'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...)

Time well wasted: My favourite things on the internet

The internet has brought us many things including the good, the bad and the ugly; from identity theft  and Twitter trolls, to new relationships and long-lost family reunions.

But, perhaps most importantly, it's brought us this.

This is not a dog politely riding the train to work (it's actually not). But this image, and many others like it, is a pointless and yet oddly brilliant antidote to the daily grind. And there's plenty more where that came from...

1. Gizoogle

Fo' all y'all biotches who wanna find shiznit! Gizoogle translates (or 'tranzizzles') your own text or a website of your choice into gangster speak. Try writing all your correspondence today this way - your boss will love it! Or, should I say, "Try freestylin' all yo' lettas dis way todizzle. It make me wanna holla playa! Yo' crazy ass boss will ludd dat shit."

2. Ryan Gosling: HeyGirl.io

Need more Ryan Gosling in your life? The genius 'Hey Girl' app replaces every image in your browser with a smouldering, sensitive, impassioned or pensive picture of the Notebook star. That's right. No more selfies, babies or cupcakes dominating your Facebook news feed. No more disillusioned politicians greeting you on BBC News this morning.

Just lots and lots of pictures of Ryan. Which is how it should be, really.

3.  28 ways to make a meeting more interesting

This article originally appeared on The Guardian in the late nineties. With my finger firmly on the pulse of popular culture, I discovered it 12 years later.

Meetings were never the same again. I've dreamed endlessly of writing the words 'He fancies you' on my notepad and showing it to the person next to me while indicating with my pen. Or producing a hamster from my pocket and suggesting we throw it to one another as a means of idea-exchange.

This just does not get old.

4. TubeCrush

It's one of London's cruellest phenomena.  The hottest person you've ever seen, and quite possibly the love of your life, chooses your carriage to board. It can't be a coincidence. But then, after five stops on the Central Line, they wander off and are gone forever.

Pervs around the city have found a solution: TubeCrush, a site dedicated to capturing those fleeting moments on the London Underground. Next time you see a little iPhone peeking out over the top of Metro, you know you've been TubeCrushed.

The site has sparked controversy with its general creepiness and blatant double standards (imagine if there was a female equivalent!). But, boys, ask yourself this; what's the one thing worse than being on TubeCrush? That's right - not being on TubeCrush.

5. London Grumblr

LondonGrumblr is essential browsing for anyone who might need a daily reminder to see the funny side of London life.

Through the medium of animated GIFs, LondonGrumblr somehow manages to sum up all that irrational anger that Londoners share towards tourists, out-of-towners, commutes, Monday mornings, hangovers, £10 cocktails and cramped flats - and makes it something to be perversely proud of.

My all-time favourite Grumbles include:

• When I check my bank balance the morning after a 'few quiet drinks'
• When I fall asleep on the bus and miss my stop
• When my out of town friend wants to go to Oxford Street on a Saturday

Very, very funny, and very, very true.

If you could be anywhere in the world right now...

...where would you be?

Here: tree camping in Germany - from EyeHeartTravel

This is the ultimate question that my friend and former colleague (aka 'Little Legs') is famed for, and which she always times to perfection - like after she spots you getting one of those emails that makes you bang your forehead on the desk.

On sensing a moment of total mediocrity, she'll pipe up the immortal words, "If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

You would think it only served to highlight the depressing fact that we were in an air-conditioned office in King's Cross and, sadly, not on a multi-million dollar yacht in Cannes being served champagne cocktails. But somehow it always cheered me up; this simple question offered us a momentary escape and limitless possiblities - and then a grim chuckle at our comparatively mundane surroundings.

The only rule of this little game is that you have to really think about it and build a vivid picture of your scenario. No vague niceties like 'lying by a pool, somewhere hot', oh no. Little Legs demanded specifics - where exactly, what time of day, what are you eating and drinking, are you alone...? It takes serious thought; some days, you just want cosy. Other times, it's all about the sunshine, or the fresh air, or the food.

And as you'll see below, today has been one of those totally unremarkable days where this game really comes into its own...

7am, Shepherds Bush vs Greek island

I ignore my shuddersome iPhone alarm and wait until the last possible minute before forcing an eyelid open and braving the shower. I am on the ubiquitous 5:2 diet and today is a 'Fast Day', which means I can look forward to a meagre breakfast of instant coffee. On days like this, you've got to cheer yourself up anyway you know how; my housemate and I have taken to listening to Rebecca Black's Friday earlier and earlier in the week - Tuesday was a new low. :(

But if I could be anywhere in the world you say? Well, it's never too early for clichés, so I think I'd be waking up in a little blue-domed villa on a remote Greek island, with the golden sun streaming in and the turquoise sea lapping outside my window. When I can bear to leave my bed of soft white linen, what do you know, but a fully laden tray of breakfast (yoghurt, honey, fruit and freshly brewed coffee) has been delivered to my terrace by some charming Greek waiter. There's probably some ambient local music in the background (why is the only thing that springs to mind 'Zorba the Greek'?!). And maybe Ryan Gosling could be there too. Yes, he's there. In fact, it's him bringing me the breakfast.

9am, the Central line vs the Open Road

As all commuters know, it's a jungle out there. My usual razor-sharp rush hour tactics have failed to get me a seat on the way to work this morning, even after the mass exodus at Tottenham Court Road.  I've been well and truly played by some chancer who did the whole 'shuffle around with his bag' thing so it looks like he's about to vacate his seat, only to stubbornly stay put - meaning I miss out on a seat on the other side of the carriage. (Not cool, man).

It's no way to travel. Given the choice, right now I'd like to jack it all in and head out onto the open road in a vintage convertible, with a tank full of gas and a buddy who's come along for the ride - kind of like Thelma and Louise, without the crime spree. I can just picture the wind in our hair and the rocky horizon stretching out ahead of us, country music blaring out into the purple Santa Fe desert; the very definition of freedom, promise and optimism.

6pm, Liverpool Street office vs Moroccan courtyard

Everything starts to go wrong at work at about 5:15pm. I need somewhere peaceful and exotic - so where better than the oasis-like courtyard of an ornate riad in Marrakech? After a leisurely afternoon of shopping in the souk, I'd sip a fresh Moroccan peppermint tea to the faraway sound of the distant call to prayer and the trickling of the mosaic fountain.

10:30pm (now), my living room vs Goan beach bar

Actual snapshot of the view from our favourite beach bar in Goa!

Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm not sure I'm quite up for a Ibiza club or muddy festival tonight - it's been a big day what with the Greek island, the American road trip and the Moroccan courtyard. My inner old lady quite fancies curling up in front of the fire in my mum's cottage in Suffolk, and re-reading Harry Potter with the dog by my feet. But hey, I can do that for real in a couple of weeks. YOLO, as the kids say!

This is fantasy so I'm going to opt instead for a chilled out beach bar in Palolem, Goa, where I'd be sinking into the oversized cushions on the sand, getting happily drunk surrounded by lots of people without a care in the world. For this is a place where you plan your day spontaneously by the tides, the sun and your appetite, not the clock.

Can you tell I'm suffering from the 'first world problem' of holiday withdrawal symptoms? Apart from a few staycations, I have barely left London since my epic Indonesia trip a year ago. There are however worse places to have spent a year than this amazing city. In fact, somewhere on the other side of the globe right now, maybe someone is asking their friend the same question, 'If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?'. And maybe, just maybe, their answer is London.

www.willbartonphotography.com

Everything is illuminated: The Light Show

Image: Rose, by Ann Veronica Janssens, from telegraph.co.uk

Have you seen the sun? Apparently it's big, hot, round, and radiates a lot of light. Last seen in the UK around the time of the Royal Wedding in 2011.

If you find it, please return it at once and I will reward you handsomely with choc ices and Soltan. In the meantime, I would suggest that everyone visits The Light Show at the Hayward Gallery.

Hot on the heels of The Rain Room, the Light Show is this season's 'it' exhibition, selling out daily and receiving rave reviews from kids to critics alike.

The ability of light to transform your whole emotional state cannot be underestimated. Perhaps this is the key to the Light Show's unprecedented popularity; it turns out a lot of people want to escape the dark, grey and INSANELY COLD streets of London for a lighter, brighter and happier world.

If our eyes are indeed the windows to our souls, imagine the mood enhancing benefits of throwing open those windows and letting light flood in. Luminescent, colourful, dazzling, psycadelic light. It's really no wonder you leave this exhibition with that dizzy, uplifted (and slightly queasy) feeling that you get when you step off a rollercoaster.

Image; Chromosaturation, by Carlos Cruz-Diez, from telegraph.co.uk

Somehow all of the hype for the Light Show had completely eluded me before my own visit, so when a friend suggested it, I thought we were heading to an obscure, cool little exhibition on the South Bank.

What awaited us was a wildly popular, other worldly experience. The lacklustre afternoon daylight seemed lightyears away once we entered this impressive display of illusion and effects. The first exhibit (Cylinder II, below) is pure, unadulterated sparkle, like a giant Christmas decoration. I was hynotised.

Image: Leo Villareal, Cylinder II, 2012

Once you get past the initial spectacle, there is a lot more to these installations than meets the eye. I was particularly struck by some of the more subtle pieces, including Exploded View by Jim Campbell, which plays on our uncertainty of shadows. A web of little lights gently shimmers in seemingly random patterns - until you catch it at a particular angle and the effect takes on the unmistakably familiar shape of passing commuters on a street.

Another highlight was the solid 'cone' of light by artist Anthony McCall. We were awestruck as we stood inside his light sculpture, 'ripping' into the beams around us with our hands and staring, fixated, into the light at the end of the tunnel. "I feel like I'm about to meet my maker!" whispered a young woman next to us.

Image; You and I, Horizontal, by Anthony McCall, from guardian.co.uk

My absolute favourite thing at the Light Show was the somewhat stressful display of fountains in a strobe lit room, by Olafur Eliasson. Under the intensely flashing lights, the water makes random, unconnected shapes. You can feel the droplets on your face and yet the water looks solid, as though frozen mid-flight. (Don't touch the water though. They don't like that.)

By this point, my poor retinas had taken an absolute beating, never quite sure whether to dilate, contract or indeed to believe what is in front of them.

In my very humble, layman's opinion, there were just a couple of duds at the Light Show. I didn't quite get the little plastic cup, spinning around on a blender, with a torch shining onto it...

But overall, the exhibition is a spectacle for the senses which simply awes and inspires. Absolutely anyone would take enormous pleasure from this very accessible exhibition, and it could just be a lifesaver for light-starved Londoners this Spring.

The Light Show runs until 6 May 2013. Tickets are £11 (concessions available). Tip: Book tickets in advance, preferably not on a weekend! 

Animal cafés are coming to London

Image: from daveandcharlotte.com

Sometimes, an idea comes along that is so obvious, so genius, that you kick yourself for not coming up with it first. I am talking, of course, of the Sausage Dog Café. Just to clarify, this is definitely not some trendy new London eatery where the menu only consists of sausage dogs and champagne. (Bubbledogs, anyone?)

Until now I never quite knew what was missing from a typical café experience - the coffee, ambience and baked goods may all be quite excellent, but what would make it so much better? Sausage dogs, of course; dozing, playing and roaming free around the room. Have you ever walked past a sausage dog and not smiled? Exactly.

The Sausage Dog Café, planned to open in Brixton once enough funds have been raised, is set to be a haven for any stressed-out dog lovers who can't have a pet of their own, with plans to have a knitting corner, opportunities to take the dogs out for a walk and all the tasty treats you’d expect (including sausage rolls).

Image: Sex and the City, An American Girl in Paris (HBO.com)

This follows hot on the heels of the news that London's very first cat café is officially on its way to Shoreditch, inspired by Japan's plethora of cat cafés. Just last week, Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium reached its fundraising target of £109,000 and the dream is to become reality.

The popularity of the urban animal café is the latest manifestation of a universal truth that any self-respecting animal lover already knows: pets = escapism.

Pets are the ultimate antidote to our first world problems, blessed as they are with a trusting nature and an appreciation for the simple life. The best we could manage post-university was to buy two little dwarf hamsters, the late Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy; we would play with the little fellas as soon as we got in from work and enter an almost meditative state as they ran over our hands on the spot, like a mini-treadmill.

Mr Bingley was kind of a big deal

Animals can also immediately put you at ease  - in the same house, we used to watch YouTube clips of baby penguins whenever we were freaked out after watching a horror film. After 30 seconds of watching the penguins falling over and waddling around, any fears about ghosts or serial killers would be long-forgotten.

Even academic types have started to cotton on, with one Canadian university offering a 'puppy room' where students can take a few minutes between exams to de-stress with the furry friends. (Boris, please note - every London office, department store and tube carriage should have one of these as standard).

London life does not however lend itself well to pets, largely due to 9 to 5 jobs, no garden space and Cruella de Ville landlords. But when life gets stressful, Londoners need cuddle time - perhaps more than most.

Animal cafés like Lady Dinah's and the Sausage Dog Café will therefore offer the ultimate convenience for the city's 'generation rent' culture - part time pets, whose poo we do not need to deal with, but who we can be assured are being well looked after by the owners.

It's also great news for London's dating landscape. Animal-based activities, such as London Zoo and Mudchute Farm, can function as perfect quirky first date venues, so expect the new wave of animal cafés to be full of nervous couples, filling awkward silences with 'Oh look, that cat looks like Harry Styles!' or similar.

The rise and rise of the animal café began in Tokyo, where there are reportedly over 200 dog, cat, rabbit, reptile and even goat cafés. However it always seemed unlikely something like this could get off the ground here in the UK, where food standards and animal rights are quite rightly paramount.

Image: from pethealthinfo.org.uk

But thanks to successful crowd-fundraising campaigns, the pet cafés are on their way. And, reassuringly, the pioneers of both Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium and the Sausage Dog Café insist that their resident pets will be most loved on this planet, with both establishments complying by strict Animal Care Standards and Health and Safety laws.

Where will this craze end? After a day from hell, will a quick post-work puppy cuddle replace the need for a large glass of wine? It's certainly healthier. And, as long as we all remember that a dog is for life, not just a nice accompaniment to coffee, I am very much on board.

Make mine a Labrador.

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 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