fancy save it for pancakes or banana bread. (If it’s more likely to fester in your fridge then just throw it down the sink now.)

Scoop your butter-to-be into a ball with a spatula and rinse under the cold tap until the water runs clear, pressing hard to get the last of the buttermilk out. Scoop it into a container and take a photo for the internet.

At this point you can mash in herbs and shit (I went for black pepper and torn basil) or you can leave it natural in the misguided assumption that it’s healthier.

Filed Under: Things that I made · Tagged: , ,
Jan 1, 2012

MAC Cosmetics Makeup Lesson

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Blame the omnipresent tagline New Year, New You (which I despise, for the record), my glamorous new colleagues at Wahanda or the fact that I’ve been applying the same shade of eyeshadow like a ham-fisted toddler for pretty much all of 2011, but on Friday afternoon I found myself at a packed branch of MAC Cosmetics in Covent Garden, shaking the rain from my umbrella and waiting to be seated for my first ever makeup lesson.

The idea is that you spend 90 minutes with one of MAC’s trained makeup artists (you know, the lovely ladies with luminous skin who give you lipstick advice at the beauty counter). You tell them what sort of look you want to master and they teach you – the makeup artist will do one side of your face and you’ll do the other, correcting you as you go along.

I wanted to learn a new daytime look, for reasons already stated, and to get over my fear of using foundation. I was a little surprised that my daytime look involved black and silver eyeshadow, plus lashings of smudged black eyeliner and mascara, but the whole thing really worked. She also went through the best brushes to use for each product (apparently fingertips don’t always cut it), was generally very patient and told me I looked like Eva Mendes. I don’t think we can marry, but I’d like to.

The best part? The cost of the lesson (£50, payable in advance) can be redeemed against MAC products at the end of the lesson. Unfortunately £50 doesn’t go all that far in MAC, but I came away with their excellent concealer, finishing powder and a nude lipliner that perfectly matched the colour of my mouth.

Because I’m crap at this blogging business, I completely forgot to take a photo of the end look. Instead, check out the snap of my dressing table / desk after I attempted to recreate the look at home (top of the post). Here’s hoping that the hipster photo filter will make my desk appear a bit more glam…

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Nov 27, 2011

Taxidermy, Crack Pie & Art Fairs: What I got up to in November

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First post in six weeks… Oh dear. So here’s an update of the things that I’ve been up to, just so I can keep my blogger badge. Done something that you think I’d like? Tell me about it so I’m not spending the weekends watching DVDs in bed. 

Rihanna Loud Tour

Image by xo-megane-xo

Rihanna!

I’m not the biggest Rihanna fan (confession: I booked these tickets on the strength of last year’s X Factor performance) but she did put on an excellent show complete with levitating pianos, a pink army truck and those trousers that rip off mid-song.

I do think Ri-Ri needs to take a lesson from Destiny’s Child though, but maybe that’s another blog post altogether. To paraphrase: girl, put some clothes on.

A jar of moles and squirrel lamps

As part of my ongoing birthday celebrations – I managed to eke them out for five days! – my lovely housemate took me to the Grant Museum of Zoology in Bloomsbury. It’s been on my list for ages but thanks to awkward opening hours, I’ve never had a chance to go. If skeletons, preserved animals and taxidermy are your thing, then you will love it.

My favourite? The jar of moles, which looks like something from the world’s worst pick ‘n’ mix shop:

Grant Museum moles

Image by @sianysianysiany

Accidentally continuing the taxidermy theme, we stopped by Riding House Café – home to the famous squirrel lamps – for tea. And cheese. And gingerbread with ice cream and poached pears. Shut up, it was my birthday.

Anyway Riding House Café is beyond gorgeous. I haven’t heard fantastic things about the food (I don’t understand London’s love affair with small plates) but thought has been put into every inch of the décor. I’m already in love with the tomato red banquettes and bathrooms that manage to look shabby and luxurious at the same time.

[Read more...]

Filed Under: Life Things ·
Oct 15, 2011

The new X Factor judges are amazing; this is why

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Like many teen girls who couldn’t sneak out to drink cider in the park on a Saturday night, I’ve been loyal to the X Factor since day one.

Oh, the things I’ve seen:  Kate Thornton attempting to show human emotion. Those terrifying Scottish twins. And the inevitable slaughtering of a Frank Sinatra classic, every sodding year, during Big Band Week.

But one thing remains a constant – the judges are always more entertaining than the acts. So after years of shouting “Why, Louis, WHY?” at the telly, I decided that I wouldn’t bother with the new series of X Factor. The new judges couldn’t possibly compete with Simon’s (chest hair) ego, Danni and Cheryl’s dress-offs or Louis’ incredibly poor judgement.

Well I was wrong. Dead wrong. After sitting through the first X Factor live show last weekend, I can confirm that the new judges are set to outshine the acts in spectacular fashion.

1.       KELENDRIA ROWLAND*

Kelly Rowland, one-third of the greatest girl band in history, is easily my favourite addition to X Factor. She fulfils the basic requirements of a female reality show judge – beauty, charm and the ability to cry attractively – while having that quality Cheryl Cole lacked. No, not a beating heart, but musical talent.

Because wrapped up in the PUT IT DOWN’s and GOD DAWG MOMMA’s, there’s some actual constructive feedback from a legitimate superstar. We’ve all heard Say My Name, right? Case closed.

*Swear on my life, that’s her real name

2.       TULISA FROM N-DUBZ

Like Cheryl, Tulisa is living proof that if you give a girl a decent blowdry and cocktail dress, no one will care about her dubious past. Committed racist assault or happen to be a member of N-Dubz, the band responsible for the biggest hat-wearing cock in the British music industry? No problem! It’s nothing that a makeover won’t solve.

But I suppose Dappy isn’t her fault. And under her stewardship, at least The Bands have a decent crack at not being turned into a Westlife tribute act this year.

3.       GARY BARLOW

Mr. Barlow has taken on his judging role with such seriousness that it’s actually a bit cringey. I mean, I don’t think this guy is really after constructive criticism:

Gary’s insistence on treating X Factor like a real talent contest will no doubt collapse. But until his existential breakdown, his excellent taste in suits means that there’s finally some handsome on the judging panel.

About time.

4.       LOUIS WALSH

I got nothing.

Filed Under: Uncategorized ·
Aug 23, 2011

What I’ve been up to: Salted Caramel, Séances & The West Wing

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I thought I’d clear the cobwebs on my little corner of the internet (not a euphemism) by telling you about some of the ‘cool’ things I’ve been up to recently.

The West Wing

I’ve just started watching The West Wing and I love love LOVE it. Yes, I have to concentrate because they talk awful quick and I know nothing about US politics. But it’s nice to watch a TV show where the characters are actually quite lovely (as opposed to Mad Men, the entire cast of which are dirtbags. EVEN THE HOT ONE).

Plus, I learn something new every time I watch it. Like that episode about the Peters Map which left my mind in pieces. You don’t get that shit on Come Dine With Me.

Salted Caramel Brownies

If you want people to like you, then bake them a cake. Everyone knows that. Want to reduce people to murmuring hrnghrhgh in a trance-like state of pleasure? Bake them salted caramel brownies. I know this to be the truth.

It’s quite simple really. Just layer Hugh F-W’s cocoa brownie mix with this salted caramel sauce. Twenty minutes in the oven and Bob’s your gooey, dense, salty, sweet and deliciously rich uncle.

Bake and distribute amongst friends / family / potential lovers for an instant god complex.

Macabre Museums

Hey, so you know an awesome and definitely in no way weird thing to do of a Thursday evening? Go to a séance! Or Through A Glass Darkly, which is the closest thing to a Victorian séance I could find in London. Held at the incredibly spooky Old Operating Theatre Museum in London Bridge, a magician explains the tricks used by fraudulent mediums in the olden days. As long as you don’t go expecting ectoplasm like I did (spoiler alert: there was no ectoplasm) then you’ll have a lovely evening.

Ooh, and if you’re free one weekend then definitely drop by The Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. Aside from a totally delightful exhibition on The Tiger Who Came To Tea, The Stuff of Nightmares art installation is shoulder-shudderingly creepy (excellent snaps here). Even more so because it was created by local school children.

I mean, what sort of sick mind dreams up this?

Mediatheque @ BFI

Despite the Southbank being one of my favourite spots in London, I’ve never seen a film at the BFI. Until last weekend when I discovered that you can turn up at the Mediatheque, borrow a pair of headphones and watch one of thousands of films or documentaries. For free! You’ll get told off for bringing in popcorn but aside from that it’s pretty much perfect. Go watch The Wicker Man when it’s raining and drool over Britt Ekland.

Filed Under: Fun & Games ·
Jul 1, 2011

Things that I made: Lemon friands

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I MADE THIS!

Friands are ace. The little almond and egg white cakes from Australia manage to be dainty without being twee (unlike some other baked goods I could mention) and they’re dead quick to make.

I found the original recipe on Domestic Sluttery, and tarted it up with lemon zest and a swirl of lemon curd. I know that it looks a bit snotty in the picture, but this homemade lemon curd is like gargling sweetened sunshine. Make too much for your friands and eat the rest spread on the warmed carb of your choice. I recommend bagels, but to be quite honest it would probably work on boot leather. It’s that good.

Next up in my quest to poison my friends, housemates and colleagues with butter: Salted Caramel Millionaire’s Shortbread.

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Jul 1, 2011

Some intelligent words on writing by Hari Kunzru

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“I get great pleasure from writing, but not always, or even usually. Writing a novel is largely an exercise in psychological discipline – trying to balance your project on your chin while negotiating a minefield of depression and freak-out. Beginning is daunting; being in the middle makes you feel like Sisyphus; ending sometimes comes with the disappointment that this finite collection of words is all that remains of your infinitely rich idea. Along the way there are the pitfalls of self-disgust, boredom, disorientation and a lingering sense of inadequacy, occasionally alternating with episodes of hysterical self-congratulation as you fleetingly believe you’ve nailed that particular sentence and are destined to join the ranks of the immortals, only to be confronted the next morning with an appalling farrago of cliches that no sane human could read without vomiting.”

PREACH.

[via @Sathnam]

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Jun 26, 2011

Small pleasures: The thing about baking

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If you’ve spent some time with me (and that includes on Twitter) you’ll know that I’m a bit brownie-obsessed. Not so much with eating them, although that affords a pleasure of its own, but with finding the perfect recipe.

I won’t go all Nigella and use terms like unctuous or elven foodstuff, but brownies really are incredible. It still blows my mind that mixing various powders from the kitchen cupboard with butter and a few eggs produces something so delicious it makes your toes twitch.

Consequently, whenever I eat a brownie my thoughts are “hrrrrrngh” followed by “but how can I make it better?” This leads to thinking it’s okay to spend nearly a fiver on TWO vanilla pods and getting angry when Asda Charlton doesn’t stock chocolate with the cocoa percentage I need.

But a pleasant side effect of all this baking is sharing. More for the sake of my thighs than out of altruism, if I’m being honest. But seriously – bring French Toast Cupcakes or Cocoa Brownies into the office and you’ll make a tonne of new friends. One or two might insist on giving you a nickname (“How’s it going, Al?”) but karma will take care of them.

Obviously there are better things I could be doing with my time. Like visiting London’s best small museums, trying a new cheese or finishing that book I’m supposed to be writing.

But there are few greater pleasures than coming home on a Friday, switching the radio to Heart FM and baking some shit. And your housemates aren’t allowed to get annoyed at the disco tunes because 1) they’re stone cold classics and I’ll personally nut anyone who disagrees, and 2) you’re making a cake. Nothing ever goes wrong when you’re baking a cake*.

*Apart from this

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May 21, 2011

Dear Internet: P.S, I miss you

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Mmm, internet.

I had a MacBook once. It had a cool, shiny lid that barely clicked when shut, and the jet keyboard contrasted beautifully with the chrome-coloured edges. We had four blissful months together before we parted ways. It was followed by a three-week affair with a clunky Compaq, but that wasn’t meant to be. And now I am alone again.

Life without a laptop is, to quote Lady Jesus, “the worst”.

Sure, I have a bit more spare time in the evenings. Time that I would’ve frittered away updating Tumblr or watching retro hair tutorials on YouTube or googling Jon Hamm. I’m also reading more.

But it’s only when you have to go through evenings and weekends without a computer that you realise how much it was a part of your life. I’ve had to make the following adjustments to my lifestyle, sans-lappy:

No more Spotify. Now this has hit me the hardest. I’ve gone from having a music catalogue of gajillions at my Mint Green fingertips to relying on my skeletal CD collection.

As I stopped regularly buying CDs when I was 15, my musical consumption at home is all Alicia Keys, Maroon 5 and Avril “I’m a bit too old for this emo lark” Lavigne (although I will happily take on anyone who doesn’t believe that Sk8er Boi is a choon. A CHOON).

No more writing. Ever tried writing by hand? No, not like a shopping list or passive-aggressive sticky note. I mean proper paragraphs on lined paper. That ish is rough. You can’t copy and paste, there’s no spell-check and you can forget about an anthropomorphic paperclip dispensing handy tips.

No more cooking from American food blogs. I like baking as it combines two of my favourite things – lightly salted Lurpak and following rules. And food blogs across the pond are the best places to find butteriffic recipes like Cinnamon Rolls Drowned In Goo or Banana Butterscotch Pudding.

So if you were wondering why my little corner of internet has been so slack on the update, it isn’t because I’m out having a life or something. I’m suffering from the cruellest fate that could ever befall a 20-something social media addict attempting to write a book – I don’t have a laptop.

I know. I’m so brave.

Flickr image from timjoyfamily

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