National Trust says embrace diversity and inclusion- or ELSE
One would think the lauded lands, halls and manors of our esteemed National Trust might be the one refuge for families, tourists, staycationers and caravanning crowds alike to enjoy, explore and learn of the rich and varied history of this great country (yes, roll your eyes BACK to the forward position all ye Remainers), a ‘safe space’ (to borrow from the liberal lexicon) to frequent free of political posturing and moral grandstanding. Or maybe not. At Felbrigg Hall in Norfolk a handful of long standing volunteers had been shown the stage door exit for refusing to wear the LGBT ‘Prejudice and Pride’ campaign accessories. (Since news broke boycotting patrons voting with their wallets have prompted a whiplash-inducing U-turn by the powers-that-be at the National...
Swifty’s shame of silence
These days politics is everywhere— it permeates every crevice of our lives– littering our social media feeds, emblazoned on egregiously overpriced ‘designer’ T-shirts and spewing forth from the lips of every award-winning actor given a microphone. There is no escaping it, no matter how we may try. Everybody’s gotta have an opinion. (So long as it’s the right one.) Given the current saturation of sanctimony, it can be refreshing sometimes to say nothing at all. Not so according to a recent interview with actress Lola Kirke, (I know. Who?) who takes political posturing by the celebrity elite to a new level, not only holding up the well worn celebrity soap-box, but boldly claiming famous people have a responsibility to get on it, or else. Right....
My Beef with the Roast
I have an announcement to make—provocative, controversial, treasonous even—but enough is enough. Needs must. I can no longer stew in silence as certain (several) establishments across the country (London) carry on belligerently peddling the most achingly disappointing meal EVER. It’s time for intervention. Ladies and gentlemen I believe it is high time we lay to rest that quintessential weekend tradition that is… the Sunday roast. I appreciate the gravity of this, but hear me out. Whilst conducting a thoroughly unscientific, wholly one-sided and not terribly exhaustive study of pubs, restaurants, cafes et al. across England (London) I have come to the conclusion that the Sunday roast is the most overrated, boring, unimaginative, tired and insipid meal on...
We can learn a lot from children of celebrities
Who would you invite to your fantasy dinner party? (A go-to icebreaker for, well, dinner parties.) King Henry VIII? JFK? Chomsky? Marilyn Monroe? Bono? (on second thought) TRUMP? (Couldn’t resist. Keep your panties on.) Churchill? SIR David Attenborough? Admirable, but meh. Not for me, thanks. Think BIGGER– more relevance, impact, influence and achievement. Moi? I’d plump for Brooklyn Beckham, Lily Rose Depp, Iris Law (daughter of the tidal-hairlined one himself, Monsieur Jude) and lastly not forgetting those perennially precocious Hollywood progeny Willow and Jaden Smith. I’m missing a few, but these would make it to the adult table. (Lourdes and the Penns are relegated to the kiddie table. Really, what have they done?) Celebrity...
Eat well, live well in 2017? meh…
New Year’s Eve battling the scrum of last minute shoppers for champers and something fleshy to roast I chanced upon the mag and book aisle spotting no fewer than twenty healthy living cookbooks, from juicing to smart carbs, wheat-free to sugar-free tomes– three alone from the eternally-energised, Grecian-haired guru Joe Wicks and two from the confoundingly successful Davina McCall. TWENTY. “Best-sellers.” Sigh. Noting this, two things come to mind. 1. The Goop-loving, gluten-free goddesses show no sign running short of suger, dairy, wheat, egg, flavour free recipes. Begging the question, how many different ways are there to prepare spirallised courgette, anyway? 2. More fool me. Who knew one could forge a career instagramming egg-white...
Top 10 signs you may be UNCOOL
Girlfriends, significant others and plus ones, we like to think of ourselves as fun, relaxed, easy going, no-fuss partners. We strive to be the cool bird– you know encouraging boys’ nights out, tagging along only occasionally– going pint for pint enough to be a good sport, but not so much as to be clingy or laddish, cheering on the side and talking the off-side rule with confidence (which face it boys, is hardly the rocket science you make it out to be) and perfecting the tricky art of invisible make-up. Because no man likes a trussed-up dolly bird, preferring us all to be ‘au natural’. (Sure they do. If only they knew.) Ah… the throes of youth when we have the time to calculate and maximise our behaviour-to-coolness ratio....
TRUMP WINS! I’m headed to Iceland.
I went into a Lidl once. Call it curiosity, boredom, or just fancied seeing what all the fuss was about. Live life on the edge, that’s me. I meandered down a few haphazardly stacked rows of ‘Wellogs’ Corn Flakes*, ‘Feinz’ Ketchup* and ‘Balkers’ crisps* before turning on my heal and hot footing it to the nearest Sainsbury’s. True story. Something about it felt like a post-Soviet era grocers. Snobby, out of touch and elitist? You bet. What can I say? I’m a sucker for branding. This occasionally jars with The Man, who suffers sporadic episodes of RAUF– Random Acts of Unexplained Frugality. This means the odd purchase of generic Paracetomol or ”brufin’ as he calls it, finds its way into the...
