However, down time is therefore important, otherwise I'd burn out. Late nights, make-up, smoke, drink and irregular eating plays havoc with my body and soul, and even though I try to have massages and do yoga as often as I can back in London, I like to retreat as far away from the city when I get a few days off. My Mum lives in Canterbury in Kent, so it's nice to escape there sometimes, but as I write this I'm chillaxing in a lovely spa resort called Fortina in Malta.
I've been on a four day full-body detox here – loads of facials, acupuncture, massages, cupping (a Chinese practice which pulls out toxins from your back via suction cups and leaves alien-like round bruises on your back for a week afterwards like Munchkin crop circles). I've also had a session of colonic irrigation, which is still a bit of a taboo but is certainly not to be sniffed at (rahahaha!!). Colonic is great, if a little embaressing. Squeemish readers should look away now. Basically, a lady comes and sticks a tube up your backside and pumps water into your gut, which is then drained and repeated. I think it's good to have an internal cleansing a couple of times a year, as bits of red meat and sesame seeds can gather in pockets of your stomach and start rotting otherwise. There's no real loss of dignity involved – the therapist has seen a million bums and will see a million more, and I doubt she'll remember yours. Plus your skin glows for weeks after – it's better than a facial.
Reflexology is also a great treatment to experience. Your feet are rubbed, but this is no normal massage. Different areas of your feet are connected to various organs in your body. For example, as a smoker, a certain area of my feet always hurt when they are rubbed. Unsurprisingly, this is the point that relates to the lungs. A few painful rubs by a reflexologist is like giving the lungs a bottle of vitamins and a pat on the back…and an apology for lat night's packed of Marlboro Lights.
I think looking after your body, mind and soul is really important. I'd love to be able to check into spas like this more often but it's out of the question
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( 2.9 / 205 )What a weekend. My Mum got married to her partner Ken yesterday in a beautiful ceremony held in the gardens of a restored ancient barn in the Kent countryside. The venue was idilic, surrounded by gardens bursting with tulips, a pond full of ducks and koi carp, and bleeting lambs.
I gave my mum away and also made a speech at the post-vows dinner. My Nan was on fine form cracking jokes all afternoon and swigging from a mini bottle of brandy (I hasten to add she only drinks on special occasions) and my Mum looked gorgeous. My sister and I bought the newlyweds a ride in a hot air balloon which they're going on in the summer. I like to treat my family very well - they raised me into the person I am today (OK....without the crazy make-up...I brought that on myself). I take them to dinner and shows in London when I can. I have a very small family with no direct aunties, uncles and cousins so my Mum, Nan, sister and Ken get treated like royalty, and rightly so.
After the ceremony there was a delectable spread laid on and I ate like a pig, but managed to restrict my intake of alcohol. I caught up with my Mum's friends, most of whom I haven't seen since I was a wee nipper. I shook a nice lady's hand to say goodbye and she looked like she was about to cry. I later found out she had broken four fingers a few weeks before. Soz!! Typical me, eh?!
Anyhoo. It's a busy week for me this week. I'm moving into my new crib this week and I'm super excited. I'm staying in Camden, where I've lived for the past few years. The new place is fantastic. I'll keep you posted with pictures on the blog when I've decorated. Cue 'Jodie Harsh at Home' features in the glossies.
Until next time, I bid you farewell. XX
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( 3 / 202 )After going on Safari in Africa, I realised there was more to beauty than a pair of Jimmy Choo’s or a Vuitton bag. With such open, peaceful spaces and no lights to turn the sky orange at night, the most beautiful experience was seeing wild animals without control or restriction.
Though today I read that a BBC documentary, with ballsy Louis Theroux, is looking at how the hunt for big game animals has spread from the open planes to fenced-in reserves. Whilst I have no real issue with wearing fur, although there is such a media circus around the topic thanks to foreign groups like PETA, the killing of endangered species such as rhino or tiger outrages me. Common furs and stoles such as rabbit, fox and stoats and similar furry mini-animals are either killed for a secondary need (like food – rabbit is delicious) or are road kill. Yup, some guy scoops up them with a spade from a highway in Texas! Though antique endangered animals were stuffed and hung before ‘endangered’ became a hot topic and conservation was all about male grooming.
Theroux, in an article for BBC News, says that people come to hunt and kill anything from a porcupine (£125), warthog (£150) up to £4,000 for a hippo, £7,500 for a buffalo, £17,000 for a male lion and worst of all, the rhino for £30,000 – 50,000.
Like walking through Tesco’s picking up the weekly shop, tourist on tour-packages choose their shots according to how much they can afford. Whilst firing a twelve-bore at a gazelle is instantly fatal, larger, more prized animals such as lionesses take longer to die, and ‘bleed out’ which can take up to a minute.
Though one of the most touching and heartbreaking aspects of his horrific trade is not that animals are killed in vein to keep the species alive, but the bond that develops between animal and its keeper, letting the beautiful creature know its time will come in a most inhumane way possible.
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( 3 / 181 )Like in a dream, where you know it is happening but you don't really seem there, Scottee performed a surreal yet hilarious live act called LOST around the Covent Garden members club The Hospital. Taking just over an hour, the 'tour' took us around the kitchens, where a lone violinist greeted us and a cooking programme commentated by the new found chef. Friends and fellow performers assisted him during his repertoire around the staircases with a depressed opera singer, a crying Theo (another amazing performer) and a ten minutes drinks party where milk and cupcakes were served. I know I went teetotal for a while, but milk was never a drink I would have expected! We had a little therapy session mid way though the tour in a darkened room, our eyes closed and legs crossed on the floor. Alas, I had to leave at this point as I had a DJ gig to attend, although I heard cake throwing ensued before every audience member was literally locked out by the bins at the back door – well and truly LOST. It sounds like I had a lucky escape. Each 'act' was loosely bound by the notion of 'society'.
I have known Scottee for a few years now, and we have worked together on projects such as Foreign! in East London, as well as our new venture Issue, and many, many things in between. He is comical to say the least but knows where he is going, and his mind, as everyone saw at The Hospital, is filled with such bizarre yet genius ideas. Who would have thought of such situations, let alone have the balls to perform them? Only Scottee.He has described us as 'the Andy Warhol and Grace Jones of our generation' and it is clear he really is the nu-Warhol. Scottee loves to capture people's imaginations, and failing that, their attention. Peaches Geldof once screamed, in horror, 'what is it?!' It's what you make of him – he does his thing, like many great artists, and then those who view him interpret what they see. Love it, hate him, or visa versa, Scottee is one of the best talents in London – and one of my best friends.
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