Reading is Sexy

Following a comment posted to my Carluccio’s article, Esmé and I took it upon ourselves to visit Ottolenghi to see and experience what it has to offer.

I’ll admit, the window display is impressive and hugely tempting. If most of us picked restaurants based solely on what we saw, I doubt very much that we’d make it past Ottolenghi.

Intentional or not, the first impression I got was that this was a quick dash for a coffee and cake kinda joint; not really the relax and linger over a drink sort of place. Having said this, I did spy a couple of groups of people who did just that- linger over their coffees. Down the middle is a long banquet table with chairs placed around it, quite close together. It is an intimate setting and might, I suppose, encourage different groups of strangers to get talking, which makes it all the more interesting. In fact, the setting is so intimate that I unintentionally eavesdropped on 3 elderly posh women, all writers, whilst they tried to out-brag each other in the writing stakes. It was entertaining to say the least and time flew by while I waited for my friend.

The layout is not the most  conducive to baby entertaining. Esmé, as per usual, was on her sling but there was nowhere to lie her down once I’d been shown to my seat. It is definitely much simpler if the baby is in a pram/buggy as these can be parked near your table while you enjoy your drinks and nibbles. They don’t have baby changing facilities which is, needless to say, an inconvenience. When I attempted to change Esmé’s nappy in the wash room on a make shift changing table (just a chair pulled in from the dining area), the guests at Ottolenghi were treated to a backing track of a wailing baby. And, of course they wouldn’t let me take any photos of the yummy stuff- so no photos here.

To sum up, I would visit again but either without my baby or when she is old enough to sit on her own chair and doesn’t need her nappy changing.

If Willy Wonka baked cakes, instead of making chocolate, Carluccio’s would be where he would sell them.

I often pass by the window of their Upper street branch, and it is always stocked with a dazzling array of sweet baked goods (ironically it’s almost opposite my dentists).

Peering in their window is like getting a peek at your own personal heaven. In my case, heaven is soft, creamy, pastel coloured with a beautifully decorated christmas tree, books from floor to ceiling and a big jar of Carluccio’s  finest cappuccino truffles!

Walking through the door you feel like Charlie, with a golden ticket.

Now Carluccio’s is not all just cakes and sweets.. they do food too, but this you can read about in other reviews. Esmé and I can often be found there relaxing, enjoying the ambience. The staff are friendly and accommodating. The restaurant is clean, light, airy and there is enough space between tables to fit most buggies and prams. Alternatively, if like me, you’re slinging it, there are plenty of sofas for your baby to rest on whilst you gorge yourself.

For me Carluccio’s is a no brainer; wherever I’m going, whatever I’m doing if I’m going to stop anywhere it’s going to be there. In fact if my husband and I are visiting a nearby restaurant, and find the dessert menu less than inspiring, we have been known to up-sticks and head to Carluccio’s for our final course.

So, give it a go; get there, drink tea; have your cake eat it too…

Having a baby is, undoubtedly, the biggest and the most life changing experience one will ever have. From the moment your baby is born, you are no longer ever on your own- there is always this little person who needs you to love them, to care for them, to feed them, to lose your sleep over them. There is never a moment’s peace; your definition of deep sleep changes from being asleep oblivious to everything, to oblivious to everything but your baby. Their smallest sound will wake you up and have you by your baby’s cot, checking for breath and movement. No other experience comes as close to being completely and utterly inexplicably worthwhile than having a baby.

There’s a reason why pregnant women, and new mothers spend a lot of time talking about babies and all things baby related- because it is a massive, humungous, big deal! Giving birth to another human being, creating another human being- this is what they call the miracle of life! I’m guilty of being one of those people who talked about never wanting to have kids. When I look at my baby girl now, I can’t begin to imagine how devastating and how hopeless life would be without her. If my parents had decided that they didn’t want to have kids, I wouldn’t exist..what an awful thought!

Your life will change. Your priorities will change; they must. The one thing I kept getting told when I was pregnant, was that life, as I knew it, was over; and that’s far from the truth. It’s not all fun and lovely, but you take the bad with the good and that’s just the way of it. I found that during my pregnancy, parents and non-parents kept teasing me with threats of no sleep, puke, nappy changes and anything else that they thought would be off-putting. But I know, if asked, none of these parents would wish away their kids or choose to have their pre-baby days back.

When I was pregnant my second biggest worry(after the pain of childbirth) was that I was going to lose a lot of my friends, once my baby arrived. If anything, I see my friends a lot more now than I did before. My little one is doted on by my nearest and dearest. I simply sling her on, and off we go for lunch dates.

Having a baby is, in this day and age, easy- not the pregnancy and definitely not the actual birth- but once the baby is here. There are so many events organised for mums with babies in mind, that really, there’s no excuse. There are health visitors, baby clinics, children’s centres, oh-so-many websites; there are cinemas that specially screen films for mums with little ones; infant and toddler first-aid courses, mummy & baby yoga classes, parent & baby swimming sessions, baby-friendly restaurants- basically, anything you want or need, it’s all out there.

One of the websites which got me started is www.bloomsburybabies.com- with free updates emailed to you every so often, you can take your pick of events and get togethers to visit whenever you and your baby feel like it.

So, don’t think about all the old things that you wont be able to do with your baby. Think about all the new things that you will!

By Muthamma Tandy

They say, if I have a dark line between my navel and my pubic bone, I’m going to have a girl; if the line is dark as well as hairy, I’m going to have a boy; if my nipples get really dark, it’s going to be a boy; If I burp a lot, my baby is going to be hairy. My hair shines and my skin glows, or so I’m told- the jury is still out on whether this means that I’m going to have a girl or boy.

None of this matters. I just can’t wait to meet you. Whoever you are. Whatever you are.

I wish I had started this sooner. This keeping-notes-of-how-it-feels; how I feel. But I’m so good at putting things off and waiting. Waiting for what? I don’t know.

I’m 27.5 weeks. You’re supposed to be the size of a cauliflower. You have also opened and closed your eyes for the first time. If your daddy and I were to shine a bright light on my bump, I could feel you move away from the glare. I wanted to try this. But your daddy vetoed the idea. I don’t mind, really. I have the rest of my life to tease you and play with you.

 I wrote most of this in my little notepad when I was 25 weeks and you were the size of an eggplant. I love eggplant. I love it better when I call it Aubergine. In India we call it Brinjal.

I spent the first 3 months carrying you, loving you and hoping that you’d be a girl. I had my first scan at the end of 3 months to see you and check that all was tickety boo in your home. The sonographer put this cold gel on my belly and touched a joystick type of thing on the gel and suddenly, on the little screen, there you were. All 64mm of you. We were so happy to see you that we started laughing. I felt a little guilty about laughing. I’ve heard that most, if not all, women cry when they first see their babies in a scan. But I couldn’t help myself. I did think about forcing a few tears but I couldn’t manage any. You were sleeping on your belly and you looked like you were on your knees praying. I’m sorry but we had to wake you up to see you from all sides. And oh boy did you wake up. You started kicking your legs and arms around. At one point, you arched your back, stretched your arms and legs and yawned. I did cry, after all.

A Taiwanese girl I went to University with told me once that the Taiwanese believe that the chopping of hair is a way to rid yourself of negative feeling. That when somebody has their hair cut, they lose any stress or unhappiness they may have been experiencing- real or imagined.

I’ve never wanted or needed to have this confirmed by anybody else or by Google. And I certainly don’t need anybody to shoot this down as a lie. I have held onto this belief, washed it, treated it and nurtured it until it has become so real to me that as soon as I decide that I need cheering up, the first thing I do is book an appointment with my stylist; for as soon as possible.

From the moment I book my appointment my hair sighs and my heart sings. My head feels lighter and even the bad hair days, leading up to my appointment, do nothing to take away the excitement of my impending visit to the Salon.  The whole experience is so blissful and therapeutic.

The Receptionist with the perfect coiffure, immaculate make up and photo ready smile, takes your coat, offers you tea/coffee/water/juice, takes you to your seat and rattles off a list of available reading material to keep you entertained during your cut. The friendly stylist opens with, “and what shall we do with your hair today?” making you feel like you won’t be the only one that will wear your haircut! And then you get whisked away to the massage lounger, where you lie back and rest your head, the perfectly shaped sink supporting your neck while your hair is washed with the heaven scented shampoo and conditioner. The pressure and temperature of the water is perfect, heavenly. I love the way the assistant always manages to avoid splashing any water on your face. As I’m being lead to the lounger for the hair wash I get the feeling that I get when  I walk out of the office on a Friday evening- the relief that the weekend has just begun and that for two days I don’t need to set my alarm. As I’m being walked to my favourite part of the ritual, I feel such glee that it has only just begun!

Then, of course, the walk back to my seat and we get down to the business. I love this part every bit as much as the hair wash- watching the stylist with the holster carrying all kinds of tools as she prods and snips away hair with such swiftness and accuracy. The chit-chat during the whole session- about family, holidays and work is nice. But, if it were left to me we wouldn’t talk at all. Not because I’m shy or introverted. But because I would much rather just watch my locks get shorter and healthier. My enjoyment needs no soundtrack.

 I do however, tend to sneak peeks at the other stylists and their clients in mirror. I compare the stylists’ hairstyles – and of course, it’s my stylist that inevitably wins, as she is the only one that doesn’t look like she has gone out of her way to look ‘unique’!     

The blow dry follows and right about now, I’m trying not to get the feeling of Monday-morning dread as the end approaches and there will be no more of this for another 8 weeks. It’s beautiful how your hair falls and does exactly as it is told in the hands of a stylist only to misbehave in the privacy of your dressing table!

But that’s the point. Isn’t it? That’s why we pay more than we should to go to salons- so that these professionals can work their magic and cast spells with their hair potions and straightening wands and do for your hair that you’re not able to.

Having gone to this length to explain one of my favourite things, you would be far from the mark to think that I’ve always enjoyed the whole hair cutting experience. I haven’t. Not always.

My earliest memory is of sitting on a low-level stool in my Granny’s back garden watching the hair fall as my mother cut off, seemingly, random clumps of a poor little girl’s hair. The horror I felt upon realising that the little girl was me. Nope, this is not the worst. In a way, this is my most endearing memory. There was also the time, my regular stylist was on holiday, and in a fit of desperation, I booked a substitute. It picked up wonderfully as soon as I got him to wash his cigarette-smelling hands!

Nope, my worst experience is also my latest appointment at a widely known salon chain- let’s call it Anthony & Mann. These salons are everywhere. They’re like the Starbucks of hair. Anyway, in a moment of haste and unthinking desperation I booked an appointment for the very next day (my normal stylist couldn’t fit me in for at least a week. I couldn’t bear to wait and hence I made that fateful call).

Arriving 7 minutes early, I was relieved of my coat, was shown to my seat, given a few magazines to flick through. I watched stylists and their customers in my mirror, happened to glance at the clock on the wall behind me and it was 10 minutes past my appointed time. I surreptitiously watched the Receptionist in my mirror as she pointed, with her chin, in my direction to a young girl. I guessed that she was to be my stylist. I was right. It was now 12 minutes past my appointed time. She ambled over and introduced herself- she looked more scared than interested. First shocker- she asked me to undo my hair band and release my hair from its bun. Now, most of us have been for enough hair cuts that we know that from the word go it’s the stylist who releases the catch and unleashes your hair. Second shocker- she asked me to run my fingers through my hair to undo knots and pull it down a bit. I was half expecting her to hand me a pair of scissors and tell me to get on with it. But, no. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. The hair-wash, when I finally did have it, was far from relaxing- I was annoyed, to say the least, that it started so badly. Anyway, I was determined to see it through. Silly, I know. But I’m known for being pig-headed at times. I made my way back to my seat, where I was a little relieved to find that she did intend to comb my hair and cut it herself. And cut, she did.  Not confidently, or quickly, or even accurately; for that matter. When it seemed like she was going to put away the scissors and grab the blow drier, I pointed out that she had only cut on the back and on the right side of my head and had missed my left side. She was positive that she had definitely ‘cut something’ on my left as well. Nonetheless, I reiterated by saying that maybe it hadn’t been enough. Third shocker- she explained that she would rather cut my left side after blow drying it!! WHO DOES THAT??! Everybody knows that you don’t cut hair after blow drying it. Finishing touches – yes, of course. Full-on cut – No, NEVER!  But that is exactly what she proceeded to do. For, perhaps, the 6^th or 7^th time in my life I was speechless. I paid and I got out of there.

In hindsight, I see that she was in rush to finish me off to attend to her next customer who had already been seated in the chair, with reading material and a drink. I also see that she was very young, not in age but in experience (maybe in age too) to handle a seasoned hair cuttee like me. It almost seemed like she was trying to overcome her phobia of hair by throwing herself in at the deep end!

 8 weeks have passed, and I’ve forgiven her. I wouldn’t ever go back there or to any of their other branches, but it’s ok. These things happen, right? I’ve managed to book an appointment with my regular stylist for this coming Monday and I’m excited. So is my hair!