lastminute.com offer top boutique hotels for less during a week of bargains
Looking for somewhere sleek, stylish or unique to stay? For one week only until May 5th, savvy travellers will be able to stay at a range of top boutique hotels throughout the UK and worldwide, at prices far below their normal rates. Stay at the luxurious and modern Andaz Hotel by London’s Liverpool Street from just £127 per room or head west to the 4 star Fox Club in the heart of buzzing Mayfair from only £100 per room.
More relaxing breaks can be found at lastminute.com’s boutique hotels in the country including the stunning and sedate Cranthorne Hall Hotel in Yorkshire (from £110 per room) and the peaceful Broad House Hotel situated in the Norfolk Broads (from £89 per room).
Great deals outside of the UK include the stately Sheraton Imperial Kuala Lumpur Hotel from just £88 per room and the genuinely 5 star Ercilla Lopez de Haro in Bilbao, from just £86 per room.
To explore the full range of deals available during boutique hotels week visit www.lastminute.com
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Making Ends Meet on eBay
I absolutely hate being skint.
I was skint throughout university but back then it was acceptable, encouraged in fact. If you weren’t living in the dregs of your overdraft you were clearly not living the life of a ‘proper’ student. If I had any money left in my account before the onset of the student loan I’d make sure I’d clear it out in time for the next instalment. As long as I wasn’t being harassed by Lloyds TSB it was fine- extend the student overdraft and spend away. Live life to the max, man.
Don’t get me wrong, I was never in credit, I was (and still am) relentlessly in my overdraft but to me (and my student naivety) that just meant a load of interest-free money.
I didn’t feel so bad about being poor at uni because my contemporaries were all in the same boat and there was always the distant prospect of a lucrative job offer at the end of it (yes, that was before the recession took off). I mean, I went to one of the top-five universities in the country- why on earth did I go if not to get a decent job?! On reflection, it was a bit of an error doing a history degree and not wanting to be a history teacher but surely there were LOADS of employers out there ready to take me on and offer me with a hefty salary? Well, turns out there was one wonderful company ready to give me a job, unfortunately the hefty salary would have to wait.
I guess being poor is a given being in your first job out of university, living in London and working in PR but nevertheless, it’s still pretty rubbish. Working the best part of ten hours a day (often twelve) and having literally no money can often encourage crippling resentment in even the least materialistic of people. A low point was at Christmas after leaving a party in Farringdon to get the bus (not tube- too costly these days) home. I realised my Oyster needed topping up so I trudged to the cash point, inserted my debit card and those much-feared words appeared on the screen:
‘The following transaction could not be authorised due to insufficient funds’.
"Insufficient funds". Crap. I have nothing. What the bloody HELL am I going to do now? I have no savings, no credit cards, I don’t even have enough change in my purse for a one-way bus fare. Defeated, I walked home, all the bloody way back to Bethnal Green on a grim Friday night. I spent the rest of the month scrounging off my housemates and living off tea, toast and biscuits from the office.
Since then I’ve taken thrifty to new extremes. I walk to and from work, I take advantage as much as I can out of work food and booze and I’ve started selling all my unwanted stuff on eBay. Admittedly, at first I was cynical about selling on auction sites (especially after getting ripped off the previous summer on Reading tickets that I bought and which never arrived. It still pains me now to think about it.) But what the hell- I was desperate.
Little did I know that my bedroom would soon become a potential goldmine. Slowly but surely, I began to list bits and bobs from around the flat. Since Christmas I’ve made nearly £800 simply selling unwanted dresses, shoes, accessories, dvds- literally anything will sell on eBay. I’ve even managed to make a profit on some things (who’d of thought that a £12 Primark dress could sell for £35? Crazy.)
eBay isn’t the antidote for an appallingly low salary or overdraft extension but it can at least help to make ends meet in these dark and uncertain times. Heck, maybe a degree in online auction profiteering would have served me better. Oh well, at least I can still afford my bus fare.
I was skint throughout university but back then it was acceptable, encouraged in fact. If you weren’t living in the dregs of your overdraft you were clearly not living the life of a ‘proper’ student. If I had any money left in my account before the onset of the student loan I’d make sure I’d clear it out in time for the next instalment. As long as I wasn’t being harassed by Lloyds TSB it was fine- extend the student overdraft and spend away. Live life to the max, man.
Don’t get me wrong, I was never in credit, I was (and still am) relentlessly in my overdraft but to me (and my student naivety) that just meant a load of interest-free money.
I didn’t feel so bad about being poor at uni because my contemporaries were all in the same boat and there was always the distant prospect of a lucrative job offer at the end of it (yes, that was before the recession took off). I mean, I went to one of the top-five universities in the country- why on earth did I go if not to get a decent job?! On reflection, it was a bit of an error doing a history degree and not wanting to be a history teacher but surely there were LOADS of employers out there ready to take me on and offer me with a hefty salary? Well, turns out there was one wonderful company ready to give me a job, unfortunately the hefty salary would have to wait.
I guess being poor is a given being in your first job out of university, living in London and working in PR but nevertheless, it’s still pretty rubbish. Working the best part of ten hours a day (often twelve) and having literally no money can often encourage crippling resentment in even the least materialistic of people. A low point was at Christmas after leaving a party in Farringdon to get the bus (not tube- too costly these days) home. I realised my Oyster needed topping up so I trudged to the cash point, inserted my debit card and those much-feared words appeared on the screen:
‘The following transaction could not be authorised due to insufficient funds’.
"Insufficient funds". Crap. I have nothing. What the bloody HELL am I going to do now? I have no savings, no credit cards, I don’t even have enough change in my purse for a one-way bus fare. Defeated, I walked home, all the bloody way back to Bethnal Green on a grim Friday night. I spent the rest of the month scrounging off my housemates and living off tea, toast and biscuits from the office.
Since then I’ve taken thrifty to new extremes. I walk to and from work, I take advantage as much as I can out of work food and booze and I’ve started selling all my unwanted stuff on eBay. Admittedly, at first I was cynical about selling on auction sites (especially after getting ripped off the previous summer on Reading tickets that I bought and which never arrived. It still pains me now to think about it.) But what the hell- I was desperate.
Little did I know that my bedroom would soon become a potential goldmine. Slowly but surely, I began to list bits and bobs from around the flat. Since Christmas I’ve made nearly £800 simply selling unwanted dresses, shoes, accessories, dvds- literally anything will sell on eBay. I’ve even managed to make a profit on some things (who’d of thought that a £12 Primark dress could sell for £35? Crazy.)
eBay isn’t the antidote for an appallingly low salary or overdraft extension but it can at least help to make ends meet in these dark and uncertain times. Heck, maybe a degree in online auction profiteering would have served me better. Oh well, at least I can still afford my bus fare.
Monday, 13 April 2009
Make mine an ostrich burger please...
Conveniently located just two minutes from Tottenham Court Rd station, The Eagle Bar Diner is probably the most uncomplicated, easy-going American Diner-slash-cocktail bar you’ll find in W1. Renowned for its cholesterol-raising thickshakes and mighty gourmet burgers, it’s an ideal spot for a hearty dinner before a night out (actually, hearty is an understatement- these burgers are a gastric delight). The food is bloody good. From full-on U.S of A style breakfasts and BBQ ribs to ‘The Golden Hog’ (wild boar burger with caramelized apple), the Eagle Diner will not disappoint.
The waiting staff are charismatic and friendly (and dreamy I might add- damn those beautiful south-American/ Latino genes “of course I’ll have another Margharita Paolo, in fact, make it two- what time do you finish?”)
Lusting aside, the tall, tanned chaps offer an impeccable service.
Even more impressive is the extensive cocktail menu. I’ve never seen such a diverse offering of beverages. Designed by their very own mixologist (nice touch) you name it, they’ll make it. They’re not too badly priced either, with the ‘classics’ averaging the six- eight quid mark. There’s also a remarkable selection of U.S-imported beers and spirits if you’re not a cocktail fan (tip: avoid the lethal Wray and Nephews 63% vol South American rum if you want to make it to your next destination alive).
I wouldn’t recommend staying there all night however. My party and I had dinner there on Friday and although buzzing early on, the atmosphere began to wilt after 10.30pm when most people have finished up and are moving on to bars and what not. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a place in central to have dinner and a couple of good drinks, The Eagle Bar is a pretty good choice.
The waiting staff are charismatic and friendly (and dreamy I might add- damn those beautiful south-American/ Latino genes “of course I’ll have another Margharita Paolo, in fact, make it two- what time do you finish?”)
Lusting aside, the tall, tanned chaps offer an impeccable service.
Even more impressive is the extensive cocktail menu. I’ve never seen such a diverse offering of beverages. Designed by their very own mixologist (nice touch) you name it, they’ll make it. They’re not too badly priced either, with the ‘classics’ averaging the six- eight quid mark. There’s also a remarkable selection of U.S-imported beers and spirits if you’re not a cocktail fan (tip: avoid the lethal Wray and Nephews 63% vol South American rum if you want to make it to your next destination alive).
I wouldn’t recommend staying there all night however. My party and I had dinner there on Friday and although buzzing early on, the atmosphere began to wilt after 10.30pm when most people have finished up and are moving on to bars and what not. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a place in central to have dinner and a couple of good drinks, The Eagle Bar is a pretty good choice.
Friday, 10 April 2009
East End Coffee
Where can you get a decent cuppa in east London? Here- Brick Lane Coffee, the recently established sister of coffee@bricklane just down the road. Ideal for those who love their coffee but loath Starbucks.
Plonked right at the top of Brick Lane (between the legendary bagel shops), Brick Lane Coffee is a much needed and welcomed addition to the Bethnal Green Rd- Shoreditch High Street area (east London, in my minor opinion is somewhat lacking modestly-priced franchised coffee outlets but there we go). You can tell instantly that the place is going to be a goodun from the simple chalkboard out front stating 'If we were in Soho we'd be busy'. Those jokers...
Inside you are greeted by the (terribly friendly) tattooed, Dr Martin- wearing staff. You probably didn't need me to tell you that the super-cool east-end hoxtonites flock here in droves. But that's because this coffee shop IS cool. The place is brimming over with super-charming finishing touches (it's safe to say that the next time you go to a generic Caffe Nero's you'll hark back nostalgically to your visit to Brick Lane Coffee). The stirrers and spoons are stored in boxes made out of Lego (because the owner got bored one afternoon) and the sugar sachets are stashed in a vintage colander (given to the owners when it opened from the charity shop opposite). The menu is a old chalkboard with the drinks (and jokes about the staff) scrawled across it. Worried about leaving Fido at home? Have no fear- they even have a big glass jar of free dog biscuits available 'for our furry friends'. AND, (there's more!) the odd DJ often swings by for a set at the weekends.
Now that is surely unheard of in the coffee shop world.
The furniture is an eclectic, mis-matched selection purchased from surrounding vintage shops. Dusty mahogany armchairs are positioned next to 1970's high-rise stools and old school chairs. The walls are splattered with black and white artwork from the locals. The lights are from Ikea. Aesthetically it shouldn't work, but it does.
There’s an impressive array of reasonably-priced beverages on offer (all fair-trade and organic, no less), from the humble ‘chav coffee’ (black, filtered) to the mighty ‘Dirty Sanchez’ (vanilla mocha with cream. One word: yum). Food-wise there's no surprises with the typical coffee-shop offerings of paninis and croissants. A black americano and a chocolate muffin set me back £3.50. So not bad.
The best thing about this place in my opinion was the diversity in clientele. Not just packed with Shoreditch-types, Brick Lane Coffee is frequented by all sorts. During my first visit last week I saw young mums with babies, scaffolders, an old lady with a zimmerframe, young city-types with laptops. The place is easy-going, different and most importantly- serves a great cup of coffee.
Get your caffeine fix there now.
Plonked right at the top of Brick Lane (between the legendary bagel shops), Brick Lane Coffee is a much needed and welcomed addition to the Bethnal Green Rd- Shoreditch High Street area (east London, in my minor opinion is somewhat lacking modestly-priced franchised coffee outlets but there we go). You can tell instantly that the place is going to be a goodun from the simple chalkboard out front stating 'If we were in Soho we'd be busy'. Those jokers...
Inside you are greeted by the (terribly friendly) tattooed, Dr Martin- wearing staff. You probably didn't need me to tell you that the super-cool east-end hoxtonites flock here in droves. But that's because this coffee shop IS cool. The place is brimming over with super-charming finishing touches (it's safe to say that the next time you go to a generic Caffe Nero's you'll hark back nostalgically to your visit to Brick Lane Coffee). The stirrers and spoons are stored in boxes made out of Lego (because the owner got bored one afternoon) and the sugar sachets are stashed in a vintage colander (given to the owners when it opened from the charity shop opposite). The menu is a old chalkboard with the drinks (and jokes about the staff) scrawled across it. Worried about leaving Fido at home? Have no fear- they even have a big glass jar of free dog biscuits available 'for our furry friends'. AND, (there's more!) the odd DJ often swings by for a set at the weekends.
Now that is surely unheard of in the coffee shop world.
The furniture is an eclectic, mis-matched selection purchased from surrounding vintage shops. Dusty mahogany armchairs are positioned next to 1970's high-rise stools and old school chairs. The walls are splattered with black and white artwork from the locals. The lights are from Ikea. Aesthetically it shouldn't work, but it does.
There’s an impressive array of reasonably-priced beverages on offer (all fair-trade and organic, no less), from the humble ‘chav coffee’ (black, filtered) to the mighty ‘Dirty Sanchez’ (vanilla mocha with cream. One word: yum). Food-wise there's no surprises with the typical coffee-shop offerings of paninis and croissants. A black americano and a chocolate muffin set me back £3.50. So not bad.
The best thing about this place in my opinion was the diversity in clientele. Not just packed with Shoreditch-types, Brick Lane Coffee is frequented by all sorts. During my first visit last week I saw young mums with babies, scaffolders, an old lady with a zimmerframe, young city-types with laptops. The place is easy-going, different and most importantly- serves a great cup of coffee.
Get your caffeine fix there now.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Twitterphilliac – So that’s what you call it!
So four little years ago I reluctantly joined Facebook (“Meh…it’ll never take off”). I felt the peer pressure and what the hell- everyone else seemed to be joining the bloody thing.
That was in the days of yore when only the yanks and the British academic elite were allowed on (remember those days?!) A year or so later it was opened up to remaining universities, then companies, specific networks and eventually, everyone. A sense of scholastic snobbery overwhelmed me when I realised all those polys (ugh, Coventry University, the Warwick polytechnic counterpart) could join but hey- my friend list rapidly expanded and that’s all I cared about.
Slowly but surely, a whole new world emerged before me. That’s right folks, the world of ‘social networking’ (Hmm, what an interestingly faddy expression I then pondered). Little did I know back then as the naïve and hungover fresher that I was that this little development would revolutionise the way in which my generation lived their lives.
Sure, I’d been aware of sites like MySpace and Bebo and as a 19 year old I was naturally a fan of instant messenger but I was in no way prepared for the force that Facebook inflicted on our humble existence.
I’m now 22, graduated and working full- time. A grown up apparently. Heck- I even pay council tax. However, much to my dismay, I’ve realised that a colossal amount of my adult existence is coordinated online.
What’s the first thing I do when wake up in the morning? I turn on my laptop and go on Facebook. Yep, Even before I’ve gone to the loo.
I get into the office at 8.30am and whilst impatiently waiting for Outlook to load, I’m logging into facebook, Hotmail and Twitter simultaneously. It doesn't matter that I already checked these on my phone on the way in.
Throughout the working day I have Facebook minimised on my browser and check it at least every ten to fifteen minutes. I scan around the office and see my colleagues all doing the same thing, all of us not-so-discreetly trying to keep the action under wraps.
I drag myself home from a boozy night out and yep, you guessed it- I log on Facebook (the fact that I cannot coordinate brain and fingertips is not a problem).
I have to log on. No, I MUST log on.
My internet connection at home is notoriously unpredictable and vindictive. If I can’t get online for more that a couple of hours I begin experience fleeting moments of panic. What’s going on? What are people doing? Has anyone written on my wall? Have I been tagged in any unflattering photos from the night before that I need to get rid of? Longer than half a day without it and I find myself fighting the urge to smash my laptop to pieces with the nearest blunt object and report T-Mobile internet to BBC Watchdog. Not able to take anymore, I promptly head to the public library where the internet works god damn it!
I think I’ve got a problem. No, I’ve definitely got a problem. Sooner or later I won’t remember what my friends look and sound like (with a Facebook profile and Facebook chat- who needs real life)
I recently read some where that the clever people over at Vodafone HQ have coined the term Twitterphilliac (I know, sounds ridiculous, but hear me out).
1 result for: Twitterphiliac
Noun: Someone who is addicted to social networking and suffers from uncontrollable urges to update their status – e.g. Tweeting
Verb: To ‘Twitterbate’
They commissioned some research and found that 60% of Brits admit to being hooked on social networking, and a further 30% are so addicted that they need to access these sites (i.e. Facebook, Twitter, MySpace etc etc) literally ALL THE TIME.
That’s me. A Twitterphilliac. Oh dear, I’m screwed.
That was in the days of yore when only the yanks and the British academic elite were allowed on (remember those days?!) A year or so later it was opened up to remaining universities, then companies, specific networks and eventually, everyone. A sense of scholastic snobbery overwhelmed me when I realised all those polys (ugh, Coventry University, the Warwick polytechnic counterpart) could join but hey- my friend list rapidly expanded and that’s all I cared about.
Slowly but surely, a whole new world emerged before me. That’s right folks, the world of ‘social networking’ (Hmm, what an interestingly faddy expression I then pondered). Little did I know back then as the naïve and hungover fresher that I was that this little development would revolutionise the way in which my generation lived their lives.
Sure, I’d been aware of sites like MySpace and Bebo and as a 19 year old I was naturally a fan of instant messenger but I was in no way prepared for the force that Facebook inflicted on our humble existence.
I’m now 22, graduated and working full- time. A grown up apparently. Heck- I even pay council tax. However, much to my dismay, I’ve realised that a colossal amount of my adult existence is coordinated online.
What’s the first thing I do when wake up in the morning? I turn on my laptop and go on Facebook. Yep, Even before I’ve gone to the loo.
I get into the office at 8.30am and whilst impatiently waiting for Outlook to load, I’m logging into facebook, Hotmail and Twitter simultaneously. It doesn't matter that I already checked these on my phone on the way in.
Throughout the working day I have Facebook minimised on my browser and check it at least every ten to fifteen minutes. I scan around the office and see my colleagues all doing the same thing, all of us not-so-discreetly trying to keep the action under wraps.
I drag myself home from a boozy night out and yep, you guessed it- I log on Facebook (the fact that I cannot coordinate brain and fingertips is not a problem).
I have to log on. No, I MUST log on.
My internet connection at home is notoriously unpredictable and vindictive. If I can’t get online for more that a couple of hours I begin experience fleeting moments of panic. What’s going on? What are people doing? Has anyone written on my wall? Have I been tagged in any unflattering photos from the night before that I need to get rid of? Longer than half a day without it and I find myself fighting the urge to smash my laptop to pieces with the nearest blunt object and report T-Mobile internet to BBC Watchdog. Not able to take anymore, I promptly head to the public library where the internet works god damn it!
I think I’ve got a problem. No, I’ve definitely got a problem. Sooner or later I won’t remember what my friends look and sound like (with a Facebook profile and Facebook chat- who needs real life)
I recently read some where that the clever people over at Vodafone HQ have coined the term Twitterphilliac (I know, sounds ridiculous, but hear me out).
1 result for: Twitterphiliac
Noun: Someone who is addicted to social networking and suffers from uncontrollable urges to update their status – e.g. Tweeting
Verb: To ‘Twitterbate’
They commissioned some research and found that 60% of Brits admit to being hooked on social networking, and a further 30% are so addicted that they need to access these sites (i.e. Facebook, Twitter, MySpace etc etc) literally ALL THE TIME.
That’s me. A Twitterphilliac. Oh dear, I’m screwed.
Monday, 6 April 2009
Yes, I'm a fashion victim
Forget couture and designer labels, its bargains that are in vogue.
Don’t believe me? Check out the front cover of every women’s (and men’s I might add) magazine. It’s slogans like ‘Credit crunch chic’, ‘profit shopping’, ‘recession-busting bargains’ that scream out to us from the shelves and ensure that the days of retail recklessness are well and truly over.
Thriftiness is oh- so Summer 2009, darling.
Pay more than fifty quid for a pair of heels nowadays and once-frivolous females recoil in horror. I hate to say it, but shopping for personal indulgence is history. Last week whilst browsing in Selfridges (yes, browsing) I watched a Chanel-clad woman with armfuls of Diane von Furstenberg dresses bustle up to the till and hand over her AMEX. Almost every female that passed arched their eyebrows and slapped a look of utter terror on their faces.
How could this woman be so utterly reckless in this financial climate?! Is she mental? Their expressions asked. No one shops so irresponsibly these days unless there’s a sale or a hefty supply of vouchers involved.
-So what’s new? We’re in a bloody recession. Just keep your head down and your Mastercard firmly in your purse. We’ll ride these dark times out together, without those Dior extreme gladiator sandals.
Mind you- It’s not just designer brands that have felt the crunch- the high street is also having a bit of a nightmare. TOPSHOP are shocked that Kate’s new collection hasn’t sold out yet. If opening a massive flagship store in NY (along with a hugely efficient PR machine behind it) doesn’t do the trick then I don’t know what will. Don’t get me wrong, I was one of the thousands of TOPSHOP devotees that promptly logged onto the website at 8 am to lust over the new collection. I wanted everything. I needed everything. Did I buy anything? Of course not.
Er…hello? No matter how much she wants to, the average 18-25 year old isn’t spending her hard- earned cash on floor length emerald chiffon dresses (I don’t care if it clings to all the right places and that Misha has just snapped one up- It’s costs over £200 quid and that, Sir Phillip Green, is my Oyster card allowance and council tax for the month). I’m more likely to be snapping up the cheaper equivalents in H&M or Primark thus saving my bus fare.
I’m a self-confessed shopaholic. Well I used to be anyway. I’m serious; all my superfluous income went on buying stuff. Whether I needed the item in question wasn’t a consideration. If I liked something, I’d find a reason to buy it. Couldn’t afford something? Don’t worry, that’s what my graduate credit card was for. I had no savings and boy, did that transpire into risky business.
Whilst at university I didn’t care. I had a maximum student loan and a part time job. Let me clarify, I’ve never been rich, or relied on my parents' credit cards, but I had surplus pennies to supplement my student existence. Buying clothes, shoes and other unnecessary objects became a weekly (if not daily) occurrence. I’d wear a dress once, wait for the novelty to wear off and then I’d find the dress at the bottom of my wardrobe six months later. A fashion-binger so to speak.
Now, I’m slowly learning the art of investing in fewer, key pieces and hunting down bargains. I’m getting pretty good, I’m even recycling my old wardrobe on eBay and making a packet. The days of plenty are well and truly behind me. Honest…
Don’t believe me? Check out the front cover of every women’s (and men’s I might add) magazine. It’s slogans like ‘Credit crunch chic’, ‘profit shopping’, ‘recession-busting bargains’ that scream out to us from the shelves and ensure that the days of retail recklessness are well and truly over.
Thriftiness is oh- so Summer 2009, darling.
Pay more than fifty quid for a pair of heels nowadays and once-frivolous females recoil in horror. I hate to say it, but shopping for personal indulgence is history. Last week whilst browsing in Selfridges (yes, browsing) I watched a Chanel-clad woman with armfuls of Diane von Furstenberg dresses bustle up to the till and hand over her AMEX. Almost every female that passed arched their eyebrows and slapped a look of utter terror on their faces.
How could this woman be so utterly reckless in this financial climate?! Is she mental? Their expressions asked. No one shops so irresponsibly these days unless there’s a sale or a hefty supply of vouchers involved.
-So what’s new? We’re in a bloody recession. Just keep your head down and your Mastercard firmly in your purse. We’ll ride these dark times out together, without those Dior extreme gladiator sandals.
Mind you- It’s not just designer brands that have felt the crunch- the high street is also having a bit of a nightmare. TOPSHOP are shocked that Kate’s new collection hasn’t sold out yet. If opening a massive flagship store in NY (along with a hugely efficient PR machine behind it) doesn’t do the trick then I don’t know what will. Don’t get me wrong, I was one of the thousands of TOPSHOP devotees that promptly logged onto the website at 8 am to lust over the new collection. I wanted everything. I needed everything. Did I buy anything? Of course not.
Er…hello? No matter how much she wants to, the average 18-25 year old isn’t spending her hard- earned cash on floor length emerald chiffon dresses (I don’t care if it clings to all the right places and that Misha has just snapped one up- It’s costs over £200 quid and that, Sir Phillip Green, is my Oyster card allowance and council tax for the month). I’m more likely to be snapping up the cheaper equivalents in H&M or Primark thus saving my bus fare.
I’m a self-confessed shopaholic. Well I used to be anyway. I’m serious; all my superfluous income went on buying stuff. Whether I needed the item in question wasn’t a consideration. If I liked something, I’d find a reason to buy it. Couldn’t afford something? Don’t worry, that’s what my graduate credit card was for. I had no savings and boy, did that transpire into risky business.
Whilst at university I didn’t care. I had a maximum student loan and a part time job. Let me clarify, I’ve never been rich, or relied on my parents' credit cards, but I had surplus pennies to supplement my student existence. Buying clothes, shoes and other unnecessary objects became a weekly (if not daily) occurrence. I’d wear a dress once, wait for the novelty to wear off and then I’d find the dress at the bottom of my wardrobe six months later. A fashion-binger so to speak.
Now, I’m slowly learning the art of investing in fewer, key pieces and hunting down bargains. I’m getting pretty good, I’m even recycling my old wardrobe on eBay and making a packet. The days of plenty are well and truly behind me. Honest…
Saturday, 4 April 2009
The Queen of Hoxton- rubbish name, great bar
So I spent another Saturday night in Shoreditch this weekend. My flatmates and I ended up in a rather interesting new establishment on Curtain Rd and I thought I'd post something about it.
OK, Before you gasp ‘oh not another poncey, too-cool-for school Shoreditch bar’ please hear me out.
You might recognise the location of The Queen of Hoxton as the home of Industry- the rather archaic east-end club. Yep, Industry has had a full-on makeover. Upon first impressions, the bar doesn’t appear to differentiate from any of its other east end neighbours (‘The Queen of Hoxton? What kind of name is that?’ I cry.) Upon digging a bit deeper on Google, I soon learn that the bar is named after philanthropic actress and theatre owner Sarah Lane who lived in Hoxton in the early nineteenth century. Legend has it that Sarah became known in London circles as The Queen of Hoxton due to her hospitable nature towards local artists and actors.
So this bar does just that. Not just your average east-end boozer, this bar offers aspiring artists and creatives from the local area a constantly changing space to exhibit their work. Weird concept for a club I admit, but it kind of works. You’ve just got to step into the loos to realise how achingly trendy this place is. From creeping ivy on the ceiling to retro table football machines in the ‘games corner’ this bar is certainly one of the first of its kind.
Divided into two floors, the ground floor hosts the large 1950’s American-inspired cocktail bar and the majority of seating (which brings me to my biggest criticism of the place- the gorgeous buttery brown leather sofas are so low to the ground you might as well be sitting on the floor). The lower ground floor opens up to a dimly-lit cavernous club with a modestly sized stage and dance floor. Don’t worry if you don’t fancy throwing shapes to the (somewhat bizarre at times) music, there are plenty of cushiony booths to gather in.
So what’s on offer? Well, The Queen offers one of the most diverse and exciting cocktail lists around- all at a reasonable £7 each (personal favourite- the Hoxtonite). There is also an impressive range of draught world beers that will set you back about £3.50 a pint. So not wallet-crippling for the area. The model-esque bar staff are also friendly and beautiful in equal measure. On most nights it is free to get in, except on Saturday nights when it is £4 before midnight. Its opening hours vary depending on the acts but 2am is standard chucking out time come the weekend.
Overall, this bar will not disappoint. Perfect for a couple of quiet mid-week pints or weekend night out, The Queen is a great all-rounder. Let’s just hope it stays that way. Long live the Queen!
OK, Before you gasp ‘oh not another poncey, too-cool-for school Shoreditch bar’ please hear me out.
You might recognise the location of The Queen of Hoxton as the home of Industry- the rather archaic east-end club. Yep, Industry has had a full-on makeover. Upon first impressions, the bar doesn’t appear to differentiate from any of its other east end neighbours (‘The Queen of Hoxton? What kind of name is that?’ I cry.) Upon digging a bit deeper on Google, I soon learn that the bar is named after philanthropic actress and theatre owner Sarah Lane who lived in Hoxton in the early nineteenth century. Legend has it that Sarah became known in London circles as The Queen of Hoxton due to her hospitable nature towards local artists and actors.
So this bar does just that. Not just your average east-end boozer, this bar offers aspiring artists and creatives from the local area a constantly changing space to exhibit their work. Weird concept for a club I admit, but it kind of works. You’ve just got to step into the loos to realise how achingly trendy this place is. From creeping ivy on the ceiling to retro table football machines in the ‘games corner’ this bar is certainly one of the first of its kind.
Divided into two floors, the ground floor hosts the large 1950’s American-inspired cocktail bar and the majority of seating (which brings me to my biggest criticism of the place- the gorgeous buttery brown leather sofas are so low to the ground you might as well be sitting on the floor). The lower ground floor opens up to a dimly-lit cavernous club with a modestly sized stage and dance floor. Don’t worry if you don’t fancy throwing shapes to the (somewhat bizarre at times) music, there are plenty of cushiony booths to gather in.
So what’s on offer? Well, The Queen offers one of the most diverse and exciting cocktail lists around- all at a reasonable £7 each (personal favourite- the Hoxtonite). There is also an impressive range of draught world beers that will set you back about £3.50 a pint. So not wallet-crippling for the area. The model-esque bar staff are also friendly and beautiful in equal measure. On most nights it is free to get in, except on Saturday nights when it is £4 before midnight. Its opening hours vary depending on the acts but 2am is standard chucking out time come the weekend.
Overall, this bar will not disappoint. Perfect for a couple of quiet mid-week pints or weekend night out, The Queen is a great all-rounder. Let’s just hope it stays that way. Long live the Queen!
The predictable first post...
“Blogging. It’s the future don’t you know? Anyone who’s anyone blogs these days, it’s taking off in a BIG way. Yes, I know it’s been around for ages. No, it’s not just for whiney pubescent teens. The whole thing’s had a bit of a makeover and if Lily and Kanye say it’s cool, then it’s cool. OK? Crikey, you can even turn it into a bloody career; look at Perez for Christ’s sake. Would you like to earn as much he earns? Thought so.
What’s that? Am I hearing you right? Emma, you work in the world of communications and you haven’t got your own blog? Are you mental? That’s like not being on Facebook and we all know that those people are absolute wierdos! Its like a vegetarian working in a butchers! It’s ludicrous! In this field, not having a blog is tantamount to career suicide and we’re in a recession. Go figure.
Do you want to be good at your job or not? Do you? You do. Well then get blogging now young lady and make it snappy.”
OK, this conversation with a senior colleague may have been ever-so-slightly elaborated. But you get the overall jist. I dragged my sorry self back to my desk, wondering where the heck I was meant to find this superfluous time to start a blog. As if I didn’t have enough to bloody do.
The more digitally-inclined people in the office have ensured me that keeping a blog is an essential means of social networking. You can articulate your views and opinions, communicate with others and be expressive (“yeah, but I can do all that via email or by painting a picture”). Cynicism aside, I like the concept. But surely I have enough ‘means of social networking’ to waste my time on already? I mean, if you want to ‘socially network’ with me why don’t you poke me on Facebook? Follow me on Twitter? Add me on MSN? Heck- Be old fashioned and drop me an email. Surely you don’t need to read my self-important drivel on here too.
Well, you’re here now so you might as well hang around.
It is a rather pleasant Saturday evening and I’m alone in my East-end flat. The washing is done, the flat is clean and I’ve even put in an appearance at the gym. No more excuses, I’ve got to start this thing. First problem- what to blog about? Last week my friend, upon realising that an acquaintance from uni had set up a fashion blog, sneered ‘I see X has started up a blog about fashion, who the bloody hell does she think she is?’ Similarly, a staunchly- conservative guy on my degree course created a blog entitled ‘The Tory-Graph’ which he used to relentlessly bang on about in seminars. As a result he was made the subject of ridicule in a secret Facebook group created by my peers called ‘The Tory Graph is a Load of Old Tosh’.
Yikes. So fashion? Too bitchy. Politics? Too pretentious. Work? Don’t even go there. Anything I post here can be subjected to criticism and I could be judged ruthlessly. How often are you supposed to blog? Daily? Weekly? Daily is surely too much. Monthly suggests you’re not that keen a blogger. Do you advertise your blog? I see some of my counterparts tweet out links to their blog or put it in their Facebook status. There’s a whole world of blogging etiquette that I’ll have to grapple with.
So here it is. My first blog post is about starting my blog (yikes, that’s a blogging cliché right there.) So who know where I go from here. At least I can go into the office on Monday safe in the knowledge that I have held on to my job for another day…
What’s that? Am I hearing you right? Emma, you work in the world of communications and you haven’t got your own blog? Are you mental? That’s like not being on Facebook and we all know that those people are absolute wierdos! Its like a vegetarian working in a butchers! It’s ludicrous! In this field, not having a blog is tantamount to career suicide and we’re in a recession. Go figure.
Do you want to be good at your job or not? Do you? You do. Well then get blogging now young lady and make it snappy.”
OK, this conversation with a senior colleague may have been ever-so-slightly elaborated. But you get the overall jist. I dragged my sorry self back to my desk, wondering where the heck I was meant to find this superfluous time to start a blog. As if I didn’t have enough to bloody do.
The more digitally-inclined people in the office have ensured me that keeping a blog is an essential means of social networking. You can articulate your views and opinions, communicate with others and be expressive (“yeah, but I can do all that via email or by painting a picture”). Cynicism aside, I like the concept. But surely I have enough ‘means of social networking’ to waste my time on already? I mean, if you want to ‘socially network’ with me why don’t you poke me on Facebook? Follow me on Twitter? Add me on MSN? Heck- Be old fashioned and drop me an email. Surely you don’t need to read my self-important drivel on here too.
Well, you’re here now so you might as well hang around.
It is a rather pleasant Saturday evening and I’m alone in my East-end flat. The washing is done, the flat is clean and I’ve even put in an appearance at the gym. No more excuses, I’ve got to start this thing. First problem- what to blog about? Last week my friend, upon realising that an acquaintance from uni had set up a fashion blog, sneered ‘I see X has started up a blog about fashion, who the bloody hell does she think she is?’ Similarly, a staunchly- conservative guy on my degree course created a blog entitled ‘The Tory-Graph’ which he used to relentlessly bang on about in seminars. As a result he was made the subject of ridicule in a secret Facebook group created by my peers called ‘The Tory Graph is a Load of Old Tosh’.
Yikes. So fashion? Too bitchy. Politics? Too pretentious. Work? Don’t even go there. Anything I post here can be subjected to criticism and I could be judged ruthlessly. How often are you supposed to blog? Daily? Weekly? Daily is surely too much. Monthly suggests you’re not that keen a blogger. Do you advertise your blog? I see some of my counterparts tweet out links to their blog or put it in their Facebook status. There’s a whole world of blogging etiquette that I’ll have to grapple with.
So here it is. My first blog post is about starting my blog (yikes, that’s a blogging cliché right there.) So who know where I go from here. At least I can go into the office on Monday safe in the knowledge that I have held on to my job for another day…
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