by | March 23, 2015

some ballet, McQueen & Joe’s Oriental Diner

I’m the first to admit when I’ve over-scheduled the weekend. And so here I am waving my arms in the air, trying to signal ‘time-out’. Mini was rehearsing for a ballet show all day Saturday (with two performances on Sunday) and I was only too delighted to crouch in the wings to try and capture the dancing mites as they practiced until their little legs and arms gave up.

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Then I flew home to charge my camera before heading straight out to the V&A’s much lauded Alexander McQueen exhibition, Savage Beauty. (Not that I was allowed to photograph the contents – of course – but I needed my camera for our dinner review which followed.)

Natural History Museum at night

Visiting a museum at night is spooky and intense – in a brilliant way. Across the road, the Natural History Museum (above) looked radiant but, as I entered the world’s greatest museum of design and art, I could feel the overwhelming emotion of those paying their respects to this enormously talented visionary.

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As I am sure you have heard, the retrospective carefully examines the work and inspiration of the late designer. The exquisitely striking tailoring set against the potency of his creativity, it’s fascinating, heart-rending and awe-inspiring… book your ticket today!

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I was with the perfect guest for this exhibition. Not only is she a fashionista, but a neurologist too. Married to my cousin, they have recently relocated to London, from her native Brasil with their divine little Sao Paulo girl – to much family delight.

Our boys (who want me to tell you that they had known each other long before He and I ever dated) had been drinking Chelsea beer while were ‘with’ Mcqueen. We met them for dinner at the recently opened Joe’s Oriental Diner (251 King’s Road) where Aussie chef Scott Hallsworth (of Kurobuta fame) is serving his take on Pan Asian cuisine alongside teapot cocktails.

joe's oriental diner

joe's oriental diner

We feasted on the most delicious duck leg red curry with lychees, walnut prawns, mushrooms san choy bao, rare beef salad… and so much more (we totally over ordered!).

joe's oriental diner

joe's oriental diner

joe's oriental diner

The atmosphere, in this very casual 38 seater diner, is as loud and buzzy as you want it to be. A welcome light relief to the mind-blowing exhibition and our over-scheduled weekend.

joe's oriental diner

 

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by | March 22, 2015

glossy finger wagging

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There’s been a fair bit of finger wagging at those glossy magazines this week. Women far and wide (no pun intended) seem to have an axe to grind and it involves those ‘perfect mums’ in those shiny pages profiling their ‘perfect lives’.

Now, I do understand that sometimes those features can be eye-watering nauseating as well as self-esteem damaging. Honestly, I DO get it. But talk yourself off the edge, ladies, and realise that no-one’s life is even half close to perfect. Those magazine editors (who are honestly lovely and normal) have pages to fill and, anyway, reading about a perfect mum is much more inspiring than a lady-who-has-totally-lost-it.

One of those profiled happened to mention that her children do not play with plastic toys, watch TV nor dress in anything less than couture. We all know THAT’S never going to be the truth for us. The real women. But it is amusing that she tries to pretend and should therefore make you smirk not growl.

Peronally, I read these magazines for pure escapism and, actually, it would be a boring old world without them. There are plenty of horror stories in the Daily Mail and Woman’s Own, but I count on those with thicker, sumptuous pages to allow me to fantasize.

So the bottom line is – don’t get your knickers in a twist over someone else’s gloss, it’s often not as it seems.

This column first appeared in The Lady where I am their Mum About Town.

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Filed under Exclusive to website, life, The Lady Magazine

by | March 21, 2015

Stevie at Hampstead Theatre

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Strangely drawn to the curious life and character of the poet Stevie Smith and a bit of a Zoe Wanamaker fan, I leaped at the chance to see the play Stevie – Hampstead Theatre’s latest production.

But the play about the poet, written by Hugh Whitemore in 1977, didn’t quite tick the boxes for me. Not entirely an affectionate portrait of the quirky poet, I soon shuffled in my seat and wondered quite why I had broken my back to make this performance.

Wanamaker was, of course, her usual brilliantly amusing self and jollied along the definitely-suburban North London crowd with her descriptive verse of ‘melancholy suburbia’. Having quaffed a large glass of heady red wine in the swish foyer, they were at the ready for some blantant quips at the expense of her eccentric insecurity.

We observed Stevie as she lived emotionally dependent on her ‘lion aunt’ while infinitely preferring the domesticated pleasures of sherry and Battenberg cake rather than the company of a lover or husband. Perhaps it was the incessant weaving of her verse into the dialogue which failed to reveal any credibility in her life story? I simply couldn’t empathise with those monologues.

So, all in all, the humour and the pathos of Stevie’s situation, combined with some serious desperation, just didn’t do it for me. And I left feeling that the script just didn’t do this London poet justice.

 

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by | March 15, 2015

(happy) Mother’s Day

How does Mother’s Day make you feel? Self-congratulatory? A little smug? So happy and content you could burst?On the contrary, it makes me feel somewhat melancholy and a trifle guilty. Actually really, truly guilty. And because it’s such a curious contrast as to how the Smalls want me to feel, I had better try and explain myself.

Firstly, Mother’s Day reminds me how brilliant my mother is. Sometimes I wonder if she is just too daunting an act to follow. Motherhood (along with marriage) is the hardest job we’ve ever signed up for. It feels like a continual hike up a very steep mountain, with very few pit stops. I STILL ask my mother a million questions a week. And this makes me feel sad. What will I do when I can’t consult my mother-the oracle any longer? I’ll be so lost…

This brings me to my second melancholy thought. More than 4 of my besties are already unable to ask their mother how to descale their iron, get rid of a child’s hacking cough or even take those small people off their hands for an hour’s peace. And I feel so SO sad for them. I almost wish I could share my mother with them to make it feel more fair.Before I cause mothers up and down the country to fling themselves on the floor in a pool of tears, I do have one more miserable thought. Do you find all those thank you messages and I love you cards bring out any of the Great Guilt? Am I a good enough mother? Couldn’t I be less short with them? And listen to their detailed stories with undivided attention?

I suppose the bottom line is that it’s our day, Mums. They want (and need) to thank us. And it’s not their fault that it’s sometimes a little hard to stomach.

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