margarita rumble
I’m about to reveal the best margarita in London, y’all. Strap in.

This is a story about a woman (hey, there) who did all the ground work so your liver doesn’t have to.

Well, myself, Margarita Rumble, and Jose Cuervo.

The Rumble, now in its second year, is a day-long competition where expert mixologists from each respective city cocktail their way to claim prestige as creator’s of the Best Margarita. And the world’s number one tequila announced they would be sponsoring London’s grand ole fiesta. I could hardly miss out.

In three sessions, margarita lovers enjoyed two hours of bottomless 100% agave Jose Cuervo Tradicional-filled margaritas from the likes of Trapeze, Barrio Bars, Cabana Brixton, Whistling Shop, Benitos Hat, Little Bat, Eaton Square Bar, Zebrano, Simmons, The BootLegger, and title-defending Café Pacifico.

The space turned into a magical melee of margs. One with roasted pineapple and jalapeno puree, vanilla, and garnishes of pineapple crisps & candied jalapenos. One with rhubarb. One with Aperol foam. One flower-accented tipple spritzed with Laphroaig to finish.

Yet, after all votes were cast, Café Pacifico deservedly took the crown for the second year with a fruit-packed margarita; sweet and spicy rim, pipette-injected tequila watermelon, fragrant finishing spray, and all.

Realistically, when would Cuervo two-ways not get the gold?

‘Til next year!

cute mistake

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pom pom shoes
I’m not saying shoe gods exist, PER SE, but some spiritual sartorial entity has been pointing me in the direction of these pom pom heels for quite some time.

First, there was the move. The organisation of (and reintroduction to) years of heeled artwork. A collection, while enviable, with a noticeably pom-pom hole in it.

Then, a stranger pointed out that House of Fraser had a hyper-haute shoe closet of their own. Pom poms, pin heels, et al.

It seemed rude to ignore such designer deities.

(Note: dress sold separately but what good is making the postman carry a box without a new dress in it as well?)

What I Wore:
Fleur sandals from Miss KG
Bardot Rylee midi dress by Jarlo
Lipstick (going in May’s Beauty Favourites, so keep an eye out!)

pom pom shoes
pom pom shoes
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galvin anthenaeum food blog
Let’s cut to the chase here; the under-appreciated Galvin at the Athenaeum may not have Michelin stars of its own, but it has knocked some of my more recent Michelin-starred meals out of the park.

The sophisticated hotel’s ground-floor Galvin is the brain child of chef brothers Chris and Jeff Galvin (who you may recognise for their own trademark French-inspired Michelin menus). At the Anthenaeum, however, the double act have dedicated their seasonal dishes to all things British.

We’re talking local produce and independent farm faire with a haute cuisine métier.

The doorman greeted my dinner date and I warmly on arrival, walking us over to a tragically deserted restaurant. I was intrigued but dubious. With such inherently hospitable service and the Galvin name behind it, why was no-one having dinner at their more affordable outpost?

Unless their bottomless brunch is keeping them afloat, I still can’t be sure.

Absolutely everything was perfect. The fresh Glastonbury farmhouse-buttered wheat bread and champagne (menu-perusing mates at their best). The lasagne of Dorset crab with Nantais butter sauce (an intoxicating cloud of seafood). The Galvin cured smoked salmon, Burford brown egg ‘dust’, sour cream , and caviar (the pinnacle of quality DIY starters). The Iron Bark pumpkin risotto with seared Orkney scallops (the most flavourful and balanced risotto I have enjoyed in any restaurant). The Rose county beef rib eye with green peppercorn butter and chunky chips (because what is a British menu without one?).

By the time we were half-way through our mains, we were in a cacophony of culinary coo-fare with our table neighbours. So much so I considered offering up a spoonful or two in exchange for theirs.

Nonetheless, I licked my own plate clean and geared up for a expertly-curated selection of English cheeses (served with grapes and celery) while my date cast an inquisitive line into the depths of a warm rice pudding (with macerated prunes and praline, respectively) like no other.

Galvin have done the Great British Menu and then some.



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I live to share the places I love with anyone who may feel the same.

But I suppose that’s pretty obvious from these travel blogs, eh?

Nonetheless, I have so many destinations on my hit list I very rarely allow myself to visit the same place twice. Weekends away are the one opportunity I am able to turn a manic work schedule in my favour.

With just a weekend to spare and my passport burning a hole in the pocket of my Winter coat, a trip to Jersey promised to be the perfect escape.

Short flights practically ascend to descend from London and – after falling in love with the Channel island during a Christmas getaway – I knew Jersey had an intimate, foodie-friendly offering that felt just right for my loved one’s introduction to Saint Helier and beyond.

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warhammer quest whq
It was 3am, the room was thick with adrenaline, and Warhammer Quest had taken hold of me.

Had I been asked prior to my first twelve-hour marathon, the dungeon-based RPG – now twenty years out of production – would have been the last thing I expected to consume my bank holiday.

Yet, there I sat. Filled with caffeine, whisky, and an incredulous sense of collaborative competition.

It was an arguably ridiculous scene; four proper adults frenetically rolling dice to move plastic miniatures around Old World dungeons so old their haggard cardboard floors struggled to slide into their respective plastic door frames.

Except we weren’t proper adults anymore. We were a barbarian pit fighter, a wizard, a wardancer and an elf ranger. Embarking on a tabletop Tolkien tirade at the fate of dice mortality. With a lantern-wielding Level One leading us through the calculated corridors of a mathematical god.

The itsy-bitsy warfare is exhaustively human. Our wild warriors stood no and every chance from the outset. We could fumble our way through new experiences, discover our individual strengths, armour our weaknesses, do everything we can to defeat evil, and only truly survive by doing so together.

Ultimately, you’re fighting to stay alive. And Warhammer Quest has a knack for harvesting hell in a playbook. You could be potion-rich and heavily weaponed – even magical – and lose everything in the appearance of a single black dot.

But you survive. Sometimes, you even thrive. You save your ambushed friends, you share your wealth with those in need, and your proactive resilience leaves you stronger than ever.

As the thirteenth hour of gameplay set in, I looked up from my Adventure Record Sheet at my sleep-deprived comrades and smiled. We had all fought through pain. We had all forged glory.

We were warriors.

(Thank you to the inimitable Josh Thornton for being the best drunk photographer of all time.)

warhammer quest whq
warhammer quest whq
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