Fourth & Main

Last night saw the launch of the British menswear and lifestyle brand Fourth & Main. Created by Jamie Wright and Nikhil Adwalpalkar, the brand offers up a beautiful collection of classically cut clothes along with a bi-annual journal that aims to give upcoming actors, artists, musicians and writers a space to show their wares.



The party was a good'un - held at The Bargehouse on the South Bank, the warehouse was filled with a mix of city boys and the achingly cool, but the vibe was great. We drank G&T's (definitely more 'G' than 'T') and ate oysters served with a tobasco kick.



There's a real sense of celebration in the journal - from the physical weightiness of the mag itself to the beautifully curated images and design: it really is a thing of beauty. I spent much of my journey home, face buried in it's pages inhaling the delicious smell of fresh print.

The journal will be distributed at select boutiques and cultural institutions around the world. There is also a pop up shop opening on Newburgh Street in Soho from 2nd April for a limited period selling their Spring/Summer collection - for more info see our friends at London Pop-ups.

Fourth & Main - Vol.1 Issue. 1

If last night's guestlist is anything to go by (Mario Testino was cutting some fine shapes on the D floor) - Fourth & Main could very well be on its way to becoming the epitome of cultural cool. I know what I'll be reading in the park on lunch break.

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Yog o'clock

When the 3pm need for something sweet hits, there's just no ignoring it. So off I toddled with my mate Relizza for a nice bit of frozen yoghurt. Our local joint is Yog, and with the first sniff of sunshine the queue's out the door and so are we.

Naughty enough to kick the sugar craving but saintly enough to avoid the guilt, frozen yoghurt really rings my bell. Current fave topping: berry coulis and milk choc chips. Dee-lish.

As we strolled reluctantly back to the office, a nice little over-the-sunnies peek of Mr. David Gandy  himself (even better in the flesh) had us giggling like school girls, how very Diet Coke break.

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I ♡ Alpines

Nice bit of nepotism, but even if she wasn't ma sista-from-another-mista I would still love this band and their music as much as freshly cut grass on a summer's day.

Alpines are only going to be the next BIG THING. With painfully addictive beats and a look that has you wishing you were a smidgen as cool/ hot/ amazing, they are already loved by the likes of Romy of the XX and Florence Welch - not bad company in the groupie gang.


Their new track 'GOLD' in collaboration with Craze & Hoax is out today, with a sweet sweet vid made by Catherine herself.

The single can be bought here along with other collaborations they've done with the likes of Maya Jane Coles and Dark Sky.


I think you might like them too.

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Finding the Fourth Wall

Having received this...

... on Thursday, I must admit that I was somewhat gazumped. After a little investigation, it seemed I'd (inadvertently) signed myself up for notification of the weekly location of the The Fourth Wall - London's only 'wandering bar'. But with a clue that had me turning my head left to right, blurring my eyes and googling like a mad woman in the hope of cracking it - it seems that B&H (the team behind other lovely vintage events like the Blitz party and Wyndstock) were keen for only the brightest of drinkers to make it to their pop-up.

With a leetle help on the puzzle solving (this drinker just couldn't cut it), I made a booking and met my friend Semma at Shoreditch High St overground. A hop skip and a jump found us being ushered into nothing more than a warehouse, corrugated roof and all. But as we got further in, a theatre set unfolded - a whole bar constructed within this dilapidated space; there for one weekend only before it'll be packed up and moved on elsewhere, with a whole new clue to solve and discover it.

Like it's sister bar, Bourne & Hollingsworth in Fitzrovia, The Fourth Wall is prohibition themed - the floral wallpaper, tasseled lampshades and cocktails in teacups making you feel like you've stumbled back to war-time and into someone's front room. 

The vibe was nice, mellow and understated. The cocktails strong - The Gatsby a favourite with vodka, promegranate, raspberry and fizz. But I couldn't help but feel a little under-whelmed. Whereas the charm of Bourne & Hollingsworth is it's intimacy and authenticity; the details of the artwork, upholstery and crockery impressive - this just fell a bit short. I loved the intrigue of the clue and the excitement of not knowing what we'd find at the revealed address, but what we found just didn't quite live up to the hype and it kinda felt like a pop-up for pop up's sake.

But no matter, my focus was more on my long lost friend. The rate-per-minute we were talking, we may as well have been down 'Spoons.

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A new joy

Having given up crisps (the obsession was getting out of control), I have now found an equally dangerous replacement.

Pitta chips. Dee-lish. Nice one Warburtons. 

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Friday Feeling

Friday afternoon - Sun, Spring and Greek. Yes.

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Hello sunshine

I am staring longingly out of the window, dreaming of summer... And whilst I may still be in tights, with skin the colour of concrete and my hair the muddiest of blondes, the blue sky and sparkling sunshine gives me hope that the seasons are a-changing.

I'm all for trips abroad, (old Ryan(air) and Sleasy(jet) considered two of my closest friends), but nothing beats the treat of a perfect British summer's day and these snaps from summers past have me feeling the sun on my face, the warmth in my bones and the pimms in my hand. Roll on, oh sweetest of seasons...

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Bringing D.I.S.C.O. back

A music genre that encourages incorporating claps into your moves, wearing as much glitter as your face can take and has you grinning like a teenage idiot, is surely no bad thing?

The term ‘discothèque’ was coined in Europe to describe the clubs that began playing disk music rather than live. But disco music as we know (and love) it really hit the big time in the late 60's/early 70's - starting underground within New York's LGBT community and spreading like wildfire to the rest of the world. 

The effervescent beats of disco live on today and last night found me on a GNO (Girl’s-Night-Out: so labelled by Tom and with Tom in attendance), shaking our things on the dance floor of KOKO to the magnificent Crazy P (the 'P' stands for penis, nice).

Those guys are just great: with a live show that is undeniably feel-good and songs that I would challenge anyone not to want to dance to. As the lead singer and only female member of the group, Danielle Moore, swayed in her semi-see-through white flared jumpsuit, the crowd went mad and I fell in love with her a little bit.

Also playing were Horse Meat Disco, another group that are driving the disco-dream. Sadly one too many Moscow Mules and far too many ‘rofl’s’ (Tom’s take on ‘what girls do on GNO’s’) meant I missed the best part of their set. No matter, with their weekly set on a Sunday evening at Eagle, it might just be the perfect way to overcome the Sunday-sleeps.

But today, it’s home for me to thank my mother for being such a good one. With the remnants of last night’s glitter twinkling in the corners of my eyes, I’ll be greeting her in a bit of a disco-daze – but she gets it, she was there when this all began.

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Here comes the bride...

I’m not sure the descriptor of ‘reality TV’ quite cuts it any more... this isn’t reality, this is some sort of weird and twisted world portioned up into bite sized chunks of shamefully delicious TV viewing.

These days I don’t get to watch much TV, but a Thursday night work party hangover (held in Fabric no less ?!?!) and a nose bunged to the max has me sofa bound, TV zapper firmly in hand. And what is this I’ve found... Another wedding programme doing zilch to quash us laydeez' rep for being  obsessive, over-emotional nut jobs, but offering up some undeniably mesmerising entertainment. 

Same old set up: 12-brides-to-be shacked up in a house together, competing to win their ultimate wedding. But wait! There’s more: not only does the victorious bride(zilla) get the wedding of her dreams, the contestants also compete each week to nab a nice new nose, chin, baps and/or buttocks in the different challenges set.

Bride #6: ‘Alexandra and her dress are all that stand between me and my boob job.’

Bridalplasty is part funny, part frightening. As I sit here in my slightly fragile state, I am unsure of whether to laugh or vom (though this could, in part, be due to last night’s activities). These women are adamant to walk down the aisle looking Hollywood perfect, but what about the fiancé stood expectantly at the altar? Bear in mind, this poor man hasn’t seen his lass in over 4 months, in which time she has undergone a complete face and body overhaul. Surely there’ll be a split second when he's lifted the veil and he suddenly thinks: ‘Who the hell are you?!’.

And so an hour of my life has passed and I can’t help but wonder what kind of woman would EVER want to go on a show like this. Or any ‘reality’ TV show for that matter; don’t even get me started on Embarrassing Bodies... 

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Na zdrowie Warszawa

Fresh back from Warsaw and I must admit, there's not much 'fresh' about me.


A weekend spent enjoying the café culture of Poland's 'least exciting city' (thanks Tripadvisor), has left me about a stone heavier and my liver screaming 'mercy' - but my god was it fun.

Custard and vodka pączek (doughnut) - Yes.

With a best friend relocated to somewhere referred to as 'least exciting', I set off on what I thought would be more of a duty trip. Lovely to see my girl, lovely to catch up, lovely to get away - all very lovely, but I was hardly expecting a light up my life weekend. But, as ever, low expectations a joyful surprise doth make and I had a bloody corker.


Whilst Warsaw isn't the most picturesque of cities, with the 'Old Town' completed in just 1963 and few of the older buildings remaining post-Soviets, there is a hell of a lot of concrete. But where there is concrete, so there is graffiti and there are some amazing murals around the city providing a nicely gritty backdrop to the multi-coloured blooms of the tulip sellers sat on most streets.

But behind the walls of what could seem to be a cold and stark city is a treasure trove of incredible cafés, restaurants and bars for discovery. 

After a late Friday lunch of surprisingly delicious pierogi (Polish dumplings), we headed to Mielzynski - a wine bar run by a Polish Canadian called Robert. It was heaven, the waitress poured us two glasses of red that slipped down like the sweetest nectar. If we hadn't been so full of dumpling we'd have tucked into the amazing food that we saw being eaten all around us (even by Polish supermodel Magdalena Frackowiak who I spied at a table just near ours - b.a.b.e.).

On Saturday we decided we'd treat ourselves to a blowdry and half an hour later came out looking like tarty poodles, with curls that Dolly Parton herself would be proud of. But in a city that's just so cheap, why the hell not?

A quick supper of polish sausage, gherkins and vodka and we headed out to Praga - an area that most Warsawvians (?!!!) wouldn't be caught dead in but the young and trendy love (Em and I obviously slot right into the latter). Dancing to the Spice Girls Wannabe (sorry, had to be done) on the dancefloor of Hydrozagadka, I momentarily forgot who and where I was. But, I soon fell into step with a nice man in a dicky bow, as Warsaw's fresh young things pashed around us.

Sunday came around and with it brought the perfect brunch occasion (one of my favourite occasions) - the only way to overcome our end of weekend melancholy. Warsaw's take on a French brasserie wasn't half bad, with the continuous flow of people to Charlotte's laying testament to it's popularity.

A glass of fizz and a croque madame later and it was time to head to the airport. As I waved my bestie goodbye, I couldn't help but feel a little envious that she got to stay in this slightly-odd-but-in-a-good way place and looked forward to hearing what tales of adventure she comes back with- I should think there'll be a few.

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