Jumpsuit – Topshop. Heels – Zara. Rose-gold star necklace – MyFlashTrash. Sunglasses & Bag – c/o Couronne. Watch – Sekonda. Gold bangles – ASOS. Friendship Bracelet – DIY (similar here). Belt – Marni (via the Outnet); Ring – Michelle Oh; Thank you Charlie for helping with the photos.

Let this be my humble attempt at inquiring what ze heck is up with this weather by going into the boiler room with a wrench. Apparently, according to practice, the most appropriate attire to such assignment is either a boiler suit or a beer company t-shirt + paint-stained khakis combo, and since I’m off beer for, like, THE REST OF MY LIFE after spilling it all over my laptop the other day, I’m going with the jumpsuit option. It’s surprisingly comfortable! But I won’t speak for the poor man who missed his chance to overtake me in a narrow street and could not help but to witness the series of wedgie un-doing.  As for the weather, I’m really not too sure what’s wrong – my theory is that the thermostat plastic melted onto a permanent state of 32°C (90°F). The manuals were clear though, on claiming I am just one ungrateful bastard for complaining about this beautiful summer weather. I do apologize. Alas, I did do some good banging around with the wrench (The stud-embossed Couronne bag does a fantastic tool-bag make) and now there’s a thunderstorm outside, which means I may have either fixed it or broken it further. We shall see.

Forte Village Resort, Sardinia; Part 1

Suit – Agnona (via Donne Concept Store at Forte Village)

Suit – Agnona (via Donne Concept Store at Forte Village). Top – DAY Birger et Mikkelsen. Necklace – Noemi Klein. Sunglasses – Couronne.

Floppy straw hat – Claire’s. Straw bag – Chloe. Kaftan as dress – Tallulah & Hope

Floppy straw hat – Claire’s. Straw bag – Chloe. Kaftan as dress & Belt – Tallulah & Hope

Red striped top – Chinti & Parker. White culottes – ASOS. White heels – Zara. Clutch – JinYoo103684. Flower hairclip – H&M

Red striped top –Chinti & Parker.White culottes –ASOS. White heels – Zara. Clutch – JinYoo103684. Flower hairclip – H&M

I’m aware of the fact that I tend to overuse Disneyland as a basis of good, or in other words omg-pee-ze-pants-awesome – for example that cake shop down the road that offers infinite free samples is basically Disneyland to my eyes. However, when I say Forte Village is like Disneyland, its one thing that it is indeed omg-awesome, but technically it’s probably the easiest way to describe the concept of this Sardinian resort.
Once you enter the candy-cane barrier and the pastel-coloured gates smothered in Mediterranean flora, it’s similarly a whole other world inside; one that makes date, news, time irrelevant for the entire duration of your stay. There isn’t a stuffed-mouse posse to greet you, but will a parrot named Mario do? We find out later in the week that watching it fight with two other parrots is one of the best entertainment when slightly drunk. A golf-buggy transports you to a remote bungalow amidst thick vegetation that effectively hides the thousand other guests staying at the resort. Once you’ve unpacked, it’s up to you which ‘rides’ you want to go on – I personally abuse the spinning teacup, which involves my hubby spinning me underwater in the Mediterranean sea while he ingests fish of sorts while I have the time of my life forgetting I’m on the other half of my twenties. By lunchtime you hit the pizzeria to reclaim stolen calories, and depart with a cheesecake to eventually nap with, while the adults (hubby) catch up on a bit of rest themselves. See, I’m sure there was a very rich culture and lots to see in the island of Sardinia, but not once we felt the urge to leave Forte Village. In fact it’s exactly what we wanted in a holiday: being locked in a fortified playground with infinite icecream.

Thank you Forte Village Resort for the warm welcome. Stick around for part Two!

T-shirt – Who What Wear. Jeans – Topshop Boutique. Tartan shirt – Motel Rocks. Bag – JinYoo103684. Boots – Thakoon. Watch – Guess.

Ever since we started having this amazing weather every weekend was a gamble of either risking lasagna-degrees at home or trying to find somewhere that’s not gurgling with people – cool people, especially – because now I feel uncomfortable lying in the park with wild hair and no make-up, clutching a beer generally looking like a hobo. Everyone’s out dressed in beautiful sun dresses and Miss Universe make-up, and is it just me or British boys look hotter in the sun?* I guess they technically are in 31 degrees compared to 12, but that rule clearly doesn’t apply to everyone (me). Some weekends I’d come home after spending a afternoon in Shoreditch or the flower market, wailing EVERYBODY IS COOLER THAN MEEEEE to the hubby. Eventually I’d fall asleep on the sofa to the sound of his ‘there there…’, where occasionally I’d dream that I’m a moose in the middle of a field of shiny horses all wearing horn-rimmed glasses. I run back bawling to my moose husband in the dream too (I’m seeing a pattern here…). So last weekend I tested out an ingenious idea of re-visiting** Canary Wharf, London financial district in the East and satisfyingly void of ‘cool’. Well, that’s not entirely true, because how the river and the concrete meet in this hypermodern-Venice like setting is the coolest, coldest treat in the heat, and the fact that there’s basically no one around is pure bliss. Don’t tell anyone I hang around there though, wouldn’t want to be evicted from Hackney for ‘lack of hip’ and all.

* Sorry for looking, husband, maybe we should sprinkle water on our bellies and go lie in the sun a little to see if we can grow a six-pack by next weekend.

** Used to live there for two years if you can believe it, it was the most NYC I could go without leaving Europe, okay?!

Michelle Oh studio

Behind every giggle there’s a Michelle, we used to say, back in our Foundation Degree at CSM seven years ago. 19 year old kids, fresh out of highschool, fresh off the plane dressed in ‘uni clothes’ picked by our mothers while in diapers ready to poop crayolas for art school. Giggles were the soundtrack to our lunches on the curb near the burrito van, and none of us had yet ruled out becoming astronauts or firefighters when we grew up. I definitely was one of the few to forget that, stopped buying underwear at the Disney store, took myself too seriously during the next few years in BA, and declared Hello Kitty an arch enemy. (Not to be mistaken with the boy that snickers at penis jokes that still lives inside me) Michelle and I reconnected on our third year, which is when I first featured her work here, sophisticated yet full of character. She still had the giggle though, which was puzzling to me, and yet another three years later I visit her studio in 2013 it was still there. An hour into poking around her new studio on Mount Pleasant it hit me, DUH, that each of her pieces say exactly that: curiosity and innate playfulness. Her jewellery design aesthetic is inspired by ‘found’, everyday objects (corals, twigs…) that are cast into beautiful organic shapes. All come with a story, giggle-blessed of course, and can also be commissioned to suit your own story, style and budget. It probably didn’t help me going around the studio stupidly asking ‘is this where you cook rice for lunch‘ to a metal-treating machine to take us straight back to being the girls of 2006. Then we had a Daddy Donkey burrito for lunch on a curb for the sake of it all.

Also, always find myself jealous of how she gets to work with borderline psycho-dentist tools and Thor hammers while all I do is tweet dirty jokes from bed as a profession, like come on. The only time I get to play with tools is when a client requests the font to be changed to Comic Sans, which is when I use my own psycho dentist drilly stuff to say ‘aw hell no’ with… and it’s never often enough.

Afternoon tea at the Connaught Hotel

Bag – Couronne. Shoes – Zara.

Tropical-print cardigan – COS. Frill crepe bralet – Topshop. Pencil skirt – Next. Heels – Zara. Bag – Couronne. Bar necklace – Kirsten Goss Urban Edge.

“You look like an ambassador’s wife!”, Kit yelled as she found me sitting in a park bench waiting to go for tea at the Connaught. If I had spotted her first I’d have opened with “It’s my birthday, just today PLEASE lie about my how my new hair looks and tomorrow you can tell me I look like I need to pick up my two kids from football practice at 3pm”. Alas, I was immersed in trying to lure a squirrel with a crumb-looking stone and my new hair had curtained over my corner-eye – the first betrayal of many, I anticipate. So then we all went to tea, Honest Kit, an ambassador’s wife and her sidekick, the beautiful turquoise Couronne bag that looks like it could hold any political secrets. I guess today I had legitimate looks for the ‘Do you know who my husband is‘ or ‘I declare war on your café‘ card, if ever the need arose.The deal with the hair is, I’d gotten it permed and cut just over a month ago, but the style was so un-maintainable what with absolutely no blowdry skills whatsoever, I went back in for a shorter length where Mrs Jackie had thrown in a blow dry as well. So, realistically, this style will NEVER appear again on the blog unless I magically give birth to an intern who will just help blow dry at 7:55am before I leave the house at 8. I came home and told the hubby the story about my new title, and he just said “you just look like a ‘wife’ to me”. Well, thanks, you both.

By the way, and it feels wrong of me to push this to the side, but the Afternoon tea was heavenly. What a treat! The Connaught Hotel is no doubt one of my few favourite luxury 5-star hotels in London, and while I’ve been around during cocktail hours (and learning how to make a wicked Old-Fashioned with Editer), I hadn’t tried the afternoon tea at the Espalette. Well, no wonder as around 3-4pm everyday I’m hitting back alleys in search for the fifth and final caffeine fix of the day or a bag of Haribo to inhale. The scones are warm and soft – let that be your reason to go. Butter that scone, if you know what I mean.