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Heels – All Saints

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Heels – All Saints. Coat – Club Monaco. Breton top – Uniqlo mens, stolen from hubby. Leather trousers – Hoss Intropia. Bag – Couronne. Scarf – Johnstons of Elgin. Straw basket – Chloé

Some people run marathons, I go to the flower market. By bus. I know I’ve featured it on this blog enough times to make it seem it’s a weekend ritual, but hey this is captain of Lazy club we’re talking about here – I get medals for doing the laundry. Marzipan medals if I hang them the same day. Sometimes the hubby smears BB-cream on my cheeks like battle-paint so I can get things done outside the house during the weekend, flower market included. On some days he accompanies me and we attach a rope between our bikes so he can pull me down the road. It really is just a quick cycle away, and whenever I do manage to make it down I ask myself why I don’t visit every weekend because I fall in love each time. The seasonal flowers and their cheerful sellers, the occasional puppy weaving between the happy crowd, the pastry reward at the end of the market… what’s not to love! Some pansies were starting to make an appearance, as well as some really stunning lilies. But since I’m still pretty much a n0oB when it comes to flower species, I brought home a bunch of hydrangeas and a fistful of eucalypti. Although, not sure what I can do with them really, maybe I’ll make soup of it.

Hope you had an exciting weekend, what did you get up to?

Oh, speaking of weekends, if you’re into taking pics of your feet on Instagramthis is one quick and easy competition you could take part in for a chance to travel to London with All Saints. I need someone to pull my bike to the market again, actually, if you want.

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Chairs from Fashion for Home

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Wearing: Cashmere sweater – Iris & Ink (exclusive to The OUTNET.COM). Check trousers – J Crew (via The OUTNET). Shoes – Tory Burch (via The Outnet). Necklace – Mikimoto. Rose-gold watch – Guess. Wrap-around bracelet – H&M. Boyfriend Jeans – ASOS. Booties – Alexander Wang (via The Outnet). Shirt – Uniqlo.

Welcome to my casa! my office! my casa! Oh, I don’t even know anymore. I’ve been freelancing ever since I was about 17, I have a feeling the Home/Office boundary never existed in the first place. I built websites in bed and they still ran fine, bed-bug free. In fact if I remember correctly, a part of this blog was built tangled in sheets – tell me, does it smell of Doritos/down feather when you access this site? It’s only quite recently that I felt the need to allocate a certain corner for ‘work’ purposes… I suspect it’s something to do with the rise of pinterest, or maybe the fact that I am always home working making sandwiches, not necessarily of the good-wife sort either. I’ve been renting this flat since my third year of uni, and throughout the years it has gone through many identity shifts. The trouble mainly being the fact that, while divided into two floors, the flat is technically a studio, so the foyer is our dining room, shoe-storage, and our living area. Upstairs, the desk is in the bedroom, which is also technically the closet as well. And regardless of how many corners I fill with IKEA Linnmons to ‘work on’, I’ve always managed to end up in bed. Or by the fridge, eating out raw dinner ingredients.

What I’m currently finding particularly useful, is to get up in the morning and slapping on a bit of BB-cream, and getting dressed as if going out, heels and all. Figures I’ll be sitting the whole day anyway. That way, when I pop out for snacks the local Turkish don’t remember me as that bum that has a serious TWIX addiction. These days I’ve been drawn to wearing more cashmere, perfectly delicate enough to avoid aggravating eczema, my current favourite being the Iris & Ink cashmere sweater (exclusive to THE OUTNET.COM). I’ve worn it to countless fantasy board meetings, and lunch dates with Mr fridge & Mrs oven.

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Plum, orange and almond cake slice at CafeAnd

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Wearing: Coat – ASOS. Top – Zara. Trousers – Uniqlo. Shoes – Kurt Geiger. Pouch – Kurt Geiger. Thank you Charlie for helping with the photos!

Once you start working from home and the passing days have absolutely no definition other than when the Nutella runs out (every.single.day.yo), outings, even ones where you sit alone in a cafe and order one cake after the other, feels like a big deal. To start with, only when I smear some foundation on my Walking-Dead face and draw on some eyes a hope is rekindled, a small hope that I belong in civilization of some form or another. Sometimes I go out in just an eyeliner and some baggy jeans, because that’s already a step up from whatever I’ve been pickling in the past few days. But then of course I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window looking like a half-baked pie, or a Transformer that transformed only half-way and basically still looks like a pickup-truck with arms. At least remember to draw some eyebrows, I tell myself. I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it feels good to venture down somewhere that’s a few more bus-stops away from the usual, to dress up a little, and to reach a little further into the closet for exotic-looking things like these ridiculously electric hues of blue that are usually just incompatible with the trip to the Turkish to get more Nutella and Oreos. Unless I don’t have the right change and I need to smuggle out a bag of Oreo’s (that also happens to be blue). I kid. Don’t steal, kids.

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Dishoom London: an homage to the now-fading Irani cafés in Bombay

Lamb Samosas

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Dishoom Chicken Tikka and Garlic Naans

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Vada Pau

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Mango Kulfi on a stick and Pineapple and black pepper crumble

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Trenchcoat – H&M Trend. Bag – Kurt Geiger ‘Deuce’. Grey jeans – Urban Outfitters. Shoes – Topshop. Plaid Shirt – Uniqlo Mens. Grey cardigan – Barbour. Watch – Sekonda.

We fit right in, Joanna and I, at Dishoom, inspired by Irani cafes that existed in abundance in Bombay at the turn of the 20th Century, those which welcomed practically everyone regardless of social class or occupation. So we fit right in, because alongside memories of wealthy Bombay businessmen dining next to the struggling rickshaw-puller and the whore, there was us, two girls that knew no more than the ABC’s of Indian cuisine, asking the waiter what samosas look like. To those seasoned Londoners who add to the national statistic of curry being one of Britain’s most popular foods, our choices may seem unusual, but apparently Dishoom prides in being not, an Indian restaurant, but a Bombay Cafe. Everything is designed to share and each person is recommended to order 2 – 3 dishes. The food come in concise portions, each rich in flavour and character, or in other words, DI-SHOOM.* Interiors designed by Russel Sage (who’s also done Zetter Townhouse, The Hospital club…), I’m transported straight into an exotic world that is also oddly nostalgic despite the fact that I’m the dunce that doesn’t know what samosas look like. Don’t let the hype/commercial reputation (their other branch is in Covent Garden theatre district) deter you, especially the Shoreditch branch with the beautiful courtyard already littered with sofas and benches, I’ll be out there with a Bollybellini come July. For now, try the bottomless spiced chai, Behl and the Pineapple and black pepper crumble as dessert.

*Bollywood version of Ka-Pow!

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Polo-neck – Uniqlo heattech. Peg trousers – ASOS White. Bag - 3.1 Phillip Lim Pashli satchel. Belt - Marni via the Outnet. Coat – Mango. Shoes – Topshop. Snood – DIY; Thank you Kit for helping with the pics!

Nearly seven years and I still feel like I’m not part of this relationship. This ongoing, abusive at times, although occasionally enthralling relationship with London. I guess the one good thing about it is that it’s an open one so I can make out with Paris, NY, Warsaw without the fear entering into a nasty divorce where I lose half my assets (nectar points at Sainsbury’s mostly), although perhaps there lies the problem…? I’ve been punched around by inefficient performance in banking, transport and OH MY GOODNESS the weather, but sometimes it reveals such hidden beauty I fall right back head-over-heels in love. Like when it does this, or the Notting Hill area par example, which I’d completely forgotten about living in the other side of town. It’s like swapping sleeping sides and suddenly realizing he/she’s pretty sexy from this side of the bed. Of course, the weather thing still makes London essentially an asshole because believe it or not, these photos were taken back in November 2012 when Winter was just arriving and guess what, I just stuck my hand out the window and it’s exactly the same temperature. IT’S NEARLY APRIL, AND STOP LEAVING YOUR SOCKS AROUND THE HOUSE WILL YOU.

Although clearly I’m the man in the relationship judging by how I dress.