Category: London

Britain, Fashion, Humor, Linkstorm, London, Work, Writing

Friday Links (C’mon Vogue! Edition)

“Vogue always did stand for people’s lives. I mean, a new dress doesn’t get you anywhere; it’s the life you’re living in the dress, and the sort of life you had lived before, and what you will do in it later.”
– Diana Vreeland

My last day at Red, and it’s been an absolute blast – I have a fun post for you coming on Monday about my adventures, never fear. In the meantime I’m finishing up my projects and enjoying the office atmosphere as London Fashion Week kick off today, the BAFTA’s prep starts as well, and other things converge into a massive swarm of work frenzy. Of all the days to wind up a work experience, this is a good one. Here are your links, tell me what you’re up to this weekend!

Really glad to have been able to work here, it's been an adventure!
Really glad to have been able to work here, it’s been an adventure!

First of all, it’s Valentines Day – do something lovely with people you like. And if you’re in Florida and you need a last minute reservation, got you covered.

Someone has taken one of my favorite things Ira Glass has ever said and turned it into this. Thoughts for all of us.

One of my London friends, freelance graphic artist Teri, routinely puts out some seriously charming freebies on her site. Her most recent a Spring-y but modern graphic wallpaper is gorgeous.

Were I an heiress, perhaps one of those fabulous types portrayed by the cinema in the 30s, I’d definitely need something (that was not a servant) to hold my gloves from time to time. This would do nicely.

This would make a gorgeous, alternative wedding dress.

Blog find of the week, tales of a woman selling theatre tickets in the West End. I’m pretty sure we should be friends in real life.

Some of the world’s most beautiful libraries.

If you want to see our particular foundational drippings in the primordial soup we all started as, Emily Graslie (my STEM lady crush) of The Brain Scoop has got you covered.

The pinnacle of porcine fabulousness is getting hitched in Vivienne Westwood – working at a magazine leads one to discover the oddest headlines.

The NFL may soon draft it’s first openly gay player, this newscaster hits the nail on the head discussing it and any “controversy” surrounding it. Bravo.

Here’s one to chew on: American media rolling in the gleeful angstfest of complaining about conditions in Sochi might say more about them and betray our own privilege more than it embarrasses Russia. Dirty water, unsafe conditions, unreliable transportation…that’s not entertainment, that’s a large portion of the human race’s reality.

Kid employes Game Theory in Jeopardy. Fascinating!

Turns out, having a “good side,” is a real thing. It’s amazing the amount of differences in the sides of our faces.

Britain, Expat, Food, Humor, Husband, London

More Food Adventuring in Bloomsbury

“Time for something sweet.”
– Winnie-the-Pooh

After our excellent brunch, Jeff and I spent the morning wandering through Soho. He was inevitably hungry merely two hours after we ate and expressed a desire for that recent acquaintance of ours, a cronut.

We’ve become “those food trend” people, ugh.

Anyway, the internets informed us that cronuts were to be had at my new favorite coffee joint.

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Wild and Wood is a fun little place, all the seating comes from churches, mostly in the form of old pews which I think is fantastic, and most of all it’s tiny! If you go to the last picture of the gallery on the site’s homepage, you are looking at basically the entire shop. In other words, it’s almost a dead ringer for what most coffee houses and small businesses have looked like throughout human history in general and British history in particular.

Seriously, I'm feeling the urge for some ecclesiastically themed redecorating!
Seriously, I’m feeling the urge for some ecclesiastically themed redecorating!
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Still endorsed by the Small Dog team.

But what I loved most about the bijou bistro?

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So say we all!

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Britain, Expat, Food, Humor, Husband, London, Travel, Weekend

Brunch, A Coming of Age Story

“And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don’t want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!”
“Good Heavens!” said Pippin. “At breakfast?”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Last week was busy for both of us. Between days in the magazine office and nights spent freelancing for me, and long hours for him as busy season gathers force – all of which interspersed with some truly heinous days of commuting due to strike action on the part of Tube workers (I spent 10 of a 48 hour period commuting by foot and only occasionally bus) – we needed some indulgence on the weekend. And since we were being terribly grown up with grown up problems like commuting, a grownup weekend indulgence like brunch seemed the very thing.

There is something very adult about having brunch, as opposed to breakfast. Anybody can stumble blearily to the cupboard of a morning and slosh some cereal and milk into a bowl. But brunch, at least brunch in the more fashionable areas of London, requires effort, kittens.

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I’d been hearing mouthwatering things about Jackson and Rye in Soho so last week I made a reservation for the weekend and Jeff and I trotted off that morning to enjoy ourselves on an uncharacteristically bright winter day. My initial desire to dine there was due to a pretty delectable sounding description of their buttermilk friend chicken sandwich, but the only time I could get us in was 10am. Fried food might be okay in Jeff’s book at that our of the morning, but it’s definitely an abomination in mine. I got a delicious eggs, potato, and fancy vegetable breakfast while Jeff threw himself on the sword of the aforementioned chicken – a great hardship for him, I’m sure – so I could at least taste it in between munches of grilled sourdough toast smothered in avocado.

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Lest you think I’m dwelling too much on this, I was incredibly smug because historically Jeff tends to always choose better food than me when we go out to eat. Almost inevitably the dishes he chooses are better presented and tastier than my selections, which irks me greatly. For once at least, I won brunch. It was delicious – Britain has converted me to slightly softer cooked eggs and I haven’t looked back.

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The bar area, kept hopping with hot drinks, fresh juices, the acceptable day drinking options like mimosas and Bloody Marys.

We’ll be going back because we quite liked it; I still want to try the Avocado Eggs Benedict (I really love avocados but finding decent ones it’s nigh impossible thus far) and because it felt really nice to “do brunch,” eating nice food in a fun place, leisurely people watching, and chatting about our further weekend plans (spoiler, one of the most interesting theatre experiences I’ve had in a long time). Very responsible and far more put together than many of our usual weekend morning routines. I wouldn’t want to do it every weekend, cereal and milk is frankly sometimes just what I need, but as an occasional treat I think it sounds quite nice. Minions are welcome to join us.

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Britain, Expat, History, Humor, London, Travel

Pub Signs I’ve Met and Loved

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.
– Oscar Wilde

I’m pretty sure this will be a continuing feature (my love of British placards and signage being well established).

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I’m beyond ready for Game of Thrones to be back – as Kerry, once put it, you can tell a lot about a person by who you think should rule Westeros. Your answers to that immortal question in the comments, please. This guy also looks about as cheerful as Kit Harrington does in character – aka, miserable.

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The eventual title of my autobiography, I’ve decided.

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One of my favorite pubs every for reasons that will become more clear in a later post.

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I haven’t investigated this claim as deeply as the Not-Sir-Christopher-Wren-Or-Queen-Catharine-of-Aragon House. But I will say I have seen more than one “oldest pub/restaurant/licensed premises in London” sign in my time.

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Self explanatory. (Or if not, a landmark of a restaurant that had to close in October of last year, but petitions were got up to keep it opening and functioning because it’s a Soho mainstay. Also, the name is cheeky, because it’s Soho.)

Britain, Expat, History, Humor, London

Lies, Damn Lies, and History

“Do you just constantly have your own little side adventures?”
“Yep.”
– Troy and Abed, NBC’s Community

Jeff likes to tease me that I stumble across random historical and cultural things by mistake. He calls it, “leading him into wardrobes,” which I take to be a high compliment. But some of these adventures take the most pleasant of odd turns. Take for instance this charming little house nestled into a quiet spot near Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre on the south bank of the Thames.

Adorable, right?
Adorable, right?

Exactly the sort of historical house I’d love to buy if I had pots of money. It had caught my eye before on many of our Thames strolls, but one evening I decided to wander closer (deaf to the dire warning of Jeff, who said I’d be arrested or at least scolded for venturing onto private property). Which is when I caught site of the stone inscription:

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Which, if squinting isn’t a help, reads, “Here lived Sir Christopher Wren during the building of St Paul’s cathedral. Here also, in 1502, Catherine Infanta of Castile and Aragon, afterwards first queen of Henry VIII, took shelter on her first landing in London.”

Which already would have been cool if it was true, but is even more cool since it’s a pack of lies!

A little historical digging, starting on the internets and confirmed in some more official records, leads you down the most glorious, London-y-est, twisty, and complex turns. First of all, the house on the site wasn’t built until 1710 which was the year St. Paul’s was completed – making it pretty hard for Wren to have lived there while he was building and totally impossible for the long suffering Catherine of Aragon to have stopped by at all.

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But in this alternate historical narrative, Wren’s view was fantastic.

To be fair, Wren did live up the road a few houses, but not at this particular bankside address. But in any event this placard (which as it turns out is a recreation of an earlier one that has disappeared) seems to have originated on a nearby building – which historians are unable to determine was or was not the site of Wren’s house. When the building was demolished, an intrepid local salvaged Placard 2.0 and hoisted it onto his own house.

In the final twist, this area of London was bombed heavily during WWII and was considered to be a less desirable part of town in general (I’ve mentioned before that we live in a former Dickensian slum, yes?) So after the war the powers that be were thinking of ways to improve the neighborhood. Postwar, and currently this usually meant bulldozing the damaged history bits and putting up new developments…

But!

The placard ensconced in the stone made them wary that they might be tearing down a culturally relevant site. And though sometimes weighed down by bureaucracy, the Brits usually bow to their own history.

Thus this Stuart era house – where Christopher Wren did NOT live, and Catherine of Aragon did not break her journey – stands. Impervious to historical accuracy, Hitler, and planning councils!

Humor, Life, Linkstorm, London, Work, Writing

Friday Links

“When I was 16, I started publishing all kinds of things in school magazines.”
– Margaret Atwood

I am waist deep in transcriptions of interviews no one will see for months yet and the sense of intrigue is heady. But it’s also time consuming. Here are your links, kittens, I’ll have a full report of week one later in the weekend!

Pearl clutchers avoid, though you’re missing out on some grade A humor. Look, I’m as excited about the next series of Game of Thrones as anybody, but really, guys!? (It must be said, the last line slays me. And there’s someone for everyone, so let’s all hope they found happiness.)

Puppies! (I have really bad puppy lust again, you guys…)

Is it weird I want to go to this?

Need a last minute Vday gift for a ladyfriend? I heartily endorse these.

The Olympics have arrived, here’s a rundown of the athletes representing their countries alone.

More Olympic goodness, here are some events that no longer make the roster. Two words: ski ballet.

Woody Allen, rape culture, and victim blaming/shaming. Something to ponder when thinking honestly about crime (particularly abusive and sexual) and who we tend to give the benefit of the doubt to in our culture.

Why yes, this is indeed be necessary to my happiness.

Facebook is 10 years old this week – time to rethink your life?

Now that you know someone who (tangentially and not really at all) has some experience working with Fashion (capital F, note), it would be a shocking embarrassment for either of us to mispronounce major labels.

My first week at Red Magazine was great fun. I got to meet Alex Steadman of The Frugality, a site I quite like, and just diagonally across from my work station is Pip McCormac, whose book is coming out this spring – and looks gorgeous! It’s a bit intimidating working with a posse of such impressive people, but I’m enjoying it immensely.