Three days in, and this week is reeaaaally dragging. There is a conspicuous lack of snow here in London. I woke to a light dusting on Monday, which soon turned into nothing as it rained torrentially all day whilst I sat in the office tackling admin. The sky is now clear, but it’s –4C outside and I am writing this in bed with two hot water bottles. (Sadly not a canine one, as my sister tends to have Posetta Baddog in the week, and I take her at weekends so my sis can have a lie-in.)
The only place where spring seems around the corner is in Claridges Hotel. Wednesday is flower change over day, and they had filled the entrance hallway with the palest pink tulips in countless glass bottles on every table and in each embrasure. It looked ravishing, Worth popping into the hotel just for a peek.
After spending Monday chip, chip, chipping away at the admin mountain in the office, I winkled my sister out of her shell and drove her off to eat Chinese food & half price dim sum in Camden at Yum Cha Silks & Spice on Chalk Farm Road.
Tuesday morning I went to The Soho Hotel first thing to listen to Farfetch.com’s state of the nation presentation, which made fascinating listening. It seems that the global appetite for online retail (and in this case, sourced from interesting boutiques from every corner of the world) is proving insatiable.
Afterwards I walked over to Piccadilly to visit the offices of Curtis Brown, who represent me. I had made my agent and his team Kilner jars of my home made granola as a New Year present. (Last year — 2011 — I made them all VAST quantities of cake, muffins & brownies at Christmas, but this year I thought I would wait until January and give them something healthy instead.)
Nespresso on Regent Street was just around the corner, so I had virtuously brought in all my used capsules to recycle in-store — I strolled over there during lunchtime through Piccadilly Circus, pretending I was a tourist in my own city. It’s so easy to just rush on by, head down, and I need to take time to look around me more.
The rest of Tuesday disappeared in a whirl of production meetings and phone calls for a London Fashion Week film project that I am co-producing, and then I headed over to Claridges in the evening to share a bottle of Bollinger in the Fumoir with the Champagne’s PR. When work meetings look like this, January suddenly perks up no end.
This morning started back from whence I had come only not so many hours previously: Claridges Hotel. Although this time I was in the dining room for a breakfast meeting with a brace of delightful beauty PRs. Claridges do the most delicious breakfasts, with so many wondrous things on offer from fluffy pancakes to baked beans that it always feels like a festive occasion, and I tend to throw caution to the winds and just order EXACTLY what I feel like.
And that my friends is one of the very good reasons why, when I weighed myself last weekend, I was 23lbs heavier than I was two years ago. I take an awful lot of meetings in some very nice places, with very nice food and drink, and I need to reign in the greed.
But oof, keeping to my new self-enforced régime was a stretch this morning. But I held out and, instead of a rack of toast slathered with butter and a full cooked breakfast, I ordered two poached eggs on one very small piece of rye toast, accompanied by half a sliced avocado, and a bowl of mixed berries. And, of course, the stupid thing is that I enjoyed my perfectly cooked and presented breakfast just as much as if I had gone for the ‘entire day’s worth of calories in one go’ option.
Next up, I headed to Percy & Reed on Great Portland Street to get my highlights seen to, (another NY resolution: attend to grooming when it needs to be done instead of at the last minute because I realise I have a shoot/date/event), and discovered I was two days early for my appointment. I was rather gleeful, because that was an entire two extra unaccounted for hours in my day, so I sped off home — luckily only ten minutes away, and attacked the email mountain. And the tax return mountain…oh January, with these treats you are really spoiling us. Poor Emily: she hates doing receipts almost as much as I do.