Mention sherry to anyone, and most likely they'll describe it as a 'Granny' drink. It's certainly not a 'hip' libation; it's not a G&T, or the increasingly popular Aperol Spritz... But truth be told, I've never tried sherry. So when I was invited to a tasting, I was curious.
Hola! It's been a while. And in that while, I've taken a bit of time out from London and headed to a different capital - Madrid. I spent a whirlwind 3 days there and I was sad to go. It felt like a second home by the time we left.
A few Fridays ago, I'd RSVP-ed to a cocktail party at The Devonshire Club. But when the day came, I was hungover, and so very tired. The last thing I wanted to do was trek from west to east (if you consider Liverpool Street east) to drink again.
As we welcome spring, I for one am hoping that the dreaded Beast from the east has finished causing havoc for the year. I'm done with bundling up, feeling my stomach flip as my sole slips on the icy ground, and hiding away inside, desperately trying to keep warm.
Read this glaring neon sign and you'd be forgiven for thinking you were being casually insulted... But in all realness, the jerk refers to the seasoning, and what you're witnessing is the second branch of popular Jamaican casual dining restaurant, Rudie's.
I don't know about you, but I love a good crisp. I count Hula Hoops, McCoys and Tyrrells amongst my top three (closely flanked by Doritos Tangy Cheese). So a crisp and dip cafe is right up my street. Well, actually, it's up Old Compton Street, in the heart of Soho.
I'm not blessed with any sort of culinary pazazz, my method being 'throw it all together and hope for the best.' My specialities (if you can call them that) are curries, bakes and spag bol. I'm a sucker for anything that promises ease, and that's where Very Lazy comes in.
Recently I spent the evening in the company of 'the Queen of skin' Abigail James, a facialist who works on the likes of Rita Ora and Poppy Delevingne. She's collaborating with healthy food hangout Squirrel as part of their 'Best in Field' series, launching a 'Glow to Go' salad.
Our final day, we slowed down and took on the role of the flaneur. Which is just a fancier way of saying wandering aimlessly, i.e. being a tourist. After a lie-in and a leisurely breakfast, we headed towards another recommendation: The Secret Garden.
On day two, we escaped the hustle and bustle of the Medina and journeyed to the peace of the Atlas Mountains. My mum booked a day trip which included a guide, an experienced driver (for the mountain trails) and lunch with a Berber family, finishing with a hike.
We didn't think we'd make our flight to Marrakech. I've never experienced a taxi journey fraught with so much tension, stress and doubt as we crawled along the M25 towards Gatwick. Snow and accidents delayed us, as a two hour trip became upwards of four hours.
