Category Archives: Adventures


Evolve 353… how do I love thee? Let me count the ways!


Hello, I write to you cannily with aching abs and even more aching buttocks, for I have joined the church of exercise-mad, squat jumping, active wear encased Londoners. The gym behind my lifestyle change is very aptly called Evolve and it’s the best gym you could wish to be a member of.


Since Evolve is on my road, I spent months walking past and peeking in through the window like a snooping neighbour, wondering if I could brave a class full of lean, sweaty bodies. It looked so hard-core! The members were a mixture of ages, mostly women with some attractive men shouting at them. It seemed premium and niche, lacking the usual crowd of half-arsed people you find in commercial gyms, wearing ill suited, cheap trainers from Sports Direct and a full face of make-up. Evolve is very much a purist gym; it has classes, but 100% not Les Mills classes and it has PT sessions, but not like “so what would you like to work on today, Deborah?” sessions.


Prior to joining, I was unlucky to have the worst case of glandular fever my doctor had ever seen, which resulted in the rare secondary complication of hepatitis. Bleugh. I felt absolutely horrible for months and you can read about it in detail here. Eating and resting made me feel better so I got a little… fluffy, shall we say. Basically my body started to resemble the beginnings of a collapsed trifle with muscle atrophy and undulating wobbliness. This was followed by many all-nighters working at a brutal advertising agency, still feeling so unwell. Like all sensible people, when life gets too much, I threw another challenge into the mix and got myself back into dancing. To my surprise, I successfully (but rather painfully) auditioned for a TV role alongside superstar dancer and now good friend, Zec Luhana. Sadly, after an exposure to bullying and constant bitchiness in my dance company, a lifestyle shake-up was in order.

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Posh people fighting on the tube and swarms of Krill.


Tensions were running high in Parsons Green this morning. The tube station platform was packed deep in Celine handbags, Russel & Bromley Shoes, a steadily rising mumble of politely clipped moans, with lots of busy thumbs on Whatsapp, sharing the news with colleagues in central London, that the Upminster trains were running a delayed service. Finally the train doors whooshed open to a reveal a dense carriage of commuters. I propelled myself forward into the mass of tangled bodies. My headphones have gone missing this week, so instead of listening to The Beibs, I have been observing people, and as a result, have become a lot more aware of my surroundings. It’s been quite nice, I highly recommend a week without headphones.

My first general observation is how West London people are very well put together, albeit in a rather samey, boring and predictable kind of way. East London people are much the same – you can identify a Dalston resident by their grubby-chic style. I could close my eyes and describe to you the uniform of apparel, draped over every Hugo and Tamara trotting past the Sloane Pony in Parsons Green: on the men, cable knit jumpers over stiff-collard shirts, brogues and quilted jackets. On the women, THAT Reiss wool coat, a Pom Pom Poodle hat pulled over fluffy, if a bit crispy looking hair and ruddily applied bronzer, you know, from a cracked Bobbi Brown compact that lives at the bottom of an oversized, overpriced handbag.

My second observation is how RUDE some people are, to the point of complete and utter obnoxiousness. Thankfully, obnoxious people never offend me, as long as they smell pleasant and don’t touch me. It’s the constantly nice, slightly drippy people you need to watch out for; you will never truly know what they are thinking. There people are most often the ones who do crazy things when drunk. You totes know what I mean.

This morning became quite the hilarious occasion as one uppity, flustered woman decided to shout at a poor man (he probably wasn’t poor) who was helplessly wedged in-between someones armpit and a green pole.

“OH MOVE DOWN WILL YOU!!” she bellowed.

The steamed-up carriage of raised arms and squashed shoulders was sleepy, until this moment. There was quite clearly no room to move anywhere. The subject of her outburst responded in the most unexpected way:

“Shut up you complete moron!”

His floppy quiff bouncing on each syllable. Smiles broke across the faces of every man and woman in the steamy carriage. A sparing explosion between one Hooray Henry, and a frazzled middle-aged woman, who probably had issues with her nanny that week… was about to kick off. In Parsons Green people are FAR too civilised for this kind of thing to get ugly, so with exchanged glances and pulled out earphones… the entire carriage tuned in.

“Excuse, me! What did you just call me?!”

“I said you are fucking a moron! There is obviously no fucking room to move down!!”

At this point, an older floppy-haired man, who was clearly a lot more zen about the situation, merrily exclaimed:

“It’s just the morning people!!”

Chuckles from the entire carriage. Eye contact was made between people, on a tube train, in London.

Whilst observing this drama, I lost my balance, possibly because I can barely reach the Distract Line rails, and consequently face-planted into a tall man’s shoulder, my lipstick leaving a perfect kiss print in pastel pink (MAC Cream Cup), on his black wool coat. I blushed and realised the man behind me had spotted this, we shared a cheeky smile. The lucky man with my lipstick print was intensely watching a David Attenborough documentary on his iPad, all about the Blue Whale, eating a swarm of Krill. The Blue Whale who was so full, he almost came to a standstill while digesting many thousands of Krill. I felt like one of those Krill, and the near stationary District Line tube train carriage was the Blue Whale, at Earls Court.

After eventually leaving the Blue Whale, I arrived at work in a lifted mood, entertained by my journey. It reminded me that little moments of such unexpected entertainment, only happen when you lose your headphones and observe your surroundings… Shouty posh twats, lipstick stains and swarms of Krill.

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Holiday adventures in Sardinia.




Right now I am sat in Hally’s, my favourite Parsons Green haunt, with a big coffee. To look at me, you would see deceptive remains of my holiday glow. This glow is disguising a horrid sickly virus causing my limbs to ache, and head want to explode with pressure. For the last three days I’ve been sleeping 16 hours at a time, waking up only to send whatsapps to my friends and lovely team at work. *gets out a violin*. Just less than a month ago, things could not be any more different. In order to get over my holiday blues and take my mind off feeling like poop, I have decided to tell you all about my Sardinian holiday adventures, paused by feverant bouts of nose-blowing and coffee slurping.


One of my best friends Aimee is my holiday buddy and general partner in crime. Last year we went on an incredible holiday to Barbados. This year we fancied somewhere closer to home, with gorgeous beaches, warm sea and enough culture to explore by car. No clubbing and very little drinking… we are 25 going on 45 really. #oldladiesontour


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Blogger’s block.

My life is spinning, drinks flowing, music carrying me through each day on the cusp of another exciting thing place adventure opportunity person. Words are one of my art forms. A form of expression. I want to splash them across this blog, painting a vivid picture that is rich, detailed… a lush, vibrant oil. Brush strokes quick and colourful, funny and open.


Malleable and momentary, I love having an expressive outlet through words, like I love paints, lipstick, working each day with designers and writers. All of this is happening at once and under my feet the rattle and hum of London takes me from bar to barre. I ache, I laugh and I am in love with life right now. Forgive me for my late slipping on the frequency of blog posts. They will come.



Where the hell have I been?!

It is truly amazing and heart-warming to know I have frequently returning visitors from all over the world, sometimes in the thousands each day. I see you in Manila AND Burkina Faso! Hello!! So… I should really let y’all know what I’ve been up to whilst not posting on here… the intention being that you don’t forget about my blog and we carry on being internet friends. I’m a bit of an over-sharer too.


A few weeks ago I moved flat! I am now residing in the cute South West London neighborhood of Parsons Green, in a beautiful old mansion block. Think high ceilings, French blinds, roll top bath etc… Smug?? Me? Noooo way. I live with a delightful girlfriend who is a smart, kick-ass lawyer (which will inevitably come in handy as I’m always getting into trouble! – joking… ish) and a gym-honed, fitness nut. We are a match made in girly flatmate heaven, Nutribullet and everything. I’m her skincare dealer, she’s my fitspiration. It is SUCH a relief to no longer live with Xbox playing, grunting, stinky stinky boys. *BIG SIGH*.


Moving from SW1 to SW6 has required a tiny bit of adjusting as rather sadly, I can no longer walk to work, Uber taxis are actually NOT eight quid back from Soho, the Queen does not live a few mins up the road, and the Royal Mews Cavalry no longer wake me up every Saturday morning by trotting past my bedroom window en masse.*Sobs*. All of these things I made a point to really appreciate. However, I CAN skip to the Fulham Wine Rooms, Duke on the Green and Durrell Arms, also known collectively as some of the best pubs in London, usually full of Hooray Henry’s in red trousers with tripple-barrelled names, so no change there… but it is really lovely. Did I mention that I no longer live with stinky boys? I’m happy now.


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Hitchhiking by James McCann.



“No one does that anymore”
“Oh, you should stand over there, you’ll get picked up quicker”
“I did 60,000 kilometers around Europe when I was young. I almost had that road fever and then I had to stop.”


The most remarkable experience I had Hitching across France this August was how much people wanted to share with me. I already have experience of being a person that people share with, as a private English teacher I find that I am often cast as a counselor discussing peoples day to day grievances. The difference between that experience and conversations on the road is that people came to me as if to confess their past lives as Hitchers. Every ride I got told me some personal story of sticking out their thumb in the hope of getting where they needed to go. Even people who couldn’t give me a ride would stop and tell me about their experience and give me their personal tips on how best to find a lift. The truth of course is that is that there is no tried and tested method bar a smiling face!


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