This might be my most controversial post yet. And I wrote an entire post about how I think 99% of skincare is terrible. Us Londoners are a funny bunch: open, welcoming, but fiercely territorial, and weirdly divisive about a rather dull-coloured river. Ask a Londoner what tourist sites to go to, and they’ll probably rattle off the same few — but with a strikingly different opinion about what’s good (and not).
While the rest of the world is going, “Autumn! Sweaters! Pumpkin Spice Lattes!” I’m sitting over here going, “Will we get one last bit of summer?” Perhaps I’m too stalwart of a purist, but for me, Autumn only begins on September 21st. There’s an Equinox, people. Also, Stag and I still have a few ‘summer holidays’ left, one to toasty Italy. So excuse me while I dream of floral dresses, gardens and sunshine.
Which is apt, considering I’m currently going through our pictures from the Chelsea Physic Garden, a 17th-century medical garden that we visited on a sun-drenched, warm early August day.
I’ll never forget the day I moved to London. September 21st, 2009. Lazy, procrastinating me — who had always somehow managed to scrape through from sheer last-minute will — tossing clothes out of my two huge suitcases in the middle of my parent’s garage as my mother reversed the car down the driveway.
You guys seem to like this post. A lot. Probably because you, like me, have the bags, the wrinkles, the post-Friday-fun puffiness galore. I hear you. This was one of my first posts ever, and I’m excited to be updating it over a year later. A fresh crop of amazing cruelty-free eye creams