Pulling Myself Together

When I want to pretend I’m a ‘together’ person, I leave the reality of my applications/emails/desperate attempts at career organising in my very tiny flat and go into the outside world, to mingle with those that seem to be sorted. (I say seem because no one is ever really sorted – and that’s a philosophical point you can quote me on).

On Wednesday I took myself on an adventure to what is fast becoming my favourite place to stroll around in London. Before all you East Londoners throw your beards at me, I haven’t really been East much yet. Here, I’m talking about Central – Soho to be precise.

My first port of call was a Gu dessert pop up that was only there for two days, so obviously I had to go because if you can’t go to an immersive, cheesecake experience on a Wednesday afternoon, when can you? It was the launch of their single serve versions and I got led down a staircase into a room built to look like a tropical island. There were palm trees, soft bird sounds and a huge panoramic screen that showed waves lapping on to a beach. Sounds like paradise you ask? Well it was. And then they brought me a Gu cheesecake pot to eat at a little table, all to myself. If there had been a fly on the wall I think it would’ve been fairly hilarious – but there was no one there and who even knows if I even used the provided spoon or just my bare hands. No one will ever know. They also gave me four free pots to take home; as I had brought a clutch I asked for a bag, because there’s nothing more degrading than carrying around four pots of single serve Gu puddings.

 Liberty is the jewel in London’s department store  crown.  It’s architecturally beautiful; possibly where  people from  the days of Yore got their silk scarves  from. Obviously  on this day, it was full of tourists having their picture  taken. Someone asked me to take  seven pictures of  them. Not one. Seven. One of them  was actually my  own face – a classic prank.

I fell in love there with a nude Bobbi Brown lip liner and lipstick.  We’ll probably never be together, but she’s promised to wait for me, so it’s going to be a long distance affair for now. I miss her already.

Passing through Carnaby Street, it was impossible not to go in to Monki – because bags in  the shape of watermelons do seem like a really  good idea in there. Their branding is #sofetch and lately there’s been a DJ who remixes Ashanti and that is absolutely fine by me. There was some sort of window painting going on…I didn’t catch who it was but I wish she would take a paintbrush to mine.

 The Photographer’s Gallery is also vaguely interesting – although I have to admit I only enjoyed one floor of it. I’m into anything to do with portraits of everyday scenes; Nikolai Bakharev snapped intimate pics of Russians



when the political and social climate meant most  of his work couldn’t be shown publicly. If you’re  keen on this kind of thing, the third floor is well  worth a visit. Just don’t be put off by the  attractive guy on reception and go to the  offices like I did. There are no photos there.

Next up, I was due to visit the Daniel Hersheson  salon on Conduit St for a spot of hair modelling.  On my way, I was on the phone and an older man chased me down the street and stopped me just as I went inside. The conversation went like this:

Him: “Excuse me can I just say something…”
Me, whispering: “I’m on the phone…”
Him: “Ok I’ll wait”    ?!?!?! Who does that?
Reluctantly, my conversation comes to an end.
Him: “What I will say will embarrass you…but you have a little hole in the crotch of your jeans…what are you doing tonight…can I have your number?  What do you do?”
Me: Dead, on the floor, from shock and his tenacity.

FYI, I already knew about the hole. It had been the result of an over energetic dance move. And it’s not an open invitation to men on the street. Safe to say, I will be taking my mother’s advice to buy an iron on patch. The whole scene was degrading and I just replied “No…You cannot have my number, I’m going inside the hairdressers now” with a tone that I hope conveyed my shock, dismay and disappointment in society. With that, I ran inside. Someone since said that maybe he could’ve been my knight in shining armour and paid for everything. What’s happened to the world? Is the apocalypse coming?

Anyway, once in the safety of the salon, she experimented with hair up styles. After many attempts at a hair style that I always saw someone wear in Casualty and wanted to have, she washed and blow-dried my hair to perfection, with a massaging chair whilst I sat. What could be more fabulous? I left with extremely bouncy locks and zipped my jacket up so my top wouldn’t blow up to reveal my crotch hole. I felt so on top of the world as I strolled back to the tube, that I almost could’ve passed as a ‘together’ person.

Go follow me on Instagram for more pics: @k_stalks

P.S I have now bought my own domain – I’m quite smug about it because it took me two hours to figure out how to map the servers, sort the registrar package and code these pictures so they formatted properly…blah blah blah nerd nerd nerd get a grip.


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