Stealth health

Do you find yourself glazing over when the words trans-fat, omega or GM creep in to a discussion? 
Do I really understand all of this???
Umm, no. 
Why is healthy eating full of options that all seem so scientific? 
What ever happened to water, fruit, vegetables, meat and potatoes? 

I feel robbed of the simple life.
 

Tracy Emin

I know, I know, I know. 
It's easy, right? 
Proteins beat Carbohydrate. Carbohydrate beats Fats. Good Fats beat Bad Fats. 
And so on. 
Like paper scissors stone for our budding lab-loungers. 
But for me? My school actually asked me not to take Chemistry and Physics GCSE. 
It's not my thing. Too much information, and I switch off zzzz...
 

This, however, doesn't mean that I don't want to be a goddess of health. 
I try! I've got  a cupboard in my kitchen full of tinctures, supplements, vitamins. 
It's all a bit much. 
I tend to just stick to my Multi-vitamin and hope for the best.
 

Whenever I go into a health food shop (which, actually, is fairly frequent - I like the smell of shops like that. Perhaps in a vain attempt to breathe in health), I am overwhelmed by the hundreds of lentils, pulses, organic, sugar-free, dairy-free, non-carb, non-taste... 

This is when I break out in to a gentle sweat. 

Surely I can't eat, let alone afford, all of these things! 

I make a bee-line for the hempseed 9-bars, pay, and run.

 

Wouldn't it be nice and helpful to know a bit about a few things that make for a healthy diet? Along with a comprehensible explanation why?

 

Then check out gorgeous Tomm's blog: http://thehealthfoodcompanion.blogspot.com

For the science dunces like me, whom far prefer healthy eating this way:

 

Simon Annand, The Half

My coffee table FRIEND - this AMAZING book is keeping me company today. Simon Annand shoots the DREAMBOATS of theatre. Hummunah hummunaah...

V&A 2010

www.simonannand.com

Departure Lounge

Think Damien Rice meets The Hoosiers, then throw in some early 70's Bowie and the witty, street-y charm of The Streets. But as a MUSICAL? Surely not. Yet, under the arches of Waterloo, five singers and two acoustic guitars are making it work. And some.

It's a treat to watch. Departure Lounge is a show that doesn't take itself too seriously, dropping ridiculous one-liners all over the shop (Steven Webb as Ross repeatedly pulls pure genius out the bag); it's fun, it's a bit rude and we all laughed. I actually laughed a lot.

 

The story energetically throws the spotlight upon the unfortunate British stereotype - Brits abroad. The cretins of fry-up Spain. Yuck. We follow four lads who await their delayed flight home, recounting their trip of promiscuous discovery. Writer Dougal Irvine shines his rose-tinted aviators on these would-be yobs, turning them into likeable and recognisable beings.

 

All voices are strong, and each character (and indeed, performer) stands out in their designated 'moment' of self-discovery. These 'moments' within the writing perhaps teetered on the brink of self-indulgence, yet they were played neither objectionably nor were they over-indulged. In particular, the sound levels were spot-on, with the acoustic accompaniment layering nicely underneath dulcet, estuarine vocal patterings. Direction by Pip Minnithorpe was slick & accomodated the small stage well.

 

The almost brand new space at Waterloo East is quite a little find, and I'm sure it will see many fitting and fresh projects tread across its boards. Departure Lounge may move to a larger home in the future, but all involved should be happy with the chat that this show has generated here. Producers Perfect Pitch bubble just underneath the surface of West End Musical Theatre. And, please god, may they continue because they keep this industry EXCITING.

www.waterlooeast.co.uk

www.departureloungethemusical.com

Spa days

I am one lucky lady. Friday was a mega day. I was treated by my boyfriend to an afternoon of luxury at the Agua Spa in the Sanderson Hotel. 

A full-body massage & Eve lom facial later, and I feel sublime. 

Both treatments evocatively saunter towards the 'no pain no gain' side of beauty, but who cares when the results are this good. 

I feel like a new-born lamb.



Damien Hirst, Away From The Flock (1995)

Ceiling to floor white curtains create the different areas - I soon get over the overwhelming desire to pick up pace and flail like a nymph through this ethereal maze of dreams a la Labyrinth, but instead settle down in my white chaise longue for a post-pummel rest. 

Silence wafts through this curtained land. None of us bold enough to utter a sound.

 

Boyfriend and I (he has come along for the ride) float towards the steam room, then recline in our very own cubby hole with TV. We opt for some female wrestling. And the cheese board.

 

On our way out the hotel bar is buzzing. Oh, and if you decide to treat yourself here, take the lift. The interior is, basically, space. Yes. Space. In 3D. A 3D space lift. My inner-child: released. Home we go.

www.sandersonlondon.com

Kate Spade

 

So last night I went to Kate Spade's pop-up store in Covent Garden. Pretty cool. The Henrietta Street townhouse is usually somewhere for revellers to step down, take a break, sometimes leaving their regurgitated 2-for-1 dinners casually leaning on the lampost opposite. I was happy to see a clean sweep to the entrance hall, white floorboards and coloured stripes welcoming me into what is a rather dreamy venue.

 

Kate Spade adorned the walls and coat stands whilst the slimline beauties and bloomingdale bohemians mooched up and down the stairs to the husky waves from Californian group, The Like. I have to say Kate Spade pushes my fun button - clean lines, bright colours, and some really cute pieces. 

 

Her clutch bags. I WANT!

 



My comrade Helen and I, in her own words, 'loosened up a bit' by the end of the night, thanks to hefty glasses of fizz and barbershop-straw Long Island Iced Tea. Camilla Rutherford breezed past like a beautiful swan (love her) of Englishness. Other lithe limbs toted River Island bags, which on first glance had Marc Jacobs all over them. Sly.

We hit the retro photo booth, a couple of times in fact. 

 

Taxi driver wants to discuss if we should withdraw from the EU? Have we more to lose than gain, what with them wanting to take 6% more of our economy?

 

Hmmmm, I ponder this problem. The EU is a private members club surely? And I know that on a night out I would rather be in the comfort of an exclusive club.

 

Isn't that the same with shopping? Instead of impulse internet buying for an instant fix, I would happily flirt for hours with a clutch bag in a dapper London townhouse, only to move in for the kiss on the fifth date. Voluntary restraint. Maybe for a few more dollar. But hey.

Then I know the kiss will be good.

www.katespade.com