Wyndham Grand, Chelsea

A dip and a squish at Blue Harbour Spa

Spa buddy Kit

Regaining lost calories at Chelsea Riverside Brasserie

Fruit salad with frozen honey yoghurt

Wearing: Cardigan & Criss-cross sandals, Zara. One-piece python swimsuit, Mona via Bengt. Print skirt, Sarah Pugh via Bengt. Bag, Bottega Veneta. Body rope, Brook & Lyn Surrounded. Watch, GUESS Watches rose gold.

When you live in North East London anything past Covent Garden requires a weekend bag and a passport – and the land of Chelsea is one of the far-far destinations where you might even require to fill out a landing card. To the depths of Chelsea harbour we ventured, Kit and I, around the riverbend, just under an hour (aeon and a bit) on the Overground. (I do realise that if you live in West London then Shoreditch might be your exotic far-east but for some reason I imagine all my readers to be East Londoners with all your swagger.) I generally tend to try to solve needs and wants within my neck of the woods but I just couldn’t turn down a rare spa break opportunity at the Wyndham Grand London Hotel to un-do sailing knots in my shoulder from hours of being hunched over the laptop trying to code a laser beam widget for this blog (“laser“).

To provide a somewhat impartial review, as rare as they might come in this blogging industry, I must confess that I personally wasn’t too smitten with the general atmosphere and service within the hotel. Overall it seemed to lack a certain 2%, or a charm that might have guests curious to poke their heads around different corners, but I do imagine it would serve a more than satisfactory abode for those coming in for business purposes. Yes, I’m aware the fact that I don’t possess any authority to be sitting  on this high pony and saying yay or nay, but going as a twenty-something who appreciates design and likes to travel at lot, it left a lot of boxes unticked. My favourite facility however, and one I do recommend to Londoners and travellers, was the Blue Harbour Spa. The pool is simple and comfortable at 1.5m depth, the steam room is a doozy and the treatments range from skincare to acupuncture, which means if you hail butt from the North East at least you’ll be going back with a de-stressed, smooth butt. I had the De-Stress Muscle massage and definitely felt a ton lighter when I walked out. The spa isn’t super-luxurious, falling just short with details such as plastic cups for water or changing-room decor (I hear people saying who-the-crap-cares), but really you simply get what you pay for. And that’s all that matters at the end of the day, isn’t it.

Many thanks to Alexandra and Natacha of MangoPR for organizing the appointment.
Wyndham Grand London; Chelsea Harbour, SW10 OXG (0800 4458667; www.wyndhamgrandlondon.co.uk)

Sea scallop, oyster, seaweed and watercress

Clockwise: Carrot puree with pickled celery and basil; Mushroom broth with buffalo curd and water mint; lemon sole with smoked marrow and roasted bone sauce

Dessert: Macerated strawberries with Butter milk custard and Strawberry meringue

Silk trench coat, Calvin Klein. Trousers, Topman. Grey t-shirt, Gmarket. Bag, JHYoo. Shoes, Topshop.

Let me just go collect a few more scrap metal bits to sell so I can once again afford to take some more shots inside Roganic to show you. Or, just book and go, actually. I don’t think I’m confident enough to explain what the dishes are anyway, that’s usually Sophie‘s job and I’m the pizza-belly photographer that nods fiercely pretending to know what a hake is. (‘Yes, this hake is so delicious, can one grow it in the garden?‘) The funny thing is, I didn’t near expect Roganic to be this good despite all the gushing, although when I arrived at the address the low-key grey-pistachio exterior with frosted windows did throw me off a bit. When I plan to spend £60+ for a lunch I expect at least a carpet of some variant of red, and servants, bowing. But then again yours truly is cheap-azz that cry over a £6 burger. I went for the 6 course option, only because it’s a no-choice tasting menu which means the 3 course option would’ve been like having glorified finger food for lunch and the 10 course option would’ve been having LOTS AND LOTS of finger food for lunch. If you’re a foodie feel free to leave that dijon mustard-smear in my comment box now. Said glorified finger-food was beautifully presented on surfaces with contrasting or complimenting textures, and served with the most adequate tempo; every course had such harmony within itself – by the time we were on dessert my palate had been active like an LED dance floor. The only time I’ve had that kind of party in my mouth was when I first tried peanut butter and Oreos after watching Parent Trap in 1998…. YUM. Before the company put two and two together and forever ruined adolescent excitement of of food-experimentation, that is.

Columbia Road Flower Market

Foldable Liberty-print tote by Catherine Memre

Wearing: Shirt, Libery London. Jeans, Levi’s. Shoes, Friis & Company (similar). Sunglasses, Jeepers Peepers. Straw bag, Chloé; Thank you Kit for the shots!

I don’t know what’s worse, not having a TV or relying on Twitter/Google for current issues, because for a few weeks now I’ve been holed up in my flat eating peanuts out of party size bags (hubby is a compulsive hoarder) and collecting rainwater because apparently there’s a zombie mob out there choking the streets and running down innocent Londoners just trying to get on with life. At least that’s what I made out of all the ‘keep out of London’ tweets by the metropolitan police. Apparently the Olympics is on too. Yesterday I managed to sneak away to my happy place that is Columbia road flower market, one of the many bulletpoints on the Sunday to-do list that gets neglected, the other neglected task being ‘water the plants’ – not sure if this is ironic or logical. Peonies were still out so I happily bagged six bunches while Kit scored an armful of hydrangeas for £5, then we had donuts and coffee while observing an unfriendly pomeranian go nuts over crumbs. What a happy Sunday, and not a zombie in sight, Twitter you liar.

Encyclopedia of Flowers by Azuma Makoto

Happo-en Gardens, Tokyo

Slingback heels, Zara. Dress, Zara. Roses garland headband, Piers Atkinson x ASOS. Clutch, Chanel. Belt, Louis Vuitton via Vestiaire Collective

Slingback heels, Zara. Dress, Zara; Roses garland headband, Piers Atkinson x ASOS (similar). Clutch, Chanel. Belt, Louis Vuitton via Vestiaire Collective; Thank you Haleigh for the snaps.

I don’t drink. Much, anyway. Mostly because of the house mop and my mother’s well-toned arms (from all that kimchi-making) attached to it while she’d wait at the door exactly at 11pm. If I was a minute past curfew I’d see whichever end of that mop that evening and mope in bed swearing never to drink again. OOPS! Did I say my mother hit me? I meant she locked me up in the basement sauna and fed me scraps. Anyhow, that’s my story on why even at 25 I get tipsy on nail varnish remover. So I admit I was a little scared for the evening with Perrier-Jouët – who, by the way, was the generous host of my trip to Tokyo – to celebrate the unveiling of cuvée Belle Epoque Florale Edition bottle in collaboration with florist Azuma Makoto. One other thing my mother & mop taught me was to always accept kindness with courtesy, so whenever my flute was filled with champagne, I took it in  with an Arigato – except of course this was a magical flute and therefore bottomless. Funny thing is though, that because the Perrier-Jouët brand champagne is so fine (yes ‘fine’, like woman you so fiiine) (no I wasn’t paid to say this) it created this rather belonging harmony with the food and the atmosphere (especially that dancing) that despite the numerous re-fills it was overall just a very merry time without a single dose of dizzy. And of course no drunk-texting mother saying I miss you and I’m coming home at single-digit hours, nya-nya.

I think I’m meant to say Drink Responsibly. (Or was it Drink Responsibility and Accountability?)

Inspiration: Fabergé Eggs, Mary Katrantzou AW11, Max Mara gold-encrusted sweater on Vogue UK August 2012

I’ll be honest, this ‘inspiration’ does not stem from some encyclopaedic knowledge of art history, or anything remotely similar… in fact I had to google it at first and on spelling it ‘faberze’ Dr Google gave me all sorts of buying choices for Febreeze. Yes I’m shallow like that, and guess what hubby, we’ll never ever run out of air-refresheners, your clever wife just bought fifteen boxes online! And while I’m confessing and all, over the weekend I watched Ocean’s Twelve where George Clooney, Brad Pitt et al try to steal a Fabergé egg – and you guessed it – that’s where this idea comes from. I’m so deep it hurts sometimes.

A few tips:

• If the nail pen is difficult to control when doing your right hand (or left, if you’re right handed) (screw you if you’re ambidextrous, you superior person), try pushing out a dollop onto a scrap paper, then paint the lines on by ‘leading’ a bit of polish using the tip of the pen. You can also advertise for a flatmate for this nail-do then evict her/him out once you’re done.
• For the criss-crossing pattern, start from the inner corner of the nail and draw to the opposite mid-point, that should set a good angle for the rest of the lines. (Or else you’ll end up doing something like my left hand ring finger)
• If you have flower/star-shaped glitter try making bigger criss-cross pattern, and then add the glitter into the diamond a la Mary Katrantzou AW11