'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

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.

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.

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

Grease was the word, Barnes was the place

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

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

From TNTmagazine.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An evening at Evans & Peel Detective Agency

www.evansandpeel.com

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

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

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

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

The office: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

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

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

The bar: image from www.missimmyslondon.com

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

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

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

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

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

detective@evansandpeel.com

Feel Good London (or things that make you say 'Aaw')

Image from streetpianos.com

Don't believe the naysayers; we're not all rude, overworked, passive aggressive cynics, tutting and elbowing each other on public transport. The spectacular opening ceremony for London 2012 has ushered in a new mood of friendly optimism in the capital. 

London is full to the brim of feel-good, cute, heart-warming and magical moments, if you look hard enough. Here are just a few of my highlights...

1. Play the piano  

Street Pianos, Leicester Square. (Image from madsilence.wordpress.com)

Chances are you might have already spotted one of these friendly looking pianos somewhere in London this summer, each one handpainted with the instructions, 'Play me, I'm yours'.

From Holland Park and Marble Arch, to Liverpool Street Station and the Gherkin, wherever you are in London, you are never far away from your very own 'street piano'.

Pensioners, kids, city workers, night time revellers, wannabe buskers and high street shoppers have all been spotted taking some time out to tinkle the ivories, much to the surprise and delight of passers by.

According to the artist Luke Jerram, the Street Pianos project brings together invisible communities in London. People who might pass each other every day without a word now might just have a reason to stop for five minutes, smile, listen and sing with strangers. 

Still dubious? Check out the group performance of Hey Jude in Soho...

2. Dog watching in Battersea Park

People-watching is overrated, bird-watching even more so. But dog watching? That's a thing.

As locals take their mutts on their Sunday morning walks in parks across the city, you can enjoy a cross-section of doggy London. Noble old labradors, pampered pugs, scruffy terriers and clumsy spaniels come out in full force for their daily scamper. It's impossible not to smile as they joyfully run, leap and frolic around as though they're in Disneyland.

Dogs are the ultimate ice-breakers. I am like a moth to a flame when I see a cute dog, try as I might, I can't stop myself from going and saying hello in a ridiculous voice. And it's another of those rare but marvellous situations when Londoners really don't think it's weird to be spoken to by a stranger.

3. Tributes to selflessness at Postman's Park

Tucked away in an unremarkable little park near St Paul's Cathedral, the lives of extra-ordinary people are immortalised in a beautiful way. Under an easily overlooked canopy in the corner of Postman's Park, surrounded by office blocks, are fifty Art Nouveau tiles embossed with the stories of people who have tragically died while saving the life of another.

These are not the tales of generals or officers - just ordinary Victorian civilians who gave the ultimate sacrifice. Reading their stories doesn't feel morbid or macabre. Instead, a quiet hour browsing the tributes - each with fascinating insights and flashes of detail like paraffin lamps and runaway horses - takes you back in time to Victorian London and introduces you to the Herberts, Marys and Godfreys whose heroism time might otherwise have forgotten.

4. Support the old family-run places in your area

Marine Ices, Chalk Farm (Image from ninaicecream.co.uk)

In a city full of self-consciously rustic and quirky establishments with distinctly modern price tags, it's rare and wonderful when you discover the real thing. Every neighbourhood has them, Fawlty Towers style operations where the decor hasn't changed for at least 20 years and retro classic dishes are served without a trace of irony. 

Marine Ices in Chalk Farm, the oldest ice-cream parlour in London, is a family-run Italian, which couldn't look more dated if it tried - but the great thing is it's not trying, at all. Where else in London can you still get a proper Knickerbocker Glory? Plus, your granddad would approve of the generous ratio of prices to portions. 

London is still just a collection of villages, really, and despite their dwindling numbers, there is a total feel-good factor to finding and supporting your local independent greasy spoons, dusty bookshops, barber shops and butchers. You know you're winning when the start asking if you want your 'usual'.

5. Read the Metro Good Deed Feed 

Let it never be said that chivalry is dead. As long as accident-prone women keep leaving things on public transport, there will always be good deeds in London.

I have a dark green cashmere scarf from Zara that has been on adventures and misadventures across the world, and continues to find it's way back to me, like a trusty homing pigeon. My faithful scarf has been left at the Royal Festival Hall, on the pavement, at a lunchtime disco, even in Germany - but I've always managed to retrieve it thanks to kind people handing it in to lost property.

Now, we finally have a way of thanking these honest folk. If a fellow Londoner has ever paid your bus fare, lent you a tissue, ran after you when you've left cash at an ATM, or given you their cab, simply text into Metro's Good Deed Feed and let them know they made  your day.

If however your hero is a hottie, you may however prefer to text into Rush Hour Crush, another of Metro's new feel-good reader columns. (It's like a less pervy version of Tube Crush).

6. Receiving a free meal in Pret

Image from photographersdirect.com

I got let off paying for my Monday morning Pret a Manger breakfast a few weeks ago, in a confusing encounter. The till assistant just mumbled, 'Don't worry about it', and then served the person behind me. I must have looked hungry. 

I did feel a bit like a thief... but not enough to insist on paying (a free ham, mozzarella and tomato croissant and mocha tastes even better than usual). But apparently I’m not special – the same thing recently happened to my friend at work in a completely different part of London, and upon further discussion, we uncovered an urban legend that every London branch gives a free meal out every single day!

Whether this is a) true, or b) heartwarming is debatable. It could of course be a myth or a cynical marketing ploy circulated by the company to encourage loyal custom. But who cares? Free food simply brightens up my day.

Today I am .. Queen Granny

That Queen's getting a lot of attention at the moment isn't she? Not that I resent it (two days off? Thanks very much!). But this Jubilee, let's also celebrate the real 'diamond' old ladies in our own lives, who are all too often invisible in our youth-obsessed society.

If you could peek inside the minds of our elders, their living memories would, to us, resemble a nostalgic period drama - youthful versions of themselves inhabiting a world peppered with vintage cars, 1940s tea dresses, black and white movies and dance halls. If you are looking for escapism, just ask someone over 80 years old to describe their first date or what their favourite tipple was. The answers will take you back to another era.

So while we all rightly mark the 60 year reign of Elizabeth II, I will also be raising a glass to my very own Queen and grandmother, who is still amusing, offending and delighting people at 94.

Anne Rosselli was born in 1918. (1918!!). The last year of the First World War, six years after Titanic sank. She, and her brothers and sisters, couldn't have even imagined what the century ahead would hold; the jazz age, another war, the loose morals of the swinging sixties. No-one had heard of Elvis, Marilyn and The Beatles. All of this and more was yet to come.

Granny's own childhood memories of 1920s Ireland are prime material for a romantic novel, telling the story of four young siblings living in a crumbling ancestral home during the Irish Civil War. She still talks about having to row across the lake with her sisters to the next village, and hiding the silver under her bed when the house was raided. It must have been a colourful household, with three strong-willed teenage girls and their brother running riot in the little sailing village.

On my 21st birthday, I always remember what she wrote in my card: "How wonderful to be 21 - I wish I was again."

I love the thought of Anne Waller, 20-something, my own age. By all accounts, she was far more glamourous and beautiful. She certainly seemed popular with the local men in her hometown in Tipperary, who describe her as 'prettier than Grace Kelly' and still all claim to have been her boyfriend. There are ongoing rumours that Granny ran away on a motorbike with member of the Russian aristocracy; when pressed, all she will say is, "We didn't get very far."

Nowadays, Granny seems shocked by her age, as though she doesn't recognise herself anymore; on her last birthday she exclaimed incredulously, "I'm ridiculously old!" She is almost 100% deaf and we rely on a notepad and lipreading to converse, but talking to her about her youth doesn't just immerse my mother, sister and I in another world - it also helps Granny to reaffirm her identity. In these stories she is young, feisty Anne, as she remembers and knows herself, not just an elderly woman.

And there are plenty of tales to tell. After attending Trinity University in Dublin, she became a Fanny (don't laugh) during the War, driving ambulances despite having no license. During the 1940s and '50s, she was married to a tea planter in Ceylon and Malaya, where she painted stunning watercolours of the surrounding jungle and dabbled in racing cars ("I was the fastest woman in Malaya", she claims). She tells a terrifying story about time she discovered a poisonous snake in my uncle's cot.

After that marriage ended and she returned home, she caused quite the scandal with her choice of second husband - my grandpa; a cheeky Anglo-Italian who was 11 years her junior, an incurable practical joker and eligible man about town. They moved to a farm in the Fens and made quite the pair for the remainder of the century.

These days, she's more Prince Philip than the Queen, frequently making inappropriate comments and informing people they've got terribly fat. Watching an old lady nobly hobble from one end of the silent hospital ward to another, Granny loudly declared from her bed, "I can walk better than her!"

And like the second and third generations of Rosselli ladies, my granny still has a weakness for a broad-shouldered rugby player. Last Easter, we had an exceptionally tall, well-built young American friend joining us for lunch; Granny stared wide-eyed at him over the roast lamb, leaned towards my sister and I and conspirationally asked, "Who's that?", before taking another look and announcing "VERY nice!"

She's also nothing if not generous, constantly giving away her Christmas gifts, and insisting her visitors take a shot of whisky (which she naughtily hides in her wardrobe from the staff in her care home, like Marilyn's character 'Sugar' in Some Like it Hot). Last month, she enquired as to when I was bringing my boyfriend over to visit, and I wrote on her notepad that I don't have a boyfriend - she paused for a moment and then said brightly, "Well you can have one of mine!" Now there's an offer I can't refuse.

So this Diamond Jubilee weekend, while we're all enjoying delightfully retro street parties, afternoon teas and '50s themed club nights, remember that the real vintage queens are still all around us. A conversation with the older ladies in your life might just enrich both your lives and transport you to another world entirely.