If You Can't Relate to a Taylor Swift Song, You're Dead Inside.

A couple of years ago, I shared a theory to help boys and girls of all ages make good life choices - simply ask yourself 'What would Katy Perry do'? Usually the answer was to go out dancing, take shots and throw on some fancy dress - this, according to Katy, is how we do. And I stand by it.

But since then, a few things have changed. Most importantly, I've discovered Taylor Swift (Katy's arch-enemy, if gossip magazines are to be believed). And what would Taylor do, I hear you cry?

Well, depending on the situation, she'd probably write a killer song about it, make a self-deprecating joke, call her best friend and basically just SHAKE IT OFF.

Unlike the cartoonishly sexy persona of Katy, Taylor seems like a girl who would fit right in watching the Great British Bake Off, who would send you links to funny cat videos on YouTube and help you analyse a text from a guy you're dating.

An antidote to the mythical hipster 'Cool Girl' (a term coined in Gone Girl, referring to that Hollywood mirage of the quirky chick who never gets angry), Taylor is all real, a girl with a lot of feelings who is not afraid to share them. "It's in style to be edgy and blase and unaffected but I'm none of those things," she's admitted, making it OK for the rest of us too.

Taylor is so uncool she's cool. She dances endearingly awkwardly at Awards shows with her girlfriends, while bored celebrities stay in their seats.

She fully embraces her cat-lady reputation, and isn't one to peddle low self-esteem to her fanbase, regularly commenting on her fans' Instagram pages to tell them they're gorgeous.

She she even shared a chatty recipe for chai sugar cookies in inimitable Taylor style, finishing on one of her best lyrical moments yet: 'Cos the bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake.'

Instagram @taylorswift

But more importantly than all of this? She is responsible for 'Red', a sprawling epic of an album. Taylor had never been on my radar until the bitter anthem 'We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together'. Before then, like most Brits I'd just had a vague awareness of her as a Nashville teen star frolicking in a princess dress in the 'Love Story' video.

But like most others, I had vastly underestimated the power of Swift. Red is now up there with my most addictive albums of all time - combining the grandiose storytelling of her country roots with experimental pop hooks and even a couple of dubstep drops, not to mention lyrics that are quite obviously straight from the heart.

I imagine that, for Taylor, listening back to her old albums must feel like re-reading her teenage diary, slightly embarrassing and sometimes a little overdramatic ("You stare at the phone, he still hasn't called, and you feel so low you can't feel nothing at all"), but nevertheless a totally honest, unguarded and emotionally raw picture of how she was feeling at the time. And isn't that exactly what a love song should be?

But Taylor's no lovesick fool. She has become knowingly jaded and self-aware in her songs, rolling her eyes at the guy who finds his peace of mind with his indie records which are "much cooler than mine",  at the "long list of ex lovers who'll tell you I'm insane", and at those who cruelly say "I go on too many dates, that I can't make them stay."

And this romantic body-count only consists of about four or five men in a decade-long career. One of whom - John Mayer - has incidentally dated and sung about more A-list women than I've had hot dinners, and yet escaped the vitriol that Taylor receives for doing the same.

To me, the lazy media criticism of Taylor's dating life and songwriting smacks slightly of single-bashing and slut-shaming. Why can't we celebrate that a 24 year old girl has written five albums' worth of songs based on authentic experiences?

But, aware of the criticism she gets every time she writes a love song, Taylor remains unapologetic and hasn't let the haters stop her doing her job. She's continued to write relentlessly catchy songs which will have her competitors quivering in their heels and desperately wheeling out the usual dial-a-hit DJs.  The latest of her offerings is 'Out of the Woods' which is currently killing it in the US charts, and sounds like nothing anyone else is releasing right now.

As a life-long defender of (good) pop music, I've said it before and I'll say it again - there's brilliant pop, there's terrible pop, there's brilliantly terrible pop, and there's terribly brilliant pop. And then there's Taylor Swift, sitting comfortably in a league of her own.

Us Swifties have known this for a while, of course. But something changed this week. With the release of her new album '1989' and the rave reviews from NME, Rolling Stone and the Guardian, the rest of the world finally seems to have cottoned on too.  Grown men are unwittingly humming 'Shake it Off' to themselves at work, and it's finally becoming acceptable to say out loud: "Taylor speaks to me". Vindication at last!

Why now? It may be partially because Taylor has gradually evolved her sound into supercatchy synth-pop, with influences from the Human League, the Drive soundtrack and Charli XCX, without compromising what makes her unique. The sound on 1989 may be fresh, but it's unpretentious and lyrically is still totally Taylor.

And that is the secret of her success - far from only catering to the realms of dumped  teens, much as we'd all hate to admit it, Taylor's themes of love, escapism and disillusionment are universal.

So why do some people still hate on her? Probably because she's young, fun, a bit uncool and she writes uncomfortably honest, hyper catchy pop songs about boys. And why do I love her? Because she's young, fun, a bit uncool and she writes uncomfortably honest, hyper catchy pop songs about boys.

Instagram @taylorswift

And if - after reading this far into the mad ramblings of a fangirl - you're still a doubter, if not a full-on hater, I will leave you with this. Remember when Kanye stormed the MTV Awards stage during her acceptance speech for Best Female Video? Well, apparently she now has a photo of the incident framed on the wall of her home. Beneath it she has written: “Life is full of little interruptions”. That's right, she responded to the most humiliating moment in her teenage life by calling super-ego Kanye a "little interruption."

Never change Taylor, never ever change. Like ever.

'Ten Thousand Memories': The Larders That Time Forgot

The Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising may sound like a somewhat niche excursion for marketing geeks (myself included).

But this curious little museum in Notting Hill has something for everyone. With over 10,000 products from bygone eras, it is an unashamedly nostalgic, cluttered and garish celebration of British eccentricity and culture - from Victorian royalist tat and wartime humour, to the brash jingles and supermarkets of the 1950s. It even charts the controversial evolution of Opal Fruits to Starburst, and Marathon to Snickers, from which the nation is still reeling.

The museum is the brainchild and personal collection of a self-confessed hoarder, Robert Opie. I'm told that the compulsive collector was eating a packet of Munchies on a train platform, and rather than throw the packet away, he decided to keep it as a souvenir of the time. The rest is, quite literally, history.

Tucked away in the cobbled Colville Mews next to the Temperley boutique (aptly painted as a Union Jack), the collection is built around a time tunnel; a vivid kaleidoscope of toys, groceries, posters, and fashion through the twentieth century and up to present day.

Each display is a time capsule, a window into the minutiae of life in a different decade. Walking through it, in chronological order, is to witness the gradual, relentless passage of time. Don't be fooled by the day-to-day subject matter: the packaging of our household favourites tells the story of two world wars, new discoveries, the Industrial Revolution, mass consumerism and the gradual emancipation of women.

In one hour, as you peer into the larders that time forgot, you will experience the journey our grandparents went on during the course of their lives - told through the changing contents of their cupboards.

After the austerity of World War I, for example, you begin to see the frivolity and prosperity return in the products that were being consumed. Shorter skirts, jazz records, miniature bottles of spirits, cars. As everyone tried to forget the horrors that had passed and the millions of boys who never returned, England had just got back onto its feet and was enjoying life once more - only - unthinkably - to be thrown back into War again in 1939. Suddenly, the larders once more look austere and rationed. You can imagine the disbelief that it could all be happening again.

With all this unrest, it is hardly surprising that the wartime generations looked back with rose-tinted glasses on the stable, patriotic naivety of Victorian era. The same generations might also be baffled to know why on earth we, in the 21st century, delight so much in Blitz Parties and wartime-themed speakeasies.

I begin to realise that nostalgia is all relative. It's funny to think that everything here, so quaint and vintage looking under our gaze, was once modern and cutting edge. I experience the sudden bolt of recognition as I enter the 1990s room, 'my' decade, and locate my place in history - and the depressing fact that my childhood memories are now retro.

My time capsule is characterised by Space Raiders crisps, dinosaur-shaped turkey nuggets, Spice Girls Easter Eggs and Captain Planet doughnuts (childhood obesity was clearly not a concern in those days...). These *ahem* super-healthy groceries all felt completely unremarkable at the time,  and we'd have laughed at the idea they'd end up in a museum. But here they are, tugging on my heartstrings, and I'm immediately catapulted back to 1996, when I'd beg my mum to put these in the trolley and spend all my pocket money on Spice Girls singles. I can't help but wonder whether people will one day look back on our iPhones, Instagram profiles, Starbucks cups and Miley Cyrus videos and think, 'Ah, how quaint - the good old days'.

Some items in the museum take on new meaning or uncomfortable irony, with the advantage of hindsight - for example a poignant 'Mork and Mindy' book featuring a young Robin Williams, the chilling 'Jim'll Fix It' merchandise from the 1970s, and a wartime board game entitled 'Listen In'. Ah, phone-hacking fun for the whole family! How lovely.

At other times during our trip down memory lane, it feels as though history is repeating itself. The patriotic souvenirs from the London 1948 Olympics and the Royal Wedding of Princess Elizabeth are remarkably similar to what was on sale during the summer of 2012, when we reveled in the optimism of the Olympics and the Jubilee. We LOVED all the tat, precisely because it harked back to what we imagine to be a simpler, happier time.

The visit must have been a baffling experience for my Californian companion, who hadn't grown up with these brands - but what better cultural induction to Britain than through the changing faces of Dairy Milk, Corn Flakes, Oxo Cubes and even the Queen? Seeing these ubiquitous items in their former lives is like seeing photos of your grandparents as teenagers. The outside wrappers of these national treasures may have evolved along with our rapidly changing society, but the products inside span generations and are omnipresent, constant reminders of our national identity.  Kind of like the Queen herself.

The Museum of Brands, Packaging and Advertising: 2 Colville Mews, Notting Hill, www.museumofbrands.com, entry £6.50 for adults

How to Dance Like Nobody's Watching

If ever there was an event that The London Escapist was born to attend, it must be an impromptu silent disco on a sunny Monday lunch-time on Hampstead Heath.

It began with an all-staff email from a colleague in a completely different department, who, brilliantly, had taken it upon herself to arrange a half-hour headphone disco a couple of minutes from our office (I'd never met her, but on reading her email, I knew we'd get on).

It ended in reluctantly dragging myself back to my desk at 1:45pm, with my endorphins pumping and Spice Up Your Life still ringing in my ears.

How did eight sober women rock up to Hampstead Heath and switch from professional charity workers to mad dancing hippies, in a matter of seconds? All you need, it turns out, is an open mind and a pair of headphones.

After dumping our handbags in the middle of the circle (some things never change), and cranking out a few bars of Salt 'n' Pepa's Push It, I was shocked by how unselfconscious I actually felt bopping away in public, even as bemused pensioners and their dogs looked on curiously, while colleagues ate their sandwiches on the grass.

There is something wildly liberating about behaving like a madman in the middle of the working day; throwing your inhibitions to the wind and reclaiming your Monday from the constraints of routine.

And, wonderfully, our little party brought together people from all over our organisation - girls from labs, operations and comms who may never otherwise have hung out. (For some reason, the boys of the office were less keen). Once you've seen each other's moves in the cold light of day, there's really no going back to polite nods over the kettle.

I pretty much just forgot where I was. The mid-March sun was warm on our faces, a dewy breeze in the air, and if you closed your eyes and cranked your music up, you could almost imagine yourself to be at a beach party or a festival.

The spell was occasionally broken when I realised I was being filmed on someone's iPhone. I froze in the middle of my twerking, suddenly aware my moves may be less Beyonce and more akin to interpretative dance in the unforgiving glare of the video phone. And worse, it's easy to forget that those around you can hear you mumble-singing the last word of every line ('annwennanightfalls, myonelyeart CAAALLS').

But the fun factor was worth the stares, and it was far more difficult to stop dancing than to start. Our fleeting moment of free-spirited escapism ended as abruptly as it began, and soon it was time to head back to our desks.

This wasn't the first time I've spent a surreal lunchtime dancing with colleagues; some of you may remember my well-documented visit to the Lunchtime Disco at Drink Shop Do, an event which has since paved the way for the 'Morning Glory' breakfast rave (which I'm yet to try out). And of course, silent discos and flash mobs are ten-a-penny in London these days.

But unlike these examples, our own effort was no slick operation.  It was something altogether more spontaneous, grassroots and unofficial. There were only eight of us, for starters, and we each just listened to our own music from our phones, everyone dancing to their own beats (although with a bit of pre-planning, you could sync up your Spotify playlists). Literally anyone could arrange something similar, if they had the will or the inclination.

And I hope they do. Londoners, take note. The park is your dancefloor, and it's free! How about we make this the summer of the pop-up daytime disco?

(No? Just me? Ah...)

Sex & the Other City

  

As I prepare to visit a fabulous friend who has recently packed up her laptop and moved to New York's Upper East Side, I've been watching an awful lot of Sex & the City (for conditioning purposes, you understand).

And in a realisation that is both alarming and amazing in equal amounts, I've noticed that I’ve started relating to it a lot more than I did ten years ago. The gossipy lunches, the dating anecdotes, the single bashing, the ex drama and the addictive buzz of the city all ring true for my generation of girls in London.

Even Carrie's relentless musings about the world of dating have started to make a lot of sense, despite the fact that 90% of them can be answered with a simple 'NO'.

From Buzzfeed.com

So, as I've relived the good, the bad and the ugly days of turn-of-the-millenium Manhattan, I couldn't help but wonder; if Carrie Bradshaw was dating in London during 2014, what inane, profound and downright random questions would she ask?

(Note: to be read aloud in Sarah Jessica Parker's thoughtful voice, while tapping your keyboard and gazing pensively out of the window)

1. In London relationships, is zone 4 a deal breaker?

2. In the great Tube Map of Love, was our relationship doomed to go round and round like the Circle Line? Were we the Northern Line: long, confusing and really hot? Or was it just short and pointless, like the Waterloo & City Line? Or - in the end - would it be quicker just to get off and walk?

3. In the world of men, is it possible to break down the walls and reach the magical Platform 9 ¾? Or are you really just banging your head against a brick wall?

Image: Getty Images

4. If he never calls you on the dog-and-bone, is your relationship heading into Barney Rubble?

5. When it comes to the 'it' guys, is it worth waiting in line? Or are we all just queuing in the rain for cold pulled pork and an overrated Negroni?

6. I couldn't help but wonder; is the urban fox on my street getting more sex than me? (It certainly sounds like it...)

Image: from telegraph.co.uk

7. Were 90’s boybands giving us false expectations, or can you REALLY find love on the Northern Line?

8. Guys who buy you Jagerbombs at the Clapham Grand: friend... or foe?

9. I couldn’t help but wonder; if we’re tired of Tinder, are we tired of life?

10. Is a pretentious beard the new designer drug?



Image: relevantmagazine.com

11. Can a relationship really be made in Chelsea, or is the only way Essex? Or are out of town guys like Boris bikes - great in theory but more of a novelty than a long term solution?

12. If London is the single gal's Oyster card, why are there no fish in the sea?



Image: Copyright Jon Cartwright, column10.com

13. Was I dating the Kensington Olympia of guys, destined to only be available at weekends and selected events? Was he playing hard to get, or was it just signal failure?

14. When a relationship is faulty, how many times should you seek assistance before you trade in your Oyster card?

15. When it comes to being picked up, should you summon someone reliable on your smartphone? Or do you jump in the first black cab that passes you by?

16. The Hipster: How can you be 'shore' you want to 'ditch' him?

17. And finally, is it ever OK to date a guy who stands on the left? (NO.)

Image: online.thatsmags.com

And there you have it. Enough philosophical musings on the world of London dating to keep Carrie in Manolos for a good few months at least. Now hand me a Cosmo.

Thank you to Katy and Romy for their help with this one. I can't help but wonder if we've all watched too much Sex & the City...?!

The Prodigal Escapist Returns

OK, I dropped the ball. Apparently, I needed escapism from my blog about escapism.

I'd love to say that the absence of blog posts has, in fact, been the ultimate tribute to my subject matter... an ironic and postmodern exploration of escapism, if you will. But while that does me more justice than I deserve, it's not too far off the mark (however unintentional). Quite simply, I've been busy escaping!

January is often maligned as a dreary, long month of scrimping, saving, dieting and generally dealing with the fairly horrifying return of the full working week. But in retrospect, mine was OK. Largely thanks to friends, food, prosecco and my Christmas presents of box sets and an electric heater, I'd even go as far as to say I rather enjoyed it.

Fig and goat's cheese tart at the Imperial, King's Road

With the exception of the 5:2 diet, which only requires willpower for around a third of the week, I haven't really stuck to many of my half-hearted new year's resolutions (which included 'blog more'). And you know what? I'm not even sorry!

Here's what I've been doing instead so far this year, thus evading the January blues:

1. Blasting away the last of the food-induced lethargy with a walk on Holkham beach in Norfolk

 

2. Discovering the joys of Game of Thrones, Girls and, um, What Happens in Sunny Beach

3. Revelling after work at the new Piano Smithfield bar - then (regrettably) pestering the pianist for not taking my requests. 'Hey Mr Pianist, I've asked you three times....'

4. Playing endless rounds of Would You Rather... with my housemate (marrying the delightful 'Nips' from Sunny Beach features in rather a lot of these unthinkable dilemmas)

5. Discovering QuizUp, a highly addictive app that allows you to challenge your friends in any subject under the sun: so far I'm faring particularly well at Harry Potter, internet slang and, surprisingly, general knowledge. I am performing less well in the fields of botany and flags of the world. Challenge me if you dare!

6. Gazing awestruck at the incredible images at the Wildlife Photographer of the Year competition at the Natural History Museum.

Image: Essence of Elephants, Greg du Toit, Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2014

7. Learning a lot about how to - and how not to - casually interrupt celebrities' conversations at the National Television Awards. Bridget Jones' classic 'Do you know.... where the toilets are?' is a fail-safe.

8. Listening to my friend's rather lovely Spotify playlist, What Love Feels Like, including John Legend, The Wannadies, Audrey Hepburn and lots more.

9. Beating my terrible habit of avoiding life admin:  Proud moment #1, we finally took down the Christmas tree on 26th January, and even prouder moment #2, put up curtains in my bedroom after eight months without them (sorry, neighbours - show's over).

10. Reading Philomena for Book Club. It's the heartbreaking true story of a troubled Irish boy whose mother was forced to give him up, and the eye-opening future that awaited him in his new life in America. So, so good. And not at all like an episode of Long Lost Family.

11. Using my new Taste Card to get 50% off at all manner of random restaurants. Then thinking, screw it, and blowing the budget with fabulous (and very much full-price) dinners at Foxlow and the Modern Pantry - both in Clerkenwell and come highly recommended!

12. And while we're on food, I must mention a recent Saturday brunch of sourdough, grilled halloumi and crushed avocado, and the most refreshing orange juice ever squeezed, at the Imperial in Chelsea  followed by an epic riverside walk past the fairy lit Albert Bridge. Let's just ignore the sore feet and thunderstorm that followed.

13. Catching up on awards-season movies. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty in particular is perfect for the 'new year, new me' mentality, although beware - it may make you want to sack it all in and go on an adventure.

14. Speaking of which, much of the month has been spent planning imaginary visits to friends in New York, Africa, Dubai, New Zealand, Spain and Paris (chances of me affording to go on all of these said holidays? Zero).

15.  Wearing my friends down until they join the Anthony Nolan bone marrow register - and joining it myself of course. Genuinely, this is the most worthwhile thing I've done so far - if you're 16-30, go for it! Simple way to do your bit and, maybe one day, save a life.

16. Saying 'I feel like 2014 is going to be a good year!' A lot. And meaning it.

Image: Pinterest.com

So that's one month filled, eleven to go. Not all very inspirational or virtuous I'm afraid, but we've survived it - January is DONE.

 

But wait, what? It isn't spring yet? (Sorry, the premature blossom in Holland Park isn't fooling anyone). We've still got months of no-man's land, that void between seasons, before the daffodils, chicks and Easter Eggs arrive to make everything better again.

But on the plus side, we've got a brand new calendar to populate and endless possibilities of how to do it. And fortunately, we have the best city in the world to keep us entertained.