Milk & Manolos

The Husband finds my MBT’s highly amusing on two counts. Firstly, Masai Warriors don’t wear trainers (or shoes for that matter) and if they did they certainly wouldn’t wear ones that looked like they’d been pilfered from a destitute Clown.

He’s not wrong. These are the ugliest things I’ve worn on my feet since Kickers in 1988. However given that the opportunities to indulge in a little cardio vascular workout is few and far between these honeys allow make up for the odd excess here or there.

Based on the theory that Masais are so supremely toned because the suffice on which they tread is never even, these trainers try and replicate that for the concrete trudgers, like I. With rounded soles the body will react to the instability with “intuitive compensatory movements providing neglected muscles with much needed use”. All in a trainer, I tell you, albeit an ugly one.

Working your thighs, gluts, calfs, knees, abs and posture you can’t ask much more. Word on the street is that they also hit those pelvic floor muscles - perfect, everyone’s a winner !

I noticed (and felt) the difference within a matter of weeks - my bottom a little more pert and my stomach a little flatter, my street cred however, on the floor. With word spreading like wild fire it wasn’t long before I found others in on the secret. Sometimes fashion just has to take a little step to the side to allow you a little exercise here and there. It beats being sweaty in the gym wearing the Husbands tracky bums any day.

I go all a quiver for gingham at this time of the year. It must be the latent Doris Day in me.

Trawling the web for gifts suitable for small people I discovered Amanda Riley’s website. Everso slightly similar in style to the White Company these bits and pieces are the real deal. From handmade quilts to washbags, and some, this lady is set to have a very busy Christmas.

Having thought for one dreamy, misty eyed moment that I’d make the Munchkin her first Christmas stocking, I’ve now seen the light. Sadly the hessian sacking and pom-poms I bought from the local haberdasher, in the absence of any red gingham and grosgrain, is simply not going to do cut the mustard. I only wish she sold stockings too …

Always one for a bargain, I’m finding it difficult to resist Olivia Morris T-Bar Shoes at Faith. Reduced from £ 70 to £ 40 these honeys are going to be selling like hot cakes.

Back in the day, I had something shockingly similar. To find a shoe that you wore at 6 years of age in adult form has got to be an achievement. I’m just praising the lord for the 2 inch heel and my grown up wardrobe otherwise I’m not sure either I, or the look, would be right. The 2007 version shall be teamed with a smart black skirt and my new Urban Outfitters necklace for a thoroughly grown-up look.

The boring thing about this time of the year is the effect of it on the colour of my skin. Catching myself in a mirror only this week I was convinced I saw Casper the Friendly Ghost smiling back at me. This all because I’d gotten out of what I now realise is a vital habit … adding a touch of fake tan to my skin care regime.

Nothing new about that I hear you say, and you’d be right. Within 6 hours of applying my glow making friend, someone mentioned how well I looked. Bingo, result achieved.

My personal favourite, and one that I’ve given as gifts to many a sun-worshipping friend is Dior’s Self Tanner in Natural Glow. This is the one cream that not matter how slap dash I’ve been with it’s application it has NEVER streaked or embarrassed me. The same can’t be said for the Husband who fails on both those counts and I married him. Need I say more ?

Back in the lazy hazy summer of on 1978, my world revolved around my Space Hopper. My primary mode of transport, I remember with fondness the endless arguments with my Mother, refusing to take me out of the house on the damn thing. To me, he was an extension of my being and I’d be damned if he was being left behind. Of course I was fighting a loosing battle only being allowed on VERY special occasions to arrive by orange rubber.

I’m no doubt about to enter into the same debate with the Munchkin haven recently found a repro version of the old 1970 toy box classic. I must be a fool, but I can’t bear to deprive her of the joys of hopper travel. Either that, or it’s really just a big fat gift for the kid in me. I’m not entirely sure which.

I’ve always been the girl with panda eyes. No matter what, circ 11.58 am there I am, black marks under my eyes where yet another mascara as let me down. Since motherhood has ajusted my emotional dial to high (I can often be found crying at embarassingly sentimental things - the recent SMA advert a point in case) it’s became imperrative that I find a mascara suitable for whatever the day throws at me.

Embarking on a long and ardious journey of trial and error, I found myself risking £ 18.50 (I know, I WAS that desperate) on Blinc’s miracle mascara. Perporting to ‘tube’ the lashes I simply had to give this baby a try. Not only waterproof, this is everything proof. I was utterly sold on it at 11.59 am when I glanced in the mirror to find a fresh faced me staring back.

This is so good, that only a good wash of the face, and some gentle pressure (fear not!) combined will rid me of my lucious lashes for yet another day. Removal isn’t the easiest thing, I must warn, but once you’ve mastered the knack, you’ll never look back.

Basing my festive wardrobe on Pat Butcher circa 1989 I couldn’t resist this spangly little number from Top Shop, the one stop shop for ladies on a budget. C’est moi.

There’s a touch of the Marc Jacobs about it which I simply couldn’t resist. Having recently had my signature style describe as ‘jeans with a sequin’ (so very true), I thought it plain wrong not to splash out. It’ll cover the office party, New Years Eve AND Christmas day. Of course there IS the possibility that I could be mistaken for a drag version of Poe, the red Teletubbie, but it’s a risk I think I’m willing to take.

The Munchkin has a magic blanket. This blanket bestows the most blissful sleep upon whomever is wrapped in it’s soft, brushed cotton arms. I know this as not only have I wrapped my best beloved in to countless times, last Sunday morning the pair of us were snuggled under it at 3 am while at Grandma’s house. Madam woke with a start believing there to be a “scary spider” on her foot. There wasn’t incidentally, it’s a recurring theme. I don’t know what I was thinking when I let her watch Mel C man-handle tarantulas on The One Show a couple of weeks back.

Every Munchkin needs a Magic Blanket. Deflecting all evil and creating just enough warmth to make the eyes heavy are important features in any potential blanket. Off course you could always opt for the traditional - there’s nowt more soporific that a Brora cashmere blanket (the Munckin and I can only dream - pun very much intended), or for the Modernists out there Fig Kids have some great examples, showing that you needn’t loose when you snooze. What can be more magical that a Unicorn ?

My friends are procreating at a rate of knots. The first in a surprisingly long line of babies due made her way into the world a couple of weeks ago, her mother admirably braving it au natural (following her full description and my previous emergency C I’ve decided I’m far too slothful to push should the opportunity arise again in the future. Note I say slothful, and not posh).

Trawling the internet for a nice little website full to the brim of present ideas for this particularly stylish young lady I found Nordic Kids and whiled away an hour or so reminding myself quiet how lovely it is to buy baby gifts.

Moving from the Big Smoke a little over a year ago to set up home in Dorset and generally be at one with nature, this little lady’s mother is one of those girls who just effortlessly gets it right. In fact, so much so it can be a little annoying. I’ve never known her to drop the ball, present wise - I swear she shops all year to find that perfect gift. I on the other hand have had my fair share of misses, often running around last minute trying desperately to get something even half right. More often than not I end up throwing money at the problem (good for them, not for me). Keen to get it right, and more accurately, not join the list of presents she’s received and much to our past amusement sold on at jumble sales, the pressure was on.

Enjoying bracing walks to pick sloes, and all the trappings of country life (including no central heating) this young miss was going to have to be stylish and warm to keep up with the Parentals. Our mission, to send a little bit of Nordic life to Dorset. The Husband and I finally picked the Platisock sleeping bag deciding it was the latest must have all in one for any chichi bambino. So much so, it may make future appearances. Now just might be the time to get a present box started …

I’m currently in the midst of toilet training. The Munchkin’s, not mine I hasten to add. It’s been a brave move but one led entirely by Madam who upon being able to piece together the sentence, “no more nappies” proclaimed it so over breakfast last Saturday morning. So far all is going swimmingly, however I have just found myself sitting in a warm puddle in Cafe Nero. Not what you want when you’ve only brought one pair of jeans on a weekend visit to your Mother-in-Laws. Fortunately she’s a dab hand with laundry and I’m currently doing a Nick Kamen as I sit and type.

The Husband thought it most amusing to surprise the Munchkin with a special treat to celebrate this milestone. Enter Mr Poo and Mr Pee, both of whom are clutched tightly to Madam’s being for the majority of the day. So far, we’re yet to tire of the hilarity of ones offspring refusing to be parted from a cuddly toy version of her bodily functions. I am however beginning to worry about our attendance at the Carol Service of our local church should this obsession continue.

Never has Poo or Pee seemed so cute. Credit cards at the ready …