#109 Cold Comfort

It's day 3 of my Hydro Healing Classic Detox and yep, I've got a cold. No surprise really, given that Mr M has been an infection-incubus of late, and has been battling the snots for almost 3 weeks. Sympathy has worn off entirely - given that I've now caught his sore throat & bit of a cough (though nothing as severe as his 8-on-the-Richter scale shake)- and turned into frustration... because he's still smoking despite the infection... which is something I really cannot get my head around. Anyway, enough matrimony-acrimony.

When I'm ill I go into BATTLE mode. Out come the organic salads, shakes, juices, vitamins and 12-hour stretches of sleep - and I've yet to be out of commission for longer than 3 days with a single infection.

And given that day one of my sniffles coincided with day one of my detox, well, I had no choice but to suck it up and hope for the best.

So, there were 4 x 500ml bottles of fruit or vegetable juices each day, and the good news was that they were all mightily filling & tasty. There was no gagging or greenness (not even with the beetroot, carrot & ginger juice - which tasted like really zingy organic ginger beer - nice!), but the tummy did get a bit annoyed at having to drink everything cold and straight out of the fridge within 20 minutes of opening it (and downing 500ml in 20 mins is no mean feat - and puts a lot of pressure on the old bladder). There were also packs of linseed and cleansing clay mix, but because I was already sensitive of stomach, I ignored the clay stuff & did the linseed instead (a teaspoon left to soak in boiled water in a small beaker all day long & downed just before bed - not as gross as it sounds, and tasted rather like weak cod liver oil thanks to all the nourishing oil that seeps out of the seeds throughout the course of the day).

You're also allowed to drink vegetable broth, but because I did not feel well enough to chop, dice, boil or drain, I mixed Marigold Organic Vegetable Bouillon with boiling water instead (which is what they recommend for lazy cows like me) and it was nice to sup on something hot & steamy when feeling under the weather.

Biggest surprises: that I did not feel sick; that my digestive tract went from sluggish to regular in just 48 hours; that I did not feel too hungry (even if it was nigh on impossible to watch a TV chef baking a hot ginger cake without wanting to go on a rampage & hold up my local bakery), although I did feel really tired and a bit tender (but that was probably the cold rather than the detox... who knows?), but on the whole - far easier than one might have you believe. I could not do it for longer than 3 days though for fear of forgetting how to chew & swallow. God forbid.

I've come out of it with a feeling of energy and have been sleeping well... have also dropped about five pounds (but I always do when I have a cold as I never eat as much), and most importantly, feel as though I am well on the mend. As for when I'll schedule my colonic, well, there's something to be said for building one's strength... and I have had to tell my editor, that, cough cough, I'm afraid that may take some time...

N.B. The next post will dispel all of the above...

#19 The Fairer Sex...

I’ve not had much experience with men as Mr Malcontent was pretty much my first love. We met when we were still young in mind and body, fresh of face and hopeful of heart. Many years have passed and things are still pretty darn good. The inevitable things have changed – nowadays I rarely bother with the good underwear, he wears a pair of pyjama bottoms with more holes than fabric – in fact, wardrobe-wise, Mr Malcontent is not too bothered. I don’t mind – he has a good eye, skilfully skirting the line between scruffy and sexy and besides, I’ve never really wanted him to be a Hugo Boss man. I’d rather have a H&M boy any day of the week. In fact, the only fine-tuning that Mr M has proved susceptible to is not of the sartorial variety. The change has, in fact, taken place within his cosmetic closet instead. Sod’s Law dictates that Mr M has impeccable, beautiful skin. Clear and temperate with an outdoorsy smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks – boyish and youthful. He does not look his age. Sod’s Law also dictates that he had never taken an ounce of care with his complexion – when we first met, he was using shampoo as a face and body wash. I think it was Vosene. He was prone to dryness, a bit of eczema and as I entered the beauty arena, my knowledge and access to information filtered down to him. As did my continual product passover. You see, he would never spend more than a couple of quid on himself, but his eyes light up like fireflies when I hand him a bag of new booty. He gets face creams, self-tans, firming gels, eye lotions, lip balms… he has become my official male tester. There have been a few hiccups along the way. He’d been using self-tan as an everyday moisturiser, rubbing it into his eyes and wondering why his hands had turned a bizarre burnt-ochre colour overnight. So now, along with pricey products, I also pass on foolproof instructions first. When something’s good, he’s eager to tell me about it. He really liked Lush Afterlife – a cream that I hadn’t high hopes for. He said it made his dry skin feel comfortable and improved it within days. He also loves Nickel Morning After Rescue Gel. He uses it after a night when he’s struggled to sleep and insists that it makes him look fresher. He’s currently using The Sanctuary Cleansing Facial Wash and Protective 24 Hour Moisture Lotion SPF 15. Sneaky of me to give him an SPF-laden lotion, as he’s loath to apply suncare during the day, but the combination is working well. His skin has been clear and blemish-free for a couple of months now – he used to get the odd spot almost fortnightly. He also favours Caudalie Lip Conditioner (having tried Clarins, Chapstick and Neutrogena) and liked Lancôme’s men’s range too – in particular the face wash. New likes include Kiehl’s Eye Alert, which he’s been patting on in the mornings and the Shu Uemura Depsea Moisture Replenishing Cream – which he went through at an alarming rate. If it weren’t so expensive, I’d have bought him a new pot. At bathtime, believe it or not, he’s cleaned me out of MOP Basil + Mint Shampoo and Conditioner. It’s a great formula for his fine hair and he likes the herby smell (that’s his stifled chef talking), even if I’m not too fond of it. That’s another bonus, not only does he provide me with valuable male insights, but he also Pac Man’s his way through my growing giftbags – clearing space for future finds. And though these insignificant scenarios do not form the core of a stable relationship, it is certainly a flawless foundation for a marriage of cosmetic convenience. A-men.

#14 Arden Admirer?

I SHOULD LIKE IT, BUT...
OK. I might as well get it all out in the open. I don't like Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour Cream. Now, this is neither meant as a provocative outburst, nor as a privately-proud I want to be a black sheep kind of statement. The truth is, I'm flummoxed by its success. Utterly bamboozled. Year after year, there it is: in the Award Halls of Fame and on the tips of the expert tongues, packed in the bags of Beauty Directors and teetering atop the bestseller lists... it's the ultimate, omnipresent product and its popularity never wanes.

I, on the other hand, have a few rational reasons for not being sold on the subject. It has been a poetic eight years since I first tried the eight hour cream. I remember thinking that it was really gloopy - a good thing, because as far as balms are concerned, gloopiness is often in direct proportion to durability, but the problem was, I never went more than an hour without reapplying. It wasn't that it rubbed off, it was more a case of my lips chapping at an alarming rate when they weren't millimetrically wrapped up in the stuff - as though my skin was getting hooked and couldn't get by without regular top ups. The more I used, the more I seemed to need... and yet, my lips always seemed slightly sore and continually cracked. I put it down to a bad winter (it was spring) and dehydration (I was downing two litres a day). I was so determined not to malign the magnificent or to reach a conclusion that bordered on profane (if beauty mythology is anything to go by), that I just kept on using it. Day after day, week after week.

By the end of the affair my lips were a right old mess. I accepted the obvious. It just did not work for me. A make-up artist mate suggested I use the remainder as a gloss on my eyelids instead. 'Do you use it on the models?' I asked. Yes, he did, but conceded that it could sting if it accidentally migrated into the eyes. No surprise there, I thought, given that the product smells like my primary school sick-room - a powerful, medicinal pong.

Then, about a week later and during a sleepy, mid-afternoon smooch, Mr Malcontent pulled - nay, whiplashed - away from me and shot me a look of pure, eye-popping horror. 'What the hell is that on your lips?' he gasped. Not only had it failed to hit the sensorial spot, but apparently, it also tasted like lighter fluid (and 'Withnail, ahem, Mr Malcontent would know', I teased). Laughter aside, I knew he was right. So that was it. The final nail in this particular cosmetic coffin.

#10 Pong Whiffy…

I remember my first PSE lesson at school, which long before the inflatable tampon and condom + banana tricks, involved a lesson in the body and its natural, well, pungency. We were taught that once we had all reached puberty, our bodies would start to produce stronger smelling secretions and if we were not careful, if one did not have a can of Sure about their person at all times, that one of us – any one of us – might well fall victim to the dreaded, toe-curling, whisper-inducing, ‘B.O.’. Having B.O. at my school was the most rapid and assured way to commit social suicide. Two well-developed twelve year olds took it upon themselves to sniff out the offenders every morning – laughing and yelping, rolling on the floor with pinched noses, if they caught a whiff of anyone who had forgotten their daily spray. We all lived in fear, no, terror, that one morning, or, god help us, after a triple sports lesson, our bodies would plot against us and produce a malodorous current, picked up by a particularly well-tuned nose, that would result in immediate and non-negotiable dismissal from the group. It is for this reason, I believe, that I have a mortal fear of my own smell. Mr Malcontent – ever the smoothy – once called it ‘soupy’, ‘but,’ he said, trying desperately hard to redeem himself and his chances of late-night-loving, ‘I really like soup.’

Nowadays, I take no chances. I love the sea-fresh smell of Bionsen Spray and Roll-On – spring breezes can waft my armpits at will – I smell good. The same, however, cannot be said of all. B.O. I have learned, is not just a social stumbling block for pre-teen girls. It is also a common characteristic of the overworked and underwashed professional man.

Too many summers have passed and I can remain charitable no longer. The weather is getting hotter, tubes sweatier and BY GOD, the men in their manmade fibres are stinking up the entire carriage. It’s April 21st and already, there have been five culprits – all ages, all sizes, all suited and booted and half-asleep – wreaking to High Holborn. The problem, I have come to realise, is not necessarily personal hygiene. It is, rather more simply, a matter of laundry. Many men are not washing their work clothes often enough and a large percentage are wearing the same shirt, suit, tie and coat from Monday to Friday. Which means that if you happen to find yourself on a tube in Friday morning rush hour, packed into a burly bloke’s armpit – trying desperately hard to shift your olfactory centre in another, less savoury direction – you are, in fact, privy to a week’s worth of recycled reek. Nice. So, come on guys, get your households in order, stock up on the suds and do a wash once in a while. It'll be worth it. After all, The Lynx Effect is one thing, but in reality, there’s nothing sexier than a freshly laundered, crisp, clean, white cotton shirt. Now that’s my kind of Bom Chika Wah Wah.

#9 No rest for the wicked...

Last night, things went awry in the Malcontent household. Excessive alcohol consumption led to loss of keys, diminished dexterity and a Kowalski-esque holler that woke up half the bloody (and, at that time of night, bloodthirsty) neighbours. Yes, Mr Malcontent locked himself out. Idiot. Being wrenched from golden slumbers at the heart-stalling time of 3.30am did nothing for my mood, my mind or my complexion. This morning, having managed just four hours of semi-decent sleep before my embarrassingly polite alarm clock ‘Tweet Tweeted’ at 8am, I looked a right ol’ mess. Puffy eyes, dark circles, pores, well, poreifying. Now, being a beauty editor, I should technically be armed to the hilt with bottles of beauty miracles that would magic away all unflattering signs of sleeplessness. In truth? Come on, who are we kidding? There isn’t a single product on the market that will turn a corned beef complexion into plump, well-rested, Pampers-baby-bottom type skin overnight, and certainly not within 10 minutes. It just isn’t possible. But, as I had a morning meeting, something had to be done. Something drastic:

1. SK-II Facial Treatment Mask. Bloody hell these things are expensive, but when you’ve had a late night and your eyes are all ringed and bulgy, these sopping, pre-soaked, moisture-boosting masks are good. I want to stress that they don’t work wonders – I didn’t develop an LA glow or radical radiance or skin as soft as Mischa Barton’s earlobes, or any other such nonsense – but they did leave my skin feeling softer, more hydrated and looking far less irritable.

2. Vaishaly Day Moisturiser, Normal/Combination. Simple, easy, sinks in without residual oiliness. With calming essential oils and SPF. One of the best face creams I’ve tried.

3. Lots of Liz Earle Superbalm. On lips, dry patches, under eyebrows.

4. Dermalogica Total Eye Care. Reliable in a Homebase-Hubby, 'takes care of everything' sort of way. Leaves no residue and also has SPF.

5. Some Guerlain Bronzer, Bourjois Eyeliner, Shu Uemura Lash Repair, Clinique Almost Lipstick in Almost Blush and a swipe of old faithful, Giorgio Armani Sheer Cream Blush, No 5.

After all that, you’d expect something great, something head-turning, wink-inducing – a makeover on par with Ally Sheedy's legendary Breakfast Club metamorphosis. The truth is, I didn’t look amazing, or fresher-than-fresh, or particularly radiant. I looked fine and, crucially, as though I'd had a decent night's sleep. A darn sight better than most of the working week’s survivors – especially the woman who almost lost an eye tweezing between Southwark and Bond Street! - and for a Friday morning, that was more than enough for me.

#5 The Top Tan...

My problem with self-tanning is not the colour produced, but the actual sensation of the product on the face. Most sit atop the skin, feeling oily and unnatural - or they are so heavily scented that it's impossible to forget you're wearing them even for a second. Two new launches are good, but still come with problems. Biotherm Self-Tanning Face Gel for fair skin, doesn't feel too bad. The packet says 'ultra-natural looking radiant tan freshness' - word vomit alert - and feels nice and cool on contact, but once dry, it feels sticky. In fact, I can always tell when Mr Malcontent has been at it, because it feels as though his face has been tacky backed. It also has an overwhelming smell - chemical-citrus. The colour it produces is good though. Then there's Lancome's Flash Bronzer Custom Colour Tinted Self-Tanning Lotion. Good because the colour it initially deposits onto the skin is the same colour that develops beneath it. But despite using a fair amount - swiped across the nose, tops of cheeks, below hairline - it gave me nothing more than a faint whisper of a tan. And after cleansing and exfoliating the next day I was back to shade one. It would, however, certainly be a good investment for lily skins afraid of tango tints. It smells rather nice too - delicate, powdery, soft. Neither is the holy veil I was searching for, which is why make-up is the only alternative. Which is no bad thing considering the wealth of brilliant bronzers out there.

I've never been a Guerlain Terracotta fan - sacrilege I know! I was always too scared of the deep, earthy bronze of their powders and feared I'd look like an unfortunate extra from One Million Years B.C. But since the launch of the Light Sheer Bronzing Powders, I've never looked back. The Harmonie Blondes 01 formula, combines gold and pink powders, without any unflattering glitter or obvious shimmer - just fine, sophisticated, light-as-air colour.

Another great option - especially for olive or tanned skins - is Origins Sunny Disposition. It isn't new, but I trialled it for the first time at the weekend and was seriously impressed. A tiny amount of the deep brown fluid blended over brow and cheek bones and the bridge of the nose creates the sort of healthy burnish that you'd normally get from a festival weekend. Like it.

#4 Face Facts...

Heavy feelings often plague the deskbound. There's nothing profound about it - it comes from sitting around all day and eating unnecessarily. Today it was a belated Easter egg - a Dairy Milk one that my partner picked up from the reduced bin in the supermarket. I've been busy all day - it took me two hours after waking to wash my face - chasing emails from New York, waiting for PRs to confirm plans, trying to finish a feature that I've been batting around for hours, like a morose cat with a ball of string. It's not like I've just been sitting on my arse (she says, defensively). I have managed a walk down to Marks & Spencers in between sending manic emails and making phone calls. Sometimes though, this doesn't seem like a real job. I get things sent to me - today, a large crate of Volumising products from Garnier, an amazing batch of the new Shu Uemura Summer colours and the new Vivienne Westwood Boudoir Sin Garden - and I play with them, sniff them and eventually come to write about them - which I will of course do later - but in between, I'm at chronic risk of letting my days slip by without human contact. None at all. I even 'IM' my sister - we save our talks for the weekend. I called my mum and was surprised to find that she has found the energy to visit her local shopping compound and stock up on early summer swag. What I should of been doing today - I'm ashamed to say - is popping into a series of press days. There was the Halpern one - where the fabulous Japanese brand Suqqu was on show - but this morning I realised that my face and body are quite simply, not in 'meeting the world' mode today. Brows need to be plucked, skin masqued and body depilated. I do not feel footloose - not one bit - I have let this lovely life get the better of me and resolve to make it all better tonight. And when I am in need of beautifying, nothing beats this lengthy, indulgent ritual:

1. Make-up removed with Dermalogica Pre-Cleanse
2. Face washed with Dermalogica Special Cleansing Gel
3. If my skin is having a bad day, looks uneven, feels rough to the touch, I use Liz Earle Gentle Face Exfoliator. Partly because of it's subliminal power - the eye-watering eucalyptus convinces me it's really purifying my pores.
3. I then layer on an oil-free moisturising mask. Dermalogica Skin Hydrating Masque is wonderful - but the pack instructions mendacious. A thin layer does nothing at all. Dry skin sucks it up in miliseconds and then you're left with nothing but residual tightness. No, I drench my skin in the stuff, glooping layer upon layer, around the eyes too - and leave it on for 10 minutes. Normally while showering.
4. If bathing, Elemis Skin Nourishing Milk Bath is good stuff. I was cynical at first - well, I'm allergic to milk - but this left my skin slippery-smooth. It also soothed the odd eczema patch - which is odd, as consuming milk does quite the opposite.
5. Then, if I'm planning a sexy night and want to pounce on Mr Malcontent later on, I heat up the Elemis Exotic Frangipani Monoi Moisture Melt and drizzle it all over my body. The super-sweet scent isn't quite me, more my exotic other self - my Bertha, my erotic woman in the attic. If Bertha is feeling shy or sleepy, I use Dr Hauschka Lemon Body Oil. It has a real sherbertiness and is wonderful in the summer.
6. Most nights, it's my Brown Earth Shea Butter - which really is dividing people at the moment. I love the moist, ever-so-slight tackiness it leaves behind - but my sister, mother and best friend are having none of it. It seems that, for most people, the mark of a good body moisturiser is it's ability to sink in and leave no tactile trace behind. I disagree. For me, there's nothing nicer than a clammily soft limb - it reminds me of my grandmother, who at 72 also happens to have the softest skin I've ever felt. She's used nothing but Nivea for 5o years...
7. Once out of the bath or shower, the masque is rinsed off. Skin spritzed with Dermalogica Multi-Active Toner or Liz Earle Instant Boost Skin Tonic, followed with whatever night potion I feel my skin is in need of. Good ones? Vaishaly Night Nourisher (if skin's feeling normal); Decleor Aromessence Essential Balm (if congested); Liz Earle Skin Repair Moisturiser (if feeling delicate). At the moment I'm also trying to use Estee Lauder's best-selling Advanced Night Repair Concentrate - I really can't say much about it as yet as I'm too fickle to follow a regular routine. I'll give it a fortnight and let you know if I've seen any marked improvements.