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Sunday, 30 December 2012
Un très Joyeux Noël .(scribbled at 13:07 )


So, it’s that time year again already. The party season in full swing (December in itself is one big hangover), this Christmas period is turning looking fairly similar to all the others I’ve previously experienced…I’d rather not divulge just how many kilograms of cherry infused Green and Blacks I’ve consumed in the past few days (yes, kilograms) but my god, it’s enough to make any gym bunny recoil in terror.

I can’t quite get over the fact that we’re edging that little closer to 2013 either, so I’m going to skim over the past few weeks.



Waitrose Christmas cake tastes much better than anything homemade. Seriously.

So, starting with mon très Joyeux Noël, I’d already mentally gone through it in my head on my homebound train from Marylebone last week, preparing to blog endlessly about a time spent pulling crackers with my siblings whilst Shakin’ Stevens pumped out on the radio in the background.

Of course, the harsh reality of all of this is that come 1 o’ clock in the afternoon on Christmas Day, 'twas very much a different picture to one I had envisaged; with me downing my fourth glass of Baileys whilst listening to my mother sporadically swearing numerous insults at the Turkey. It was a really great day though, my mom bought this Christmas Pudding Wine from Marks and Spencer which was essentially a bottle of pricey sherry, but it made a nice addition to the Christmas cake.

This is a very poor photograph of what I wore. But considering how much Baileys and mince pies I’d gotten through before I’d even given into the artery-destroying Christmas lunch, it’s probably for the best that I don’t display any full length photographs for a while. I mean, after an absurd portion of Christmas pudding and half a tin of Quality Street later, who actually wants to think about what they look like in clothing?


Anyway, so I wore this emerald green dress from Zara that was quite loose fitting pre-party-season. Along with half a Lancôme counter’s worth of mascara and lipstick and vertiginous heels, to hide how fat (igued) I felt that morning. 

As my 2 younger siblings played around on their swanky new tablets, I took delight in some of the more simpler things in life. Now that I am in my twenties, family have resorted to drowning me in wine, chocolates and paperbacks. My Liverpool-based bezzie bought me the Design Museum publication ‘How to Design a House’. When a much anticipated stroll to the village of Kinver fell through when it started pissing down on boxing day, this proved quite inspiring. I’m currently working through a major blueprint of my dream house and it’s going fairly smoothly so far:


Speaking of the Design Museum, I took a visit to Unexpected Pleasures: The Art and Design of Contemporary Jewellery. I really like this Ron Arad bracelet:




And whilst I was there, I revisited the utterly amazing Swarovski and Designers in Residence exhibitions. The enormous Swarovski chandelier is worth paying the entry fee for in itself.









Oh, AND I SAW MARY KATRANTZOU AT THE V&A THE OTHER WEEK. It was absolutely amazing, I actually can't quite describe how beautiful she is.






Eum, where did I get in my ramblings? Right, so I made my first attempt at fancy dress in this year’s staff Christmas party. This is Marilyn on a shoestring here… my dress was a fiver in the H&M Summer sale. We all went out for lunch to the Hand and Flower on Kensington High Street that afternoon. If you find yourself over that end of the city, do give their vegetarian Wellington a taste. The smoked salmon starter I had came in Michelin-star proportions, so I was a little relieved to see a generous dose of pastry later.





And whilst I’m on the subject of stuffing my face with food, I spent an entire week in Salisbury last month doing exactly just that. Although I did do an immense amount of work whilst I was staying over there, I managed to squeeze in a visit to Stonehenge one evening, and a walk around the Cathedral grounds before work. This meant paying a visit at 6 in the morning, but my hotel was right opposite the cathedral so it wasn’t too bad. They have an endless supply of fresh chocolate croissants at The Cathedral Hotel, which is enough to make me book a return visit next year. I also remember having some mulled wine in a pub where there's a severed hand in the corner. The folk of Wiltshire never cease to amaze!






Before you shut your browser window through this incessant talk of food, I recommend a visit to Greenwich market for their pesto and mozzarella focaccia bread. I went on a department day out for a walk across the 02 Arena, which was preceded by a visit to the Maritime Museum and The British Music Experience. For a mere couple of quid for some freshly baked lunch, it’s a no brainer really. Normally, I’d have had Borough Market as the go-to place for street food, but I don’t think the (extortionate) prices are fit to anyone’s budget, really.








Standing on top of the 02. In some rather fetching climbing gear.

and the week before last, I ventured up to Birmingham for Winterfest at Warwick Bar.












The last blurry photograph is of a card I’d written on for part of the Black Dogs installation. Inside, was a cosy little room with Christmas cards hanging everywhere, and each divulging its own tale of an unwanted gift at Christmas. Invited to write my own card, I spoke about a certain someone who has bought me earrings for the past 3 years, but has failed to realise that I don’t even have one piercing. I feel a little smug right now, as I didn’t receive any earrings, baths salts or ill-fitting jumpers this year. In fact, all my gifts have been fairly practical and useful (see earlier mention about only getting wine and chocolate)

I hope you’ve all had a lovely Christmas, and like me, feel full enough to vomit if you see another mince pie again.

Xx





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about
diaristic ramblings about architecture, design, art, baking and shoes.

...all posts penned by Vikki, a twenty-something girl based in London (but currently having itchy feet and wanting to move back to Neuilly).

all these poorly taken photographs are indeed my own.


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