We can learn a lot from children of celebrities

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…

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

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.

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...

Why James O’Brien is wrong….Sigh….

Why James O’Brien is wrong….Sigh….

I listen to talk radio. Daytime talk radio. Doing dishes, folding laundry, packing kids’ sports kit (football boots or trainers? Shorts or joggers? Shin pads, gumsheild, check, check) and ok fine, sipping a post-school run cuppa and perusing Mail Online’s Sidebar of Shame. Oh heavens no, I don’t actually phone in… much. In any case, LBC is my poison, what I like to think of as the cerebral alternative to daytime telly. (There is little more humiliating than the white van man catching you in flagrante glued to Homes under the Hammer eager for how much the modernised semi in Swinton fetched.) I’ve outed myself, haven’t I? Moving on. Yesterday, during James O’Brien’s program one of the hot topics was Brexit. Yes....