Unexpected.

It's been a heteromorphic, heady cocktail of varying mental states over the past few weeks.


To summarise: 


I was noted as a 'twat of the tram' on this blog 'Priority Seat Thieves' (May 24 entry).
A someone saccharine start to a courtship soured.
I turned 24. Celebrated it at The Grill on New York Street. Nothing like a slab of rib eye flesh to man up over certain situations.
Lost my car keys (to this date, they remain lost)
Went to Rome for a 6 days. 


I don't tan. I turn into a human dot-to-dot. & with 37 degree heat, my abundance of freckles multiplied to wild proportions. Apparently they're quite endearing, I'm impartial to such views, naturally. 


In a non-cliched act of relaying, I'll be narrating my interval in Italy, omitting the snorefest facts, and presenting my own chateaubriand of calamities. 


The spread will present:


Fashion scar(e)s
Mothers quest to find tea, with milk, and hot
Orienteering skills (lack of)
and inappropriate literature at the Vatican


We'll call the following extract, merely part of the Bernaise. 
Michelangeo once described Rome as his tormenting lover and with sights like this, I'm inclined to agree.


Male sightseeing (top 3):

This sonny jim was just minding his own business at Il Fico. 

This chap was a man of few words. English words that is. 

Cheeky spot at the Vatican whilst waiting for Benny boy.

It's all culturally uphill from here. Ish.

Word Association Game.

Hormones. Semi or skimmed. Falling over. Angst. Flowers. Telling the time. Losing a game. Ice. Green. Teal. Doreen. Focus. Speed. Exit. Wolf. Breezy. Graze. Venus. Delight. Highlight. Blind.

Toothpaste. Fresh.

Fiberboard

I like receiving cards. 

I really do.

but 'To Victoria, from X' doesn't cut the mustard. 

In our hungover states of perpetual hatred, a friend and I bandied around a few tough love card greetings & cackled throughout. 

Break a leg (No, really you bitch).

Good luck (you'll need it).

You're leaving. End of message.

On your engagement (I give it a year).

Sorry to hear of your loss (was I left anything in the will?).

Marriage: years of heartache, mediocre sex, and giving a woman your house.

New home. Hope the psycho in the ceiling isn't murderous.

New job. Same shit. 

You can recover now, I've already taken your job.

Happy Anniversary. I hate you.

PAH.

Mo Wang, entrepreneur. 

Pound.

The below image aptly abridges my current mood.

It might have something to do with a hangover.

I couldn't possibly say.

Make-under. Made-up.

Do we buy brands with a personality? 

I personally find it a tad creepy. Exhibit A

Then again, I no longer trust (most) celebrity endorsements. Exhibit B.

Heidi Klum's 'Fruit Flirtation' (sugar/carb overload)

There's promises made. Far fetched promises. They usually include changing your life, typically displayed in cringe-inducing adverts with unnatural smiling and gushing, coupled with eyes that lie. Then there's guarantees, as if you'd actually return toothpaste if you didn't wake up with sparkling gnashers after 2 weeks. I'm not saying I don't buy into it, but I'm aware that if I purchase a Dior lipstick it's highly unlikely my lips'll morph into Johansson's ample chops.*

As mentioned previously, Mother (Anna) turned 50 last week and my good blogger-friend Vicki Day kindly arranged a make-over for her at the Bare Minerals counter, John Lewis (Cheadle). 

Anna's been stuck in a beauty rut: using cheap slap whilst being blissfully unaware of the difference between dewy and matte look, black and very black mascara, you know, beauty psalms. This makeover was to be akin to a cookery class: a treat, an education, and something delicious looking at the end of it, what more could one want from a Saturday afternoon.

Doing a spot of prep before the episode, I looked at the promises Bare Minerals made. With the 'belief that products can actually be good, makeup can be fun, business can be personal and companies can behave more like communities' I reserved my judgement, I've heard it all before

The uncharacteristically nervous Anna was immediately thrown a buoy in the form of Helen, our brand ambassador. Surrounded by intimidating brands like Chanel, YSL and even Origins, Helen introduced the brand and the philosophy aptly, drowning out the over-made, pouty princesses of the other counters. 

Explaining at each stage without any condescending tones, we were immersed in a gentle pool of information, waves of interesting tidbits (including the fabulous 'Be a Force for Beauty' campaign) flowed over us and as Annas skin was purified, my assumptions floated away in a sea of minerals and re-hydration.

Less is more. 

The products spoke for themselves. When something does what it says on the tin it's a shock, but as baked beans claim to be nothing other than baked beans, Bare Minerals' makeup states what it is, and does it**. 

Correspondingly, as Helen communicated, the brand gained authenticity, became pulchritudinous and bowled me over. Overwhelmingly honest and transparent. 

What more could you want from a brand? 

A journey, a promise fulfilled and candid. Bare Minerals, you've pinned the tail on the donkey correctly. Exemplary.

Annas expedition:

I know nothing. 

What the flip is she getting from that draw.

I'm barefaced. What of it.

(I've not seen Annas forehead in years, this is the only reason for this snap)

Who's the fairest of them all?

Helen's a babe, I hope I end up resembling her.

Say what you see.

Swirl and tap, swirl and tap.

BOOM.

Anna: 'I've worn the same eyeshadow for about a decade'.

This is dewy? Am I in a library?***

I'll take the lot.

I'd like to thank, Vicki, the JL PR co-ordinators Karina Perry and Carolyn Plant, and Helen. We walked away buoyant and more importantly, her regime has been 'made-under' to over-achieve her expectations.

*I live in hope

**too blunt a contrast?

***forgive me, I'm ill.

Waypost.

I wonder where the term milestone came from. It's always being bandied around, job promotion? Milestone. Bought a kitten? Milestone. Found a tenner on the pavement? Milestone, naturally.

My mother turned 50 last week. Apparent milestone. Despite being something one cannot avoid, for aging is inevitable, I'll relax my opinion and go with this birthday being an infamous milestone.

The woman's a legend. She might not be Helen of Troy, but I'd swim a few laps for her.

Put on a shindig for her & invited 60 close chums, it was an absolute blast; top notch spread, more alcohol than you could shake a stick at and the banter as buoyant as the garishly pink helium filled '5' and '0' balloons I'd battled to hold onto in the wind.

Being the offspring of fables I suprised her with a few tricks.

Afternoon tea at The Hilton,

Trip to Rome

& a little treat from Jo Malone

Three amusing things that happened regarding these gifts:

1. Someone took a bottle of plonk emblazoned with 'Anna's 50th, vintage year' (complete with images of her) home with them. Vinegar would taste better I expect.

2. The first pot of tea Mother was presented with at the Hilton had no teabag in it. 

3. The Pope is on holiday when we zip to Rome. 

Three. Trois. Tres.

Blind Melon said three is a magic number. I'm not so sure myself. Super sweet video though.

I have to use a PC at work

I use a Mac at home

Perhaps if I used a typewriter another time, then in fact three would be the magic number.

1. This time last week I was into my seventh hour of drinking. I was half way through a stretch that saw me on my very knees the next day. It was the Grand National, what's a lady to do? Act demure? Sophisticated? If you'll pardon the pun, nay, nay. Have you been to Aintree? The Daily Mail captured the overall ambience of it all remarkably well in 'and they're off'. Streaky tans, figures crying out for Spanx and a level of intoxication that the local high street is used to 12 hours later. A heady mix of people-watching, pink champagne and watching races on the screen in the drinks tent. Despite being 75 steps from the course. 9.30am - 1.30am quaffing. Jesus.

In total the day cost me £300. I should've watched the neigh-neighs.

Male at work got the two that are sadly no longer with us is the sweepstake. I hope he's not a regular gambler.

2. A dear friend of mine turned a quart-century. The shade of her foundation has gained the title of Native American, the racism is removed as she's Chinese. It's all very hoo-hah. A cake was bought, it blew my mind.

3. I had a colonic. My digestive system is a devil. It was excellent, but did little. I certainly couldn't complain about the level of professionalism and service I received. Based in the Northern Quarter, Manchester, Spa Satori. The therapist was, though a chatterbox, clued up & had the gift of putting one at ease in a rather embarrassing situation. Amusing. Highly recommended.

It's Record Store Day. The pooch and I are off to rummage.