Doing time. In Lanzarote

So, thanks to the fact that someone has decided the UK is now a year-round winter destination, last weekend my friend Amy and I decided to bugger off somewhere where it was guaranteed to be a) hot and b) cheap.

We put our requirements into Google, and out came the answer: Lanzarote. We duly booked three nights, all inclusive, at what was meant to be a FOUR star resort. OK, so we were stupid and naive - the whole holiday was under £350. Yes, that's three nights with all food and drink included, plus flights. We got what we deserved, penny-pinching tightwads that we were.

We turned up at our hotel, which was basically a goliath compound of ridiculous proportions, and the first thing the (fearsome) ladies behind reception did was tag us, like criminals, with a very blue, very plastic wrist band. The only way to take the wrist bands off was to cut them. There were also gold ones and yellow ones behind the counter - we deduced the yellow were for young offenders, the gold for lifers. I (rebellious) cut my wrist band off at the end of the first day. Amy (compliant and fearful of authority) spent the holiday fretting about tan lines. We were then allocated a room in Block H.

Yes, we were tagged and put into (cell) block H. So, when does a hotel resort start to feel like a prison?

Possibly when the corridors look like this:

Or maybe when the view from the rooms is this:

Here are some of the things we learnt from our experience in Lanzarote anyway.

• The landscape is...interesting. Sort of post-apocalyptic. Doesn't really do it for me.

• If you and a female friend wear matching visors on holiday, people will think you're American lesbians.

• Amy likes Spanish supermarkets a lot. A bottle of Beefeater gin was £4.50. These two facts may be related.

• The Spanish have hijacked Italian food. Badly.

• All-inclusive hotels are basically cruise ships without the only good bit: the stop-offs.

• We do not belong in All Inclusive resorts (yet) because we are childless and haven't gone through the menopause. Oh, and we aren't cats.

• When confronted with jelly adorned with squirty cream and chopped nuts, middle-aged men lose all sense of reason.

• One of Easyjet's pilots, Phil Shaw, is a frustrated stand-up comedian. Check out the video...

http://youtu.be/s-bZVR3ZMUk

Here are some other shots from our time inside, anyway. Twas an experience, at the very least. I'm just grateful to my lovely cell mate for helping me get through it.

The Clove Club

I so want to say I loved The Clove Club. I really do. And I sort of almost do love it. In fact, I've now decided it's possible to love the experience of eating out, rather than the actual food.

Much has been written about The Clove Club, describing it as achingly hipster - it was, in fact, during our meal that I was first introduced to the word 'scenester' - a label that had quite happily passed me by till then. I don't really know what hipster means, truth be told. I can only categorically affirm that I am not it. But I didn't feel uncomfortable at all at The Clove Club. Everyone was perfectly friendly, the service was good and efficient (so efficient that our wine glasses kept getting whipped away from us as soon as they were drained dry - possibly hipster means watching your alcohol intake - seems unlikely though?!)

What did I love about it then? To start with, I loved the simplicity of the venue - it's in Shoreditch's old town hall, but inside everything's pretty stripped back and simple, with whitewashed walls and battered wooden tables. I liked the fact the kitchen was in the dining area - it was great to see the chefs at work and they must have had some impressive ventilation as it wasn't smelly or even noisy. I loved the simplicity of the tasting menu - you get what you're given. It's £47, which for the number of courses is pretty reasonable. I liked many of the dishes - not all of them, but I did like the creativity behind the concepts and the inventive variety of ingredients. As I said before, it felt like an experience, rather than a deliciously satisfying feast.

But, but... Some of the food was odd - the raw beef with cow's curd really didn't do it for me, and I wished I could just wave a magic wand and turn it into a steak tartare. I didn't like the fact that for the first three sharing courses, the hipster nonsense took over, meaning we weren't allowed our own plates. I burnt my fingers on my chicken and had to chuck it in the bread basket for a few minutes to cool down. There's nothing really glamorous about having sticky fingers either IMO, not even if you're on holiday eating tapas under a blood-red sun. My vegetarian friend Amy was disappointed with some of her dishes, too - in her words: "my artichoke heart still had the hard bit on one side and the giant leek was silly – you can't cut a leek with a dinner knife, that's why people use a paring knife at the prep stage!"

Oh, and as charming as the ladies' loo was, seriously, having only one toilet for a restaurant/bar that size reverted the emerging scenester in me back to a cross-legged 18-year-old in a sweaty nightclub queue. Not glamorous.

But in summary, the food was imaginative and unusual, the atmosphere relaxed and I'm glad I went. But I don't think I'd go back again. I'm on the fence this time.

Easter in Norfolk

So I spent Easter Sunday this year here...

Namely, Hunstanton Beach in Norfolk. Looks lovely doesn't it? Blue skies above a vast, near-empty beach. But take a closer look.

The reason this photo is blurry is because it was impossible to hold the camera still, because a) my hand was completely numb and b) the MINUS 9 DEGREE gale-force wind was literally trying to blow us into the sea.

So I know, you all know the story, you were all here for the coldest Easter on record too. In this picture, O is wearing a hat and two hoodies. Both of our jaws were almost locked frozen from the cold. The earache was immense.

We'd gone up to Norfolk to film a mini trailer for my book. The main reason for doing this wasn't so much to promote the book (although obviously that's what a book trailer is for) but because I'm a total geek and thought it would be fun. And it kind of was fun, despite the weather.

Don't worry - it wasn't so cold we decided to top ourselves. That's just a still from our fantastic footage. Ahem.

We stayed at The Lodge, in Old Hunstanton, which, mercifully, was lovely and warm and cosy, with proper pub fires blazing in the bar downstairs, and a big radiator in the room.

Sadly, we were so distracted by the cold (to the point that we drove the car down to the beach, rather than walk ten minutes - so that we had it nearby to shelter in after five minutes' filming brought on the first signs of frostbite), that I didn't take any more pictures. Which is a real shame as it's a properly beautiful part of the world.

Anyway, we actually had a lovely time, and a massively appreciated and delicious roast dinner in The Lodge's restaurant. It was an enjoyable break, even if the only thing we both said all weekend was; 'At least it's not raining. It'd be worse if it was raining. Wouldn't it?'

I'd really like to go back sometime. Preferably in the middle of a heatwave.

An evening with Maggie O'Farrell

Maggie O'Farrell is probably my most favourite living author. I am actually so in awe of her that I sort of hate her, which isn't very nice, because from what I've seen she's actually a lovely person.

I first heard Maggie speak at a Good Housekeeping 'Book Day' event, years ago when I was working on handbag.com, and the ace web-editor for GH, knowing I was writing a novel, let me gatecrash. It was held at the Mermaid Theatre and Maggie was part of a panel of authors taking part in a discussion. I can't remember what the topic of the discussion was because it was in about 2007, but I remember coming away impressed by Maggie in particular, and fired up to write more, and better.

And then I started to read Maggie's novels, and was just blown away, repeatedly. My favourite is After You'd Gone, but I was also totally charmed by The Hand That First Held Mine. They're what I call 'proper' books - stories that you completely lose yourself in, that impress with both their beautiful writing as well as their twisty plots and perceptively crafted characters. They basically win on every level. Like I said, it's tempting to hate her.

I've also heard Maggie speak at the Shoreditch House Literary Salon - which I used to go to all the time but which has unfortunately (but rightly) become so popular that the last time I went I couldn't get in (would like to point out here that I was one of the ORIGINAL MEMBERS. Ahem.)

So I was very excited when I stumbled across the opportunity to hear her again (although I'm aware I'm beginning to sound a bit like a stalker), at an event at Waterstones Piccadilly to launch her new novel, Instructions For a Heatwave.

It was a lovely, civilised evening, the likes of which I should have more often. To start with, Maggie read an excerpt from the book, then she was interviewed by Observer journalist Elizabeth Day. Then there were questions from the audience and a signing. And Bucks Fizz.

Sadly, I made a total pratt of myself getting my book signed - as Maggie was signing it, I was so nervous that I blurted out I was unlikely to actually read the hardback itself, as I was going to buy it on Kindle anyway. Massive cringe.

She was very gracious about my ridiculous outburst, thankfully. She was completely charming throughout the evening, actually, extolling feminism in a calm but spirited and firm manner, and handling a rather random and undeserved criticism from one of the audience with ease. So I still love/hate her.

I haven't started the book yet so can't include a review with this post unfortunately (although it'd likely just be a massive gushfest anyway). It feels like a lovely treat that's awaiting me. I almost want to book a week on a desert island somewhere so that I can savour it completely...

Brunswick House Cafe

To ward off the February blues (which I seem to be massively afflicted with this year), my friends Mev and Amy and I decided to have a lovely Saturday dinner out this weekend. Mev suggested Brunswick House Cafe, situated in a rather incongruous Georgian mansion, which looks a little lost and lonely surrounded by glass-and-steel-buildings near Vauxhall station.

Brunswick House is also the home to LASSCO - those curators and resellers of reclamation jewels, and so the restaurant is furnished with all manner of fascinating delights, all of which are for sale (quite weird sitting on a chair that someone could march over and buy at any moment - hopefully they'd wait for you to finish eating first).

Unfortunately as we were there in the evening, LASSCO itself was shut, so we couldn't get a proper look around. I've now made a mental note to return during opening hours.

Here's the menu for the evening we went - it changes regularly and has an olde worlde feel that's entirely at home with the surroundings.

Mev and I decided to have two starters instead of a main (we were planning ahead for pudding), and Amy (piglet) went for a starter and a main.

Mev had the button onions and mushrooms, while Amy and I had the smoked gurnard with beetroot. Then Mev and I each had the 'three potatoes'.

All three were yum - I especially loved the quirky potatoes, each of which had an unexpected element, such as the anchovies on the potato salad. The gurnard was wonderfully salty and strong, matched perfectly by the beetroot. I'm beginning to appreciate beetroot more and more - is it an ageing thing?!

Amy's main - salmon with salsify and blood orange - was a far more hearty affair. We were a bit envious, truth be told.

For pud, I had the chocolate mousse with peanuts. It came smothered in a thick layer of cream, which was a shame. I've never really understood cream. It's sickly and tasteless and a bit pointless in general IMHO. The mousse itself was good - rich and thick. I do so hate an insipid mousse.

Mev and Amy, meanwhile, shared the cheese plate.

After we'd finished our meal (which came very quickly - the service was very efficient and the restaurant wasn't too busy for a Saturday), we took advantage of the quirky entrance in order to take some daft photos. All in all, the perfect February pick-me-up.

Excuse me while I yawn

I've been tired for my whole life.

No, I know, you have been too. But really, I really, really have been. My tiredness beats yours. (Yes it's a competition, and for the purposes of this blog post, let me win this one please).

As a teenager, I used to come home from school and fall asleep at about half past four. I remember this really clearly because I was breaking in a pair of ice skates at the time, so invariably I'd fall asleep in my uniform, legs bent at an awkward angle above a pair of shiny white boots (complete with shocking pink blade guards). Then wake up an hour or so later with numb feet and a headache.

As an eight-year-old - you know, the age at which really you should be springing out of bed at 6am and irritating your knackered parents with demands to put children's telly on, my mum had to bribe me to come down for breakfast on time because I was always late for school. If I managed to make it downstairs by ten past 7, I was given 10p. I think by the time she gave up with that little experiment, I was in debt by about £3000.

(Actually one of my saddest everyday-tragedy memories is making a promise to my Dad, who I worshipped and adored, to have breakfast with him the next morning before he went abroad for work for a week. Predictably, I overslept, and scrambled downstairs at about half seven, only to find he'd carefully prepared my bowl of cocoa pops, spoon sticking out, glass of juice next to it, and left them sitting sad and forlorn on their own. Dad was long gone. I had Let Him Down and I cried with a devastation rarely matched before or since).

At university, it was OK, because everyone was tired. Everyone was out all night, drinking and having fun (this is something else I am terrible at FYI), so I just pretended the reason I was knackered was the same as them - because I'd been busy doing Cool Stuff and Being A Cool Student. This wasn't true, however, because I mostly spent every night arguing with my boyfriend and crying and getting stressed about the aorist form of Ancient Greek verbs.

After my first year at university, I got an internship at an investment bank in the city, and most of my memories of that experience revolve around me desperately trying to blowdry my hair under the hand-dryers in the loos, having not had time to do it at home. The whole working hours thing was a fresh hell. I was late EVERY day.

And thus it has been ever since. I simply cannot get out of bed in the mornings on time. I don't think I'm lazy - I don't think having written three novels by the age of 30 is possible if you are. I'm just tired. I like my sleep. I've tried going to bed early and all that jazz, but it just doesn't make a difference - I just sleep for longer. My optimum time to wake up is around 8.30. Unfortunately this isn't really conducive to working hours.

I've always worked 9.30-5.30, except for when I worked for Housetohome.co.uk and my editor (who was also one of my best friends, helpfully), frustrated at me shamefacedly rolling in at 9.45 every day, asked me if I'd like to work 10-6 instead. It changed my life. It was a revelation - I was more efficient, happier, never late...

I was checked for various things as a kid - people thought I was anaemic (I was very pale), anorexic (I was very skinny), had heart problems - I've had an ECG, which revealed an inverted T wave,  and an echocardiagram, but nothing serious was found. I do have low blood pressure, and tend to pass out with too much exertion, but other than that I'm healthy. Ridiculously so, actually - I was discussing with a friend the fact that I've not been to the doctor's since 2004 the other day.

But I just can't get enough sleep.

Anyway, I know, it's a high-class problem. I should shut up my spoilt whinging. I agree with you to some extent. But feeling absolutely exhausted all the time isn't fun. It's almost like feeling permanently a bit ill. And more than anything else, it means I'm absolutely terrified about having children. I barely function as it is - what on earth will I do when I'm truly sleep deprived? I'm totally going to end up being one of those mothers who has a mental breakdown and starts hallucinating... But maybe I'll be so tired I won't care.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think it's time for a nap...

PS check out this interesting article on Sunday night insomnia - apparently common in working Londoners. A quick poll of my friends revealed that 99% of us agreed we suffered from it.

Skin deep (pockets)

I never used to worry much about my skin. Well, that's not strictly true, when I turned 13 I suddenly developed (with hindsight) the most minuscule slightly enlarged pores on my nose, promptly lost the plot whilst weeping in front of the mirror and proceeded to nuke my skin for about about a year in a vain attempt to get them to shrink back to eight-year-old standards. Which of course, made my skin react in fury, resulting in the beginning of a long battle with reactive, sensitive skin.

For a short period I was obsessed with Clearasil, Biome pore strips and Oxy 10, and some weird toner/paint-stripper called 10-0-6. Not sure what happened to that, but I remember it had a jazzy bottle, was fluorescent, called itself a 'deep pore cleanser' and basically ruined my skin. It could probably get limescale off your taps, but I'm not sure it was a good idea to scrub my delicate teenage face with it twice a day.

My mum saved me, however, taking pity on me and packing me off for facials at the tender age of 15. I then became a Clinique devotee, following their 3-step system for years. And years. Without ever thinking about it again.

Until I turned 31. I don't know why that age was the trigger - I've always been told I look pretty young, which I used to hate but am now very grateful for. Perhaps it was because I had just had laser eye surgery and could suddenly see myself properly (!), but I started to notice the beginnings of lines around my eyes, which made me think about anti-ageing products. And it snowballed from there.

Last year, I spent a quite frankly disgusting amount of money on skincare. I was earning quite a lot last summer, and I remember one month my skincare/make up expenditure was in the region of £400. I know. I'm sorry. I'm disgusted with myself too. It was like the 13-year-old me had unleashed herself once again, armed with a bigger budget and the benefit/curse of beauty blogs promising great things from products.

It was a long year of experimentation anyway, with most of the products I tried not really doing much at all. The process sort of went like this:

1) I read about some miracle product on a blog/in a magazine 2) I marched off to Elys or Selfridges to purchase said product 3) I used product for about a week (often in conjunction with other new products I got talked into trying at the same time) 4) Product had barely noticeable but slightly positive effect on skin for a few days 5) I raved about brilliantness of product to everyone and anyone 6) A week later I got a spot 7) I blamed said product and angrily shouted at it as I shoved it to the back of my make-up drawer 8) Rinse and repeat

However, there were a few gems among the tons of products that basically didn't do... anything. So I thought they'd be worth a quick run down here. Like I said, I was obsessed with beauty blogs last year (and the wonderful vlogs - especially the US ones!) and it was always interesting reading how others got on with a product.

So here are the only ones I would, and have, repurchased. A few of these have become my new 'HGs' (that's holy grails, to those not initiated with beauty blog terminology).

 REN Glycolactic Radiance Renewal Mask

This is amazing! It smells of fruit and is quite sticky and weird - you basically slather it on and wash off after 15 minutes. The fruit acids chomp away at all your dead skin cells and the next day your skin is beautifully soft and your make up glides on much more easily. I love it.

The Sanctuary Polishing Hot Cloth Cleanser

I think this has been discontinued as I can't find it on The Sanctuary website, which is a real shame. It's similar to Liz Earle's much-lauded Cleanse & Polish (which I found too drying for my skin) but less astrigent and really moisturising too.

Clarins Radiance Plus Golden Glow Cream Gel

When I'm tired, I put a tiny bit of this on in the mornings if I don't want to look dead that day. And it works. It gives you a really, really subtle tan - more of a glow really.

Trilogy Rosehip Oil

I was completely obsessed with this last year and slathered it on my face every night instead of a night cream. Mistake. After a few months' use, I realised that, although it really does help fade spot scars and keep your face plump and soft, it also clogs pores. I'm now only using it around my eyes and making sure I only use the tiniest amount. It's beautifully gentle, so won't break you out, but it is very heavy and brings out the blackheads.

Opi Avoplex & Opi Nail Envy

Not strictly skincare and this is a bit gross, but my nails really dry out when I use polish on them (especially my toenails). I've been using cuticle oil to moisturise them and it's really helped. And Nail Envy is a revelation - it makes your nails look healthy and shiny, and 'polished' even without having a colour on them. The only weird thing is that it definitely makes your nails grow more slowly. And I cannot fathom why. Odd.

Ecotools brushes

I think brushes count as skincare as they have such a big impact on your skin! I've used Bare Minerals foundation for ages now but always used to use their brushes. Which are really scratchy and caused little bumps to appear on my cheeks. Ecotools brushes are just brilliantly soft and eco-friendly too. My favourite is the retractable kabuki brush, because it's hygienic and portable with the perfect size head for powder foundation.

Clarins Multi-Active Skin Renewal Serum

I've been really impressed with lots of Clarins products I've tried this year, and am also using their day cream at the moment. This is expensive, but the only serum out of loads of serums I've tried that actually really really made a difference. It plumps your skin out and makes you look all healthy and glowing. And like all Clarins products, it smells beautiful. I love it so much. I just don't love the price tag or the tiny bottle.

L'Occitane Almond Supple Skin Oil

I think this is meant for pregnancy bumps but I've been using it on my arms and legs! I bought it at Bicester as a two-for-one experiment and at first thought it was too sweet and sickly smelling. But it fades really quickly and leaves your skin with a lovely protective sheen. Also pricey sadly.

Other than that, I'm still searching for the perfect cleanser... Sigh. I've just bought Clarins' Cleansing Milk with Gentian so will be giving that a go once the one I'm using at the moment is finished. Cleansers are really really hard I find - either massively drying or massively cloggy. The search continues...

What about you? I'm genuinely dying to chat skincare with anyone reading this - let me know which products you can't live without!

Pollen Street Social

I celebrated my 32nd (eeek) birthday last week, with dinner at Pollen Street Social. I'd heard good things from lots of friends who'd already been and loved it, but it far exceeded my expectations. It was truly wonderful - I can't recommend it enough.

The decor inside the restaurant is classy and understated. Unlike some fine dining places, it has an upmarket but laid-back feel - quite a feat. I felt completely comfortable and at home, but also as though I was in for a treat (which I was).

The service was fantastic - with at least four different waiting staff attending to us - including a really knowledgeable sommelier, who talked us into trying the cloudy Prosecco (which I stupidly forgot to record the name of). It was crisp and very dry, just how I like my wine.

We started our meal with some wonderfully chewy pork crackling - complete with an apple and mustard sauce, freshly baked bread and olives.

For my starter, I chose the hen's egg with parsley garlic puree, smoked haddock brandade, watercress and bacon. Every mouthful was packed with different flavours, which worked brilliantly together.

Meanwhile O had the fallow deer tartare, with smoked beetroot and berry pearls. This was definitely the standout dish of an evening of standout dishes, and I couldn't stop myself from poking my fork in to steal from it.

For my main, I went for Angus fillet with roasted salsify, which came with bone marrow pureed potatoes. The fillet was delicious and oh-so rich - it had the most amazing flavour but it was quite a big portion for little old me. I was really impressed with the sizes of the dishes in general. You certainly don't feel short-changed or leave feeling hungry.

O had salt marsh lamb, with black cabbage and a truffle puree. He smiled a lot while eating it. I'm not a big lamb eater but the forkful I tried was on a par with the lamb I'd overindulged in at The Cube.

Finally, I HAD to treat myself to pudding. Despite being pretty stuffed. After all, it was my birthday treat. Eschewing the chocolate-based desserts (which is most unlike me), I plumped for something more unusual: pear sorbet with apple in hibiscus. The apples were beautifully sharp and tangy, while the sorbet was incredibly sweet. It was just the thing to round off the meal, and was a picture to look at. My photograph doesn't do it justice at all!

I didn't want that pudding to end!

It wasn't a cheap experience - £160 for both of us, but we both agreed we didn't begrudge a single penny. I wouldn't hesitate to go back again for another special occasion. The staff were fantastic and the food was blow-your-mind brilliant. I'm already saving up for the tasting menu!

Farewell 2012...

I've been looking forward to 2013 for at least two months now, so I'm really happy it's finally here! My resolutions are all a bit hackneyed, but include: eating less sugar, going for a run twice a week, reading more books and finishing my third novel. But first, a look back on last year, with its enormous highs and lows...

January

The year started with my 31st birthday, and a lovely dinner with friends at Baltic restaurant in Southwark - recommended!

February

My little flat had five minutes of fame in February, featured in the Guardian.

And... I had laser eye surgery, which was AMAZING. Will do a separate post about that next month!

March

I took advantage of some early spring sun for a day in Brighton - god sea air is the best for getting you out of a winter fug.

April

I started a new part-time job, working three days a week on the websites for leading interiors shows Decorex and Interiors UK (that's me with some of my colleagues above). I only went in to meet the team there to discuss freelancing for them, and they ended up offering me a permanent job so it was quite unexpected really! I'm really really enjoying it - it's been great to get out of the magazine bubble and meet different folk, and I actually went up to four days a week at the beginning of November.

May

A much-needed week's holiday in Mykonos, where the shone ridiculously brightly for us. As ever, I had a wonderful time. It just went a bit quickly.

June

June was a strange month. I lost my beloved Grandad, who died exactly a month before his 100th birthday. He was 99 in the picture above, taken Christmas 2011. I miss him so much, and still think of him every day. But I'm trying to remember his positivity, his love for life and his ability to find the best in everything, and use that to inspire me. I'm very grateful that I saw him just a couple of days before he died, and that he was his usual smiley, lovely self.

The last day I saw him was also the day I found out I'd been offered a publishing contract for my novel. Life's a funny old thing. I have dedicated the book to my Grandad. I know he would be so happy for me.

July

I finally caught Olympic fever, after having had no interest whatsoever in the build up. This was my first glimpse of the Games - when the torch went past the Decorex office on the barge. Sadly I only had my iPhone, hence rubbish pic!

August

After spending hours - maybe days - of my life searching for tickets, I finally somehow wangled two £50 tickets to the Paralympics opening ceremony. I took my Mum, and it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I only wish I'd been blogging back then, because I could wax lyrical about it for ages. It was fab. Unforgettable.

September

Olympic fever continued when I got press seats to the Paralympic athletics in September. This time I went with my friend Amy - I'll never forget the atmosphere in the stadium, and the park itself. Just brilliant. Wish we could make the 'Lympics an annual thing.

October

A flying trip with my Dad went a bit scary when we got stuck above thick cloud. And then my Dad decided to stall the plane for fun. I now know what kind of scream I'll give off in a near-death situation. It's loud.

November

I got to see the cover for my novel. I love it.

December

The festive season began with a bang, with a trip to The Cube. My culinary highlight in a year filled with culinary delights. Hopefully more of that in 2013...

I can't wait to see what 2013 has in store, and fully intend on recording as much of it as possible on this blog.

Happy new year to you all!

Merry Christmas!

Tis the season to be contemplative... especially if you're a cat called Henri