Beacon's Closet is addictive

I seriously need to stay away from Beacon's Closet. As you may have read I bought three pairs of shoes & a dress there with J last Monday.

This Sunday, after visiting the bloody brilliant Brooklyn Flea (post to come) with CA, we girls brunched at Juliette in Williamsburg (not very good, to be honest, but then brunch so rarely is), & I took CA beforehand & BA after to check it out.

I bought a 1950's mint condition black silk chiffon cocktail dress with a ruched bodice, pencil skirt & accordion pleated tail for $19.99. And these rather fab unworn Michael Kors mainline (not the Kors line) brown suede platform sanadals for $34 (should be $500)

Blogs du Jour

I haven’t done a ‘blogs I read' round up for some time. Regular visitors to the blogosphere will know that there is a hardcore of fashion bloggers who all know & support each other. I’ve tagged and mentioned these essential reads of the on-line world frequently, so I’m moving out of the style world today.

First up: Cityboy. Intelligent, obnoxious, acerbic, hilarious. Anonymous Cityboy lifts the lid on the City of London and what those finance boys really get up to. The blog is linked to his weekly column in thelondonpaper, and he has the Holy Grail of bloggers, a book coming out on 26th June.

Lurking in the leftfield are The Avocado Papers. He likes talking and knowing about stuff. Pretty random stuff, but interesting stuff all the same.

London Foodie in NY because she is as obsessed about food as I have always been, (but has actually put her money where her mouth is by cooking for a living) and thinks Americans eat some pretty wierd stuff for breakfast too.

Woody's Dog Blog makes me hoot with laughter. And not just because I know Woody's mummies. (One of whom mentioned to my sis the other day that it was so funny how my blog makes me sound so glamorous, when she & my sister know the truth about my appalling messiness and slothful ways. Thank you very much my darling!)

Addendum: Bugger. I know I've mentioned her recently, but I should have added Definitely Stopping At Two this morning as I think her most recent post beyond genius. And that's not just because she's my friend.

MS Awareness 2008

Today marks the start of MS Awareness 2008. Not only has an old school friend been diagnosed, & several friends’ relatives, but I have a very, very close family member who has had Multiple Sclerosis for almost ten years now. Through this I have come to realise that awareness & education can be as important as raising money for research and support.

So I always try to support MS in a creative way that provokes interest: one year I made chocolate cakes & sold them by the slice in the Vogue House boardroom to Condé Nast girls in aid of the MS Cake Bake (doubly joyful: feeding cake to Voguettes & raising money/awareness), and I helped the MyShoes for MS campaign celebrity shoe auction by leveraging my address book to solicit shoes from celebs (Andrea Corr gave us her YSL heels which made £2800!) & from the best shoe designers in the world. Divine Mr. Louboutin even signed his pair. (Altho I haven’t ever forgiven the Gina PR for not even bothering to reply to a single email. What goes around comes around, I always say.)

Today I am using my fluffy blog to do a little education so, in return for reading my blog each day, I’d be grateful if you’d bear with me for a couple of paragraphs whilst I inform &, I hope, engage you.

Multiple Sclerosis means multiple scarring and refers to the process where the body’s nerve response conductor to the brain, the myelin sheath around the nerve endings, becomes irredeemably scarred and damaged by the body’s auto-immune response system.

This in turn means that the body’s signals to the brain are slowed down, or rerouted, causing no end of problems & responses, which can be different in every single MS patient, hence the reason why no one person experiences MS in the same way or severity. Symptoms can come & go (relapsing remitting MS), or get worse over time, (progressive MS).

Problems can include neuropathic pain (like awful sunburn and/or tingling permanent pins & needles, bladder infections & loss of bladder control, optic neuritis (pain, loss of or fuzzy vision), loss of sensation (which can mean you can’t walk as you can’t feel your feet), lack of co-ordination, balance & spatial awareness, over-whelming fatigue, cognitive slow down & dissonance (where you can recognise things but not recall their names) and pain. Patients may experience one, some, all or none of these symptoms.

But, just because MS patients often have no visible symptoms, it doesn’t mean they are feeling well. Of course, not every person with MS will experience fatigue, but the majority do and for many it is their single most disabling symptom, battling it on a daily basis

We always use the following analogy to explain the unique nature of MS fatigue, (which is why many people with MS can’t just go down the pub at a moment’s notice, or why they often feel comprehensively exhausted all the time.)

Imagine that any activity has an energy point value. You and I, as healthy people, start each day with an unlimited number of energy points, so we can do whatever we like, when we like.

On a not great day, an MS patient may only have twenty energy points. It takes two points just to get out of bed, one to go to the loo, another one to feed the dog, another to brush your teeth, a couple to make & eat a bowl of cereal and a couple more to get dressed.

That’s nearly half your day’s energy allocation gone and you haven’t actually started your working day yet. If you want to see your friends, go shopping, eat a meal out, you need to conserve your points during the week, so you have enough saved up to get you through the journey & socialising. Even having someone over for a couple of hour’s conversation, let alone staying with you, takes up precious points. That’s why work can be impossible, spontaneity can be a bad idea, and many MS patients give up going out.

Comments like, “Oh I would just work through it”, “Well, I get tired too”, or “I’m ill & tired too: I have a thyroid problem”, show a basic incomprehension of what MS fatigue actually is.

MS fatigue isn’t caused by tiredness, it’s caused by the body fighting to reroute the nervous system, & the best thing a patient can do is to stop and let the body concentrate on fighting through. An MS patient snoozing in bed in the middle of the day isn't being a lazy so and so, or just giving up: they are helping their body by concentrating their physical & mental resources.

If you’d like more information on how MS affects patients, carers, health professionals and relations, then the utterly brilliant MS Trust website relaunched today.

Nina Garcia out at US Elle

The gossip mill is buzzing in Manhattan over the rumour that the fashion director of US Elle, Nina Garcia, has been given her marching orders. WWD was first with the reports late Friday, followed by a Saturday update from New York magazine. Insiders are mulling over the possibility that Garcia’s Project Runway judging role, just-filmed Ugly Betty cameo, ubiquitous Blackberry ads and book deals were overshadowing the magazine and, most importantly, the editor in chief Robbie Myers and new creative director, Joe Zee.

What LLG did next...

So I've finally drawn breath, and it feels good. Right now I'm supposed to hanging out on the roof of Soho House with Sexy S & J (who I bumped into last night & who seems to have forgiven me for immortalising him in my blog last week) in the early Saturday evening sunshine, but I lost momentum at about 4pm and went for a pedicure before going home to watch last week's series launch of Doctor Who (I'm obsessed) on the net.

I think I can be forgiven though: I was up at 8am and by 1.30pm had been to The Guggenheim (Cai Guo-Quiang installations), and to The Met (The Jasper Johns & Courbet shows) and walked from 90th right down to 56th. At that point, H & I gave up, & fell into a cab, heading to Soho & Spring Street Natural for an organic, healthy late lunch. He's got jet lag, & I'm just generally exhausted.Thursday night was a girls' night out to celebrate BA's engagement. The four of us started at the classic & very grown up King Cole bar at the St Regis, before heading down to our favourite restaurant Bobo in the West Village for supper. Bobo always feels like an exquisitely shabby chic private townhouse that just happens to be hosting a few tables for supper filled with beautiful people (most often fashion industry and, on Thursday, Demi Moore & Ashton Kutcher)*

Lovely Andy, the most charming restaurant manager in Manhattan, had kept us a fabulous table on the terrace, and we worked our way through the menu, from mushroom risotto (with morels) followed by transcendental light, fluffy ricotta ravioli with parmesan & broad (fava) beans. The chef also sweetly sent out a freebie of cod with chanterelles, on perfect leeks with a green puree which disappeared pretty quickly. Pud was a rhubarb galette, perfectly in season, with great pastry.

Friday saw yet more eating. One of the things I miss most about London are my male friends, so it was blissful to have three lovely boys to take me to supper at Public in Nolita. We met at the bar at the Soho Grand, as I'm particularly fond of their passion fruit martinis in glasses the size of a goldfish bowl.

Public is buzzy, busy and very New York, & perfect for out of town visitors. The food is Pacific rim, (Peter Gordon of London's Providores and the former Sugar Club is a partner) and the wine list, in the main, Antipodean. We drank a stunning Pinot Noir and I, to my eternal restaurant reporting shame, ordered the simplest, healthiest dishes on the menu: an excellent mushroom ceviche with yuzu, followed by a green bean, pecan, lentil & avocado salad dressed with the sweet sharpness of pomegranate molasses balanced with avocado oil. I just couldn't face complex food after ten days of restaurant eating.

*We can report that Demi was stunning in Missoni, absolutely tiny, looked about twenty in candlelight and that we all fancied Ashton.

Photo: Dining room at Bobo

How my life has changed

Sometimes I look back on my life in London, and think that I have morphed into a different person. If I went out once a week, I was doing well. I was all about the dinner parties in my kitchen, and the boozy Sunday lunches and walks on Hampstead Heath with the babydog, & hanging out with my adored little sister.

If I went to one fashion party a month I was pushing myself. Hip restaurants: if a PR lunched me, or my parents were in town but otherwise…

Here I ping around the city at a pace that leaves me breathless. I go out so much I can barely keep up with my dry cleaning let alone blogging about it. Manhattan is such an overt world: where so much of London life happens behind closed doors at dinner parties & in private members’ club, here in New York it’s all about the overt: the hot restaurant, and the great cocktail bar, seeing & being seen. Plus it's actually cheaper to eat out than cook for people.

It’s so expensive to eat in London that the idea of a bar in a restaurant is completely alien: when a main course in a good restaurant is at least $35 no one drops in to eat at the bar or grab an appetizer with drinks. London dining is an event, and an almost unaffordable expense. (And that's after you've dropped the cost of an entree on just getting there.)

Here in New York I eat out at least five times a week and, this week alone, I’ve been out for dinner every night since last Friday. (And am starting to have the avoirdupois to show for it too.)

The compact nature of the city, both in geography & in apartment size, means that going out becomes incredibly appealing. There are fifteen restaurants on my block alone, one of which is open 24hrs. After a year of living in the East Village the novelty of walking outside & grabbing a meal any hour of the day hasn’t worn off yet. Let alone knowing that even going uptown will cost me just $10 in a cab if I am running late. (As opposed to $40 in London for an equivalent journey.)

And, best of all, I don't need to stay at parties for ages, or schedule two or three things in an evening because it's taken me over an hour to get there. In London, the travelling time to get anywhere is the main reason I rarely went out: after a day of work I just couldn't face it.

Here I can be home in fifteen minutes from most places I hang out in this city if I take a $10 cab. Most times, tho, I can walk or use my bike. And that is the biggest freedom of all.

Lucky me

My mother, although a little highly strung, is astonishingly generous and very kind. I had some good news yesterday, and this morning these ravishing flowers arrived from her & my father.

My favourite flowers are pink roses, and there were a dozen stems, mixed with scented white stocks and green guelder roses in a glass vase, wrapped in tissue from Arte de Fiori in Manhattan.

Spring dressing

Spring has finally sprung: it's 24C/74F here in Manhattan. There's a little nip in the air tho, so it's not quite a balmy summer-ish day. BA's bridesmaids to be are taking her out for a celebratory supper tonight & I have no idea what I can wear.

As I haven't yet started my fake tan regimen, my legs are a startling shade of corpse white, & they have the not so appealing blue tinge of skimmmed milk in bright light. I'm cheatng by wearing jeans today, as it's too warm for tights (although I suspect it'll be cool this evening), so I guess that means either a floor length maxi dress for tonight, or I guess I can just sod it and wear tights for the last time before hopping off to the spray tan place first thing.

Les grandes bouffes

I really don't feel particularly splendid today. I'm known for my dormouse habits, (head in teapot, tail wrapped around face) yet I just don't seem to be sleeping soundly right now, and I awake early too. I also feel somewhat bilious. This is not good. I had an Americano on Monday and, as I never drink coffee, I'm wondering if that has buggered up my system.

Then again, I have been living the life of Riley since last week. Friday my beautiful friend F was back in town (almost recovered after being precipitated down the stairs at The Mercer Kitchen), so six of us convened at Waverly for Champagne in the tiny, noisy bar before walking down to Bar Blanc for an exceptionally good meal. My risotto primavera was probably the best I have eaten anywhere. Certainly on a par with Neil Ferguson's at Allen & Delancey. The addition of a bright green spinach and cream puree made every mouthful taste like spring. I drank too much of a fantastic Pomerol, & we ended the evening drinking cocktails in Soho House until 2.30am

Saturday I headed to Beauty Bar on 14th to meet two old friends from the Condé Nast magazine I laboured on for five years back in London. I do like Beauty Bar, but a drinking spot whose USP is manicures whilst you drink and drying hoods above the seats was an odd choice for a Saturday night with boys in tow. Wonderful to see my friends though, although I had to leave to go to a party at a loft in Nolita, followed by bar hopping with sexy S in Soho. I walked home singing to myself from West Broadway in four inch heel black patent ankle boots. Christ, my feet hurt the next day.

Sunday has already been discussed, and last night I hopped on my bike down to Nolita to meet Sexy S at 24 Prince for a party to celebrate the restaurant's second birthday.

The restaurant is in the public eye right now as chef Nikki Cascone is competing on Bravo's Top Chef at the moment. I never, ever watch reality TV in the UK, but Top Chef has changed my viewing habits: talented & interesting chefs cooking amazing food. What's not to like? I was introduced to the absolutely charming Nikki (very pretty, tiny, wee in the flesh) and ate an outstanding salad of grapes & grated ricotta.

Then it was back on my bike to the West Village to Waverly again for supper with a recovered X, her sister & L&J. Lovely round table in the corner of the main room so we could people watch, and a close encounter on the way to the loos (so small they should be counted as a triumph of optimism over reality) with Salman Rushdie. On the way back to our table I spotted two plates of the off menu $90 mac and cheese being showered with grated truffle for a couple of over-entitled Euro types.

Not being in the market for $90 plates myself, I really wish they'd change the standard menu: there is only one vegetarian main course, a creamy curried quinoa risotto. It was very good first time around a year or so ago, but I can't face eating it over & over. Our lovely waiter took pity on me and produced some delicious off menu fat grilled porcini on spring onions with sea salt for my first course, so I could have the grilled vegetable salad for my main dish. All excellent and very healthy. Pud was a glass bowl of immaculate berries with a little porcelain jug of rosemary infused simple syrup. Clever.

We drank French Bulldogs at the bar, and then a bottle of Rioja with the meal, which meant I was sober enough by the end of the meal to bike home again. A vain attempt to ameliorate the fat-making effects of the meals I keep eating.

Comme des Garcons ENERGY C

Spring is just around the corner, & these Comme fragrances make me think of sunshine, Ibiza and the outdoors. They're also way more up my street than Rei's H&M collaboration. £29/$43 from Dover Street Market in London from May.

Feeling the vintage love

This has been the weekend of English visitors and I am exhausted. (Three different sets on consecutive days!) My last date was with J, who was over for meetings, so last night we met for supper at Soho House and, supposedly, an acoustic gig by David Ford under the Artists' Den banner.

I arrived first and was seriously unimpressed, an opinion shared by J, a music industry maven, when she arrived, so we left the Drawing Room to perch at the main bar and feed our communal hangover with fries, sliders and cosmos whilst trying not to listen to Ford murder The Smiths' There is a Light That Never Goes Out".

We met up again today for an expedition to Williamsburg to rootle through the vintage stores. There is great vintage on Manhattan - but only if you want to pay $75up for a cotton frock. When new deliveries come into the East Village stores they are snapped up immediately by researchers & buyers for the likes of Ralph Lauren and so pieces are priced accordingly.

So between industry pricing and higher rents, a simple two stop, ten minute subway trip across the East River, from the East Village to Williamsburg, Brooklyn can result in a fifty dollar price drop.

That's not to say that every vintage store in Williamsburg is full of bargains - some are staggeringly over-priced: a white cotton lab coat, marked 'European Vintage' was $75 in one store.

We headed straight to Beacon's Closet. It's no secret store (at weekends it's rammed and even on a quiet Monday afternoon we spotted several people walking down Bedford Avenue swinging Beacon's distinctive pink plastic carriers), but the owners haven't succumbed to vintage madness and everything is reasonably priced, with dresses ranging from $9.99 to an average of $25. Altho, like most vintage stores now, there's more second hand modern clothing (H&M, BCBG etc) than pieces dating from the 60's or earlier.

Their pricing is whack tho: I spotted a beautiful size 6 black silk crepe & lace Diane von Furstenberg slip dress for just $24.95, and J picked up a pretty green & white jersey Topshop dress for the same price.

I was eCstatic with my bargains: a navy blue, heavy silk faille A line, cap sleeve 1960's mini dress in mint condition for $19.99 and three pairs of practically unworn designer shoes that were so startlingly cheap I can only presume the store staff didn't recognise the labels.
Classic, timeless, black suedeJoseph Azagury$21.95 - worn once, if at all. (Worth $700) Brown leather ankle strap wedges by Jacqueline Schnabel for Calypso $24.95 (worth $200) Shop worn. No marks.Cream nubuck & gold leather Mary Janes by Sportmax $24.95 (worth $450)Worn once, if at all.
Still waiting for my insurance digital camera. Cameraphone pictures just aren't ideal

Google searches

Statcounter lets bloggers see which Google searches bring surfers to their sites. Usually they are fairly normal: "handbag designers" or "gladiator sandals", but today brought up two crackers: "Prostitution in Hackney" & "How much do fashion editors get paid?"

I'm afraid the searcher was doomed to disappointment with the first on this blog, but I can help with the second. The answer is not nearly enough; most employers presume the perks of the job - discounts/freebies/beauty products - make up for the hovering around senior PA salary levels.

Believe you me, one does not become a fashion editor for the pay: it definitely falls under the category of lifestyle choice. If you adore fashion & love travel, late nights, and being away from home a lot, then it's the perfect job. You also need tenacity, humour, the skin of a rhino and a high tolerance for tantrums & over-entitled, diva-like behaviour.

Not all women are ticking clocks...

My three year old godson Oliver just told me he loved me down the 'phone. There is something very beguiling about holding that place in a child's heart.

I stayed with him, his little sister and his parents when I was recuperating from my dull op in December. His, & Lulu's, greatest joy was to run up to my attic room every morning and jump on my bed, using me and the iron bedstead as a jungle gym. (Ouch.)

I think the thing I miss most about London, bar my family & the dog, is seeing my friend's children grow up. In addition to my clutch of glorious, glorious godchildren, there are quite a few other adorable cherubs kicking around North London & this week I've been requesting photographs of them all so that I can catch up. It's quite frightening how the little babies I left behind in London are all now little people, who all seem to exactly resemble their parents.

I don't feel that I am at the mercy of my biological clock: for me I've always seen children as the product of a relationship, so if I don't meet someone I want to have children with, then I won't have any. I do wish though that men wouldn't presume that all women in their thirties are chomping at the bit to procreate. It's just not the case.

I'm very happy with my role as Aunty LLG. I love my friends' children and if that is the way it's going to be, then so be it.

Easter card by my god-daughter Amelia

Who IS Liberty London Girl?

Anonymity on the web is a curious thing. Most anony-bloggers are living on borrowed time. I know full well that we will all get our identities outed sooner or later, as some journalists & bloggers just can’t resist trying to be clever by working it out.

I got outed this morning to a whole group of people I’ve only just met when a random friend of a friend followed a link to here, read a couple of posts and worked out the identities of S & J. God only knows how.

I’m just relieved that, although I may be trenchant in my views, I am never gratuitously rude or nasty about anyone so I don’t think there’s anything for them to be offended by in my descriptions of our various shenanigans. In fact S appears to be pretty chuffed that his blog moniker is ‘Sexy S’, which is actually how he is known by all my girlfriends (There you have it S – the truth!)

Anyway, I’m not fussed if people know who I am. All my friends know I write a blog, (two actually, as I get paid to write one elsewhere) & I’ve never made an enormous secret of my identity: I’m too lazy for all that surreptitiousness. Several other fashion bloggers know who I am & I’ve told the odd PR here or there. In fact the only reason I stay an anony-blogger, as I explained in an earlier post, is that I dislike the idea of my life being on display for anyone who cares to put my name in a search engine.

This post was triggered by several things. Firstly, my mate S who writes the truly excellent Down By The Hipster blog about NYC nightlife got rather spitefully outed by a semi-rival blog a couple of weeks ago (altho it’s got them lots of traffic & some advertising, so not all bad there). Secondly, it’s been brought to my attention by more than a few bloggers that there that people are searching their blogs with the question, ‘Who is LibertyLondonGirl?’

Get a grip, people. It’s just not that big a secret. Ask me, and if I know or like you, I’ll tell you.

Collette Dinnigan launches a diffusion lingerie line at Target

Collette Dinnigan's Wild Hearts lingerie line is coming to a Target near you in two weeks, with pieces selling for as little as $20. It will be continually updated and replenished until at least the end of the year.

Dinnigan started her career as a lingerie designer before becoming one of Australia's most famous womenswear designers, launching her own label in 1990. It's quintessentially feminine, usually pastel with a vintage feel.

Chain store diffusion lines, especially Target's, tend to use extremely cheap fabrics. The silk & lace that Dinnegan uses for her main line lingerie has always been a major part of her USP, so it's hard to imagine whow this line will work out. I'm not enormously hopeful. (That'll be because I'm still recovering from the fabric horror of Temperley & Jojovich-Hawk for Target.)

A little bit of unsolicited praise goes a very, very long way...

I've been feelng a slightly pale shade of blue of late, what with BA's eventual move back to London, hideous visa wranglings around my new job (been offered it but not formally precisely because of the wrangling) and the dawning realisation that Manhattan is ramma with willowy, beautiful, intelligent women and very few attractive men. (Why do they all think money is an adequate substitute for intelligence, height, wit and looks?)

So it was immensely cheering to read an encomium by JSL, lauding me (and my, erm, bosom) to the heavens, on his wonderfully erudite & witty blog The Main Point.

It's always good to have a little cheerleading in one's life. Thanks sweetheart xx

An unexpected evening: St Vincent's & the Beatrice Inn

Last night didn’t go quite as planned: my Blackberry hummed at 17:30 with a message from a friend who was in hospital as an emergency admission. The silly moo had been there since 9am but was too embarrassed/worried about disturbing me.

Cancelling my evening plans immediately, I hopped on my bike to St Vincent’s in the West Village where a rather pale & worried X was lying in Fast Track with a canula in her arm and a serious case of tummy rumbles. I nipped off pronto to buy her some supper, lots of mags and to fetch her a case of essentials from her apartment, mulling over the fact that that makes twice in six weeks I’ve had a close friend end up in St Vincent’s .

Anyway I stayed until ten-ish when X looked like she’d pop off to sleep. And then Sexy S buzzed me to say my name was on the door at Beatrice, for the Cry Wolf (more of this later) party just a few streets away. So off I went for some naughty shenanigans with S & with J, who has a proper case of the roving paws. Not that I minded especially: I don’t mind attention from cute boys, & he is more affectionate than lecherous.

I biked home at 1am in a record eight minutes from West Village to East. (I hadn’t been drinking so it was fine). There’s little better than whizzing through a deserted Manhattan: the streets are wide, one way and it's easier to avoid the myriad potholes. I could see the Chrysler & Empire State buildings to my left as I barrelled along Eighth, & thanked goodness for the thousandth time that I live in New York. (Yes, Muv – if you are reading this I did have my lights on).

Party pics at Guest of a Guest

Comme des Garcons for H&M

I'm stunned, betwattled & befuddled like a duck in a rainstorm.

What IS Rei Kawakubo thinking? WGSN reports that H&M's next designer collaboration this autumn will be with one of fashion's foremost conceptualists. She is reported to be creating womenswear, menswear, childrenswear, plus accessories and an exclusive unisex fragrance.

"I have always been interested in the balance between creation and business. It is a dilemma, although for me creation has always been the first priority. It is a fascinating challenge to work with H&M since it is a chance to take the dilemma to its extreme, and try to solve it," said Kawakubo.

H&M is expanding massively in Japan, so I can understand what's in it for Hennes, but for Rei? As you know I wasn't exactly a fan of Cavalli's collection - or of the static sshocks all those artificial fibres gave me. Let's hope Comme have some quality control over this collection.

How much do we think they paid her? Got to be a million up. Answers on a postcard please.

Dating Option Number Three

DN3 has invited me to play Connect Four tomorrow, so I've picked a bar Downtown. I'm slightly regretting arranging to meet him as I looked at his profile again today and I'm pretty sure I don't fancy him. But he wrote me a brilliant (ie blush makingly complimentary) email, and made me laugh so I over ruled my inner voice and agreed to a date, thinking I should give him - and me - a chance. And maybe I'll make a friend, if not a boyfriend.

Which is more than I'm going to do with the film director who asked me for a drink after a few emails. I replied back suggesting a day & time, and never heard back. Bloody rude. He got back in touch a week later saying could I do the next Friday instead. Obviously I ignored it: we're all busy but courtesy doesn't take much time, & if he can't even be bothered to email to reschedule because he's busy it doesn't bode well. The penny has obviously dropped as he emailed again to finally apologise for virtually standing me up, asked me out a third time and then started talking about interviews I'd done recently.

Except I've never told him my surname or who I write for, bar that I broadcast for the BBC. He's obviously done a comprehensive Google & Lexus Nexus search on me. Creepy.

If someone provides their full name then I think they are fair game for a spot of Googling, but I don't tell people my surname on purpose as I want to preserve some anonymity, and neither do I want people meeting me because they want to network. (It's happened before). Whatever, he's a flake and he's invaded my privacy. Game over mate.

Orzo with mushrooms, feta, edamame & parsley

It’s been a beautiful day here in Manhattan, and I walked home from the subway after a cocktail at The Four Seasons uptown with just my tux over my silk Geren Ford dress. Twenty minutes later, whilst I was watching Dancing with the Stars (guilty pleasure), a tornado warning flashed across the screen, and rain started pelting against the windows and the wind blew the curtains in.

And goodness I suddenly felt hungry. I made the most delicious & super healthy supper in just fifteen minutes. I measured out a cup of orzo. Whilst it was cooking, I fried mushrooms & spring onions (scallions) in a little olive oil, and defrosted some edamame in a bowl of boiling water. As the mushrooms cooked, I added a teaspoon of butter and a generous pinch of Maldon salt and a lot of black pepper. The salt leached out some of the juices from the mushrooms to give a fabulous buttery sauce. Then I threw in the drained orzo with a couple of ounces of crumbled feta and lots of chiffonaded flat parsley. Bingo. And then I ate it all.

And chased it with a Crème Egg. Hey I can’t be healthy all the time.I’m waiting for the insurance company to send my new camera, so please excuse my terrible cameraphone pics