The parties I wish I'd gatecrashed

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

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

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

What makes (or breaks) a party?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mad Hatters Tea Party

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

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

The Great Cheese Party of 1837

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

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

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

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

The Hangover

The Hangover (2009), Warner Bros

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

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

Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens

Image from vauxhallgardens.com

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

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

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

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

Netherfield Ball, Pride and Prejudice

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

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

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

'Parents are out of town' teen parties

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas!

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

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

An evening at Evans & Peel Detective Agency

www.evansandpeel.com

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

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

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

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

The office: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

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

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

The bar: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

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

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

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

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

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

detective@evansandpeel.com

Today I am ... dreaming of Indonesia

Forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been nearly four weeks since my last blog post. Tut tut. But it was all in the name of research. Your author has been on the ultimate escapist's adventure to the other side of the globe; the tropical paradise of Bali, Lombok and the Gili Islands.

And - although even the most remote of island beach cafes now carry hand-painted signs boasting of their WiFi access (my, how times have changed since my travelling days) - had I blogged from there, I would be inclined to say I hadn't quite grasped the true meaning of escapism.

I love London but I think sometimes we're all guilty of forgetting what a comparatively small, grey dot the city actually is in relation this huge, colourful, beautiful outside world. And on this trip, I remembered how simple it is to escape.

For my friends and I, it was simply a case of booking a flight on a whim as we passed STA Travel one Sunday afternoon a few months ago.  Three months and 17 hours later, I had completely switched off. It was that easy. It's amazing how quickly you adjust to a world where your most stressful decision is whether to order nasi goreng (fried rice) or mie goreng (fried noodles).

During our three weeks away, we saw three totally different ways of life, each of which is a world away from my life in London; here's how we embraced the Luxurious, the Backpacker, and the Cultural Indonesia...

Cultural

Bali may be the most commercialised of the three islands we visited, but venture inland to Ubud and the surrounding areas and you'll still find a culture rich with tradition and heritage. Within the artists' town of Ubud you'll be spoiled for choice with stunning temples, Indonesian cookery classes, local galleries, yoga classes and forest treks aplenty. But the real treats are buried deep in the countryside. Arrange to stay with a local family in one of the island's many friendly, cheap homestays. Most just offer bed and breakfast, but in the village where we stayed (Wayan's Bali Homestay), we must have been the only Westerners for miles, and we were whole-heartedly embraced into the community, where Wayan's grandmother, father and grown-up children all still live in neighbouring houses.

This is the real deal; the village is buzzing by 7am but by then, the cockerels and dogs outside your window will, like you, have already been up for hours. Wayan and his wonderful family gave us Balinese makeovers, home-cooked local specialities, took us on a walk to see daily life in the rice paddies and invited us to the cremation of an elderly relative, a colourful and communal affair attended by the whole village. On an island which in parts is fast becoming Australia's answer to the Costa del Sol, it was inspiring to see such a simple, old-fashioned way of life where home, family and community still come first.

Luxurious

Saying that, there's only so long three girls on holiday can share a cold shower with an entire extended family. Craving an authentic and sociable holiday experience, I had some initial reservations (no pun intended) about staying in luxurious, honeymooner-friendly hotels. However as I reclined on our futon in a silky hotel dressing gown and poured myself a free vodka from the complimentary decanter in our room, I realised I could probably make my peace with fresh, clean towels, open-air baths under the stars and complementary sunset massages...

The trick was to alternate the hotel stays in between the more basic accommodation, so we preserved that childlike excitement when we arrived at our villa and dived into the oversized beds like Macauley Culkin in Home Alone 2 (great film).

We felt like celebrities when we rocked up at eco-friendly Uma Ubud in the lush, green highlands of Ubud, Bali, a boutique collection of tranquil villas. Our backpacks and girly screams ('Oh my god, the shower!') quickly blew our cover of being seasoned five star globe-trotters.

Quinci Villas in Lombok was rather less subtle, looking straight out of the Elle travel pages with a blinging infinity pool overlooking the private beach - the perfect place to catch up on missed tanning hours from our time in the Bali homestay.

And finally, 24 hours at the Chedi Club in Bali have now ruined me for life. Our night in heaven was an early birthday gift for my friend, courtesy of her mum (thanks Mrs Cooper!). This is the kind of place I could have only dreamt of staying; an intimate, secluded retreat hidden in the middle of the rice paddies, with its own lotus pond and family of black swans.

Again, we may have disturbed the serenity of the environment with our enthusiasm. This was the last night of the holiday before our flight back to reality. Not knowing when, if ever, I would return to a hotel like this in my lifetime, we were on a mission to make the most of it. We dutifully slathered our weather-beaten skin and hair with the hotel's indulgent products, filled our bags with snacks and cans from the free mini-bar, got our laundry done and enjoyed the free afternoon tea in the aviary. They practically had to drag us from there to the airport kicking and screaming.

Backpacker 

And then there was Gili Trawangan - party island paradise. There are no cars, just horse and carts, but best of all - it was here that we found the one, elusive thing that had evaded us for much of the trip: People! Who weren't all couples!

Not that I didn't love our 'romantic' candle-lit dinners for three, but we were so ready for the Gilis by the time we arrived. The main beach on Gili Trawangan is picture perfect, and full of decent beach huts which you don't need to book in advance (watch out for the cockroaches though). The turquoise sea is full of turtles, clownfish and lots more, just waiting to be discovered.

Attracting Aussie surfers, Indonesian reggae enthusiasts, Singaporean girls-on-tour and a LOT of divers, Gili T is rather like I imagine Koh Tao in Thailand might have been a decade ago; rustic and ramshackle, but lively and exciting.

The famous party nights (Monday, Wednesday and Friday) took me back to my University days, where you knew exactly which bar to head to on each night of the week. And rather like Freshers Week, the people you meet on the first night will continue to haunt you for the rest of your trip, popping up in restaurants, the sea, maybe even your flight home.

This is a tiny island, which you can easily walk or cycle around (we opted for renting bicycles, the first time I've been on one since I was about 12. It's not true what they say about never forgetting how to ride one). And after six nights on Gili T - the longest we spent anywhere during our trip - it is also the place I found hardest to say goodbye to.

Back to reality

It was quite a culture shock emerging from the tube station at rush hour like a confused time-traveller, after our epic flight home. In my maxi-dress and backpack, I walked back to my flat against a tide of commuters and drizzle. The next day, it was back to business as usual. 

I wouldn't say I've had post-holiday blues; it's more of a post-holiday daze which I still haven't quite snapped out of. Did it really all happen? Was it just a dream? Then I notice the sand still in my wallet and smile. My battle wounds of straplines, bites and bruises may be fading, but as long as we've got the memories, we'll always have Indonesia.

Today I am ... at a lunchtime disco

The entrance to Drink, Shop & Dance, based in a former sex shop on Caledonian Road

A visit to London's only daytime disco was only ever going to go one of two ways; awkward sober dancing with colleagues, or a mad, surreal slice of fun to start the weekend early.

After hearing about the monthly Lunchtime Disco at Drink, Shop & Dance (what's not to love about that name) and championing it enthusiastically at work, I recruited a small gang of curious friends to join me in this 'social experiment' on payday Friday last week.

We were greeted by a neon Adult Erotica sign as we walked down the garish red staircase into Drink, Shop & Dance (the naughtier, underground alter-ego of cute and quirky café Drink, Shop & Do on Caledonian Road).  At this point I felt a little sheepish as my colleagues wondered what kind of event I had brought them to, but any dance party that operates a BYOS (bring your own sandwich) policy has got to be worth a try, so in we went.

The erotica sign is actually a genuine memento from the club's former life as a sex shop, which is also hinted at by the peep holes in the walls, through which you can admire vintage pin ups. It was a stroke of genius to leave these up as ghosts of the club's chequered past, adding to the speakeasy-esque sense of taboo and intrigue.

Once inside, the atmosphere was in fact rather innocent and welcoming; the disproportionately female clientele were predominantly fun, friendly girls in pretty dresses who fancied a lunchtime micro-boogie (good news for any single men in the Kings Cross area), and most of the action centred around a disco ball and a giant foam sandwich. Jess Indeedy, the founding DJ of the Lunchtime Disco, explained to us that she designed the sandwich especially so it would be super-light enough for revellers to inevitably pick it up and dance with it - and who were we to deny the sandwich of its sole purpose in life?

Dancing with a giant foam sandwich

The club itself is fun and dramatic, with sumptuous candlesticks and sweeping curtains alongside mismatched second hand furniture and 1980s boomboxes stuck to the wall, and the cocktail list is a thing of wonder with over 30 boutique gins and infusions.

Boutique gins at Drink, Shop & Dance. Image from squaremeal.co.uk

Pre-1pm, the vibe felt more like a chilled weeknight in a funky gin house than an all-singing, all-dancing disco. However we needn't have worried; there's only so long you can stay sat down while the amazing Jess Indeedy cracks out the kitsch 80s pop (including Shake Shake Señora and Madonna's Holiday) from her DJ booth atop a piano.

With some of our group only having ten minutes to spare, we quickly threw our inhibitions to the wind and cracked out the classic moves, including the sprinkler, the 'putting on the trousers', the shopping trolley, the 'floppy arm' move and my new favourite, the Chinook.

Half an hour later, when our group was down to just me and one friend, the whole room was suddenly buzzing and everyone was on their feet throwing shapes and taking turns posing with the sandwich. It attracted a lovely crowd who seemed to be in high spirits, feeling a little naughty, and just wanting to squeeze as much joy as they could out of their lunch break before going back for the last unproductive leg of the week.

DJ Jess Indeedy

Luckily for me, I wasn't going back to work. With a friend visiting from afar, I'd booked the afternoon off and we enjoyed that brilliantly liberating feeling of being tipsy in the daytime while everyone else is at work.

We indulged our munchies with a slightly hazy trip to Borough Market, where we had wild boar sausages and impulse purchased Gruyere and prosecco, before meeting friends at the Old Thameside Inn where we sat outside by the river as the sun went down. Now that's what I call a Friday afternoon.

Lunchtime Disco (free entry) takes place from 12pm to 3pm on the last Friday of each month at Drink, Shop & Dance, 9 Caledonian Road, King's Cross, London, N1 9DX.

Today I am ... window shopping

Lucy in Disguise, 48 Lexington Street, Soho. Image: my own

Two long days before payday, a friend and I found ourselves walking aimlessly around Soho on a drizzly midweek evening to kill time before a gig at the London Palladium. Although the streets were quiet and the shops closed, the gloomy pavements were illuminated by alluring, colourful peep shows in each deserted shop front - shrines to cakes, dresses, jewellery, art and fantasies. Before we knew it, we were full-on window shopping.

One window in particular stopped us in our tracks, and in fact made us late for the gig trying to take a photo on our phones that did justice to the girly, blingtastic exterior.

The shop in question was Lucy in Disguise on Lexington Street, better known as Lily Allen's vintage boutique. Brilliantly, the entire shop front is completely covered in gold sequins, so even in the slightest breeze, the whole shop glimmers and twinkles invitingly.

Behind the golden curtain are racks of candy-coloured vintage prom dresses, silk slips and beaded gowns which I can't wait to rummage through after payday and when the shop is open. The glamour doesn't stop on the ground floor; apparently there's also a hidden vintage hair and make-up salon beneath the boutique where you can complete the retro look.

By day: Lucy in Disguise. Image from graziadaily.co.uk

Making our way slowly to the Palladium, we passed the Choccywoccydoodah store on Fouberts Street, a camp, kitsch and dramatic spectacle that looks like the brainchild of Willy Wonka on viagra. A 1950s pin up winks cheekily from the window to tempt you inside the store (as if the presence of the marshmallow pyramid cake wasn't enough), and once inside, I hear there's a bar and even a private boudoir upstairs where you can indulge in pure Belgian hot chocolate and taste some of their signature designer cakes.

Choccywoccydoodah, 30-32 Fouberts Street, Soho. Image: my own

Inside Choccywoccydoodah in Soho. Image: from culinarygetaways.com

We then passed Liberty. The colossal department store on Great Marlborough Street is not exactly a hidden gem but Liberty's iconic Tudor facade can't fail to take your breath away, and their iconic displays are like art installations, combining design, fashion, marketing and art, going way beyond simply showcasing products.

Liberty, Great Marlborough Street, London, Image: my own

Finally we reached Argyll Street and passed my old high street favourite, Oasis. I constantly fall back on Oasis's feminine designs and flattering shapes. This season I love the romantic 'Print-cess and the Pea' window display, complete with floral mattresses, mannequin princess, a frog prince and a larger-than-average pea.

Oasis, Argyll Street, London. Image: my own

However, sadly I can never enter the Argyll Street store again after my recent clanger with a shop assistant... I was purchasing shoes from a Scottish girl at the till and was confused when she said, "Say sex". It seemed strange but when I asked her what she'd said she repeated, "Say sex!" so I dutifully said, "Sex"... Then she said, "No these shoes are a size six!" Ah...

Perhaps this was for the best anyway, at least it gives me a reason to avoid temptation: window shopping is only as free as your willpower will allow. It's a risky but indulgent form of escapism, and for those weaker-willed folk (myself included), I fear in the long-term it will only give you ideas of new places to part with your cash.

Today I am ... comfort cooking (and eating)

Easy pan-fried gnocchi with ricotta, parsley and lemon zest

Ever made pasta from scratch? I've never felt the inclination myself - much as I love eating Italian food, if I'm going to spend that long in the kitchen and spend money on something as grown up as a pasta machine, I want to end up with something a bit more dazzling.

So I'm going to tell you a secret - home-made gnocchi (pasta's oft-overlooked cousin) is a walk in the park, and is totally worth the minimal effort.

The recipe I'm about to share definitely has the wow factor: pan-fried gnocchi made with ricotta, parsley and lemon zest. You just can't buy anything like this in supermarkets.

This could happily make for a comforting, filling winter supper, or an extravagant summer lunch with friends and a large glass of chilled white wine. Either way, it's pure, indulgent escapism in food form.

Sadly I can't claim it as my own; I have adapted it from a recipe by American blog Jaden's Steamy Kitchen, which describes each individual nugget as 'like a beautiful Italian's luscious lips'. Bit creepy...

But I understand the enthusiasm. I'd probably opt for 'crispy, melt in the mouth pillows of deliciousness', but then I've never kissed an Italian.

What separates this from stodgy supermarket gnocchi is the notable absence of potato, and the unusual step of pan-frying the gnocchi instead of boiling it. The result is a much lighter, creamy gnocchi with a crunchy, caramelised exterior.

What also makes this such a comforting culinary experience is the therapeutic process of cooking it. It's reassuringly messy, thanks to the kneading and rolling that's required; if you're anything like me you'll get flour in your hair, face and hands (giving you that attractive 'hard-working baker' look...), but in fact it's foolproof. I didn't even have any scales myself, so I used a wine glass, based on the fact that a large glass is about 250ml... You have to work with what you've got!

It didn't seem to have an effect on the final result though, which turned out perfectly. I did wonder if it was going to be enough for me and my sister (after all, it is often said that we both have an 'extra pizza/pasta stomach' - like cows have for grass). But rest assured this was rich, satisfying and the perfect amount for two ladies who laugh in the face of calories.

I have added garlic butter to the original recipe, and next time I shall serve it with a simple rocket salad rather than on its own. You could also play around with this, perhaps freestyling with pesto or finely chopped sunblush tomatoes to the gnocchi dough.

You are welcome!

The only gnocchi recipe you'll ever need (serves two)

Adapted from Steamy Kitchen

• 1 pot of ricotta (about 250ml)
• A good handful of parmesan cheese (plus extra reserved for garnishing)
• 1 large egg yolk
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest (plus extra reserved for garnishing)
• 100g plain flour
• 1 tablespoon chopped parsley (plus extra reserved for garnishing)
• 4 tablespoons garlic butter (I used Lurpak's ready made garlic butter)
• 1 tablespoon olive oil

1. Mix together the ricotta, parmesan, yolk, zest, parsley and salt in large bowl. Sprinkle half of the flour on the mixture, gently stir around a few times to incorporate. Dump the mixture on a lightly floured board. Sprinkle the remaining flour on top of the mixture. Gently knead with your fingertips, just bringing together the mixture until flour is incorporated through. This only should take a minute or two.

2. Divide dough into 4 parts. Take one part and roll into a long, thin sausage. Cut gnocchi into 1" pieces. Repeat with the rest of the dough.

3. Heat frying pan over medium-high heat. Add half the garlic butter and the olive oil. When butter is just lightly browned, add gnocchi in single layer. Fry on one side for 2 minutes, flip. Fry other side for 3-4 minutes. Timing totally depends on how big your gnocchi is. Do a taste test - do you taste flour? Not done yet. Keep cooking and trying it, until it tastes amazing.

4. When it's ready, remove the gnocchi with a slotted spoon and arrange on plates. Add the rest of the garlic butter to the pan until it has just melted. Then drizzle the melted garlic butter over the gnocchi. Serve with a generous sprinkling of lemon zest, parmesan and parsley.