Milk & Manolos

Today I’m zhooshing. As part of the process I shall be paying a visit to VV Rouleaux, where they specialise in the art of improvement.

There’s nothing you can’t improve with a piece of carefully place ribbon. Well, nothing feminine at least. I can’t see the Husband allowing any ribbonage on his person. In the past I’ve transformed many a dress and cardigan with a purchase from Monsieur Rouleaux. Today I’m moving onto home-ware …

Then there’s Christmas. Personally there’s nothing nicer than a carefully wrapped present tied with a piece of carefully chosen ribbon. The look I’m going for this year is brown paper, ribbon to be decided.

My heart rate has increased tenfold in excitement. My needle and thread are at the ready.

The last time I rode a bike I was the victim of a delinquent spoke. Unlatching itself while travelling down hill at speed I was flung over the handlebars and onto the tarmac. Fortunately my injuries where minimal (a grazed knee at worst) but since that event fifteen years ago I’ve been apprehensive about getting back in the saddle.

I had grown to love my Old Ladies bike. Having been my getaway vehicle from many a flasher on Wandsworth Common, it was a sad sad day when our love affair ended. Replaced by a soulless Raleigh bike with 10 gears it became clear that my bike riding days were over.

That was until I discovered Pashley. Specialising in traditionally built bicycles and tricycles you can’t help but fall in love with their wares. Well built and easy to use these are perfect for the girl about town. Quite honestly, when cycling who wants to look like Lance Armstrong ? I’m strictly a no lycra zone. In love with the romantic image of popping to the shops and filling my wicker basket with goodies I’m hardly Tour de France material.

These are the bikes for those who want to enjoy the journey in effortless style AND bit of exercise to boot. It looks like it’s time to dust off those bicycle clips and find myself a helmet …

I’m going to admit something I’m not so proud of … I’m not a great fan of the Munchkin’s bedtime book. Don’t get me wrong, one story is a lovely, beautiful thing. It’s just reading that story half a dozen times I’m not keen on. I fully appreciate benefits that a bedtime story brings and the part they’ll play in the Munchkin’s development so they’re not going anywhere, but is wrong to say after the second read that night that I find them a little repetitive ? I ask you, how many times is a sane adult expected to read a Balamory book without trying of it ?

I fear I started on the wrong foot, albeit with best intentions. The Munchkin’s literary journey began with Beatrix Potter. In hindsight a little ambitious for a one year old. Not only were they long, they were far too advanced for pair of us. We’d both lost interest by page 5. We most definitely going to have to work up to that one. Fear not - we quickly found our groove and in no time had a collection of books that would do the British Library proud, each lasting no longer than about 5 minutes. Perfect.

That was a year ago and for the past 365 nights the Husband or I have lovingly read the Munchkin’s choosen book, our audience often demanding an encore or four. Is it any wonder the initial gleam has begun to fade ?

In my search of new additions to the collection I stumbled upon one of the most fun children’s books I’ve ever read … welcome to the world of Rastamouse. This crime fighting rodent fights a battle of good versus evil, often while trying to record his latest reggie album. And then of course there’s the help he lends at the orphanage too - he certainly has enough going on to keep us all amused. It’s even given me an opportunity to perfect my Jamaican accent and rapping skills. Both of which needed a LOT of work, but now I’m proud to say are Irie man.

I have just walked downstairs to find the Husband at the door discussing spiritality with a Jevohah’s Witness. I decided to leave them to it when I heard my dear athiest Husband proffer the notion that the world would be taken over by aliens and that we’d all be turned into machines.

While the Husband is quite possibly the most unspiritual person I know, I find the home of my physical and spritual norishment to be at Neal’s Yard Therapy Rooms.

At times of emotional and physical need it’s there that I’ve turned. Accupunture, Aromatherpy, Shiatsu, Reflexology and Indian Head Massage I’ve had it all. Even the Bowen Technique, which is the one thing I wouldn’t recommended. £ 60 for someone to ’subtly roll over my muscle with their forefinger’ was a step too far. That said, I can vouch highly for every other treatment I’ve had and have returned on many occasions to each of my practitioners.

An hour spent in one of the treatment rooms is the equivalant to a chicken soup for the soul. No Munchkin to worry about, just quiet time with me myself and I. Bliss.

It’s not a secret that I like my clothes. Well, clothes, shoes, handbags and all that sparkles. I long to dress the Munchkin in the beautiful clothes I often see on my travels and managed to do so before she reached what I politely refer to as her Hello Kitty phase. That’s right. This small person knows her mind and at present, if Hello Kitty ain’t on an item of clothing then it most definitely ain’t being worn. It’s got so bad that on a recent shopping excursion I left Hennes fifty quid lighter, and with a bag full of clothing embossed with our feline friend.

I’m slowly creating a list of shopping venues to rush to the moment it looks like la chat’s popularity might be waning. Very much at the top of that list is Oh Baby London.

Beautifully but easy to wear dresses, teamed with great slogan T’s, this label is one to watch and no doubt a contender for No Added Sugars long held crown. Interesting yet funky it’s my kind of place. Wonderful present ideas with wardrobe staples, I can’t wait to splash the cash.

Now all I’ve got to do is get rid of that blasted cat …

The last time I spent a Sunday afternoon disco dancing was the Summer on 1992. That time it was on a sunny Greek Isle, fuelled entirely by Ouzo. Until yesterday that is, when the Munchkin, the Husband and I found Baby Loves Disco, and baby, she sure does.

At 2 pm we headed off to the Clapham Grand for an afternoon of dancing, and perhaps even a sherbet or two for the Husband and I. What greeted us was beyond our wildest dreams. A proper disco floor, lit from underneath in multicoloured squares of light, bubbles, smoke machines and lasers were just some of the things that helped keep us amused. The Husband headed to the bar, returning with a pint and a half of Stella in plastic beakers - I felt like I was 18 and at the Student Union again, which was a surprisingly nice feeling. As for the Munchkin, there were treats galore thanks to Organix and Heart FM, not to mention Naomi Timperley, the woman responsible for bringing BLD over to the UK.

Three sips of my Stella and I was ready to boogie. The Husband and Munchkin were a little more apprehensive. As I started to throw my moves the Munchkin pulled me back of the dance floor shouting ‘Away’. I was overjoyed. To embarrass your child at such a young age I think is pretty impressive. It of course didn’t stop me and before long we were all on the dance floor shaking our booty.

The last time I heard Salt n Peppa’s Push It was at my wedding. As the Husband and I turned to leave, we were confronted by our mothers thrusting their pelvis’ on the dance floor. It’s taken years to get over it, only to see our two year old thrusting to the same tune yesterday. While equally as unsettling, I doff my cap to Miss Salt and Miss Peppa - they sure as hell have one toe tapping tune there. The standard didn’t drop once, every song a belter making it far easier to shake your think in such a sober state.

We sadly made a small mistake with the Munchkin’s attire. It being our inaugural trip we didn’t think to pay much attention to what she was wearing. What-a-mistake-a-to-make-a. Many of the kids were dressed up for an afternoon on the town. Fairies, witches, and pirates outfits galore. I even spotted a crocodile too. As the Husband said, the Munchkin looked like the kid who’d had the call last minute.

Much amusement was found watching the dance floor. Small people are just funny, in particular toddlers. In many ways it was no different from the adult clientele on a Saturday night - there were girls squabbling over dancing partners, and boys over the free orange juice (free trade of course), a lot of falling over and the odd tear too. Forward on 16 years and they’ll all be there doing the same thing.

We’re undoubtedly going to become regular fixtures - I honestly didn’t realise there was this much fun to be had on a Sunday afternoon.

I long to be the girl with the perma tanned, svelte, hairless legs that I see en route to one of my occasional places of work. Mine on the other hand are pale and more often than not little on the hairy side. I like to think I make a little bit more of an effort in the summer when someone may actually see my pins but in the winter I can let my standards slide, if just a little.

Needless to say, epilation is an essential part of life for any self-respecting lady. We all have our favourite methods and hence I can proudly say I’ve not shaved my legs for 15 years. I wasn’t terribly good at it, frequently pressing my blunted razor far harder than was good for either of us. It was at this point that my mother gave me my first Epilady.

Undoubtedly a form of torture I remember fondly how she helped me deal with the inexplicable pain it caused. 2 aspirins and a brandy can’t be good for you, but they don’t half help you on the road to smooth legs. It took at least two painful sessions (my mother wielding the damn contraption while I screamed in pain, pulling taught the red pimpled skin on my legs) to get up to just the knee. Fortunately for us all, epilators have moved forward a very long way in that time.

Following my early experience waxing became my primary method of hair removal. This of course was fine when I had the time and inclination to schlep to the beauticians of a Saturday to ensure a perfectly hair free existence. Particularly since the Munchkin’s arrival however time is of the essence and I had spent one to many a summers day in jeans because I simply daren’t show my old Ham & Eggs. That’s when I rediscovered the old epliator and Ladies, I haven’t looked back.

It’s been a whole different story second time around. After years of waxing my follicles, I’m pleased to say, are shot, so removal of the scanty patches of hair I have is so much easier and quicker. The machines themselves are far high tech too - cutting down on the painful side of this option. So much so, I now even to my bikini line. Too much information ?

I’m currently loving my BraunSilk Xelle. I now have my skills honed to a tea, and managed to create hair free legs yesterday in less than ten minutes. And let’s not forget the savings on beautician’s bills, which over the course of a year can add up.

The only thing to think about now is their colour but as they’re currently in hibernation I’m going to take my time on that one.

There is much excitement in our house about Christmas. From me that is. It doesn’t seem to fly into the Husbands radar until 23 December when all hell breaks loose, and as for the Munchkin, at 23 months old she’s pretty much oblivious to my enforced family festivity.

Looking back, her first Christmas was such a damp squib. Not only did I belive she’d be the life and soul of the party, I showered her with rattles-a-go-go, books and cuddly toys, most of which she couldn’t even hold let alone play with. It was all a bit much and by 7.30 pm I was asleep on the sofa for the night having drunk one glass of Glühwein too many.

Last year was a definite improvement, however she frustratingly preferred the paper and boxes to the presents I had so lovingly lugged along a busy Regent Street on a rainy Saturday sometime back in mid October. So needless to say this year I have high hopes. She’s already beginning to display the consumeristic traits of her mother - you can imagine the Husbands joy.

Intent on getting the perfect gifts I’ve just discovered Ptolemy Toys. They have a fantastic selection of wooden and traditional toys, not to mention bikes and even fancy dress outfits. I’ve seen more than a few things for the Munchkin, not to mention the God Children too. And should I so desire, I can even get the cats a present here too. Talk about one stop shopping. I love presents that are a little break from the norm and finding a website that sells charming presents that hopefully not everyone will be giving. I’ve possibly blown that with this post, but I think they deserve it.

It’s always difficult to know what to use as a changing bag. When the Munchkin was a babe in arms it was sacrilege to even think about using anything other than the dire Bugaboo change bag that it seems all new, and susceptible mothers purchase along with they’re IT stroller du jour. Since then, all manner of bags have been used, most frequently of late my extensive collection of pre-baby designer hand bags. As I’ve always said, you CAN fit nappies into a Gucci Handbag.

So gone are my days of lugging an ugly, not to mention impractical bag around with me wherever I went. Although it was only 24 months ago, it seems like a life time ago, and in fashion terms it is. There’s now a huge collection of bags, of a far more colourful and interesting nature out there. Mijnes is sporting some particularly good attaches for the Ma about town. Should I ever be brave enough to do this all again, I’d be making an investment into a suitable vestibule all new born related paraphernalia. It’s just with the reflux, it’s too early to brave the Miu Miu darling.

Along with my monochrome wardrobe, I’m attempting a Moneypenny meets Doris Day look on the footwear front this Autumn. This of course will ensure the efficient running of the household not to mention superior administrational skills, both of which will be welcome additions to my skill set. The Husband will most certainly be pleased at that prospect - on more then one count I suspect.

This season Chloé has some true go anywhere, do anything, day to night loafer style pumps which would utterly suit my brief. They do slightly blow my rather meagre budget but what the hell, they go down in the Inherited Vintage category if you ask me. As the selfless mother I am I’m thinking of my daughter, honest.

Now all I need is Sean Connery to finish off the look.