Boybands are for life, not just for the Big Reunion

Happily, ITV have confirmed that this year's sleeper hit The Big Reunion will be returning for a second series.

A friend of mine and unlikely fan of the Big Reunion hit the nail on the head when he explained its irresistible appeal as 'combining the classic against-the-odds story arc of a Rocky film, with a soundtrack of forgotten 90s pop'.

Like an ageing Hollywood boxer/cop/bank robber who is "getting too old for this shit", one by one we meet exiled pop stars who, after a decade in the wilderness and against their better judgement, are persuaded to come out of their comfy retirement and return to their former life for One. Last. Job.

Battling their broken egos in search of closure and vindication, can they still cut it in this youth-obsessed music business, or have their fans simply moved on? Silly question; this motley crew, including 5ive, 911, Atomic Kitten and Blue amongst others, were welcomed back by millions of nostalgic viewers with open arms, and the tour sold out before you can say 'Five bad boys with the power to rock you'.

The concept made for a surprisingly emotional rollercoaster. There were tears. There were memories (or a lack thereof, in Abs' case, who "doesn't remember anythin' man"). There was laughter. And, oh my, there were TUNES.

We also learned a lot - Rich from 5ive has adopted a charming Australian accent. Spike from 911 "wasn't called Spike for no reason" and his pint-sized bandmate Lee is still heartbroken from an ill-fated marriage to Lindsay from B*Witched (who knew?). And, as it turns out, nearly everybody was wasted on SMTV Live.

But the show can only be as poptastic as its line-up. Apparently, the obvious candidates All Saints and Eternal have just given the producers a big fat 'no' to appearing in the second series. And in what we can only assume must be the desperate act of a panicked TV exec under pressure to confirm at least one name, ITV have reportedly signed Big Brovaz of dubious 'Favourite Things' fame.

Step in The London Escapist, speculative casting consultant and Saviour of the Big Reunion. As a child of the '90s and incurable pop fanatic, I've taken the liberty of putting together this fantasy line up for series two. Have I forgotten anyone?

BUSTED

ITV need at least one of the Big Guns to join season two, and Busted would be the ultimate coup, with high drama guaranteeed after a famously bitter 'bust' up.  Charlie Simpson, or 'Judas' as he is no doubt known to many girls my age, left Busted in 2005 in search of a credible music career that didn't involve the lyrics "I messed my pants, when we flew over France". He has always said that he would never, ever, ever get back together with Busted. Like, ever. And even if he could be persuaded, could Matt and James ever forgive him for nipping their careers in the bud?  Watch this space.

ANOTHER LEVEL

Dane Bowers. Enough said.

SAVAGE GARDEN

OK, so it's debatable whether Darren Hayes and, er, the other one would provide any dramatic value to the Big Reunion. Indeed, I have literally no idea when, how or why Savage Garden split. But this one's all about the music. If you ever cried to Truly Madly Deeply or believed the lyrics to Affirmation were a mantra for life,  you'll know what I'm talking about.

O-TOWN 

Rumour has it there's at least one US group in the mix for the next season. Assuming it's not The Great N'Sync, there is a clear second choice: O-Town, whose biggest hit was a creepy but catchy song about wet dreams. Liquid Dreams was so wrong... but so right.

A1

Poor A1. After the camp extravaganza of Summertime of Our Lives and the a few unexpected number one hits, they were riding high. But all record company execs know it's the beginning of the end when  boybands decide to chop off their glossy curtains and go 'indie'. A1 experimented with guitars on their last album - and were never to be seen again. In my humble opinion, this era was responsible for some of their finer, lesser-known material ('Caught in the Middle' was emotional). But the label bigwigs clearly disagreed and A1 slipped out of the limelight quietly somewhere around the early noughties. Seems like they're ripe for a comeback...

BLAZIN' SQUAD

Oh I went there. Now surely pushing 30, the ludicrously named Kenzie, Krazy, Melo D, Reepa, Spike-E, Slutty D and poor old 'Freek' would fill the 'bad boy' gap left by 5ive in the Big Reunion. Imagine, if you will, the whole gang together again, serenading you with their heartfelt ode to a certain sexual act, Flip Reverse It. Those Big Reunion Tour tickets would sell themselves... probably.

GIRLS...?

I suppose I should pick some girlbands - particularly if we want to see any budding romances on the show. But with All Saints and Eternal out of the picture, and the Spice Girls already having reunited twice, we might be scraping the barrel. Alicia's Attic could be fun or, even better, could we just form a supergroup out of Billie Piper, Samantha Mumba and Jamelia...?

So there you have it; a veritable dream team of pop nostalgia. Of course, we're far more likely to be saddled with the likes of Northern Line, Cleopatra, One True Voice, Hear'Say and Big Brovas. But, as the wise S Club 7 once said: reach for the stars.

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.

Fifty Shades of Escapism: this year's holiday reads

Escapism, for me, could just as easily be listening to a bit of Schubert at my desk as watching back-to-back episodes of The Bachelor on Sky Plus. High culture and trash culture take me to very different places but both have a special place in my heart, and this is why I have long objected to the idea of a hierarchy of tastes.

So with that in mind, I gave myself a well-rounded reading list of novels for my holiday which consisted of the beautiful, the silly, the classic and the downright filthy - starting, of course, with Fifty Shades of Grey.

My only criteria for a holiday read, as opposed to something to read on the Tube, is that it should, above all else, be a page-turner.

Risks should be avoided. Your much-needed two week break is no time to be forcing yourself to read something that doesn't make you want to whip it out at every pause in the conversation. A holiday read should, like everything else you do on the trip, feel like pure indulgence. (This does not necessarily always correlate to a well-written book, as I discovered...).

With the right book on holiday, you can have a truly multi-sensory reading experience, with your enjoyment of the book being enhanced by the feeling of the sun on your skin, the breeze in the palm trees and the perfume of exotic flowers in the air. With the wrong book, you’ll end up reading your friend’s dog-eared magazine for the seventh time while listening to the loud Aussies on the adjacent sunloungers discussing where they’re going to have dinner.

1. Fifty Shades of Grey, EL James

Michael Fassbender: my perfect Christian Grey (albeit slightly older than Christian's 27 years)

When I left for Indonesia, Fifty Shades of Grey was a very popular book that most girls I know had either read or planned on reading. I'm not quite sure what happened in the interim, but on my return, it seemed it had actually taken over the world. (My favourite headline so far is a toss-up between ‘Peter Andre to pen male version of Fifty Shades of Grey’ and 'Boyfriend squirted partner with brown sauce after she refuses to stop reading Fifty Shades of Grey').

The culprit of the brown sauce incident needn't have worried. This is hardly sexually liberating erotica that will lead a generation of women into a kinky underworld;  sorry boys, but this is pure romance. With props.

You probably all know the story. Beautiful, tortured billionaire Christian Grey whisks idiotic unworldly student Anastasia Steele off her feet and showers her with lavish gifts. However there are obstacles; he has a Red Room of Pain and stalkerish tendencies (but that’s OK, because he’s attractive) and likes to hit women with things. After a lot of soul-searching, eye-rolling, lip-biting, earth-shattering and palm-twitching, Ana decides that, yes, he can hit her with things.

Of course, the writing is appalling. Sometimes, perhaps at the 64th mention of Ana’s 'inner goddess' (no exaggeration) or her observations such as, 'his sweatpants hang… in that way', you wonder if the whole thing is a big joke. Annoyingly, I even caught myself mirroring her inane internal monologues, exclaiming ‘Holy cow!’ and ‘Double crap!’ to myself at various points during the holiday.

But, beyond rime or reason, Fifty Shades is bizarrely addictive and I defy you not to get caught up in it. It provided us hours of fun on the beach as we read aloud some of the more ridiculous lines and debated who will play the immortal Christian Grey in the film. (I’d be keen to see Alexander Skasgard, Ryan Philippe, or ideally a young Michael Fassbender, but I appreciate the latter may be unrealistic…). Like it or loathe it, my brand new copy was literally falling apart and missing several pages after my two friends and I had each raced through the novel, and now looks embarrassingly well-thumbed.

The appeal here is the potent combination of classic Cindarella romance, a relentless stream of constant sex scenes and a ridiculous amount of hype. Who isn’t powerless to resist? If you haven’t already, stop fighting your curiosity and come join the club; read it, have fun and then bitch about it afterwards. As Ana herself says, "this is wrong... but holy hell is it erotic."

Actual rating: 2/10
Holiday read rating: 8.5/10

2. The Making of Us, Lisa Jewell

The Making of Us is a good old ‘Richard and Judy Book Club’ style novel, bought in haste from Waterstones thanks to the cover, which is plastered with praise from fairly reliable sources.

This is the uplifting tale of three lost souls who discover they all share the same sperm-donor father, who is now terminally ill. It was a relief to find real, three-dimensional characters and to discover that I could still feel real emotion, after my brain got such a spanking during Fifty Shades of Grey. I even shed real tears during this book, which I sailed through in a couple of days.

It’s an undemanding yet satisfying read, which I certainly enjoyed at the time and found myself caring about the complex characters, but now looking back I feel kind of ‘meh’ about it. It was lovely but forgettable; not the kind of book that leaves you feeling bereft when you finish, like the classic beach reads so often do (I'm really talking about One Day - I still miss Em and Dex).

Actual rating: 7/10
Holiday rating: 7/10

3. Hollywood Divorces, Jackie Collins

Hurrah, we're back to the filth!

Although a less experienced reader of trashy novels may assume they are all on a similarly low par, I can say wholeheartedly that as with any genre, there is good trash, and there is bad trash.

And with Jackie Collins - the undisputed Queen of the Bonkbuster - you are in excellent hands. She has been writing her inimitable stories of sex, scandal, fame and revenge for five decades and counting.

Ever since I picked up Hollywood Wives in a second hand book shop in India four years ago, no holiday has been complete without a Jackie Collins novel.

I’m not sure I should admit how many of her books I’ve now read, but each of them has been ridiculously entertaining and expertly paced. Invariably, there’s a superstar with a seedy past and/or a bitter vendetta against another Hollywood A-lister, plus at least three subplots that all collide in a dramatic showdown at a premiere.

Her finest work is definitely the old-school 1970s and '80s novels such as Hollywood Wives and The World is Full of Married Men, where lines such as ‘she’s a tough old broad...’ don’t seem quite so out of place.

This year’s choice, Hollywood Divorces, seems to be set around in the early noughties if the cultural references to Britney and Justin are anything to go by. The main character 'Lola Sanchez' – a ruthless Latina diva with a penchant for bad boys – is unashamedly based on Jennifer Lopez, and it’s fun to spot other thinly veiled portrayals of famous names.

Saying that, Hollywood Divorces probably wasn’t quite up to the usual gold standard of vintage Jackie Collins (usually there's at least one vaguely likeable character), but it was still my most enjoyable read of the holiday. With at least 20 more of her books still to get through, I think I’m sorted for the next few trips.

Actual rating: 4/10
Holiday read rating: 9/10 (The winner!)

4. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez

As our holiday drew to a close, I thought I would finish with something noble, epic and firmly on my list of 'must reads'. I found this weather-beaten copy of Love in the Time of Cholera in a book lender's shop on Gili Trawangan in Indonesia and put down the deposit of 100,000 rupiah (about £7).

Three weeks later, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon on the Piccadilly Line, I finally finished it. This is a stunning piece of literature that completely immerses you in the sights, smells and sounds of turn of the century Columbia, and is quite unlike anything I've read before. But it's not one that hooks you from the first page or that can be raced through in between snorkelling and cocktails. Having not even reached the halfway point during our time on the Gilis, I sacrificed my deposit so I could find out whether hopeless romantic Florentino Ariza finally got his girl, Fermina Daza, after sixty years of unrequited love.

With its dense, lush, lyrical prose and very little dialogue, I realised that Love in the Time of Cholera had been somewhat missold as 'one of the greatest love stories of all time'. If that is what you are expecting, you may be disappointed; this is the slow, gradual unfolding of a lifetime of obsessive love, and as the novel approaches its climax, our romantic hero has become elderly, bald, toothless, sickly and has slept with more than 600 women.

But if you take your time and appreciate it in the way you would study a painting, for example, the language and insights on life and love can take your breath away. On several occasions, I came across a sentence so beautifully observed that I had to fold the corner down of the page so I could read it again and again: 

"Tell him yes. Even if you are dying of fear, even if you are sorry later, because whatever you do, you will be sorry all the rest of your life if you say no."

Or how about: 

"It is incredible how you can be happy for so many years, in the midst of so many squabbles, so many problems, damn it, and not really know if it was love or not." 

How this can even be judged against the book that brought us the immortal words "He's my very own Christian Grey flavoured Popsicle" is of course an outrage, but those are the rules. If we are comparing these two books based on their beach read factor and page-turnability, I'm afraid there's a clear winner...

Actual rating: 9/10
Holiday read rating: 4/10

Today I am ... Katy Perry

Image from popdirt.com

Inspired by Francis Boulle's recent 'What would Jesus do?' pep talk on Made in Chelsea, I realised that a lot of problems in life could be resolved with this alternative mantra - what would Katy Perry do?

True, the American Christians might have disowned her, she's not the world's best singer and not all of her decisions have ended brilliantly (I'm still rooting for a reunion with Russell). But to me, Katy Perry is like a modern-day Spice Girl and/or real-life Wonder Woman, so I think you could certainly do a lot worse than channelling your inner K-Pez when facing life's ups and downs.

Case in point: Katy's Sesame Street appearance was sensationally pulled from the show after her cleavage was deemed too prominent by the boob police. How does Katy react? Not by hiding away, apologising or kicking off on Twitter, but to laugh it off by appearing on Saturday Night Live in a snug, boob-faced Elmo t-shirt.

Image from Glamour.com

Image from nydailynews.com

Boy or girl, old or young, I think at times we could all do with putting on an imaginary Katy Perry wig and adopting some of her trademark confidence and humour.

What would Katy Perry do...?

After a rubbish week at work

 

Last Friday Night (TGIF), from popdirt.com

If, at 5pm on a Friday, you find yourself making excuses to go straight home and lament your terrible day, think of Katy Perry's immortal words: 'TGIF.'

You're only young once, and Katy knows that what you really need is an awesome college-style 'pardy' to see the week off in style. After you've been kicked out of the bars, go streaking in the park and skinny dipping in the dark... Then do it all again.

When you're hungover

10am, the following morning. Is there a pounding in your head? A stranger in your bed? Glitter all over the room?

Well, stop complaining. Katy is hardcore. Halfway through a recent concert she became ill, having to be sick repeatedly offstage between songs and then getting back out there in front of tens of thousands of people.

This particular incident wasn't self-inflicted, but if you've ever had to pretend you're not hungover, you'll know how she felt.

But, as Katy would say, 'Shut up and put your money where your mouth is, that's what you get for waking up in Vegas'. In British, this roughly translates as heave yourself out of bed, have a shower, cup of tea and a fry-up and then get back on it.

After a career setback

Katy erupts into a Firework in the official video. From metro.co.uk

Katy had it spot on when she compared those days of self-doubt with feeling 'like a plastic bag blowing in the wind'. With metaphor-tastic Firework, she gave us the ultimate self-empowerment anthem which has the ability to extinguish any trace of insecurity.

KP was nearly dropped by her record label and dubbed a one hit wonder after her subsequent singles failed to replicate the success of I Kissed a Girl, but she bounced back to release a relentless stream of monster hit singles which saw her arguably surpass even her co-members in the holy trinity of girl pop, Lady Gaga and Rihanna.

So when the chips are down, you'd never catch Katy Perry calling herself a failure. Just belt out 'Baby you're a firework' and remember there's still a spark in you somewhere - you've just got to find and ignite it, and you too shall be the comeback queen (or king).

When you fall in love with a bad boy?

Part of Me, Katy Perry. From popdirt.com

There's no place for neuroses in the school of WWKPD. If you find yourself with a Russell Brand character, don't torture yourself thinking about their past - follow Katy's example and chill out, have fun, be yourself and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts. Realising he's met his match, he'll soon be declaring his love from the rooftops and planning a romantic Indian wedding involving elephants.

After the inevitable break up with said bad boy (sorry), look once again to Katy Perry if you want a masterclass on how to emerge with all your sparkle intact.

Instead of the reliable combo of wine, ice cream and tears, Katy's first move after her break up with Russell was to hack her hair off and join the Marines in the video for Part of Me (possibly my worst nightmare). In real life she dyed her trademark black hair into an ever-changing rainbow of pastel shades.

Either way, an empowering hair-related gesture seems to be the running theme.

And once it's off your chest, it certainly doesn't do any harm to be innocently 'spotted' in the loving arms of the Florence + the Machine guitarist.

A final point...

From beautyeditor.ca

No-one can quite decide if Katy Perry is a feminist heroine or villainess; there's no doubting that she trades in sexuality - but I'd argue that there's a big difference between a baby-oiled, surgically enhanced glamour model on a beach and Katy Perry's unique, unashamed brand of fun, camp, girl-friendly sexual confidence.

If Katy's videos were purely about titillating men, I'm not sure she'd have the global army of female fans who want to be her 'BFF'.

It's because, contrary to popular belief, most girls don't object to another girl being hot - it is the homogeneity of what's deemed to be sexy, and girls who dress to fit that mould rather than for themselves, that is annoying. Unlike many others, Katy is (gasp) pale, voluptuous, and appears to be in control of her image, using her outlandish costumes to pay tribute to whatever she fancies, be it burlesque pin-ups, hippies, cowgirls, goths, superheroes or baked goods.

Whatever she wears or does, it seems to be because she's having fun and wants to be wearing or doing it - and it shows.

Katy once said: "Honey, I am the chief of my train. If critics want to hop on board, fantastic. There's plenty of room. The KP train is fun."  I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I think I'll take a one-way ticket aboard the KP train.

Today I am ... my fancy dress alter-ego

Image: Gossip Girl, cwtv.com

Fancy dress is no longer just a pastime for seven year-olds; as times get tougher, more and more people feel the temptation to withdraw from humdrum reality and become someone else for the night.

I always think the best nights are when you feel as though anything could happen; from Freshers Week ice-breakers to debauched masquerades, outlandish costumes have the power to make you feel uninhibited and anonymous, transforming a great party into an unforgettable one.

Here are my top five fancy dress alter-egos from the last few years...

1. Victorian courtesan: Belle Epoque Party, London, Halloween 2011

 

Image: Victorian courtesan Carolina La Belle Otero, from halloftheblackdragon.com

I wore a steel-boned corset for the first time at London's hedonistic Belle Epoque party, and it was a revelation. As soon as I was laced into the borrowed 'Cadbury purple' corset, I felt like Dita Von Teese on a night out in bohemian Montmartre. It was my waist, but not as I knew it. (Breathing schmeathing...)

Add to this a bustling, black lace skirt from Burleska Boutique in Stables Market, Camden, a beaded choker, fingerless lace gloves and a fascinator, and I was ready to dance with the green fairy all evening. The final accessory? A glass of absinthe, served in the traditional Moulin Rouge fashion with a sugar cube and spoon.

2. German beermaid: Bavarian Beerhouse Old Street / Winter Wonderland / a London Tube Station Party, 2010-12

Image: Bavarian Beerhouse, Old Street, from bavarian-beerhouse.co.uk

Prost! Choosing a Germain beermaid costume for a birthday party at the Bavarian Beerhouse in Old Street may have been misjudged given that the bar was full of lairy frat boys, and waitresses in identical outfits. Cue an onslaught of sausage inneundoes, revellers stopping me and asking for rounds of Jaegermeisters, and an impromptu table-top dance off with a rugby team.

Nevertheless, my bavarian alter-ego has served me well, with appearances at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park and a Tube Station themed house party in Clapham (as 'Maida Vale').

3. The Virgin Mary: Suffolk, Christmas Eve 2011

 

Those familiar with high school movies of the early noughties will recall the Mean Girls 'Slut Rule' of fancy dress ("Halloween is the one night of the year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything. The hardcore girls just wear underwear and some form of animal ears").

However that rule is now liberally applied to Christmas as well (how long until Easter?), and 'Sexy Santa' has become the ubiquitous Christmas fancy dress costume of choice in recent years.

Last Christmas Eve however, I had something rather more virginal in mind. After years of losing out on the role to other girls in our primary school Nativity plays, I was finally going to be Mary.

To create the baby Jesus, I purchased a plastic baby doll and an 'it's my birthday' badge, and fashioned some swaddling from a pillow case. I wore a blue Grecian style dress and long blue scarf over my head, and carried my baby Jesus around like a bizarre clutch bag. 

One or two bleary eyed partygoers were downright horrified, thinking I had actually brought my real life baby on a raucous night out in DeNiros, which holds the dubious honour of being 'Suffolk's biggest nightclub'. That poor baby Jesus has seen some terrible sights... 

4. Medeival king: Halloween party, Newcastle, 2007

 

In hindsight, we should have known better than to turn up at a fancy dress shop on Halloween afternoon on the day of our house party. Between my housemates and I, we scraped the fancy dress barrel and accepted whatever was left in the shop - which included an M&M, a nun and a medieval king.

I drew what was arguably the short straw (my friend the M&M may beg to differ), and donned the hooded crown and long sleeved, full-length red robe with white fur trim, complete with a regal staff/poking device.

It may not have been my first choice, but I nobly took on my kingly duties and had a royally good time. Long Live the King.

5. Geisha: 'Around the world' party, Newcastle, 2008

 

A pale face stands out like a beacon in Newcastle, where any self-respecting Geordies - male or female - are bronzed to perfection at all times (the sun always shines in Whitley Bay).

So I was greeted with confusion and concern on an 'around the world' themed university reunion, as I entered Tiger Tiger with a face as porcelain-white as a snowy morning. I may have lacked the grace and serenity of a true geisha, but I completed the illusion with jet black liquid eyeliner and bright red lips, a floral black and red dress, and a beautiful parasol that my friend had brought back from Japan. Miraculously, my 'giant cocktail umbrella' even made it home with me.

So what's next? 

 

Image: 1940s Dance, from msasuperfunweekend.com

Firmly on my to-do list are the Blitz Party in Shoreditch, for a night of 'swing bands, sand bags and glad rags', and the Gatsby-esque Prohibition Party to recapture the illicit pleasures of 1920s speakeasies...

And if there's ever an occasion to wear this rather fetching 'man-eating shark' costume from the recently resurrected fancy dress shop at Clapham Junction, I'm there.

Image: Man-eating shark, from partysuperstores.com

Today I am ... at war with winter

Back in February, snow blizzards did their best to thwart our summer-themed house party. But the big freeze didn't put a dampener on proceedings, oh no. Like true Brits, our nearest and dearest gallantly put on their shorts, sunglasses and beach wear and braved the elements for the promise of fun in the sun.

The lilting beats of Will Smith and Shaggy floated invitingly out into the frosty street, and once inside, our shivering guests were transported to a beach paradise. We covered our whole house in seaside wallpaper (two months later, we have absolutely no intentions of removing it), inflatable palm trees and flamingos, and for our piece de resistance, concocted a lethal vat of tropical rum punch.

Anyway it seems the Macarena may have had some kind of pagan sun-dance effect, as just a couple of weeks after the party, the whole of London was bathed in an early spring. Cherry blossom, daffodils and blue skies ahoy.*

By March, every patch of grass was crammed with city slickers and students catching the lunchtime rays and the tantalising smell of barbeques drifted over garden fences across London. As for me, I wiled away the sunny weekends in Kew Gardens, South Bank and St James Park, watched 6 Nations rugby matches on big screens in The Castle's beer garden and had my first Pimms of the season.

Kew Gardens, March 2012

And now, winter, my old foe, it seems we meet again. Unbelievable pictures of snow-blanketed Edinburgh, Newcastle and Sheffield are being posted threateningly by our friends in the north as the cold weather advances.  Surely it's only a matter of time before the frosty invasion reaches London.

Only this time, you will be prepared. Arm yourself and your loved ones with the below - and together, we can send the big freeze packing...

The drink: Tropical rum punch (serves a crowd!)

3 bottles of white rum (you heard me)
1 bottle of Malibu
2 cartons mango juice
4 cartons tropical juice
1 bottle of cloudy lemonade
A load of chopped fruit (we used strawberries, mangos, apples, lemons and limes)
Ice
Put the chopped fruit in the biggest saucepan or tub you have. Pour in the rum so the fruit soaks up some of the alcohol. Leave for 5-10 minutes and then add the rest!

Serve with cocktail umbrellas, naturally.

The tunes:

Now, my original playlist for the party is over 7 hours long (it's fair to say I got a bit carried away - my pop knowledge is a Pandora's box to be opened at your peril).

But if you don't have the stamina for the full party-thon, here are a few personal highlights that should keep the winter blues at bay...

 

 

 

*There's a small chance this phenomenon could also have been due to the 'seasons' - but I really think it was the Macarena.

Today I am ... totes amaze, babes

Photo credit: Channel 4

Yes! The ultimate guilty pleasure, Made in Chelsea, is back on our screens. Your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Chelsea's elite, to borrow from a famous fictional blogger.

Some initial observations... Proudlock, who bears an increasingly striking resemblance to Princess Di, appears to be sporting some sort of special church earring. Hugo's underwear model 'girlfriend' is alarmingly vacant, even next to Millie (who I am very fond of).

What I love most about Made in Chelsea is that this is accessible escapism -  living a just a 2 minute (chauffer driven) ride over the river from the motherland of The Kings Road, it's all too tempting to find myself wandering into the 'set' in between episodes to get my fix. Maybe even playing M83's Midnight City on my headphones while walking around pensively and flicking my hair, waiting for enemies and exes to 'coincidentally' walk by.

Photo credit: homesandproperty.co.uk

Seeing cast members seems to be a rite of passage for anyone living in South West London, but me being blind as a bat and having taken an aversion to my glasses, I seem to be the only one who has failed to spot any of them in person. Word on the (Sloane) street is that my personal favourites Jamie and Ollie are surprisingly small...

There is however one character in particular who, until last night's episode, I have found myself strangely drawn to and have been especially keen to spot, since he was promoted to the number 1 in my weird crush list... the one and only Francis Boulle. Since moving to London, I have on odd occasions unwittingly found myself in Public and Boujis, but somehow the bumbling, skateboarding, ginger extraordinaire has managed to elude me so far.

I don't know if it's the cutting wit ("I am edgy. I have lots of...edges") or the dashing looks and large hands, as seen in his now infamous portrait.

Image credit: CarolinedePeyrecave.co.uk

After getting through three quarters of last night's episode, and the awkwardly sexy CEO of Boulle Enterprises still nowhere to be seen, he finally materialises at Gabilicious's boob reduction party. But any momentary joy is swiftly shattered when he utters the words: "I prefer small boobs. Everyone should get a boob reduction."

Oh Francis. Disheartened and looking down at my 34E's, I realise we are not destined for one another after all. Your loss Boulle, I'm setting my sights on another posh ginger. ACTUAL Prince Harry was spotted crossing the Chelsea threshold this weekend, staggering out of a bar at the top of my road in Battersea and dancing in the street. (How long til Hazza pops up in Made in Chelsea? Make this happen!)

With the most eligible man in Britain wandering around my neighbourhood at 3am, princesshood doesn't seem quite so elusive... as long as he's not another bottom man.