2017: it's been emotional

2017; while I can't deny you've been blissfully wonderful for the most part (i.e: the most tanned I have ever and probably will ever be, the taking of my NY virginity, a very boozy birthday weekend in the New Forest)...my god, you've been pretty fucking shite at times too, ahem, mental health I am glaring at you cough cough. I'm hoping and praying that 2018 is a little kinder to my brain while remaining just as full to the brim of gin. So, that said, my New Year's Rezzie's are looking like this:

leave a little sparkle

I hope you had the merriest, minciest and mulled winiest of Christmasses. I also hope that your day was filled with so much bubbly that you barely remember the Queen's speech and fell asleep on the sofa at 4pm because same, hun. 

indulging my inner upper-east sider

One of the things I love most about my relationship with Mikey is the way we've learnt to compromise on the things we disagree on. It goes a little something like this: Mikey doesn't want to do something, I want to do something = we do the thing that I want to do and Mikey just shuts up and gets on with it. Usually with the promise of beer and/or letting him watch the football in peace. 

New York City Part II

WHERE does time go?! And how has it been three and a half weeks since we got back from New York already?! And why is the only thing of note that I've managed to achieve during that time getting to Season 3 of Gossip Girl?! It has been a very, very, very busy few weeks at work so to have spent pretty much every single evening perving over Rufus (largely unsung hero alert) and lonelyboy has not only been acceptable, but necessary. 

Part I: New York City, baby!

We walked so far in New York that we may as well have been auditioning as extras in Nelson Mandela's Long Walk To Freedom. Except we weren't walking to freedom, we were walking to cocktails. And lots of them. Yes, I am truly sorry for my tasteless Nelson Mandela joke, I also appreciate that he didn't literally walk as well, but do you know who did? WE did. For real, we walked over 45km the first day, then over 40km the next day, and we were there for six days. The only time we hopped on a subway was to get to the NFL, so for the first time in Katie Leask holiday history, I actually managed to lose 2 lbs instead of my usual gaining of 500. And if that wasn't enough of a reason to have fallen completely head over heels for NY, I give you this blog post:

i came, i saw, i left early

It's official. I've reached that stage in life where snuggling up at home dressed head to toe in pug paraphenalia (because apparently I'm harbouring quite the pug pyjama collection) has quite aggressively taken over heading out on the piss. Should I be worried that I've reached this stage at the ripe old age of 24? Hell no. To be honest, I'm more worried about this new found granny-status having a negative impact on my thighs cos the only shapes I'm throwing at 11pm on a Saturday night these days are triangular pizza slices into my mouth. Happiness quota exceeded.

so...tough mudder happened

I can't do a press up, I've never run more than 5k in one go, and I spent the night before in the pub...but despite pretty much every single odd - ya girl actually completed Tough Mudder this weekend. Can I get a hell yeah please because I am quite simply the weakest, puniest, most pathetically muscled human I've ever met. Period. Mikey actually laughed in my face and told me I was the 'antithesis of a tough mudder' when I signed up last year, which I hope gives you some indication as to the gravity of this situation. Furthermore, in an exciting turn of events, I spent the last 6 miles with a portion of my butt on show after my leggings took a bashing in Mud Mile. So yay for that. 

sugar-loading at patisserie valerie

There are few things in life I like more than being full of cake. Except, perhaps, being full of cake on a Tuesday afternoon when you're supposed to be at work but are eating all the calories in Brighton instead with your mum. Yeah, that probably tops it 🙏🍰☕️ What a totally IMMENSE way to spend an afternoon a few weeks ago, topped off by having the entire upstairs floor to ourselves meaning I could photograph the little cake babes from every-single-angle with no scowling onlookers. In. My. Element. So get that scrolling finger at the ready, bitch, cos I'm about to go full cakeboss on yo' ass.

life is better in pyjamas

Guess who has an entire week off work and is currently in a dressing gown and fluffy slippers, facemask on, hair in a towel, licking a bowl of melted nutella? OH YEAH, BABY, IT'S ME #inbetweenjobs #unemployedlife. So far today I have made myself breakfast, I've been to the gym, I've got Tay-Tay on full volume, I'm happily lapping up the remnants of mum's baking, and I'm genuinely feeling like if this is the only life I get to live - I'm fucking nailing it right now. 

the best and booziest of bank holidays

Is it even a bank holiday weekend if it's not full of friends, alcohol, frivolity and far far far far far too much food? And much to the surprise of a solid 100% of the UK population, we were even treated to some ACTUAL BLOODY SUNSHINE. Quelle bonheur, indeed. 

wingin’ it at biggin hill

The only thing better than a total nerd-out is an unexpected total nerd-out. Meaning that a very last-minute trip to Biggin Hill Airshow this weekend had me oohing, had me ahhing, had me wanting to ditch the plans I’d had for my life and fly for the RAF Red Arrows instead. If I told you I didn’t squeal and clap like that famous Will Smith GIF when the first plane went over, I would be lying. Yep, even I was surprised at quite how much I apparently like a good plane. Who knew!? The world works in mysterious ways. 

august feels

So it would appear The Great British Summer of 2017 is going for gold in the annual hide and seek championships because has anyone found her yet? And, like, why can't my hiding-the-fact-i-ate-three-scones-before-9am-today skills be quite so accomplished!? Life can be so unfair. But ARE WE DOWNHEARTED BY GLOOMY SKIES AND A LACK OF VITAMIN D?! Well, um, yes a little bit - but that's nothing a little (read: a fucking lot) of gin can't sort out. 

kindness is free, sprinkle that shit everywhere

I wouldn't blame you for thinking that little else went on in my head apart from Justin Bieber, Leo di Caprio, brunch, and cocktails on a continuous rolling loop. Which, to be completely honest, isn't too far from the truth BUT - on the odd occasion the loop skips and a spot frees up for me to think about something else...I've been revelling in the joys of being a more positive paula. Not all the time, mind, I'm not superwoman and after 1 hours sleep coupled with period pain all day on Thursday my new-found-posi-patience was really being put to the test, but in general, I've been drinking a lotta positivi-tea and am starting to feel the good karma returned. 

st tropez and lotsa vino

One thing that always becomes shockingly apparent on holiday is that my love of France knows no bounds. Like, for real there is no metaphorical or literal boundary to my enthusiasm, gusto and gratitude for everything French. I mean, it might be something to do with them producing more than 246 varieties of cheese, or their attitude to wine that can be summed up simply as ‘...want some?’, but nothing in the world makes me happier than a warm summer evening in the south of france (except, perhaps, picking up chocolate eggs in tesco for half the price following easter cos y'know - the only thing better than cadburys in egg-form is half price cardburys in egg-form. Everyone knows that). 

lazy days on the côte d'azur

My parents have always told me that I have no grey area. I either love something, or absolutely hate it. It's the best roast dinner I've ever eaten, or categorically the absolute worst. I am so in love with Justin Bieber that I cannot even fathom how to think about anything else / Tess Daly is the most tragic thing that has ever happened to prime time TV. I'm pretty black and white, even if it's not always strictly true (I'm pretty sure the burger-van burger I ate when drunk at a festival at 2 in the morning was probably not the best burger I'd ever eaten, but that didn't stop me telling anyone that would listen that night how effing incredible it was and not shutting up about it for 3 weeks afterwards). 

gin drinking in southern france

So far this holiday has consisted of a lot of swimming, a lot of sunbathing, a worrying amount of food, a hell of a lot of gin and very, very, very little room for anything else. Of the surplus outfits I painstakingly rolled up in my suitcase back in England little over a week ago, I have lived practically single-handedly in two; a white bikini and a black bikini. Hallelujah.

Cambridge, Pimms & punting

If you hadn't already guessed by the consistent and pretty unassailable theme that underlies the majority of this blog: I love a good cocktail. Always and all ways. And in a variety of different locations (e.g. LondonMargate, or going internationale in Paris, Berlin, Venice and Budapest). So a few weekends ago, we decided to push the boat out once more (punting pun for the win) and take a little mosey up to Cambridge, where we washed our cocktails down with The Official First Pimms of 2017. 

Birthday boozer in the New Forest

Oi oi. So I just got back from a 10/10 weekend in the most beautiful little cabin in the New Forest for my gawj Sophie's 27th birthday. To give you a summary of how this weekend went I'll say this: we definitely put the 'hang' in hanging out...but, boy oh boy oh boy, did we put that 'hang' a little more forcefully into 'hangover', 'hanging eachother out to dry' and 'hanging our heads in alcohol-induced shame'. 

Scandinavian poster love

Unfortunately, the 'Professional Snoozer' job opening is yet to become available, meaning that I am still hauling myself out of bed 5 days a week so that I may afford copious cocktails on the weekend. This process is tricky at the best of times. But let me tell you it is 2847385635 times tricker when your bed is this damn cosy. 

Life lessons in London +CitizenM

I learnt something last weekend. And that something was this: that being able to turn on lights, open blinds, watch films, listen to any radio show or play any music all from the comfort of bed really is the pinacle of Made It. Oh yes, I can confirm that I am now a firm believer in the power of the smart bedroom. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that my life won’t be complete until I can leisurely lie in bed and use an ipad to request that a shepherd's pie sandwich be delivered to me via naked butler. And if I can't have that...well then CitizenM Shoreditch might just be the next best thing...

Thank F**k it's February

When I say that I am so glad January is over - I really, really mean it. Like really. Because this January, ladies and gentlemen, I somehow managed to survive a full 31 days without eating a single piece of chocolate. Not a chocolate chip cookie, not a powdered hot chocolate, not even the single smartie that fell out of my drawer and rolled, teasingly, around my bedroom floor. I repeat - no chocolate whatsoever. And that's not even the impressive part, oooh no. I managed to do this...

Birthday in Berlin - part ii

If this trip to Berlin had a tag line it would be this; "So...um...bratwurst?"And I'm talking at 8am in the morning, at 11pm at night, after having dinner, before having breakfast, on the worst hangover of my life, inbetween eating other bratwursts...the list goes on (and on and on and on). If I had to make a guess at the sheer distance of sausage we managed to consume over the course of four days in Berlin, I'd have to pop the figure at approx 98km. No exageration. Yet, somehow I didn't manage to take one photo of the thing at any point of our holiday which I can only say is a sheer testament to my tunnel-visioned-bratwurst-eating devotion. So instead, you'll just have to look at some #architectureporn. Which I know is not as good as #bratwurstporn, I'M SORRY.

Berlin Christmas Markets feat. Gluhwein

As much as I’ve tried to deny the cold hard facts…I’m finally ready to admit that there really is such a thing as too-much-mulled-wine. Even when you're on holiday in Berlin. A gluhwein hangover creeps up on you in a similar fashion to how I imagine the Berlin wall did all those years ago: you wake up with very limited movement capabilities and a sense of pretty serious impending doom. Whether or not the Berliner’s also had a banging headache, severe amnesia and the alcohol shakes is anybody’s guess.