A book about the Iraq War. A book about the Iraq War with a soldier draped in the United States flag on its cover. A book about the Iraq War that starts with bangs and bombs, action and armies. I didn’t think I would make it past Burden of the Desert’s opening chapter.

And then a girl called Zoe Temple enters. Young journalist from London. This boys-toys guns and gore story just got good. On a dismal, dreary London day, Zoe is asked by her editor at the Informer to fill in for a senior war correspondent. And so she is sent to Iraq – her dream. Hours on planes and hiding in the back of a jeep under a blanket, across the desert through the night from Jordan, through military checkpoints and she is there – in Baghdad – fresh faced and full of idealism. But trying to save Iraq and its people through ingenuous journalism is going to be a hell of a lot tougher to achieve than she could have imagined.

The author creates a fantastic patchwork of plots and subplots that flow as seamlessly as if we are watching them on film. And let’s do hope that this novel makes it onto screen. Whether it was the heat, the dirt, the rumble of war or political thrill of it all, I was reminded of Danny Boyle’s Blood Diamond throughout the 600 pages (that feel more like 200). One could also draw parallels between Zoe Temple and Maddy Bowen (played by Jennifer Connelly in the film) – on a mission to put the world right… and not without a dose of sexual chemistry among the rumble and bomb smoke.

Justin Huggler has lived through the burden brought by Iraq’s desolate desert. He has lived in the sultry, sleazy world of the Al Hamra Hotel, hung out in suspicious cafes and almost witnessed his own death crossing borders.

Hot, dry and dangerous – Iraq is far more dangerous than Afghanistan, according to the author – this novel is the perfect ticket out of the cold, damp trudge of everyday England. A book that makes you want to become a war journalist and witness terrible things. It gives us universal experiences, told completely personally. It makes us know what it is to be overcome with morphine, to shatter bones and to fire a machine gun. It makes us taste the monstrous heat and the misery of the desert’s winter nights.

While Burden of the Desert is action packed and political, it never stops being one primarily concerned with the human element and this is what makes it excellent. The politics are kept lucid and succinct – even the politically averse will find themselves taking an interest – and are in perfect symbiosis with the rush of the plot, that is elevated through some unforgettable characters.

Huggler writes as convincingly with the voice of a twenty-something British woman as he does a Middle-aged Sunni, a Shia youth bent on committing murder, a young man rotting and tortured in the ferocious Abu Ghraib prison or the strong and intelligent Saara, who has fallen secretly in love with Mahmoud – Zoe’s driver and unofficial guardian.

Burden of the Desert will appeal to those with a taste for passion among all the blood shed – making love in a dingy, musty hotel room to the sound of civil war in the humid heat; American soldier meets female Iraqi doctor in a festering children’s hospital; Christian and Muslim makes plan to escape Iraq and marry. It might be unconventional, but romantic it most certainly is.

I devoured Burden of the Desert with the ease, greed and compulsion I would a Jilly Cooper romance. It is racy – not just because of bombs, militia and civil war – but because we get to live Iraq first hand through the thoughts, experiences and moral dilemmas of not just Muslims, but Hispanic-American soldiers, British journalists, rogue Irish reporters and Iraqi Christians.

The book’s events are based on real-life occurrences that appalled the world as they happened. The Lynddie England furore where the US Army soldier was photographed holding a naked Iraqi prisoner on a leash; the hanging of four charred bodies of US military personnel from a bridge in Fallujah; the terrifying battle in the Wadi As-Salam cemetery in Najaf that raged into a three week shoot out and the beheadings of foreign journalists. And, horrifyingly, the unreal proportions of the decay and disease of the former Saddam Hussein Children’s Hospital are not exaggerated in the book.

Huggler’s first novel is superb, exciting and provides many insider views of a war which has probably only be seen by the public in the West through the lens of news channels. In 2004, I was 17 and uninterested in the war, which was tearing that nation apart after the fall of that notorious dictator. This book gave me an education about a country, a war and a period of history which is far, far from rectified. An issue that has repercussions on everything from the surrounding countries and politics back home to the shipping and oil industries. Not to mention the human tragedies that are still going on and will go one for decades to come.

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This summer sees the return of Underbelly Productions at the seasonal Wonderground turf, heaping extravagant entertainment onto the Southbank’s Centre’s doorstep. Making its home in the sumptuous Spiegeltent that loiters in the shadows of the purple and distinctly bovine Udderbelly venue: Limbo is the brainchild of Scott Maidment and serves up an orgiastic assault on the senses. A beguiling melange of feathers, fire, beat-boxing, swords, slapstick, magic, contortion, cabaret, acrobatics, rap, mouth organs and general raucous bawdiness, circus has never been so seductive.

Unlike Limbo’s rampant predecessor – Cantina – there is no full-frontal male nudity within the first five minutes, but there is a giant stuffed bunny head atop a lingerie-clad femme fatale, which goes some way to making amends. One highlight of note comes in the form of a smutty little rap ditty, delivered with panache as the chap is flanked by the show’s two gyrating multi-talented female performers. The subject matter (“nasty vanilla pudding, banana pudding, chocolate pudding”) makes Kelis and her euphemistic milkshake sound like a nursery rhyme.

Of course there’s all the standard circus fare such as trapeze artistry, mind-boggling contortion that will flavour your dreams, stunning shimmying up and down a Chinese Pole, a brazen balancing act. During the climax of the show – a veritable blinding zenith – the audience finds itself wallowing in a pool of sweat. Is this due to the gallons of incendiary fluid boiling the muggy atmosphere, or the raunchiness of Heather Holliday’s smooth tattooed pins topped with ruched red satin? Is it awesome or just plain weird, what the contortionist does to himself on that glitterball-mounted prong? The audience doesn’t know whether to whoop or wince. Bewilderment reigns, and that’s the way it should be.

Limbo is crude, crass, brash and beautiful for 75 glorious minutes. This might all sound a bit much, but the blessed truth is that these moments of unbridled indulgence are puctuated by moments of startling beauty and restraint. The mesmerising sound of a glass bowl containing a marble being tapped with a drumstick (words don’t do it justice) as a network of low-wattage vintage lightbulbs dangles, frail, in mid-air will catch in your throat. The music seals the deal of Limbo’s triumph: termed JANX by the show’s musical director, Sxip Shirley, it veers insanely between a harmonica played through bullhorn / a sousaphone-driven nod to dubstep / eerie other-worldly kalimba / toe-twitching 1940s swing / unashamedly impudent hiphop.

The crucial essence of Limbo is that every performer has their knockout “thing” but gets gung-ho involved in every other aspect of the production that’s hurled their way. This leads to a lack of finesse in some of the moments of music and dancing that only serves to make the acts and their owners more likeable; there’s no anodyne Cirque du Soleil sense that these people are infallible superhumans (boring). You feel every wobble, twitch at the dropped hat, sense every brief tension and relieved smile, and live every moment with them. And by gum, do they welcome you into the experience.

Limbo runs until the end of September. Tickets can be snapped up here.

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My oldest best friend is living in Brussels. We’ve known each other since we were eleven, and we’ve done everything together: waxed each other’s pubes preempting virginity loosing, got drunk on cooking wine and sung ‘what shall we do with the drunken sailor’ outside my parent’s room, and (of course) snogged to get drinks off men. We’ve also travelled South America together; chugging very slowly up the Amazon with black bras over our heads (we were pretending to be pirates).

Anyway, you get the picture – we really like each other.

I finally got round to getting myself a ticket to visit her in April. Boarding the Eurostar on a Friday night is definitely one of my new favourite things to do. St Pancras is always near work (much to your dismay on a standard day) and the second you walk through the barriers everyone is chatting in French. You go from stressful rush hour on the Tube to strolling through Customs, glass of red wine in hand, and a man called Pierre carrying your suitcase.

I really didn’t know what to expect from Brussels – no one really talks about it, or goes to live there unless they are going to do something in politics. It’s not like Paris or Barcelona, which you orgasm over way before penetration. (I hope that particular choice of words made you feel a little sick – I like to test your tummies) I didn’t really imagine Brussells to have a huge life beyond the expats. I always thought it was quite a transitional city.

I arrived at 9 and as we were walking through an area called Midi, my friend announced that this was the DODGY part of town. It was beautiful – wide roads snd pretty buildings. This was a city I was going to love…

That night we went to an Euro soirée, which was basically an office party. Everyone was wasted, listening to Shakira and trying to get it on with each other - in quite a gross way. Lots of bad dancing – shit loads of drunken grinding, and no Beyonces. We left and hit some bars where we knocked back some very strong beer. I’ve never liked beer, but this stuff was delicious. The bars are open until 5 in the morning. They don’t shut until the customers are done. Oh, if only England was like that… Actually if England was like that, the bar staff would be zombies. The Brits are not likely to stop boozing/call their night over on their own. They need to be chucked out.

The next day we munched on a vast bagel and walked around the city. It is beautiful – like an incy, wincy Paris mixed with Berlin. The vibe is quite unlike anywhere I’ve been. Everyone is just chilling. There is no rushing about, no frantic beeping, shouting etc. Everyone is just taking their time. There are apparently only about 6 cash points in Brussels, consequesntially the queue outside one was gigantic, but no one seemed to mind spending the majority of their weekend in the queue. They just got on with it, chatted to each other, got out their ghetto blasters. I, however, was too impatient and scarpered.

Apparently buying a nice phone is absurdly expensive so few people have iPhones or Blackberrys. s a result, everyone seems to be enjoying each other. They are not fiddling with iapps, bbming, checking the football. They’re just doing what they’re doing. They might make a call, but that’s all it is going to be – a call. Their nokia brick can’t offer more than that.

On Saturday night we cooked a delicious meal in the flat (eating out is very expensive in Brussels, whereas boozing is considerably cheaper than London) and then headed to this amazing electro night in a museum. It was this huge open space, and a great place for making friends. One man even had a dog in the joint - I couldn’t have asked for a better friend. Everyone was so welcoming, interesting and hysterical. I had a whale of a time – I did dance offs, played pogs with drink tokens and hung out in unisex loos. I definitely did a lot of drunken shouting across the music ‘I LOVE BRUSSELS – IT’S AMAZING’ to people. To which, they nodded their heads and continued dancing. They didn’t need my cocky, classic English ‘wow I can’t believe there is a place outside England’ attitude confirming that their city is great. They just know it.

The following day, we took bikes out (like the Boris ones but better)  and rode into the forest. That is another amazing thing about the city, it has the most enormous forest in Belgium just chilling in it. Apparently the further in you go, the more live animals you see! Certainly more Attenborough than Hyde Park.

I went to bed exhausted, and woke up at the crack for my Eurostar back in time for work. That journey was much less enjoyable. I wonder why?

Brussels I ain’t done with you – what was that you said? PHEW?

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London unbutton your top collar, this summer’s sizzler of a show has arrived in Southbank’s Wonderland. This is freak show chic with a hot, and I mean hot twist. A circus-meets S&M magic show, Wonderland’s Limbo hits the note with London’s thirst for the next thing to see. Needless to say Limbo has received a roaring reaction, and being in the most suitable venue imaginable, its the perfect evening out. If you haven’t yet visited the Wonderland or Udderbelly Festival- get yourselves, your friends, your loved ones and that date you want to impress, to this fantastic summer venue. A little tips for the drinkers here, the cider tent is fabulous, so worth arriving early and staying late!

This is a big statement, but this may be my favourite show sensation of 2013, with acts not only defying convention but frequently defying gravity. This has a little bit for everyone, even the hardest to please, all performed seamlessly by a host of sexy/bizarre talented artists. Sexy/bizarre is good.

What to say without giving the game away on this surprise-a-minute show? Favourite thrills included the tantalising balance acts, of which there are many and none that disappoint; acrobats like you only find in Russia; excellent dance numbers; a man who is more-than-double-double-jointed; a sexy sword swallowing, fire breathing dancer (breathe, boys, breathe); a man who can make pole dancing look ridiculously hot, and a burlesque style swing act with chains.

This is a jam packed pick and mix of amusement. Limbo takes the audience through a journey, one moment’s laughter tuns to another moment’s suspense, with an undercurrent of filth, just as one would hope for.. I gasped, I laughed, I squirmed with delight, gawped at feats of the impossible and walked away thoroughly entertained.

Finally I must also draw attention to the brilliant band, as this is a musical performance that delivers the type of ambience that will transform your night from a good show to a ‘did I take something funny and land in la-la-land’ type evening. There’s an accordion and a tuba- enough said.

Limbo has been designed and delivered with the type of perfect humour, sincerity and precision that you can only sit and be in awe of.

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With their second collaboration in McDonagh’s highly anticipated second feature film, you can’t help but feel the ingenious spark of In Bruges is not only lacking, but completely missing. In Seven Psychopaths, Farrell plays a screenwriter trying to overcome his writers-block, while becoming tangled in his friends criminal affairs that includes the intentional kidnap of residents dogs around Los Angeles, only to receive a reward sum of money when they returned. However, when a gangster loses his beloved Shih Tzu, hell breaks loose as he vows to find and kill whoever’s responsible.

The problem with Seven Psychopaths is down to the marketing: the film is promoted as a non-stop comedy film about a group of dog-nappers in L.A, with an all star cast that spans from Hollywood A-Lister Colin Farrell to recent Bond girl Olga Kurylenko. Truth is, Seven Psychopaths isn’t actually that comedic, it’s similar in a way to In Bruges with people dealing with depression, but the comedy elements are almost eradicated from the entire film. Plus, most of the headlining cast members appear for only one or two scenes (including Kurylenko and American star Abbie Cornish).

Although McDonagh’s humour isn’t so much featured, his talents for writing great characters with depth still shine through. The star of this film is in fact Woody Harrelson who plays gangster Charlie, who will do whatever it takes to get his dog back safe and sound. However, watching a character we empathise with murder innocent people is quite hard to digest: McDonagh would possibly argue this is the way he intended the character to be but it didn’t pull off as well as he has done in the past.

On the whole the film felt flat: the narrative stops and starts and paces as we slowly work our way to an anti-climatic ending that resembles too much of a wild Tarantino ending (the influences from Tarantino are ripe throughout this film) and the main thing that lacks throughout is the emotional connection between the characters and the audience, something McDonagh did so well with In Bruges. The surprise twist isn’t necessary and most of the cast members are wasted on one or two short scenes that are forgettable. My advice, go back to the drawing room McDonagh and spend time developing another contemporary classic that can at least be on a par with In Bruges.

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The University of Cape Town is a marvellous institution housed in a collection of archaic buildings exuding the mysteries of knowledge and secrets of decades gone by. The Hiddingh Campus – the first location of the university – now finds itself in the centre of the city, a little bundle of treasure amidst the modern landscape. The Fine Arts and Drama Departments of the university call this campus home and, quite fittingly, so do a number of theatres. The theatres themselves, like the rest of the university, hold that special charm – mysteries, secrets, tales of ghosts and hauntings, and a sense of seclusion that is absent from larger and more modern theatre houses.

The Intimate Theatre, one of the Hiddingh theatres, is exactly what its name describes it to be – intimate. It is a small, dark space accessible through back alleys and archways, lit by red fairy lights. The foyer of the theatre is decorated by posters of the hundreds of plays that have been performed there. The performing space itself is cosy, with the seats rising to the back and the floor in front used as the stage. It doesn’t get any more intimate than this. Audiences experience snippets of life that theatre lights illuminate in the darkened space and they become intricately involved in the lives, romances, laughter, and tortures of the characters below.

The show running at the Intimate Theatre at the moment is Lady Luck, a new original play by the award-wining Sugar-daddy Theatre Company, and one promising to be much darker than the Sugar-daddy plays I have experienced before. Due to my own personal involvement with the Sugar-daddy Theatre Company – I had read a great deal of the script before going to see the play and I know both the writer and the actors personally – I will not attempt to offer a review of the play. I knew all about it, after all, and had witnessed aspects of it from inception to final completion, and went to see it over the weekend armed with a barrel of prior knowledge. And yet, somehow, I was still not quite prepared for what awaited me behind the closed doors of the Intimate Theatre.

Dean (Bjorn Steinbach), Lisa (Sabine Palfi), Nic (Aidan Whytock)

Lady Luck tells the story of Lisa, an exotic dancer, torn between two men, the rich and powerful Nic and her troubled ex-fiancé, Dean. The events unfold in the dangerous underbelly of Cape Town, a world of gambling, murders, and fast cash, and numerous twists in the story left the audience gasping and astounded at regular intervals. As mentioned, I had read parts of the script before, but seeing the play performed at the Intimate brought it to life in a manner I could not have envisioned. Yes, the subject matter of Lady Luck is dark and heavy and the actors bring that intensity to life in their performances, but it is the haunting space of the theatre itself that adds the uncanny undertones that leaves the darkness and heaviness of the play lingering a little longer.

The theatre is dark and intimate, intensifying the dark and intimate subject matter and allowing the emotional intensity to reach peaks that might have been lost in a larger theatre space. Like the lens of a camera, the audience can zoom in on every single detail and intimately witness all those intricate moments that give the play its depth and range. Experiencing Lady Luck in the Intimate was not a regular theatre experience. This was the emotional intimacy of film captured in a live performance. Film Noir becoming Theatre Noir. And like the haunting image of a femme fatale creeping through the celluloid images of the 1940s, the final image of the play plunged into darkness becomes imprinted in the minds of audience members.

Oh yes, I thought I knew what to expect. But little did I know to what extent the darkness of the play would come to life, and I’ve been left wanting to delve into that emotional darkness at the Intimate once more while the play is still running.

Visit the Sugar-daddy Theatre Company on Facebook and Twitter @SugarDaddyCo.

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Last weekend I returned to Paris with my father, again on the speedy Eurostar, but this time in Standard Premium.  Definitely worth paying the extra for – lots of leg room, a better than expected meal (big step up from aeroplane food) and a glass of wine.  The perfect way to zip to Paris, in just 2.5 hours.

This is what I loved about my last visit:

Discovering new affordable Bistros

We were staying at the Mandarin Oriental – as luxurious as it gets – so going for dinner at a down to earth French bistro was just what we needed.

A la Biche au Bois is a short walk from Bastille Metro.  It is small and unassuming, but the decor is nicely done.  A large mirror covers one side, giving the impression the place is larger than it is, and it has a cosy feel.  It is a little cramped, but by chatty locals, making the experience all the more French.  They have a great 4 Course offer for €29.  And we are talking huge portions of hearty French food.  For starters expect duck terrine and onion soup.  For the main the special was Coq au Vin but I had steak with pepper sauce and a huge pile of fries.  The cheese board was delightful.  And for pudding you could have chocolate mouse, creme brûlée, creme caramel or chocolate ‘gateaux’.  I went for the latter and could barely get up afterwards.  Definitely will return.  Book at least a week ahead.

L’Ange 20 is also a charming French Bistro.  I found it on Trip Adviser and was curious because of its exceptionally high rating (I think No. 7 of all the restaurants in Paris).  None of the reviews had a bad word to say.  And it was again very reasonably priced – 2 courses for €22, 3 courses for €28.  Situated right by the Pompidou centre (not my favourite building but always quite fun to see) in a small, quiet side street, but surrounded by a few other tempting looking restaurants, Le Ange 20 is a very welcoming place.  It is TINY, with an open kitchen and as many tables squashed in as possible. The waiter was charming, spoke perfect English and was very attentive.  The food was a bit more refined than A la Biche au Bisous, I had gambas with guacamole and salad to start and slow-cooked lamb with fresh veg and pumpkin puree to follow.  I skipped pudding.  The only bad thing was the other guests.  All decidedly not French.  We had a Russian family next to us who unapologetically spilt wine all over us. And a lot of Americans.  I was obviously not the only one who read Trip Adviser.  Still, recommended.  Book at least a week ahead.

Lunch in a flowery side-street in the Marais

Sunday is the day to go to Marais.  Much of Paris shuts its door on this day but the Marais is in full swing.  Buzzing with locals and tourists a like, the winding cobbled streets of vintage shops, cute cafes and antique shops are full of life.  Place des Vosges remains one of my favourite squares and is worth a wander around.

For brunch/lunch there are plenty of places but we wanted somewhere which was peaceful and preferably in the sun.  We didn’t get a place in the sun but we did find the perfect flowery side-street with a few lovely restaurants/cafes.  We choose TresOr and enjoyed a healthy and tasty salad and white wine amongst the flowers.  Food itself was nothing that special and not cheap but the location really made it for us.

Sunbathing in the Tuilleries Gardens

My past visits to Paris have all been in the autumn/winter, when the weather was quite chilly.  This time the sun was out most of the time and it gave Paris the added beauty of a warm glow.  We were like a broken record, constantly commenting on how beautiful Paris was.  The Tuilleries Gardens can’t real be compared to the royal parks of London.  People don’t sit on the grass drinking beer or Pimms.  You don’t really have the gloriously imposing Louvre as a view from Hyde Park.  But the Tuilleries Gardens are, like the London parks, the place locals and tourists come to bask in the late-spring sun.  Not so much on benches but on green metal chairs with slanted backs which are surprisingly comfy.  Wonderful to sit and watch the world go by.  We even spotted a girl walking with a big sign which said ‘FREE HUGS’.  You’d think Parisians wouldn’t really appreciate that too much.  But she got a few hugs from randomers.  Pretty amusing.

The view from Le Meurice Penthouse Suite

There are certainly perks of working in the luxury travel industry.  I was curious to see the famous Le Meurice (Dorchester Collection) – one of the top Paris palace hotels.  And so we were given a guided tour by ‘Guillaume’. I found some of the rooms a bit stuffy and dowdy, but the main lobby and their English-style bar very comfortable and cool.  But the highlight by far was the terrace of the Penthouse Suite which we were lucky to see.  The views of Paris were the best I had ever seen.  So good it gave me goosebumps.  I still think they should make the terrace a restaurant, there wouldn’t be a restaurant in town that would beat that view (plus they have a 3* Michelin cook).

Brunch at Raffles The Royal Monceau

Such a cool hotel!  Interior designer and architect Philip Starck has cleverly thought out the ‘look’ behind this hotel.  Its quirky and fun but retains the highest standard of luxury.  Some may think it a bit OTT, but I loved it.  Best bit was their main restaurant and bar.  The buffet offers everything you want.  The puddings are all made by Pierre Herme.  Enough said.   Go there as a treat because it does not come cheap.

Stumbling across hidden gems

With a city like Paris you are bound to stumble across new places/streets/buildings which make you stand still and think ‘wow, how did I not know about this?’.  One of those places was Rue des Barres, on the edge of the Marais/Hotel de Ville, close to the Seine.  On a sunny Sunday afternoon it was totally rammed with everyone sitting outside, and I got the feeling this was not one of those tourist traps.  Beautiful views of St. Gervais-et-St.-Protais Church and very peaceful as it is set back form the main road.  The restaurant/’cafe du thé’ which looked most appealing was l’Ebouillante, with a reasonably priced menu and a bright terrace.

Finding a cool Book Shop

Shakespeare & Company is the cutest bookshop you will ever come across.   Right opposite the Notre Dame, on the river Seine, you will find this small, higgledy piggledy book shop, first opened in 1919.  It’s friendly and welcoming. I love the fact that the staff there put their own reviews on their favourite books.  Sadly it has become a victim of its own success – it was so overcrowded when we went that I struggled to walk around.  This may have been because it was a Saturday afternoon but I think also simply because it is so famous and everyone wants to have a  look.  They also do a few cool literary events in the shop every month.

For more tips about Paris visit www.cityturtle.co.uk/cities/paris/

La Biche au Bois

45 Avenue Ledru-Rollin

0143433438

Metro: La Bastille or Ledru-Rollin

L’Ange 20

6 Rue Geofrroy L’Angevin

Metro: Rambuteau

http://www.lange20.com/lange20/Accueil.html

Raffles Le Royal Monceau

37 Avenue Hoche

Metro: Champs Elysees

Le Meurice, Dorchester Collection

228 Rue de Rivoli

Metro: Tuilleries or Louvre

Tresor

7, Rue du Tresor, 75004 Paris

Metro: St Paul

Shakespeare & Company

37 Rue de la Bûcherie, 75005 Paris

Metro: Notre Dame

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The first pieces that stood out was the new Akari furniture range, it has a heavy, dark stained wood with chrome handles and tapered legs. I loved the drinks cabinet that was high enough off the floor so little hands do not find their way in as well as the tall boy that can be used versatility between bedrooms, office or lounge. It is clear that the inspiration of the collection came from travel, history, flora and fauna and other elements that came be seen from the smallest pieces to the stunning furnishings.

We saw Sherlock’s bedroom, dining room and lounge area whilst we heard him play us some music on his violin. Also in this room sits Peggy a patch work of fabric options that can be now be ordered in a sofa, chair and foot stool after so many customers request to buy the show chair. Each room had an actor to enhance the special feeling of being in a certain time and place.

From the moment I stepped into the space I got quit a beach/ cottage feel. That relaxed feeling that the mineral colours and rustic finishes on wood give you. For this space Emma from One day is our host and she is sat at her dining room table (trying to look like a picnic table) while we walk around her space. This collection is name Revival for its sense of taking old ideas and modernising them. The coffee table/ chest with one panel that lifts up to create a storage space or the chest of drawers that is actually a new take on the bureau for those bits you need out but don’t need on show.

Revival

Scented garden has a candyfloss, light, whimsical feeling to it and greeted by a Rubicon Blue host and the mad hatter himself. It was a tea party to be proud of, with bunting over head to show some of the 169 new wall papers on show. The colour palette was all sorbet with cupcake decor leaving the room fresh and inviting.

Mad Hatters Tea Party

For me the habitat room had a very arts and crafts feeling to it, from the wonderful rope poufs to the best selling Wallace floor lamp. The AW13 is a rival of the classic pieces that you know and love. Comfort is paramount and the colours are lovely and subtle lemon and olive green. The bedding has a distinct retro feel following through to the lighting which is just wonderful. The woven basket like shield was my favourite.  The host of the room was very proud of the brand and the designers involved, she was very forth coming with the information of the pieces and inspirations.

The Cookshop range was divided into four sections, the first, Baking Days, is the most relevant for me as it fits into fashion’s summer collections such as seen in Joy with Mulholland Drive. Fresh sorbet colours, an old school flour sifter that takes you right back to the 50’s when skirts were wide and woman stayed at home. The collection also supports the growing popularity of baking at the present moment.  Moving on the revival has the same tone and feel of the revival collection of the furnishing; they sit well besides each other as seen in the One Day room. It has stone, Chicago blue and bamboo tones with the use of animal prints, basically bringing the outside in.

‘Colourama’ takes the best selling themes flowers and red and combined it to make a fun print that is used on various kitchen items. It is about pop colours that make for a quick update to your kitchen without over-haling the entire area.

Metro has a clean living, city feel, the main colours are white and black and silver. This kitchen has a utility feel to it, and if I am honest I can see bachelor choosing it. Farmhouse is the opposite, with comfort and warm colours of cream, yellow and red. You have toast holders and egg tray’s, everything you can see in a farm breakfast setting. This style would be more for a family home where everyone gathers at meal times.

I felt that this was a visual delight from the first room to the last.  If you wanted press to stay focused and write amazing reviews this was a sure fire way to achieve that. When the product drops in store there are a few piece I know I will be picking up.

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With the tinges of political scandal once again on the rise in America, it’s time for a throwback to the Clinton Era with the Im-Peach-Mint Cocktail. Now, I can’t take credit for this one, rather my mother ordered a few of these back in the days of Zipper-gate whilst on holiday in Miami. This Mojito with a twist is almost as great of a result of the Clinton impeachment trial as the actual legal precedent set by the US Senate. Yes, I’m saying that this drink is almost as good as the fact that ‘oral sex’ cannot be defined as ‘sex’ according to the US Government. Seriously, this thing is that good, but you can make it better by breaking American laws. Nothing makes a better Mojito than Havana Club Rum (the real stuff from Cuba), and puffing on a fine Cuban cigar is an absolute must when drinking said rum. Well maybe one thing, but I’ve been told that one can’t encourage seeking out of fellating interns in a drinks column. Also, this publication only makes assertions on French politics, so I can’t comment on the multiple scandals currently ongoing along the Potomac. What I can do, however, is give you the recipe to a drink that’s almost as good as an eager intern…

The Im-Peach-Mint Cocktail: In a pint glass mix Frech Pureed Peaches and Fresh Mint with a bar spoon (grinding the mint into the peach puree) with the Juice of one Lime. Add a good measure of Havana Club Rum plus Peach and Lime slices until the pint is 1/3 to 1/2 of the way full. Fill with Crushed Ice and Sparking Water (or Club Soda). You should accompany this drink with the Cuban Cigar of your choice.

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When Stephen King thinks your novel is “genuinely scary” you must be doing something right. Author of five previous novels, Alice Thompson’s sixth – Burnt Island, released today by Salt Publishing – clearly has all the weirdness, energy and eeriness as the one praised by King – Pharos.

Frustrated by his agent, his literary rivals, his failed family life and his inability to write best-sellers, novelist Max Long decides to escape real life and shut himself away with nothing but his imagination to produce the book that will make him millions and mollify The Meerkat, his agent.

But Max has chosen Burnt Island as his creative cave – an isle flung somewhere off Scotland’s Atlantic coast – and as barren, bizarre and lonely as its name would have it. Think, The Wicker Man but with none of the joviality… but perhaps with some of the licentiousness.

Three months of relative solitary confinement turns into a spell staying at the more than impressive house of James Fairfax – ex-banker, charm-oozer and said literary rival. The island and its inhabitants become a canvas on which his imagination runs amuck. Doppelgangers, demons and incest intertwine into horrors of the mind: but whether imagined or not, one never quite knows.

Slightly melodramatic and clichéd opening description aside, Thompson is succinct, direct and simple in style – her sparseness evokes the isolated island that brings about all Max’s terrified confusion. An uncomplicated plot and just over a handful of characters give the reader’s imagination unfettered room to run wild. In 200 pages, Burnt Island intrigues, haunts and moves, and incites rumination – the kind of novel you want to scribble down quotes from.

Here is a book which makes you hungry for whatever else the author has written and will write in the future.

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