With ten hours of exams to go, it’s safe to say I’m a little overrun right now. Eight, as of this evening. Believe me, I’ve been trying to put together something, anything of interest on here, but after staring at word soup all day long…spare me.
Promise I’ll be back by May 30th at the very latest, and in the meantime, good luck to anyone else doing exams!
x
It’s that time of year again. No, I’m not referring to the near-frantic flurry of magazines declaring that OMG BIKINI SEASON IS NEARLY UPON US, STEP AWAY FROM THE FRIDGE. Shut up, I will have my cheese, my pasta, and my wine, and gladly. What I’m talking about is far more worrisome in the immediate future – exams.
This is the first year I’ve done examinations at university “properly”; last year, I staged an epic meltdown about nine days before they were due to start, and was rewarded with six essays, all due in the day before my birthday. I say a “reward”, the real reward was the birthday cake and shot glasses. Anyway, since I’m facing down my nemesis for real this summer, I thought I might as well pontificate a bit. Consider this a ramble on how I’m doing a fabulous impression of someone who is capable of getting through these horrors in one piece.
Anybody else who is struggling this exam and/or hayfever season also, my sympathies. We are all in this together, in a non-plagiaristic way. If I’m quiet or sound frazzled at any point between now and the end of May…here’s your answer!
As I write this, I’m sitting on my patio, wishing I were back in the sunny climes of Barcelona, white wine in hand. That may be because I’m simultaneously engaged in a furious albeit silent staring contest with Spanish grammar, feminist literature, and a whole lot of exams. Excuse me while I relive my traipsing down the Passeig de Gràcia…
A courtyard…somewhere. I got very, very lost.
Parc de la Ciutadella.
Parc de la Ciutadella, again. This photo was very effective at inducing jealousy…
Arc de Triomf
A cathedral they bothered to finish.
…and the one they didn’t.
Balcony view, which convinced my mother that she has utterly failed at bringing me up and I am only fit for trophy wifehood.
I’d go back just for this gin and tonic sorbet.
More globetrotting than I’ve done in a long time, and I’m ridiculously excited.
Not bad for a balcony view.
It doesn’t matter how far you might live from the coast, when a rare sunny day hits in this country, it seems only right and proper to make a beeline for the seaside. Since yesterday was one of those rare gems, I packed up a wicker basket – yes, really – and journeyed forth, with one of my very closest friends, towards the east coast. It only took two and a half hours, one fuel stop, and two bags of Percy Pigs, but we made it there in one piece and ready to Frisbee.
The wind, however, had other ideas. Grand plans for a picnic and Frisbee in the sand turned into a back seat feast and a walk along the coastline, including photo bombing, illegal cloud-watching and a couple of leaps of faith over some dubious looking streams. Good times.
The cropping hides the stranger who made an appearance behind us.
Walking the plank.
A medieval lord drawing back his fist…or so we decided.
We only saw this once we reached the top of the bank. Whoops.
You don’t find this in London.
Presented without comment. (Be nice!)
Where to buy:
Shampoo
Conditioner
Blow dry cream
Lip butter
Mega Tint (will add link as soon as it’s available! In the meantime, you can have a sneak preview of how it looks here)
I may take this opportunity to begin the post with a public service announcement: don’t even think about being late for an appointment unless it is absolutely essential and unprecedented. It disturbs the natural order of things, which is my job- not yours.
Ahem…onto glossier things. After a week of hurriedly pulling together essays and pieces for assessment that I have come to accept as the end of term, there was only one thing to soothe my stress-bunny tendencies. That would be Chanel.
I didn’t manage to get to the pop-up-that-is-no-longer-a-pop-up (hurrah!) Whilst the flower stall that was stationed outside for Mother’s Day was no longer, I did take advantage of a promised manicure last Friday. The store itself is gorgeous, all mirrors and glass and the most fantastic giant product models that I was seriously tempted to steal for my bedroom…if I could fit anything else in there.
Once I arrived and had made myself known, I was let loose around the upper floor of the store to look at the products and choose a nail polish I liked.
Which brings me to my first point: is it impossible to keep time for one’s appointments? The lady before me was late, and I must admit, it puts a dampener on the whole experience when someone seems to think their timetable takes precedence over yours. To give the staff their credit, they could not have been sweeter or more apologetic, and did a fantastic job of showing me the new, shiny products while letting me know that they hadn’t forgotten me, and my nail technician, Gui, would be with me shortly.
In the meantime, I deliberated…and pondered…and vacillated, to the point where even I was getting frustrated with myself. It’s a manicure, not rocket science. The choice eventually boiled down between Rose Insolent and April, and in honour of Easter being the first of April, I chose the latter.
About fifteen minutes into my visit, I was led into what I can only describe as quite possibly the most inventively decorated nail bar you can imagine, with huge(!) bottles of Chanel nail polish, past and present, lining the walls.
The manicure itself was utilitarian – it’s described in the brochure as a “shape and paint”, and that’s what I got. My snow-white manicure was removed, oodles of hand cream applied to my parched mitts, along with a hand massage so excellent, I wonder how I could try and recreate it one-handed. Seriously, it was the most attention paid to my hands and nails in a shamefully long time, and it showed when Gui suggested the big guns of base coats - for “weak, ridged and peeling nails”. I suppose it’s time to embrace the fate bestowed on me by years of nail biting, and accept that long, strong nails will not grace my fingertips any time soon.
As you can see, the final result did my digits proud. A couple of chips aside, they dried super quickly with a few drops of oil, and stayed near immaculate for four days, which is pretty good for me. Not that I would know all that much about the dry time, as the ladies of Chanel were so good about making sure I had barely to lift a finger between the bar and returning to university.
At £30, redeemable against any Chanel beauty product, I call this absolutely great value for money. I chose the topcoat and Orange Fizz nail polish, which I’m keeping tucked away ready for Marbella in July. On second thoughts, I may just go back and have it applied for me.
