A lazy gym bunny’s secret weapon

I’ve a confession to make…I’m a dirtbag. While everybody else is showering after a sweaty gym session, I am drying the sweat off with a hairdryer in the corner and liberally spraying myself with enough perfume to disguise the stench when I step onto the Tube home.

Yes, I’m an animal. Sue me?

As a very thoughtful gift, or a friendly hint that I stink, I was recently given a Mio Gym Kit. Sold as a “gym bag must-have”, the skincare kits consist of Clean Slate workout wipes and Workout Wonder muscle recovery gel.

The workout wipes not only remove your make-up pre-workout, they also instantly freshen you up post-workout so you don’t have to queue for a shower OR sit on the train smelling offensive. Pretty sweet deal, eh? The natural cleansers in the wipes balance and moisturise your skin with a zingy cucumber/mint combo.

I was pretty skeptical about the muscle recovery gel in my little gym pack at first, and didn’t think I needed it BUT it is bloomin’ lovely. It is like an energy shot for your muscles, and perfect for a post-workout rub-down if you can convince your partner to give you a little massage when you get home.

Instantly cooling and revitalising with V-Tonic TM, it contains extracts of Arnica, Horse Chestnut, Murumuru Butter, Spearmint and natural Magnesium to pep-talk your muscles, increase circulation, ease aches and inflammation and help speed up recovery. Just a few drops rubbed into achy shoulders or muscles go a long way, trust me!

John Lewis stock the gym kit gift set for just £21, so why not treat yourself or the gym bunny in your life?

Why I hate seeing your child on Facebook. There, I said it. Now deal with it.

This might be a controversial post, but it’s an honest one. Love me or hate me for it, I really do not care.

Let me break this down for you. I hate your children…on facebook. Yes, they are cute, yes it’s amazing they’ve taken their first steps/started school/what the fuck ever. An occasional photo to mark milestone events or overly cute poses are encouraged. By all means, go ahead.

BUT when you start uploading 10/15 photos a day of your child, I start despising you.

I love children and if you’re my friend on Facebook then the chances are I love your children, but that does not mean I justify the behaviour of mums who merge into their kids to the point they no longer exist as their own person, and obsessively shove a camera into their kid’s faces to capture every moment.

You might find them eating a crisp, sitting on a sofa, sleeping bla bla blaaaaaaa really cute, and you’re entitled to. But why do you have to share it with the world? What’s wrong with keeping stuff to yourself occasionally, and sticking it in an album or emailing it to Granny/Auntie Mary/cousin Sue?

This may shock you, but we don’t really give that much of a shit because we didn’t actually give birth to your child. I fully congratulate you for having sex without contraception and making a baby as a result, but please tell me why I need to suffer a post that contains upwards of 10 photos of your child on a train or sitting on a chair, where the only difference between each photo is a facial expression. So you can’t choose which ones to keep? Keep them all! Just don’t post them all. I beg you PLEASE don’t post them all.

You have a life other than your children. They should fit into your life, not the other way around. No child should ever dictate the way you live your life, unless you want to raise a spoilt brat.

Timehop has made things even worse. Don’t get me started! Now, as well as the 15 posts a day I’m forced to endure, I have to look at photos that I was forced to look at a year ago. I didn’t need to see them the first time around and I sure as hell don’t need to see them now.

Before you all respond with the standard patronising reply that is all you seem able to muster these days, “See how you feel once you’ve had children of your own,” let me tell you something…I don’t need to have kids to know how I feel. I have plenty of friends and family members with children who don’t obsessively put up baby goo goo gaga pics. They have self-control, and don’t feel the need to shove their camera phone in their baby’s face every time they’re sick or do a poo. They have the ability to cherish moments without needing public approval via a facebook like.

Which brings me to my next point, which is a serious one. My mum has endless photo albums made lovingly throughout my childhood. Some are funny, some I would like to burn. But no matter how bad they are, they haven’t been shared digitally on a public forum without my consent, so I have some control. I sincerely believe no parent has the right to create a digital footprint for their child, and embarrass them endless shots. With technology these days, even when you press delete on Facebook, it still exists somewhere. Google cache is enough to show you that. Your child probably doesn’t care or understand right now, but will they feel differently when they’re 16 years old?

Besides all that, what are we encouraging? The Internet is a damaging place for children and teens. Cyber bullying is a major issue, and one comment can affect a child’s self-esteem. Why expose them unnecessarily to all that judgement? Yes, your friends and family will never comment with “her hair looks shit” on your kid’s school photo, but every like and comment is a measurement of how much an outfit or facial expression is liked. Why encourage vanity and insecurities? I for one do not want a 3 year old that knows how to take selfies. There should be no need for an innocent child that young to want to go through the egoistical process of taking a photo of themselves and then looking at it to analyse what they look like.

And lastly, the safety implications surely make it not worth the risk. Please don’t reply with “my profile is set to private”, because you’re not an idiot. You know that doesn’t count for shit. Accounts are easy to hack, photos are easy to share, and download, and who owns the copyright to them once you’ve uploaded them to facebook? If you think it’s you, think again. Again, the odd photo I totally understand. You’re a proud parent and you want to show your child off to the world, but have some common sense.

I saw a child naked watching its sibling take a bath on Instagram the other day. Why on earth would any parent take the risk of sharing that online?! Keep it to yourself! Ok, your settings are set so only friends can see it, but how well do you know the distant friends who you know from school 15 years ago, and how do you know who has access to your friend’s accounts?

The moral of this rant is, be smart and be safe.

If you’re a parent reading this and feel guilt or overwhelming anger, then you’re one of the parents I’m talking about and need to get a grip and sort it out.

If you’re a parent and you don’t feel the above, you’ve probably already got the balance just right.

Now if you don’t mind, I’m off to post 500 pics of my dinner, cat and husband.

King Charles III at the Wyndham Theatre SMASHES it

I love the theatre.

Let me break that down.

I love musicals. Singing, dancing, giant lion costumes, ice cream in the intervals, show tunes I know the words to.

What I’m not so comfortable with is actual theatre, where the words are spoken rather than belted out over a live orchestra.

So when I was offered tickets to see King Charles III following it’s West End transfer to the Wyndham, I was excited for the ice cream, but dubious about the play.

As I arrived, I glanced around at the audience and quickly realised I was one of a handful there that wasn’t retired. One man gruffly shook out his Financial Times as I quietly opened the bottle of coke I had smuggled in to save pennies.

Instantly, I feared, the play was going to go completely over my head.

How wrong I was.

I’m no theatre critic, so I lay this down in simpleton terms. The play kicks off at the funeral of our current Queen, and explores Charles’ decisions following the death of his mother, as he awaits his coronation.

It exposes the pressures facing a modern monarchy, but also it’s purpose and whether the power lies with our ruler or our parliament.

I admit it doesn’t sound that exciting, but it is brilliant. Bold and utterly brilliant.

I’m talking the ghost of Diana appearing on stage bold. A “no they didn’t moment” followed by hysterical laughter.

The writing is clever and courageous. Using a blank verse style, the old school rhythms gave the concept the credibility it deserved.

Some hilarious performances from Margot Leicester, as a pushy Camilla, and from Richard Goulding as a confused Harry, who comes across as an absolute liability, made this play a must see.

Adam James makes a very convincing PM, and one who mirrors the desperation seen in the last week by Cameron in the build up to the Scottish referendum.

However, it’s Tim Pigott-Smith who totally and utterly steals the show as Charles, the man at the centre of the constitutional crisis. He absolutely becomes him, and with his mannerisms and behaviours that we have come to know through the years, you’re almost fooled into forgetting the man on stage is an actor.

As I said, I’m no theatre critic. I’m your average Vue cinema goer with a penchant for the occasional musical if I’ve had a good pay packet.

I’m therefore not being paid to write this review, and write it honestly.

If as I have, you have begun to question what it is to be British in the lead up to the referendum, or have felt a rush of patriotic pride as you’ve watched our politicians battle to save Great Britain as we know it, go and see this play.

In fact, if you care even a jot about our future as a country, our monarchy, or our parliament, or are proud of our history go and see this play.

If none of the above apply, just stick to your Orange Wednesdays!

Lululemon Athletica convert/number one fan

I have just completed a workout at Barry’s Bootcamp London in what can only described as a leg and bum wonderbra.

I think it has finally twigged that Lululemon Athletica gym wear is not just about looking stylish, it’s about feeling awe to the some.

I picked up this pair at Equinox gym in High St Kensington, but the yoga brand’s busy flagship store in Covent Garden boasts a more extensive range, and some tasty pics of one of their ambassadors Faisal Abdalla.

I’ve always loved gym gear and, if I’m honest, my investment has always been in that rather than the hours actually spent exercising it.

I’ve tried to slum it in H and M which is fine if you don’t mind stopping to hike your leggings up mid-tread session. I do enjoy a Barry’s Bootcamp vest too, purely for the tube journey there and the nods of, “She must be fit if she works out there.” Don’t burst my bubble, in my mind this happens.

I’m a fan of Nike designs too, and until now thought they were all I needed. But everything changed when I slipped on my Lululemon bad boys.

You will only understand when you try them for yourself. Everything was sucked in and supported in all the right places and, for once, my booty was pointing in the right direction. Always a plus.

They’re thick enough to hide the VPL and sweat, yet breathable enough to not pass out as you try and keep up with the other bootcampers.

Just brilliant brilliant BRILLIANT. Only downside is, I can’t just keep washing the same pair so I will need to go buy some more.

These cost £75. They’re not cheap, and I’m not rich. But my God I’m rocking it.

Whack it on the credit card baby. Hit. Me. Up.

Gladiator live in concert

As I sat from the luxury of my private box, hairs on end, tears in my eyes, watching some of the most epic movie scenes ever made, with a live orchestra belting out the soundtrack, the thrill of the cinema died for me.

Ridley Scott’s blockbuster Gladiator played on a giant screen inside the Royal Albert Hall, accompanied by the Philharmonia Film Orchestra and Philharmonia Chorus. THAT is entertainment. THAT is how all films of that calibre deserve to be shown.

The venue is presenting the film live in concert for the first time, until Wednesday May 28. I have no idea if tickets are sold out, but if they’re not, grab them now. Stop reading this, and buy those tickets.

Hans Zimmer’s sweeping score is belted around the theatre, aided by the fantastic acoustics of the venue, which coincidentally was modelled based on the design of the Coliseum itself. It was meant to be!

The film is a film to end all films anyway, as it’s five academy awards go to prove. It follows Roman General Maximus Decimus Meridius (Russell Crowe) as he encounters betrayal and slavery, and faces epic gladiatorial battles to avenge the murder of his family and emperor. However, its soundtrack is almost unbeatable, save for Lord of the Rings, which has already been shown in concert at the Royal Albert.

To watch conductor Justin Freer bringing the beautiful strings and brass to life was incredibly special and Lisa Gerrard’s guest vocals were the most haunting I’ve ever heard.

I’m talking hair on the back of your neck stuff. Even as the credits rolled, the audience watched in silence, enraptured by the music being played out in front of them. As the enchanted audience stood in rapturous applause at the end, a wave of emotion came over me. I have never felt so touched by a live performance.

Amazingly powerful stuff. I will be returning and I wholeheartedly recommend everybody to do the same.

Three cheers for John Lewis

It was only when I moved out of home that I fully appreciated the brilliance of John Lewis. It’s a one stop shop for all of your home, fashion, and beauty needs.

But more than that, it’s a British institution and as a lover of all things British, John Lewis is a place I think deserves some championing.

So here I go!

I popped into the Kingston branch to scoff a scone at their lovely riverside Place to Eat today (which btw sells ridiculously good cakes). While I was there I spotted banners and labels pretty much everywhere advertising John Lewis’ 150th anniversary.

150 years is pretty good going for any high street store, but browsing around it’s not hard to see why they’ve endured where others haven’t. I sound like my mum here, but it oozes quality. It’s a cut above, isn’t it?

Just like we all know Waitrose and M and S are for posh nosh, we all know John Lewis products have a stamp of quality that we British love.

Following the 150 year anniversary theme, the Kingston store have installed a pop up shop near the main entrance, selling items adorned with iconic prints featured in John Lewis throughout the years.

Not gonna lie, it was a struggle not to buy it all. Even the 150th special edition paper bag I got given to carry my haul got me excited. Note to self – must stop collecting bags.

I know this sounds very gushing, but there’s so much rubbish on the high street these days. We are drowning in American brands and unethical coffee chains. If I see another Starbucks or Hollister opening, I might scream.

It’s places like John Lewis that need to be celebrated and championed, because 150 years is an impressive history when it comes to retail.

So here is to another 150 years. John Lewis, I salute you!!

A spot of wedding body training at Barry’s Bootcamp London

I’ve been hitting Barry’s Bootcamp London since it opened last year. It’s a love hate relationship, as in I hate how much I love it.

Until Barry’s, my exercise consisted of a single ab crunch to reach the remote and the occasional bicep curl using a spoon laden with my best pals Ben and Jerry.

I can’t put my finger on what makes Barry’s so successful, and I suppose if it was that easy to sum up then everybody would be doing it. What I do know is it’s a great place to make friends and take friends.

The other day I took my bridesmaid, a Barry’s virgin, and introduced her to what I call the torture chamber. The last time we exercised together we were wearing training bras and netball skirts during a school PE lesson. Oh to be 16 again!

In an added wedding twist, our trainer and task master that day was Faisal, who is also my lovely groom, so I suppose we made a bit of effort.

I’ve done countess workouts at the UK’s flagship Euston branch, but having my old school friend and bridesmaid puffing away next to me made this HIIT session extra special.

I fully recommend future brides and their wedding parties to get down there and kick some ass together. There’s something twisted but also special about sharing an entire hour together, believing you are one incline away from a cardiac arrest. I would kick off my hen party there if I wasn’t so keen on my hens actually talking to me again.

Hobbling out like a pair of tomatoes after the hour-long session, we vowed to return again the following week for more wedding sculpting.

As we left, I asked my bridesmaid what she thought. She summed it up perfectly by saying, “It’s so weird. Everyone is really nice. People actually smile at each other.”

Maybe that’s why I love it. It’s like a little family.

So all you brides, grooms, bridesmaids and best men, get your arses down there for some pre-wedding workouts and come and join the little sweaty family!

Mezzet – a Lebanese triumph

My Egyptian father-in-law does THE best tabbouleh in town. Nothing has ever come close.

He is still the tabbouleh champion, but there’s a new kid in town kicking out some of the tastiest tabbouleh and Lebanese cuisine I’ve ever tasted in a restaurant.

Mezzet in East Molesey has stolen my heart. I’m unashamedly addicted.

Located in Bridge Street, East Molesey, the unassuming restaurant escaped my attention until I drove down there by chance and caught sight of it.

Booking a table was quite a task, which is testament to the fantastic food, so I would recommend calling more than a week ahead if you want a Friday or Saturday evening slot.

By far my favourite way to order food is the way my Egyptian family do – mezza en masse. Piles of delicious dishes brought to the table for everyone to tuck in, share and enjoy.

The cheese rakakat -crispy spring rolls stuffed with oozing feta, halloumi and herbs are an absolute must. Served with an out of this world mint dip, which has a hint of sweetness from what I’m told by the chef is mango chutney, you’re sure to order more almost immediately.

Their fresh, zesty tabbouleh is another triumph, as is their honest hummus, and their succulent lamb meshwi.

We took my father-in-law there for a birthday lunch and he loved it so much he returned that night for his birthday dinner. Believe me, he knows his Lebanese food so that is quite a compliment.

The service is friendly and attentive. It is old school, a handshake at the door and your coat put away. It’s the little things that go a long way. Your glasses will never go unfilled, and if you’re lucky they may even throw some complimentary baklava your way.

I’ve just discovered they offer takeaway as well so my bank balance is about to take a beasting.

It’s not often I’d so confidently recommend a restaurant, but if you like Lebanese then this place is a must. If you don’t like Lebanese, then head to Mezzet anyway as I’ve a feeling they may just change your mind.

Testosterone overload at Tough Mudder

This weekend I realised what separates men and women….Tough Mudder.

Both sexes take part in the run/obstacle/mud fest, but men take it to another level.

Massive respect to all the men and women that sacrifice themselves to take part, but the testosterone around the start line is palpable.

It literally drips out of the competitors’ muddied Under Armour.

As I stood watching 500 of the first wave huddled into a pen before the start line, it was like being transported back to Neanderthal times.

My partner is a trainer at Barry’s Bootcamp London and obsessed with fitness and winning pretty much everything, so maybe he’s an extreme case. Even so, as I watched him and the other men chanting with a crazed look in their eyes during the countdown to the race, I could almost see him holding a club in one hand and a bison leg in the other.

As the smoke bombs went off and they began running, my partner emerged like a man on a mission. As he ran towards me screaming, I felt like a little lamb about to be torn to pieces by a hungry lion.

Mental.

Barry’s Bootcamp London and Lululemon Athletica ambassador Faisal Abdalla

Being the dedicated wifey that I am, I followed the hungry lion through the course, fighting off the yawns caused by the 4.30am alarm that morning.

As I watched him hurl himself into 40 tonnes of ice, squeeze himself through terrifyingly claustrophobic tunnels, and voluntarily subject himself to a series of painful electrocution, I realised my choice of life partner was in fact MENTAL.

Scratched, battered, and bruised, and with mud in places you never knew it could go, the chanting and hoo-rahing never stopped, even as he dragged his body up near vertical hills.

I witnessed first-hand the power of PMA, which is something that will be rammed down your throat if you ever do one of Faisal Abdalla’s Barry’s Bootcamp classes. I also witnessed what it would be like if cavemen time-travelled to modern times.

As we made our way back to the car, he whispered to me, “Baby, I could do that all again right now. I’m a warrior. War-ri-or.”

It led me to conclude that while the crazy chanting is fun for spectators to watch, all you actually need to survive Tough Mudder is a load of PMA and a warrior mindset. Where do I sign up?

With fellow trainer Alex Castro

Lancome fake tan fail

After spending my teenage years working in a tanning salon, I understand the dangers of sunbeds more than most.

However, my natural skin shade is blue, so fake tan has become a necessity in my life.

I’ve tried most brands, within differing price ranges, and although I’ve never been happy with any of them, I have been satisfied.

I’ve been using St Tropez mousse recently and it gives a nice even coverage, although doesn’t fade quite so evenly.

Now for my rant.

I went to House of Fraser in Richmond a few weeks ago to replace my St Tropez and was told rather helpfully they didn’t stock it.

No Fake Bake either, which was my second option. But wait, the guy at Lancome insists they sell THE best fake tan ever – Lancôme Flash Bronzer cue his sales pitch.

The culprit

Gorgeous “creamy” colour, no smell, no streaks, he uses it all the time (he was the palest Scotsman I’d ever come across). I was taken in as I always am and shelled out the £18 or whatever it was for the 125ml tube.

Now I know how to fake tan, believe me. I know to exfoliate, to moisturise, to spread it on thinly, to use a tanning mitt, yada yada. Trust me, I know.

I also know this product is USELESS. Reviews online call it a best seller and worship the ground it walks on, but it is a pile of pants. Here is the honest truth…

It is an awful shade, really orangey. Not at all natural.

You can’t see it going on so you streak very badly.

Your hands will look ridiculous when you’re finished.

After 3 showers (2 with a scrubbing brush), I could still smell it seeping from my pores, as could my fiancé who refused to come near me.

I’ve tried it twice since and the same thing has happened both times time without fail.

I will never re-buy this product. Ever.

As a result of using it, I can also tell you that nail varnish remover, make up wipes, baby oil, bicarbonate of soda and exfoliating does not get rid of a bad case of fake tan.

You’ve just got run the course, only come out at night, or wear long sleeves in the sun.

I’d give it a 1/10 purely because it smells nice when you begin putting it on. That’s it, the only plus.

Make-up counter staff, bloggers, website review writers…do us all a favour and hit us with some honesty?! I’m sick and tired or buying overpriced fake tan miracle products that end up sitting in my cupboard because they make me look like a jaundiced orangatan.