7 Tried & Tested Christmas Gift Ideas

Christmas bells are almost ringing, and with it comes the groan of your bank account in racking up the names on your gift-recipient list. However I like to think of myself as something of a gifting guru and with that power comes great responsibility, so onto you I bestow my certified wisdom.

Photographic print canvases

Gone are the days of getting photos developed and storing them in actual physical albums with those flimsy plastic wallets that are really hard to open. Photos exist merely in the digital plane, on our cameras, our memory cards, our laptops, our clouds. It seemed to me then, that the idea of getting something printed, would be even more special. Especially if done on proper, tangible, hang-able canvas. For a couple of years running, I’ve done just this with scenic photographs taken on family trips to Copenhagen and Nice. I use Photobox who frequently have some kind of discount offer going (not that I’m cheap or anything) and the quality of their products has always been high. Equally this gift fulfils my dream of having something I snapped exhibited for an audience (the above photo is currently on show in my parent’s hallway).

A coffee table book

Christmas is as an opportunity to purchase something that people wouldn’t ordinarily buy for themselves. For me, that encompasses a present as basic as a bottle of Baileys, fancy hair products, or even a brand new notepad, which seems a bit insignificant, but just isn’t something I consider necessary when shopping for the essentials (a.k.a. what I can justifiably afford). Therefore a coffee table book – surely the marker of twenty-something sophistication (it means you have a coffee table and probably a flat in which said coffee table resides) – which usually retails at a price upwards of £25, is an immensely great idea. Plus, they’re often pretty hefty, so you get points for showing up to Christmas looking like a baller, AND they’re square or rectangle, making wrapping them up piss easy. WIN WIN WIN WIN.

Here is a lovely list of examples if you need further inspiration.

A hot water bottle

Hold up, I know what you’re thinking. A hot water bottle is not a sexy present. It’s functional and trite. It’s on the same level as socks or towels or shower gel. You might need it, but it exists merely as interim present before you move on to the electronic goods and sparkly things in small boxes. Let me expostulate. (I’ll make it quick whilst you’re looking up that word). A hot water bottle is literally the gift that keeps on giving. Every time the recipient refills their rubbery pouch (that got weird), they’ll think of you (hopefully) and the warmth you bring to their lives, physically and metaphorically. Still skeptical? As I said, these presents are tried and tested and just last year I bought a friend a superbly fluffy number and it was greeted with rapture.

Event tickets

The idea of giving something intangible is often frowned upon at Christmas, because it eliminates the possibility of ripping open wrapping paper with expectant delight. However, I’m a big advocate of gifting an excursion or activity to do with someone, simply because it’s like two presents in one. You get the joy of telling them what you have planned, and then, if you’ve been smart enough to wrangle the other ticket for yourself, you get the joy of sharing the memory with them.

Something personalised

Kind of not cool that I typed ‘nutella’ into Google Images and it knew to fill the blank with my name.

Claudia Winkleman recently wrote about the joy of receiving, and giving, a personalised gift. Whilst I would be a little bit underwhelmed if a jar of Marmite with my name on it were all that lurked in my stocking, I wholeheartedly endorse her sentiment. Exhibit A, I once bought my Dad a Boston Red Sox baseball shirt that has his own surname, rather than a player’s, inscribed on the back. V. v. well received. Exhibit B, I bought my Mum a glass from Not On The High Street (I return to them time and time again when look for something a little bit unique and a little bit chic) that you can personalise to read ‘Mum’s Gin & Tonic’ or ‘Tracy’s Bacardi & Coke’, depending on their preferred tipple or if they like to be called by their actual name rather than defined by the fact they birthed you. Just a thought.

Something homemade

One year when I was particularly skint and feeling more Nigella than usual, I decided to make a little Christmas hamper of sweet treats for my nearest and dearest. I toiled over stove and pan to whip up a selection of chutneys, jams, biscuits and fudge, hand-decorated the labels, tied them up with brown string and in little gift bags and smiled smugly as I bestowed them upon relatives and roommates alike. No-one’s ever told me that the box of shop-bought chocolates were the best they ever tasted, but I have heard that my raspberry jam is a superlative among preserves. (They also told me the fudge was a bit hard, so you can’t win them all).

Stationery

Circling back to the aforementioned brand new notepad, if you’ve a stationery fiend friend (as I am – my go-to childhood make-believe game was ‘offices’, complete with memo pads, appointment lists and a Filofax for my abundant agenda), then some writing implements and a Moleskine journal is an easy way to their heart. I once bought my BFF, who shares my love of the Nora Ephron film You’ve Got Mail, “a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils”, and I like to think it has cemented our bond in more than just writing. Plus, with December generally declaring the resolution of another year (depending on what calendar you subscribe to), there’s no better time to write down all your achievements and everything you’re excited for with the dawn of a new year.

 

 

Advertisements

Film Review Round-Up: Oct/Nov Releases

The autumnal season is, historically, a joyous time for film-goers, anteceding awards season as it does and thus bringing with it a crop of critically-acclaimed cinema. And the last fortnight has been particularly fruitful in dishing up some of this year’s most highly anticipated movies.

So here is a round-up of thoughts on what I’ve seen recently.

N.B (Call Me By Your Name is reviewed in full here and has undoubtedly secured a place in my 2017 Top 10).

The Death of Stalin (released Oct 20)

Armando Iannucci, the creative genius behind The Thick Of It, In The Loop, and Veep turns his attention to Moscow in 1953. Stalin has died and his cabinet of excruciatingly incompetent cronies are climbing over themselves to take his proverbial crown. The stellar ensemble of said cronies includes Steve Buscemi, Jeffrey Tambor and Michael Palin, and they clearly relish the chance to put on this absurdist pantomime, with gags and awkward moments aplenty. However it’s Jason Isaacs as the army general, Rupert Friend as Stalin’s son and Paddy Considine as a concert-hall attendant who steal the show, and sadly the laughs dry up whenever they’re off-screen.

Breathe (released Oct 27)

A touching tribute to Robin and Diana Cavendish, a British couple who when faced with Robin’s polio diagnosis, decide to liberate themselves from the condition’s constraints. Andrew Garfield and Claire Foy are good, but never surprising, as the loved-up duo inspired to tackle any obstacle that comes their way. Andy Serkis’ direction is expeditious and proficient, if a little paint-by-numbers. And strangely, despite the heart-wrenching goodbyes, soaring music and hues of golden-brown that colour the titles and the Kenyan landscape where the Cavendish’ spent their early years, I was left feeling a little cold.

Take your mother, she will love it.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (released Nov 3)

Yorgos Lanthimos continues to hold the mantle as the most devilishly absurd filmmaker working today. Expectations were high after the critical success of 2015’s The Lobster and here he returns with humour even bleaker and blacker, and satire even more biting. Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman (a duo I didn’t know I needed until Sofia Coppola’s The Beguiled) are husband and wife, forced to make an incomparable decision when a strange boy (Barry Keoghan) exacts his revenge. This is perverse and unnerving cinema (the score, particularly, had the latter effect) and will likely rub a lot of people the wrong way. Still, Lanthimos has an impeccable ability to create bizarre, yet somehow believable worlds in which the stakes are never higher and however grotesque, you are gripped. The script, as with The Lobster, is acerbic and unerring, with lines that include “My daughter started menstruating last week” serving as cocktail party chatter, and the performances incredibly fine-tuned. I doubt it will have the same success as The Lobster, if just for it being less accessible, but it should never be said that Lanthimos doesn’t push the boundaries of cinema.

P.s. Don’t take your mother, she will hate it.

Thelma (released Nov 3)

Joachim Trier, whose name you might know after 2015’s Louder Than Bombs (starring Gabriel Byrne, Isabelle Huppert and Jesse Eisenberg), is clearly a connoisseur of cerebral and muted cinema. Thelma sees his return to the Norwegian-language of his origins, and with it comes a more assured sense of place and mood. He breeds and builds a rattling disquiet, as a young woman with supernatural powers begins her first term at university, desperate to fit in, but prohibitively unique. Yet despite all the sinister symbols – snakes, shattered glass, perilous swimming pools – Thelma never manages to make a splash. It’s classy and intriguing cinema, with some tender moments between its two female leads, who embark on a tentative relationship, but I’d really love to see Trier go for it with his next directorial endeavour.

Murder On The Orient Express (released Nov 3)

A lavish reprise of Agatha Christie’s vengeful tale, which sadly, chugs along at a glacial pace and fails to ignite. More of an exercise in exposition than thrilling storytelling, and considering the main draw is its glittering cast, it’s a shame that they’re given little to do but glance around the train suspiciously and spew their backstories when convenient. Still, if you’re looking for grandeur and glamour in your undemanding entertainment, then climb aboard.

The Florida Project (released Nov 10)

Sean Baker, director of ‘the iPhone movie’ Tangerine, returns with a kaleidoscopic, kitschy and blistering tale of fantasy and poverty. 6-year-old Moonee and her barely-functional, if tenacious mother Halley live on society’s fringes, specifically in a colourful motel just outside of Florida’s Disney World, and are barely managing to get by.  In spite of their tough economic circumstances, the film never loses its vibrancy, nor is Moonee’s imagination ever blighted by these realities, and aside from the strikingly, garish set-design and cinematography, this is down to Brooklynn Prince’s rascal of a performance. Moonee and her merry band of mischief-makers are a joy to watch as they amble about the grounds of the motel, cursing, dropping water bombs on tourists, scamming money for ice-cream and generally causing mild mayhem for the motel’s manager (a compassionate Willem Dafoe). As Halley continues down a path of deviance, disenchantment threatens to prevail. But Baker, having explored this world through Moonee’s eyes, allows her innocence to survive for that bit longer.

It’s a world you don’t want to miss.

Ingrid Goes West (released Nov 17)

It’s particularly apt for a film about an Instagram-obsessive (Aubrey Plaza) who moves to Los Angeles to stalk/befriend a social media influencer (Elizabeth Olsen), to be so surface. Writer-director Matt Spicer doesn’t say anything particularly new about the loneliness and hollowness of a life lived online, and the ending feels more neat than authentic. It’s equal parts savage, sad and insightful, if ultimately forgettable. #basic

Coming Soon: Nov 17 – Good Time, Mudbound, Nov 24 – Battle of the Sexes, Beach Rats

Film Review: Call Me By Your Name

Dir: Luca Guadagnino. Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Armie Hammer, Michael Stuhlbarg, Amira Casar, Esther Garrel. Running time: 132 mins

★★★★★

A timeworn quandary that has haunted us all – to reveal a crush and risk the humiliation of it being unreciprocated, or not to reveal a crush and regret a missed opportunity – fuels the fire at the centre of this (surely?!) golden-statuette bound love story.

Luca Guadagnino, an Italian director, who forayed into English-speaking filmmaking with last year’s A Bigger Splash, further proves himself a maestro of sensual, simmering cinema with Call Me By Your Name, starring Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet and Michael Stuhlbarg.

Based on Andre Aciman’s novel, this is the story of Elio (Chalamet), a 17-year-old living a placid, almost palatial existence ‘somewhere in Northern Italy’ with his affable, academic parents (Michael Stuhlbarg and Amira Casar), whose affection for their son is abound. In fact, everyone who encounters Elio appears to be smitten, including his on-off girlfriend Marzia. He’s a good-looking boy who transcribes piano concertos and plays them just as beautifully, and drifts around with a nonchalant sulkiness that’s like catnip to teenage girls. However his command is thrown off-kilter when a new student arrives to assist his father, in the form of Oliver (Hammer), a statuesque man of seraphic beauty. And little does he know, as he shows Oliver to his room, but Elio’s life is about to be transformed.

Timothée Chalamet has a natural liveliness onscreen reminiscent of Bel Powley in The Diary of a Teenage Girl, or Miles Teller in The Spectacular Now and certainly he deserves the same recognition granted to Lucas Hedges with his performance in last year’s Manchester by the Sea. His Elio is a hormone-fuelled fusion of braggadocio, playfulness and naiveté, and the more his fascination with Oliver grows, the more we are treated to a cornucopia of emotions, which Chalamet nails every time. He is an intensely watchable actor, and as the camera lingers on his face at the end of the film, in a moment of sheer distress, you sense that Guadagnino is equally aware of this fact.

At once nostalgic and stunningly contemporary, Guadagnino’s 80s aesthetic – hi-tops, Talking Heads t-shirts and Armie Hammer dancing emphatically to The Psychedelic Furs – never overwhelms to the point of pastiche, but instead flavours the film with a greater sense of taboo and restraint. Necessary too. If this had been set in the modern day everything could’ve been set in motion with the coy use of an aubergine, and then a peach emoji. And the film would’ve lost its sense of aching sadness, of precious time being frittered away in the to-ing and fro-ing of pride and desire embattled. Amplifying this heartache is the soundtrack, as supplied by Sufjan Stevens and his soul-baring strumming.

Indeed, language of the spoken and not the texted kind is of great importance to Call Me By Your Name. An early scene in which Hammer’s Oliver distinguishes himself as more than just a thoroughly American, borderline arrogant interloper – all chiselled abs and nonchalant goodbyes – involves the etymology of the word ‘apricot’.

And the film plays up the theme of language and speaking throughout a beautifully subtle script, penned by James Ivory. Elio’s father says “Remember, you can always talk to us”, signalling that both parents are wiser to their son’s maturation than perhaps he gives them credit for. Whilst Elio’s own mastery of French, Italian and English and his glissade between the three only serves to highlight the inability of language to sometimes express what we feel. Guadagnino skilfully depicts these moments of erotic silence; glances across food-strewn tables, glimpses between their adjoining bedrooms, snatches of possibility. Each of these moments is imbued with an almost suffocating intensity, until a crescendo to confession – a beautiful dance of scene, in which the truth is blurted and Oliver asks Elio “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

A rush of ecstatic discovery follows, as Elio and Olivier gorge on what they’ve denied themselves for the past few weeks. It’s thrilling, throbbing cinema, in which romance done incognito can only really achieve. And yet, their bond is less tortured and forbidden than gay romance might ever have been on film; secretive, yes, but with a lightness and joyousness that ripples across the screen like the Italian waters which feature so prominently.

This is genuine and generous filmmaking, in the sense that no one here is a villain capable of malice or even unkindness. The characters are human, sure, and with that come flaws and foibles, but there is a deep, warming feeling of goodness that ripens throughout the film and culminates in a tender scene between father and son. And just as you imagine that this a summer Elio will replay in his mind forever more, an apex in which leisure and pleasure coalesced to spine-tingling effect, this is a film you want to luxuriate in forever. If not just watch repeatedly.

Every frame is dripping with vivid colours and textures; the sticky juice of a peach, the oozing overspill of an egg yolk, the crimson deluge of a nosebleed, the cerulean splashes of the river. It is a world enriched by the halcyon glow memory, spellbinding in its every breath and kiss and quiver.

What with Carol, Moonlight, God’s Own Country and The Handmaiden, queer cinema is finally prospering, and proving to be some of the most romantic films of all.

Margherita Pizza

Pizza is my favourite food. Hands down. Yes, I might sound like a 6-year-old child, but I stand by my stomach, and the fact that it’s so simple to make from scratch makes it all the more satisfying.

Here is how I made it.

My pizza dough turned out a little crumbly and didn’t have quite have that texture where the thinner end of the slice flops downwards. It was crispy, but also on the thicker side.

For that reason I’m going to point you in the direction of a basic pizza dough recipe here. This uses all the same ingredients I used, minus the semolina but will probably give you better results considering I winged it and also didn’t let the dough prove. (See the opening line about my love for pizza. Also I was hungry).

Tomato Marinara Sauce

  • 2 Tbsp of olive oil
  • Handful of fresh basil leaves
  • 1 tsp crushed chilli flakes
  • 1 tsp dried coriander
  • A small bowl of fresh ripe tomatoes, roughly chopped
  • 1 Tbsp grated parmesan
  • Squeeze of lemon juice
  • Squeeze of tomato purée

Heat the oil in a small saucepan over a simmering heat. Add the coriander, chilli and basil leaves until softened. Add the chopped tomatoes, purée, lemon juice and parmesan and stir. Season well. Keep stirring on a low heat until the tomatoes are more saucy in consistency and it’s the texture of a paste.

20171011_145105

Once you’re pizza dough has been rolled or stretch out into something resembling a circle you can spread the marinara sauce on. It’s up to you whether to go right to the edges, or leave a little bit more of the crust exposed. I prefer the latter.

Cut up some mozzarella into thin slices, not chunks, around 5 or 6, depending on the size of your pizza and place evenly onto of the sauce.

Place the pizza onto a baking tray and into a pre-heated oven (200°C) and bake for 12-15 minutes, or as long as you feel it needs for the mozzarella to melt and the edges to turn crispy.

Remove the pizza from the open when ready and place fresh basil leaves on top. Buon Appetito!

20171011_151203

48 Hours in Nice

Back in March I treated my Mum to a weekend away in Nice, for Mother’s Day and have finally decided to write a few words about it, considering it was a very lovely trip.

The idea came after reading this Emerald Street newsletter, and quite frankly being seduced by the extraordinary blues and hues of the art deco-esque Villa Otero. Upon discovering that rooms and flights were actually very reasonable (£90 for 2 return flights from London Gatwick with EasyJet), I spontaneously booked the trip and then had a whale of time withholding the secret from Mum.

The journey was really smooth. It was one of the first times I just had carry-on luggage and therefore didn’t have to fuss about at baggage claim (also ideal if you’re operating on 2 hours sleep and a hangover – a 7am flight seemed like a good idea at the time – and waiting around just isn’t in your current lexicon). Buses arrive regularly outside the airport and deliver you to the centre of Nice and the train station, near to where our hotel was situated.

The hotel itself was a delightful mixture of comfort and extravagance. The lobby slash dining area is strikingly decorated, a mixture between Parisian Jazz Age opulence and the alfresco cool of the riviera. And everything is polished to a reflection-spawning sheen. I was immediately won over by the free Nespresso and WiFi (oh to be an over-caffeinated, Instagram-obsessed millennial), and further enticed by the promise of free pastries and sweets in the afternoons.

The rooms are compact but well-equipped, and equally eye-catching in their decor. (The interior designer clearly loves a ‘focus wall’ as much as Anna Ryder Richardson from Changing Rooms, circa 2002). We stayed in the one below. Bonus points for the beds being really comfy, the bathrooms being super clean and modern and the full-length mirror in the hallway area being perfect for taking outfit selfies.

Unfortunately on the Saturday we arrived it was pouring with rain (the kind where you think the clouds are detoxing like Victoria Secret’s models or Brides-to-be, in a bid to get rid of their excess water weight), so our plans to stroll to the Museum of Modern & Contemporary Art were scuppered. Nothing a quick nap and some free coffee couldn’t fix however.

That evening I had pre-booked a table at La Maison de Marie, an upscale restaurant near the Place Massena. The food and drink were divine. I had gnocchi with pesto and something chocolate-y for dessert. I remember feeling very decadent and satisfied.

On Sunday, we kicked off proceedings with a bus tour, which is a convenient way to get yourself to all the town’s exemplary extremities, especially when you’re not there for very long.

At our behest (and according to the route on the map), the bus took us towards Port Lympia and up through the winding hills that offer stunning vistas of pebbled beaches and the azure blue of the Mediterranean SeaWe also passed Le Negresco, a palatial, antiquarian hotel on the Promenade des Anglais, which, if you can’t afford the price of its 5-star rooms or Michelin-starred meals, is thought to be a pleasant spot for an after-dinner tipple. Alas, we didn’t get to sample its sumptuous surroundings, but perhaps one to come back to once I’ve made my millions.

We hopped off the bus near the Ascenseur du Château, a brick and mosaic ensconced ascent to Castle Hill which boasts unfathomably scenic views across Old Town and the Port, as well as a surprise waterfall. It was undoubtably one of my favourite parts of the trip, if just for the sheer gorgeousness of the burnt-orange and terracotta tiled roofs, offset by the gleaming blue sea.

Post park-wandering, we then re-boarded our bus and travelled onwards to the leafy Cimiez quarter, home to the Musée Matisse. The building itself is reminiscent of an Italian holiday home, described by Lonely Planet as “a red-ochre 17th-century Genoese villa in an olive grove”. Inside contains a wonderfully broad retrospective of French artist Henri Matisse’s work, from oil paintings and drawings to sculptures, tapestries and his deceptively simple, riotously colourfully cut-outs. For art-lovers and collage-admirers, this is a definite must-see.

That evening we went for dinner at a recommended Italian restaurant called La Voglia, along an adorable little boulevard called Rue Saint-François de Paule near the Opera House, replete with perfume houses and olive oils shops. En route we strolled along the Promenade just as the sun was setting, which if you don’t do at least once each day, are you really even seeing Nice?

On Monday, we strode purposefully towards Old Town, or Vieux Nice, a sequestered part of the city offering shaded, serpentine alleys, boutiques of leather goods and silken fabrics and delis with mouth-watering delicacies. It was here we tried some fantastically fresh tomates provençale and debated whether they would survive the trip home if we stocked up. (The decision, much to my chagrin, was that they would not).

In the centre of the Old Town is the Cours Saleya market, a swarming hive of activity where traders come to sell fresh produce, fish, flowers and more. I was also delighted to discover that on Mondays, it’s home to a gargantuan flea market, where I spent a good few hours rifling through vintage Parisian posters and postcards. It was utter heaven.

To wrap up our trip, we took a stroll through the Promenade du Paillon, a highly manicured and verdant garden planted with lots of different trees and featuring a gorgeous water mirror in the centre. If you’re looking for a serene way to spend an afternoon after a morning of haggling, then look no further.

Nice is a brilliant place for a city break. With the breeze and beauty of the ocean on one side, and the historic charm of the old town, its pleasingly peachy architecture, quaint, cobbled streets and lively restaurants on the other, you can’t go wrong. Sure, it has its seedy patches (and there was dog poop everywhere), the beach is devoid of sand and with its well-monied clientele its not exactly cheap as frites. But whack on your rose-tinted sunglasses, and behold the jewel in the Riviera’s crown.

Friday Recommendations

First-time female directors, emails that haven’t been leaked and an interview with Rebecca Solnit. It’s time for another Friday of recommendations!

  1. TIME have conducted a special report on ground/record/glass-ceiling-breaking women and it’s well worth your, well, time.
  2. Ann Friedman interviews Kate and Laura Mulleavy, of Rodarte fame, about their debut feature film Woodshock.
  3. This whole creative conceit is pretty cool. Thread.co invite/host email-based conversations between awesome people such as Jenny Slate, Vince Staples and Adam Scott.
  4. Jon Sopel, BBC’s North America editor recaps his experience of reporting on Trump’s presidency. And though he seems a bit caught up in the intoxicating maelstrom of it all, he is scathing with regard to the lunacy of the current POTUS. It’s also very honest about the fact that the madness is unlikely to end soon.
  5. Having experienced virtual reality for the first time this week at the Open City Documentary Festival, I have a new appreciation for it as an art form, as discussed in this New Statesmen piece on the artists exploring VR’s cavernous, dazzling and multi-dimensional possibilities.
  6. Find a way to see God’s Own Country please. It’s tender and terse, bleak and beautiful and quite frankly one of the best British films I have ever seen.
  7. A24 have released a trailer for Greta Gerwig’s hotly anticipated directorial debut, Lady Bird, featuring the ever-brilliant Saoirse Ronan. It looks angsty and awkward and very amusing.
  8. I have been reading Austin Kleon’s Steal Like An Artist, a short and sweet ‘how-to guide’ for being a creative in the 21st century, and considering I stole this blog post series from his weekly newsletter, I figured I’d better link to his brilliant website.
  9. See if you can spot Christian Bale in this series of portraits from Vanity Fair, taken at the 2017 Telluride Film Festival.
  10. And finally, an interview in which Rebecca Solnit talks paying her dues, living frugally and the various forms of violence against women.

Friday recommendations

Happy Friday friends, and welcome to September!

Things get meta this week, with a list within a list. Plus, lots of TV and film content, and the multi-faceted effects of global warming, from Hurricane Harvey to tortellini…

  1. I’m a big fan of Naomi Klein’s. She has a formidable knowledge of global politics, economics and environmental policy and she espouses it in a way that’s persuasive and positive. Her take on Hurricane Harvey for The Intercept and why we have to keep climate change at the forefront of our political agenda is further proof of that.
  2. An interesting think-piece on Game of Thrones and its flawed, slash non-existent depiction of female friendships.
  3. This is how you revive the arrhythmic heart of a derailed TV series. Welcome aboard True Detective Season 3, Jeremy Saulnier.
  4. A beautiful assessment of how must-see movie God’s Own Country finds the texture of love in blood, salt and mud.
  5. An inspirational, and aspirational interview with Lena Waithe, actress and writer on Master Of None, on navigating Hollywood with grace and dignity. 
  6. A cool snapshot slash summary of the book cover designs for this year’s Man Booker longlist.
  7. I’m moving home on Sunday, so everything is a bit messy and in flux at the moment, with half my possessions already gone and the other half in IKEA bags. So I’m torturing myself with these beautiful interiors decorated in my fave colour: grey. Utilising every shade from slate to silver, and not a filthy pun in sight.
  8. I went to a Sofar gig in NYC and had a gorgeous evening filled with acoustic music, candles, cushions and friendly people. They’re hosting a bunch of intimate gigs across 60 countries in partnership with Amnesty International to help refugees find a home. In London you can see the likes of Gregory Porter, Jessie Ware, The Staves, Daughter, Kwabs, Nick Mulvey and Kate Tempest. Just go here to donate and enter the competition for tickets.
  9. Not to get too repetitive, but global warming is real guys, and it’s having a very real affect on pasta-making in Bologna.
  10. The line-up for the BFI London Film Festival 2017 is live. On my ticket wish-list are:  (I hope you like lists within lists).
    1. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
    2. Call Me By Your Name
    3. Mudbound
    4. Amant Double
    5. The Florida Project
    6. On Chesil Beach
    7. Thoroughbred
    8. Ava
    9. Columbus
    10. Gemini
    11. Racer and The Jailbird
    12. The Rider

And that’s me reigning it in.