April baby

It’s April! Unequivocally the best damn month of the year! Those of you who know me —even just a little—will already be familiar with my rabid devotion to party planning and hosting! I strive to retire as an eccentric party hostess, throwing soirées for friends and loved ones on my future family estate. Naturally, April is the pinnacle of party season— since it is my birth month!

Yes, my self loving narcissism extends itself beyond celebrating my birth day, I celebrate the entire month! Why you ask? Why the fuck not! If you don’t take this liberty you’re honestly doing yourself a grave disservice. Maybe it’s incredibly single-minded of me, or maybe you’re jelly you didn’t think of it first! ;)

During the latter end of March, I was wrecked by Covid. It came for me like a thief in the night. I fear I must have caught it during my delightful mini-getaway to Bath… Despite spending my trip indulging in local vegan cuisine, unwinding in hotel spa facilities, having the tension gently kneaded from my shoulders on a massage table, and generally touching grass, I became incredibly fatigued—which developed into what I am certain was Covid.

It felt exactly as I remembered the last time I formally had it. My crispy cough still hasn’t entirely resolved itself. During the thick of it, sounding like a cracked-out Whitney the latter end of her career —I practically lost my voice for days! It was perilous and took a lot out of me. At the best of times, my health is precarious— á la chronic fatigue — so when I’m hit with something nasty, it’s like throwing a fox into a henhouse. Murder.

But now that I’m on the other side of it, I feel strangely… relieved? Like, the plague had its moment and I survived. I don’t usually get sick back-to-back anymore, so I’m prayinggg this was my once-a-year apocalypse. Manifesting health and hotness going forward.

Since my episode of Covid, jubilation commenced with a much needed trip to the hair salon. I was practically gagging and retching to give them my money. Being blonde is akin to a lifestyle choice. Having waited longer than I normally would between appointments, holding out for April. It’s all fun and games until the regrowth starts getting a little too real. Think Halloween-in-April! Though I ended up caving, having my hair done on the last day of March. Desperate times, babes!

£300 and a whole head of icy blonde slices—my preferred highlight-adjacent technique— later, I’m feeling like a younger, hotter, skinnier bitch. Yes, blonde hair really does do all that! —It’s practically sorcery. Ask any man! Even the gays would agree.

Despite its late and painfully staggered entrance, spring has sprung — as my mother would say. The sunshine is out, and when there aren’t 21mph winds whipping your freshly-blonded hair into your Dior-glossed lips, it’s actually pretty damn divine. I’ve been told summer’s on the horizon when the RAC open their doors to the outside terrace.

Saturday just passed, I indulged in a sweet and savoury symposium at Fortnum and Mason‘s diamond Jubilee tea room. Believe it or not, Fortnums do the absolute best vegan afternoon tea. Whilst it just so happens that most traditional English establishments still haven’t quite grasped the modern concept of veganism, Fortnums is ahead of the curve. Showcasing the best vegan afternoon tea I could possibly dream of. Their vegan sandwiches are just as thought-out as the classics, with genuinely interesting —and delicious flavour combinations, using proper vegan proteins like tofu and seitan. Devoid of bog-standard, tokenistic veggie ingredients —no mushroom or butternut-squash in sight. IYKYK.

The service, as always, was impeccable. I’ve become friendly with one of the staff members, who welcomed me warmly with a complimentary flute of champagne. Which I naturally drank first. On an empty stomach. Hoping it would mingle saucily with the Klonopin I’d dry-swallowed earlier. A classic pill-head cocktail, if you will.

This past week, I’ve been enjoying London’s loveliest parks. Being in post-Covid recovery mode, I’ve been taking life slower than usual. A Hyde Park jaunt, iced matcha in hand, supplementing my usual Selfridges saunter. The golden-warm sun feels holistic on my skin. I spent 9 days inside, bed-bound, while I was sick. So I’m overcompensating for the vitamin D I was denied. —As I finish editing this post, sunning myself on the aforementioned terrace, I continue to make good of this promise.