City vs Country: Which is more Christmassy?

SantaCon 2012. Photo: Luke MacGregor, explat.wordpress.com

At the best of times, I can’t make up my mind as to whether I'm a city or a country girl at heart. But at Christmas, this is like Sophie's Choice; how could I ever choose between hot chocolate and champagne? A Boxing Day bender or a brisk seaside walk?

Minor though these dilemmas might seem, I can't help but wonder which is the definitive Christmas experience - the city or the countryside?

City Christmas

London was made for Christmas, proudly throwing on its festive lights like a dazzling party dress, as mulled wine stalls and ice skating rinks pop up in abundance next to every historical landmark.

Somerset House. Photo: Henrietta Rosselli

It’s impossible for even the most cynical of Londoners not to start feeling Christmassy a few weeks before the rest of the world. Even way back in November, a stroll down the South Bank was like being slapped in the face by Santa with a stockingful of glitter.

Having been listening to Christmas songs pretty much exclusively since the 1st December, I had thought I had reached optimum levels of Christmas spirit. But then this weekend, I took it to another level entirely...

On Saturday, we joined an army of santas (santae?) to take part in SantaCon - part flashmob, part bar crawl, part demonstration.

Is it a political statement, asked curious passers-by? Is it for charity? Is it some kind of religious gathering? Even Stephen Fry was confused on Twitter: "Never in my life seen so many people dressed as Santa. It’s currently like a Father Christmas convention in Soho. Was Santaday declared?" he asked. What on earth was it in aid of? The answer is nonsensically simple: Christmas!

For one day, in 276 cities ranging from Dubai to New York, millions of people dress as Santa and run amok - for no reason, other than it's Christmas. With just the right balance of naughtiness and niceties, we surrendered to the mob mentality to join in with gift giving, carol singing, amaretto swilling, sprout pelting, hugging strangers and general Santa banter.

SantaCon 2012. Photo: Luke MacGregor, explat.wordpress.com

SantaCon culminated in a final gathering point at Trafalgar Square, resembling a scene from Where's Wally (above). There were Mexican santas, cowboy santas, pimp santas, scantily clad santas, lost santas, several elves and the odd turkey. But for the most part it was a sea of traditional red and white bearded santas, clambering around on Nelson's Column and the monumental lions, chanting "What do we want? Christmas! When do we want it? NOW!"

The following day, one might have predicted that a brutal hangover would be inevitable. But lo, a Christmas miracle! I awoke feeling fresh as a blanket of recently fallen snow (ish).

I even felt well enough to spend Sunday evening watching The Goonies at the Enchanted Pictures in the cavernous Old Vic Tunnels – an atmospheric subterranean venue complete with fairy lights, log seats, a home-made alpine forest and volcanic lake, and a gorgeous surprise sprinkling of fake snow falling from the ceiling at the end of the film. And the greatest gift of all? We saw Matt Cardle. Yeah. You don't get that in the countryside...

Country Christmas

If you can't already tell, I really like London. And I really like Christmas... But combine these two famously expensive phenomena and there's a slight problem - my bank balance.

So, in what should be the biggest week for partying in the year, I and many others have reached a pre-payday lull - living on stale bread and water so that I can still get people presents and buy the odd glass of hot buttered rum.

The country girl’s answer is to make your own edible gifts - the smell of Mum’s vat of bubbling zesty chutney on the hob is pure Christmas. And therein this fragrant memory lies the answer to the question of where is most Christmassy. Christmas means home and family traditions. For many, that is synonymous with the city. But for me, home is a Vicar of Dibley-esque village in rural East Anglia.

Worlington, Suffolk

In our family, Christmas is picking the (real) tree from the farm shop, it’s the village carol service, it’s being demoted to the ‘kids table’ every year, it’s chilly Boxing Day dog walks, it's having to ask Mum for lifts back and forth to the pub, and braving the cold to collect as many damp logs as you can carry over from the garden shed without dropping them all over the carpet.

I got a headstart on my cosy country Christmas this year, having been on a girly weekend to the Peak District. Our quaint little rented farmhouse, Loscoe Farm, with its wood burning stove and rustic beams, also benefited from a pimping hot tub, sauna and pool table, and a paddock with a ‘bring your own pony’ policy (ah, the simple life). It was the countryside, but not quite as I knew it.

We briefly left the farm to visit Chatsworth House - aka Pemberley

This gave us the perfect setting for a big Alternative Christmas dinner. Admittedly it was a bit ‘Kerry's gone to Iceland’; to the horror of mothers everywhere, we sacked off cooking a turkey in favour of chucking some sausages and all the (frozen) trimmings into an oven - but that seemed apt, given it was a University reunion.

After a magical long weekend, we felt like the ladies of the manor and were sad to leave our winter country retreat. Surely if we all pitched in, we could just keep the farmhouse and start our own girly Christmas commune... please?

The winner

London offers a full-throttle Christmas experience to the masses. However if the city isn't your natural habitat, you may just find yourself frazzled, broke and lamenting the total lack of taxis on the last Saturday night before Christmas.

Likewise, loyal city-dwellers who think it will be novel to escape to the countryside for Christmas usually look about as comfortable on their country walks as a bedraggled cat in the bath, and are likely to return to London feeling weatherbeaten, confused and probably with a few fire-related injuries.

The 'real' Christmas - as opposed to the mythical Christmas of John Lewis adverts and Love Actually - is about everything that's cosy, warm and familiar to you - whatever and wherever that may be. So as much as I've loved squeezing every second of festive fun out of London these past few weeks, there's only one place I want to be on the Day - home sweet home.

The parties I wish I'd gatecrashed

The Great Gatsby, Warner Bros (Picture: metro.co.uk)

The festive party season is officially in full swing. The concept of throwing a party is as old as time itself, bringing together potent combinations of friends, acquaintances, rivals and strangers for the sole purpose of pleasure and amusement, often with explosive results. 

That's why The Party often sets the scene for pivotal moments in history, literature, movies and of course every single episode of Gossip Girl, not to mention real life. Just imagine how many friendships and relationships have begun or ended at an office Christmas party or a wedding...

What makes (or breaks) a party?

The truly legendary parties are more than a sum of their parts; the guests, music, free drinks and frisson will only get you so far. The only thing really necessary for a good party is a good mood - check your inhibitions at the door together with your coat, otherwise a party will almost certainly fall flat.

Case in point: Truman Capote's famously lavish Black and White Masked Ball of 1966 brought together all of Hollywood, royalty, fashion, politics and the art world, and is nostalgically referred to as the Party of the Century. But how much fun did the herds of A-list guests really have? Was the Majarajah of Jaipur dancing on the tables with Sammy Davis Jnr.? Did Tennessee Williams watch the sunrise with Mia Farrow and Andy Warhol?

Er, apparently not. Despite its now mythical status, the actual gossip from that night seems to be fairly thin on the ground. There were no tales of dramatic showdowns, drunken debauchery or uninvited guests. The mood is said to have been bitchy and self-conscious, and despite Capote's loud protestations, Frank Sinatra and his cronies slipped out early in favour of a nearby bar - effectively shutting down the party.

Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow at the Black and White Ball, Plaza Hotel, New York, 1966

Likewise, Gatsby's flashy New York parties of the roaring twenties may have been beautiful, but would they have been any fun? I'm not saying I'd have turned down a coveted invitation from the enigmatic Jay Gatsby, but behind his decadent garden parties, where "men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars”, there was... nothing much. Women who didn't know each other's names chattered away falsely over cocktails, husbands flirted around while their wives hissed in their ears, and all the while, Gatsby kept himself isolated from the action, barely recognised by his own guests.

But sometimes, for whatever reason, all the elements just come together to form the Perfect Storm of Parties, creating something that will be talked about for years. Here's what went down at the parties I wish I'd crashed... 

The Mad Hatters Tea Party

Alice in Wonderland (2010),Walt Disney/Tim Burton

Where else but Wonderland could you find yourself at a trippy tea party with a Mad Hatter, a March Hare and a Dormouse? Well, quite a few places dotted around London these days - including the Sanderson Hotel which runs a signature Mad Hatters Afternoon Tea, complete with 'Eat Me' labels, lollipops that turn your mouth from hot to cold, and multicoloured sandwiches. However the original literary version remains the most random and brilliant, inverting the traditional social convention of 'taking tea' into something curiously psychedelic.

The Great Cheese Party of 1837

In 1837, the President of the USA took out a newspaper advert inviting members of the public to come to the White House and share his 1,400 pound wheel of cheddar. The result was a feeding frenzy.

A year previously, a New York farmer had presented President Jackson with the giant cheese, which weighed the equivalent of 10 x Barack Obamas (probably). Jackson let the cheese age for more than a year in the White House, before holding the Great Cheese Party just before he left office. It was said you could smell cheese from half a mile in every direction from the White House; quite the legacy for his successor.

Ten thousand people swarmed to the White House for a slice of the action. Two hours later, all that remained of the cheese were the crumbs that had been ground into the carpet and smeared on the silk curtains. 

Why Cheese Day hasn't turned into an annual American holiday is beyond me. Sounds like a brie-lliant excuse for a party! (sorry).

The Hangover

The Hangover (2009), Warner Bros

When an evening begins with the ominous toast: "To a night we'll never forget," you're just asking for trouble. But luckily for Bradley Cooper et al, it turns out that pulling out your own tooth and stealing a tiger from Mike Tyson can actually have a life affirming effect on your friendships and relationships.  

Every group has it's own 'Alan'. If you think yours doesn't, it's probably you. But don't worry; the ultimate loose canon Alan was the reason that this particular Vegas stag do has come to define a generation and is now the yardstick by which we measure the epicness of all parties - despite none of us actually witnessing it. The less you remember of a party, and the more random props/animals that turn up the morning after, the more successful it surely was.

Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens

Image from vauxhallgardens.com

Its hard to believe that ugly SE11 was once home to the most famous and hedonistic pleasure gardens ever seen in this country, as described in Thackeray's Vanity Fair. 

Every weekend, 18th century socialites, peasants and celebrity courtesans alike were able to pay the small entry fee into Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, a grown-up playground of delights which hosted masquerades, circus performers, fireworks and even hot air balloon launches. 

The main promenades were lit by thousands of oil lamps, but it was most notorious for the dark and plentiful nooks and crannies in the shrubbery, where all manner of naughtiness ensued.

The gardens lost their sparkle in the mid 19th century when they became known for crime, prostitution and seediness and eventually were forced to close. These days, all that remains of the gardens is a sad and unremarkable little park in built-up Vauxhall; a hangover from its glorious heyday.

Netherfield Ball, Pride and Prejudice

Jane Austen's Regency Balls, despite the formalities, were surprisingly sexually charged; a ball would have been the only place a man and a woman could make physical contact in public, not to mention the fact that eligible men were tasked to dance with as many women as they possibly could. Romantic sparks must have been flying around the room left right and centre.

And Jane Austen doesn't disappoint at Netherfield Ball in Pride and Prejudice. The highlight of the evening came after Elizabeth had been cornered by the repellent Mr Collins for the first two dances, only to be dumbfounded when sulky Mr Darcy, who had rejected her at the Meryton Ball, asks her for the next dance. 

The visible spark between the pair gave fellow guests plenty to 'OMG' about the next day and has done wonders for men everywhere who, like Darcy, aren't quite the life and soul of the party. Instead of being written off as party poopers, they have been rebranded as the mysterious heroes, quietly smouldering in the corner and rescuing you from dancing with creepy men.

'Parents are out of town' teen parties

10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Touchstone Pictures

Finally, how could I write about parties without mentioning the keg-fuelled teen blow-outs that define all American coming-of-age movies? 

In my school, these orgies of destruction were practically forced upon all those foolish enough to let slip that their parents were out of town; it was your time, nay, your duty to step up to the mark and take one for the team. 

In my eyes, the archtype of a teen house party is Bogey Lowenstein's party in 10 Things I Hate About You, where the entire school crashes a geek's cheese and wine evening and turns it into the crazy party of the year - but in hindsight our Sixth Form equivalent was probably something closer to an episode of the Inbetweeners. The Last of our House Parties resulted in a cake sale in the common room to fund the damage to the house - Mum stopped going away so much after that, and the party, it seemed, was officially over.

Merry Christmas!

Thanks for reading and good luck surviving the party season! After all, there aint no party like a Christmas party. If I've missed one of your favourite all-time fictional or historical parties, please add your comments below.

The Faulty Towers Dining Experience

There are many dining experiences in London that seem to take gleeful pleasure in providing bad service, but The 'Faulty' Towers Dining Experience (the clue is in the name) is surely the most fun.

I took my friend on a surprise mate date here for her birthday last Sunday. I think she may have been expecting a girly afternoon tea or cocktails, so it's fair to say she was rather taken aback on entering the bar at the Charing Cross Hotel only to be accosted by a flustered, exasperated Basil Fawlty, suspiciously asking us if we were "together".

In this manic, loosely scripted tribute to the TV series, we - the diners - became characters in an episode of the chaotic 1970s sitcom Fawlty Towers.

Our waiters for the evening were none other than the lovably grumpy Basil Fawlty, his nagging wife Sybil and the feckless but endearing Spaniard, Manuel. I think Polly must have had the night off.

The actors stayed in character all evening, and only a small proportion of the night was scripted so there was a brilliant element of reckless spontaneity to the proceedings as the Fawlty Towers staff mingled (and argued) with nearly everyone in the room. In between courses, the staff seamlessly incorporated new and classic scenes from the show, including the fire drill, the escaped rat and of course, the immortal lines "Don't mention the War!" and "I know nothing!"

Just like the sitcom, this is slapstick, physical comedy. The tall and gangling Basil clambered around under my seat looking for Manuel's 'pet rat', shortly after Manuel helpfully tucked my napkin into my top - leading my friend to observe I'd been sort of groped by both Basil and Manuel in the course of the evening (score!).

You'll need a very British sense of self-deprecating irony to appreciate that, at the Faulty Towers Dining Experience, you're willingly paying for deliberately awful service and bland retro food (when they ran out of soup, Sybil kindly informed us that she would "ask Chef to open another tin").

You should, for example, prepare to be treated with exasperated disdain before you've even sat down at your table. Thankfully, no-one seemed to be genuinely insulted when publicly asked, "Did you forget your medication, dear?" and told to "Tuck your shirt in!", before being applauded by the entire room.

This could quite easily have been a total cringe-fest, as of course its success entirely depends on the ability of the cast to involve - but never humiliate - their guests, and to loyally impersonate the much-loved original characters.

However you'll be pleased to know that Basil, Manuel and Sybil completely nailed their uncannily accurate performances, and clearly share a fondness for the show; nearly three hours later, their masks still hadn't slipped. It was only once we were leaving the hotel and encountered 'Basil' on his way home, we realised he was in fact a friendly, chilled-out Australian in his late 20s (who had lost his voice from all the shouting).

Just like a cosy Sunday night watching old repeats of the sitcom, our evening at the Faulty Towers Dining Experience was nostalgic, comforting, raucously funny and quintessentially English. Next time, I'm bringing my mum.

The Faulty Towers Dining Experience now has an open-ended residency at the Charing Cross Hotel. Tickets range from £43.50 to £49.50.

Tim Walker: Fairytales never looked so fashionable

Image: Tim Walker, Storyteller 

"Every girl or boy I photograph is Alice" - Tim Walker

The faded grandeur of Somerset House makes the perfect backdrop for fashion photographer Tim Walker's fantastical new exhibition, 'Storyteller'. Fittingly, it was Halloween weekend when we tumbled into Tim Walker's wonderland and found ourselves in his topsy turvy world, which is both terrific and terrifying.

Image: Tim Walker, Storyteller

Tim Walker's mission is to turn daydreams into photographs, paying tribute to childhood fairy tales and English eccentricity on a dazzling and cinematic scale. Abandoned mansions provide the blank canvas for Tim's houses of fun, where pink clouds explode among the rhododendrons, World War II aeroplanes crash into the drawing room, and, brilliantly, a flying saucer interrupts a fox hunt.

Image: Tim Walker, Storyteller

These elaborate, imaginative sets evoke the macabre beauty of Tim Burton and the trippy theatricality of Baz Lurhman, but it's not a case of style over substance; Tim's work also displays an ethereal, wistful innocence that for some reason strikes a surprisingly emotional chord. At times I felt a tinge of sadness and nostalgia looking at some of his pictures, as you might feel when you play with your childhood doll's house again as an adult, and only then realise how wonderfully innocent and fragile it had been.

Image: Tim Walker, Storyteller

But it's not all Disney and 'happily ever afters'; there are monsters in the wardrobe, and you get the sense that at any moment, the house of cards could come tumbling down. Everyone who has ever read the original version of The Little Mermaid will know that in the classic creepy fairy tales, darkness lurks unsettlingly alongside the whimsical and beautiful. So it is in Tim's world.

In one photograph, a giant cello-playing bumblebee sits on a child's bed, who hides beneath it, unsure if the visitor is friendly or frightening. There is also something both joyful and sinister about Walker's portraits of the Monty Python old boys, clouded in a ghostly smoke as they inhale their exploding pipes.

Image: Tim Walker, Vanity Fair

The musical bumblebee is one of many props that are actually on display in the exhibition space, real and tangible. Also present are the WWII aeroplane, a giant snail, a skeleton, several grinning mechanical puppets and a romantic swan boat, all of which were used in his photo shoots.

Inside the exhibition. Image: from telegraph.co.uk

By including these genuine artefacts from his fantasy land, Tim blurs the boundaries between the safe, real world and the surreal landscape of his photographs.

It's a bit like when you wake up from a vivid dream, both relieved and disappointed to realise you are in your own bed, only to find some little memento under your pillow that proves it was all real after all...

Tim Walker: Storyteller, supported by Mulberry, runs until 27 January at Somerset House, free entry.

Sometimes we all need to escape

Over the last six months, I have blogged about how to escape. From secret speakeasies to immersive cinema, London is an escapist's playground. But what I haven't mentioned until now is why to escape.

When asked what my blog is about and I reply with 'escapism', I usually get one of two reactions; either someone instantly gets it, their eyes light up and they say 'Ooh you should write about ….'. (Please keep this coming!).

Or they look at me like a sympathetic therapist and say, 'But what are you escaping from?'

Humans have always felt the need to escape, and over the centuries this has taken many forms; Roman gladiator fights, Shakespearean romps at the Globe, hippy communes and happy hours.

True, escapism can have darker connotations; drug addicts, spendaholics and fantasists are prime examples of escapism gone a bit wrong. And our current rose-tinted nostalgia for bygone eras and the 'good old days' does beg the question, 'What's wrong with the here and now?'

But I also wonder what's so virtuous about gritty realism? If we lived only in reality, and expanded our minds no further than our immediate surroundings and daily routines, how would anyone ever conjure up the imagination to write music, to dream up Narnia and Hogwarts, to build a spaceship or even to challenge their current situations and dream of a better way of doing things? Life would be very dull indeed.

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe (Walt Disney Pictures, 2005)

The importance of escapism should never be underestimated. Having worked in the hospice sector for nearly four years, I've seen first hand how seemingly small pleasures like learning to paint, going to the seaside or enjoying a favourite childhood meal can make the biggest difference to someone in the most difficult circumstances of all.

My own interest in escapism admittedly started as a result of a broken heart, when my friends rallied round, making sure I was never alone and filling my calendar with fun and diverting activities. And although now, thankfully, everything seems to be ticking along quite nicely, I'm still nurturing my escapist state of mind.

This doesn't have to mean you are dissatisfied with your own life; I think it's about living in the here and now whilst opening your eyes to the everyday moments of magic that are all around us. It's about embracing everything that's not sensible, realistic, rational or mundane, and not getting bogged down by the necessities.

In short, escapism keeps you sane. The trick is to enjoy 'bite-sized' pieces of harmless escapism, just enough to take the edge off real life without retreating to another world altogether.

Having had a very real, very sad last few weeks as our beautiful Granny slipped away from us, perhaps unsurprisingly I've struggled to get into that mentality where I want to write about fun little diversions.

But then I remember that Granny herself was somehow both hilariously pragmatic and a born escapist; she travelled, she laughed, she read, she bet on horses, she drank before lunchtime and she fell in love (usually with “big men with little brains”, in the words of my great aunt).

So in memory of Granny, I have chosen a few quotes to help me – and anyone else who might need an emergency dose of escapism – to recapture the magic in everyday life.

Night Sky by Babak Tafreshi, from telegraph.co.uk

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” - Oscar Wilde

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan 

“What I’ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets.”

― Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)

“If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we're partisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!” - JRR Tolkien

"One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating." - Luciano Pavarotti

"Some movies are slices of life, mine are slices of cake." - Alfred Hitchcock

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”
― Roald Dahl

“Ah, music! A magic far beyond all we do here!” - Albus Dumbledore

“Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” - Oscar Wilde

And finally, for those worrying about the escapist's hangover, whoever said that coming back down to earth couldn't be part of the fun...?

Felix Baumgartner's leap from space, from telegraph.co.uk

Hello Autumn!

Kew Gardens, from mummyplum.blogspot.com

Until now, I would have described myself as one of life’s self-confessed sun worshippers - I live for sunny days and balmy evenings.

But this year, after an even more elusive British summer than usual, I feel strangely excited about everything that Autumn 2012 will bring. At least I know what to expect; fresh foggy mornings walking through Hyde Park on my way to work, the smell of pine cones and conkers and the sparkly, dewy grass.

Already, change is in the air - the breeze feels fresher, the colours deeper - as though we are on the cusp of a very different London. And far from being bleak, there’s actually rather a lot to look forward to...

1.  Apple Day
We've all heard of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Bonfire Night and Diwali. But there's a new kid on the block, a lesser-known festival, dedicated to the humble fruits of Autumn - yes, its Apple Day (21 October). Apple festivals in London tend to vary in terms of their dates, but the main ones seem to be at the National Trust's Red House on 14 October and the Camley Street Natural Park on 7 October, which features live acoustic music, cider tasting and, of course, London's finest apples.

2.  A new ‘back to school’ wardrobe
Is your wardrobe ready for Autumn? Mine certainly isn't - apparently summer dresses worn with tights and ballet pumps just won’t cut it once October hits. Finding my shiny new uniform of a ladylike coat, wear-forever boots and the holy grail of a cosy-but-flattering jumper requires an exciting, back-to-school shopping excursion. Autumn doesn't have to mean dowdy - the shops are currently bursting with gorgeous brocade fabrics, rich wine colours, equestrian shapes and lots of black lace and leather. Once you're kitted out for the season ahead, it will leave you with all the satisfaction of arriving at school armed with the coolest Woolworths stationary. The trick is to buy your essentials now before the cold really kicks in and all the good stuff's gone!

3.  Autumn picnics in Richmond Park or Kew Gardens
There’s something quite romantic about an off-season picnic on a crisp autumnal day in a deserted London park. Choose somewhere surrounded by majestic golden trees, such as Richmond Park or Kew Gardens, where you can snuggle up in plenty of blankets and nestle amongst the crunchy leaves. Bring some home-made pumpkin soup or pie, and a flask of hot spiced cider. And may I recommend you head to a bar afterwards to warm up.

4.  Halloween parties
What better night to venture into London's underworld than on Halloween? (And by that I mean the hedonistic, glamorous pretend underworld - I'm not suggesting you seek out London's charming hidden crack dens). Last Halloween, we indulged our inner goths, donned corsets and chokers and headed to the Belle Epoque Party. But with this being The Year of 50 Shades, I wouldn't be surprised if we see a plethora of fetish nights in the capital using Halloween to capitalise on people's sudden desire to shed their inhibitions and explore their freaky side... 

Belle Epoque Party, from visitlondon.com

5.  Bonfire night in Lewes
If you are yet to experience the bonkers, raucous, riotous Bonfire Night street party in Lewes (apparently the biggest in the country), get it in your diary now. But don't expect hot chocolate and lacklustre fireworks in family-friendly parks; this is not for the faint-hearted. There's a sense of joyous anarchy as more than 60,000 people throng into the Saxon streets of Lewes, chucking firecrackers at alarmingly close proximity and watching the processions of Romans, warriors, pagans, burning effigies and everything in between. Expect lots of fire, lots of alcohol and lots of people. What could go wrong?

Lewes Bonfire Night 2010, before it all got very messy

6.  The return of good TV
If you're exhausted after all that partying, you're in luck... After the wasteland that is summer television, all the good TV is returning this Autumn (some might argue I play it fast and loose with the term 'good TV'). New seasons of Homeland, Dexter and Made in Chelsea - nearly everything I watch - will all be back to warm those after-work nights, along with the relentless, three month, love-to-hate marathon that is The X Factor. True, this series has got off to a dreadful start but I'm hoping things improve in time for the ritual of having people over for dinner and 'live show' viewings.

7.  Seasonal cooking - not just pumpkins!
Autumn might just be the best season for foodies. Hit up your nearest farmer's market and make the most of the perfectly ripe butternut squash, blackberries, pears, sweet potatoes, figs and walnuts. I'll be making my favourite comfort food recipes, such as blackberry crisp with a fudgey flapjack style topping; Cajun spiced butternut squash and sweetcorn salad; pear, walnut and fig salad with blue cheese; and chilli con carne with baked sweet potatoes. 

Blackberry crisp, from bbcgoodfood.com

At this time of year, I will also allow myself to buy caramelised chestnuts from a street vendor on a cold night. You know you're tempted every time the breeze blows that sweet, nutty warmth in your direction - now its Autumn you have every reason to stop and buy some.

8.  Atmospheric historical London
Ye Olde London’s attractions become more atmospheric, and less crowded, at this time of the year. I hope to finally get round to a candlelit tour of the John Soane's Museum, a misty ghost walk through the old city, and a wander round the overgrown Highgate Cemetery - three things I've wanted to do since I moved here. (Sounds a bit morbid as a collection of activities, now I think about it!).

9.  Rugby matches in cosy pubs
Huzzah! The rugby season is here. I can't pretend to be an expert on the finer rules of the game, but I appreciate a rugged rugby player as much as the next red-blooded woman, and after an amazing season of sport in London, the prospect of joining patriotic fans in merry pubs on a cold afternoon is rather appealing.

Ben Foden, mailonline.co.uk

10.  A last minute Autumn getaway
Summer is but a distant memory and it's ages til the holidays, so this is the perfect time to book an impromptu long weekend away. Last year, a friend and I flew to Kaiserslautern, a somewhat unlikely holiday destination in Germany which, as it turns out, was quite the place to party, populated with students, footballers and Americans. We took our chances on the frankly terrifying autobahn, discovering that rural Germany is simply stunning in the Autumn, with golden fields and Hansel & Gretel villages dotted along the Rhine. There are also plenty of beerfests, Reisling wineries and stodgy foods to warm your cockles. 

Frolicking in the leaves near Kaiserslautern, Germany

Finally...
One thing I will not be doing is using the C-word (the other one!). The C-markets, the switching on of the C-lights and pre-C sales are all rather exciting but have somehow seeped into my consciousness over a month before we've even reached Halloween - plain wrong. It's far too soon to even menton C. So I won't.

Grease was the word, Barnes was the place

The cut-throat world of the American high school is something of a second home for the ladies of my generation, having grown up on Saved by the Bell, Clueless and Mean Girls. But for most of us, our initiation into the world of Californian jocks and cheerleaders began in our formative years, with the one and only Grease.

There was therefore something very familiar about Future Cinema’s spectacular and interactive outdoor screening of the classic musical, which saw Barnes Common being completely transformed into the iconic Rydell High for the weekend.

From TNTmagazine.com

The greasy scent of burgers, candy floss, hairspray and motor oil was in the air, as nine thousand fans formed a sea of black leather and pink satin at this all-singing, all-dancing festival of nostalgia, organised by the team behind the acclaimed 'Secret Cinema'.

No detail went unnoticed and no expense was spared in the meticulous re-creation of Greaseland. It was all here; the vintage cars, Frenchy’s pyjama party, the school hall dance-off, Frosty’s Place Diner and even a Ferris wheel from which to gleefully shout, ‘I’m not pregnant!’

We were completely immersed in this alternate universe from the moment we walked in and were greeted by an all-American football coach: “Welcome back to Rydell girls, have a good year!”

We were then accosted by the excitable Pattie herself: “Oh my god I LOVE the first day of school, don’t you? Are you coming to cheerleader try outs? Can you spell Caribbean? Oh my god, you CAN? You HAVE to join the spelling team!”

By the time we’d grabbed a quick mac’n’cheese and some popcorn, and been on the receiving end of some killer lines that Danny Zuko himself would have been proud of (“Hey beautiful, I got something else you can put in your mouth...”), I could almost have believed I was genuinely a teenager at a 1950s pep rally.

After a couple of hours soaking up the school spirit, the summer day had drifted away and turned into a very autumnal night - I had chills, and they were multiplying.

Fortunuately, once the film started, we were up on our feet so often that we warmed up in no time. During key musical numbers, Future Cinema's team of actors burst onto the stage in front of the screen and taught the whole audience the moves (I'm proud to say I can now add the Hand Jive to my repertoire).

When the credits rolled, and the excitable crowd of T-Birds and Pink Ladies poured back out into the streets of suburban West London singing 'We Go Together', I felt totally uplifted, nostalgic and, well, young.

Despite appearances, there are unlikely parallels between my experience of a bog-standard Suffolk upper school and the glossier, more glamourous world of '50s Rydell High. Yes, in Hollywood, the kids all look like they’re in their 30s, people randomly burst into song and the school buses are distinctly yellower - but the cliques and geeks, the sadistic sports coaches, the sleepovers, the style faux pas, the crushes, and the unwritten rules of who sits where at lunch, are universal.

I've seen Grease countless times, but never got so much enjoyment from it as I did on that chilly night in Barnes. I can't wait to see what Future Cinema brings to life next.

An evening at Evans & Peel Detective Agency

www.evansandpeel.com

I've never been good with secrets so I've wrestled with my conscience over this one. I'm desperate to tell everyone about my amazing experience at Evans & Peel Detective Agency, but the whole appeal of the venue in question is its secrecy. But like any good detective writer, I'll try to give you enough detail to pique your interest without spoiling the mystery...

Our story begins at Evans & Peel, a curiously dark speakeasy on Earls Court Road, which was quietly recommended to me by a reliable informant (who we shall call Grum). The agency harks back to the golden age of 'whodunnits' - think Sherlock Holmes, Poirot and The 39 Steps. But unlike many trendier speakeasies, Evans & Peel is warm, authentic, dramatic and, above all, fun.

The experience is underway from the moment you book your 'appointment' with Detective Peel. He replied to my email asking me to call the agency so they can proceed with my 'case' (brilliantly, the email was signed off with 'Sent from my Gramophone').

This affectionate humour and attention to detail runs throughout the Evans & Peel experience, which is from beginning to end a loving tribute to the classic 1920s and 1930s crime mysteries.

The office: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

On arrival, ring the doorbell, make a few shifty glances and - when you're sure you're not being watched - slip inside incognito. As you descend into a Cluedo-esque world of flickering light bulbs, gramophone music, typewriters, blood red wallpaper and drawers full of liquor, the dashing Detective Peel awaits in his office, ready to question you about your 'case', so be ready to improvise; the more elaborate the tale, the better!

In fact, if you're with a group and someone is running late, why not have a bit of fun with them and inform Detective Peel that this latecomer is a prime suspect in your case...? After a grilling from the Detective, you can be sure your unsuspecting companion won't keep you waiting next time. Once Detective Peel is satisfied, he will whisk you with a magical flourish into a large and atmospheric bar, which will be your home for the evening.

The bar: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

Here, you will be taken care of with old-fashioned service from charming waiters, who would have you believe there is no greater pleasure in life than to serve you their bespoke and delectable vintage cocktails. My highlight was the A&T, a quintessentially English concoction made with gin which has been hand-infused with Earl Grey and lavender.

The establishment requires that you order food with your cocktails, to get around a licensing restriction - but with mouthwatering American style tapas dishes on offer including a smokey Waldorf salad, macaroni cheese, tender pulled pork sliders and simply delicious crunchy wedges, having to order a few bites from the menu is no hardship whatsoever.

Once you have solved your case, you are free to depart the agency, but please remember to refrain from dilly-dallying and drawing unnecessary attention to the doorway on your way out. A visit to Evans &  Peel Detective Agency should be clothed in secrecy, so it's important not to give the game away.... Oh.

I've said too much already. Whether you're planning a clandestine date or a big birthday celebration, or if you simply need to catch a wayward villain, all you need to know is this:

Evans & Peel
310c Earls Court Road
London
SW5 9BA
Telephone:  020 7373 3573

detective@evansandpeel.com

London in the Movies

Mary Poppins (1964), Walt Disney

London is an iconic, sprawling film set, where hundreds of great loves have been born, dark crimes have been hidden, adventures have began and stars have left their footsteps. Turn any corner in the city and you could be struck by an overwhelming sense of deja vu as you find yourself in a strangely familar spot, transported into a childhood fantasy or a cult classic.

As I wander around London, I often feel like I'm in a film. Looking out of the window over London's rooftops on a misty evening still always reminds me of Peter Pan. The dark cobbled alleyways around Grays Inn Road, near my offices, are evocative of the shadowy Victorian lairs of Oliver Twist. Even rush hour tube journeys have a certain novelty - if I miss a train, I sometimes wonder if that might have had a Sliding Doors effect on the course of my life.

Peter Pan (1953), Walt Disney

So on a sunny Saturday morning, my companion and I, who share a mutual love of romantic comedies, Harry Potter and musicals, could think of nothing lovelier than to take ourselves on a tour of London's movie locations.

We left my friend's flat in Waterloo and began our journey on the South Bank, where Hugh Grant famously said, in the words of David Cassidy, 'I think I love you' (Four Weddings and a Funeral).

Harry Potter 

Dark clouds appeared from nowhere and loomed ominously as we crossed the Millennium Bridge, creating that 'disaster movie' sensation of the calm before the storm. It felt, for a moment, as though the Dementors were coming.

Thankfully, we reached the other side of the bridge, unlike the poor Muggles in the scene from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, when the Death Eaters destroy it during a rampage through central London.

Once safely north of the river, we spied Australia House on The Strand, which moonlights as the setting of the wizarding bank, Gringotts, in the films. And of course an embarrassing photo at Platform 9 3/4 in King's Cross Station is also a must for any self-respecting Potter geek in London.

On my way to Hogwarts

Sweeney Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Although now interspersed with branches of Starbucks and Pret, many of the old, crooked establishments on Fleet Street are still reminiscent of Tim Burton's atmospheric musical Sweeney Todd. The film tells the story of murderous Johnny Depp as the demon barber who fills neighbouring Mrs Lovett's homemade pies with his victims' remains.

With this in mind, as we neared the end of Fleet Street, I was alarmed to see a Wagamama directly underneath a dodgy looking barber shop. Maybe stick to the vegetarian options if you ever decide to eat there...

Eek!

Mary Poppins

As we approached the steps of St Paul's Cathedral, where a melancholy old lady feeds the pigeons after dark in Mary Poppins, the heavens opened in true chick flick style. This rather scuppered our plans to 'feed the birds' as Julie Andrews sung in the film, as they all flew away, unimpressed with the soggy bread on offer. (This must be why Disney decided to film the whole thing in a California studio).

A gorgeous day to re-live Mary Poppins

The roof terrace on top of next-door shopping centre One New Change is the perfect place to gaze upon St Paul's and over the rooftops of the City. If you look closely, you might even spot a few Cockney chimney sweeps in the distance leaping around Dick Van Dyke style... maybe.

However in what had become a dramatic thunder and lightning storm, with rain launching itself at us from all angles, a rooftop was perhaps an unwise choice. Looking more like drowned rats than rain soaked heroines, we quickly decided the credits had rolled on our day of movie fun and we retreated indoors for a large glass of wine.

Notting Hill 

There are still enough classic film locations to warrant at least another day of exploring, particularly in the pretty-as-a-picture village of Notting Hill. (Yes, that'll be Hugh Grant again - still being wheeled out for any London-based romantic comedy). The Travel Bookshop from the movie has sadly closed down, but you can still spend a leisurely afternoon looking for the little house with the blue door, and peering into the communal gardens where Hugh and Julia Roberts shared their first kiss.

These pretty streets are also the romantic setting for one of my favourite scenes from Love Actually, when Andrew Lincoln brings his signs over to Keira Knightley's house and tells her he loves her, 'without hope or agenda'. This scene was filmed in St Luke's Mews in Notting Hill and is one of those locations that feels just as magical in real life.

Love Actually (2003), Universal Pictures / Studio Canal / Working Title

However Walt Disney discovered the joys of this area long before Richard Curtis, in the classic Bedknobs and Broomsticks. A real life jaunt down Portobello Road would be so much more fun if only life was a musical...

Not The End...

Thousands of tales have been told about London town, and it would take a lifetime to experience them all. I've not even mentioned the gritty East End stomping grounds of Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, the mysterious temples of The Da Vinci Code, the Elizabethan theatres of Shakespeare in Love, or the elegant parks of Finding Neverland.

Ticking them off is a great way to explore the city, but rather than trying to cram it all into a day, I think I'll try to experience the rest one at a time, saving each one for when I am feeling a bit jaded and most in need of some movie magic.