Notting Hill

My visit to Notting Hill is best described by the lovely little novel 'Portobello Road' by Julian Mash.

"They spill out of Notting Hill Gate Tube from early on Saturday morning."

"Emerging blinking into the daylight..."

"...whatever corner of the globe they may have come from, one common goal unites them."

"They are here to find the blue door, and the bookshop from Richard Curtis's 1999 film Notting Hill.

If successful, find themselves outside 13-15 Blenheim Crescent where..."

...one dim witted Australian girl asks the age old question: Do you think Huge Grant is in there somewhere?

Unfortunately he was no where to be seen, I thought perhaps he might be at another bookstore, in the classic literature section reading Pride and Prejudice with Mr Darcy.

Your mind can't help but run wild in Notting Hill. It's something about the stunning architecture, the cobblestone streets and the high end boutiques mixed with pricey tourist eateries.

As the wind picked up and swept through the Portobello Markets we all took it as the perfect reason to escape from the cold to the pub where I stayed all afternoon.

How very English of me.

Portobello Road by Julian Mash is available at all good bookstores.
The Notting Hill Bookshop was only inspiration for the 1992 film and not exactly as seen in the movie.
The whereabouts of Huge Grant still remains unknown, if you spot him let me know immediately.

The Soho Breakfast Club, London!

I could have kissed the ground the moment I arrived at Heathrow after 25 hours in transit. Instead I put all the trauma (accidentally walking into the mens toilets in Dubai) and turbulence behind me and hailed a black cab. 

"Soho, Please." I said rustling around in my bag for my mobile phone which lay dormant in a crevice between some nasal spray and a half eaten pack of gum. 

Connecting to international roaming after a day of being offline was pure bliss. Determined not to get distracted by social media, I quickly scrolled through my inbox of unread messages. I felt a small wave of relief when I saw two messages from Hannah, one of my university friends that I would be staying with in London. The truth is that going to Europe for the entirety of my annual leave was a highly impromptu act, yet after all the mayhem with the Dirthouse I felt relived to flee Sydney even just for a little bit. Let's go to Paris for 3 weeks? Why the hell not!

Hannah's first message followed by the second:

Welcome to London lady! Meet me at the Breakfast Club - 33 D’Arblay Street x

Ha! Not a...

There's good coffee and bacon...

That's it i'm in.  

After dropping my bags off at the apartment and changing into something comfortable yet commendable I headed in the direction of D'Arblay Street.

Despite being the centre of London, Soho on a Sunday morning was quiet, lazy and not at all what I remembered from my last trip. I suppose last time I was in the UK I hadn't strayed far off the tourist track which explained the heaving crowds. 

I strolled down several streets, clutching google maps firmly in my hand. Everything appeared closed or abandoned, that was until I spotted the line and the bright yellow sign.

You don't have to be a Londoner to know that the place with the mammoth line is the place you want to go for a great bite to eat. Although a lot of the locals seemed happy biding their time in the queue, I was smart enough to know that the cool Autumn temps were not kind to hungry travellers. 

Lucky for me Hannah had already scored us a table. It was only a matter of moments before she dragged me inside and after plenty of hugging and gushing, handed me a large cup of coffee.

and it's wasn't even bad...

I'm sorry to the lovely Brits who read HOB but I must admit I've heard nasty rumours about your British brand of sustenance.

The good news is that The Breakfast Club, Soho proved myself and all those Aussie naysayers wrong!
In fact, the coffee here is simply heavenly...

With my Surry Hills Breakfast Club reviews I always aim to include variety in the meals we choose, so that you my hungry darling can have a little taste of everything on the menu. Han had already set her sights on the big All American and for home-style fried potatoes, fluffy poached eggs, crispy sausage, buttery pancakes and streaky bacon with maple syrup I had to break the rules and get it too!

Nom, nom, nom...

So it may have not been a traditional English meal but this crispy bacon was exactly what I needed after a day of horrific plane food.

The interior ain't as flash as you may expect but with a mish mash of 80's memorabilia, catchy pop tunes playing on the stereo and friendly waitstaff who despite the hungry hordes outside don't mind stopping and chatting to you about their really cool Australian sister in law, The Breakfast Club makes you feel like you're right at home. The perfect cure for jet lag and hangovers alike (come on what else was I meant to do alone on a long haul flight?)

HOB tip: the wifi password is 'shebangs' 

Like the Ricky Martin song...

You've got it!

Oh London, I think you and I are going to get a long just fine.

x

I'm Not Dead, Yet!

It’s 9 pm on a Tuesday night and I’m sitting alone in my swanky office amidst a sea of lingerie. Corsets, suspenders, knickers, waspies, chemises and dribs and drabs of other pretty, naughty things. It’s not the stunning city skyline keeping me back late, It’s the fact that I have nowhere else to go tonight. 

I’m a homeless bitch in fancy lingerie. 

I wish I was just being dramatic but in true Heaven on Bourke style my life has taken another unexpected turn, in the absolute wrong direction. 

It was 5:30 pm when we found out that someone had tried to pry open the door to the Dirthouse. Did a really fucking good job at getting in, he did. Smashed the whole exterior of the lock and demolished the key hole. 

Four current Queens stood on the street of Surry Hills in front of the DH as the sun sank beneath a blanket of darkness.

“If he actually got in, I’m going to die.” I said thinking of my laptop full of private 20-something year old girls business. 

“I should have gone to yoga.” said Sammie, one of the delightful British expats who moved in to cover Ms L's rent.

“This locksmith is fucking hopeless” Ms P said pacing back and forth on the footpath. 

“If I can’t get in, whoever did this definitely didn’t get in either” the pudgy bald man said flashing his torch in our faces. 

I felt a mammoth wave relief followed by dread in the pit of my stomach. Who would do this and why? Surely a terrace that looks like a crack den isn’t the most desirable target for theft, I mean while it’s all Laura Ashley inside, from the outside it looks nothing short of a homeless shelter. An hour later we were finally in and dread was soon overcome by exhaustion. I collapsed onto my bed and fell into a shallow sleep. 

*

“I though the scream was in my dream.” Ms P shuddered at the end of my bed, two trembling figures came to the entrance of my door. 

“Whats wrong?” I asked trying to comprehend was was happening. It must have been about 2 am.

“A man just smashed through Sam's window and threatened to kill her, he’s looking for a girl who lives here.” Ms P said fearfully. A chill ran up my spine. 

“Did he get inside?” I asked Sammie who had now walked from the door to my bed. 

“I don’t know.” she said. 

I froze and didn’t dare to ask any more. After multiple calls the police arrived 45 minutes later. 

Lesson #1 of being a 20-something in the big city, if there is ever an incident no matter how small you must report it.

Why? It means that if something else happens the police will make you their first priority. 

“Why didn’t you make a report when you first discovered the attempted break and enter?” the police woman asked us like we were four naughty children.

“Because our landlord told us not to worry about it.”

Lesson #2 of being a 20-something in the big city, when in doubt don’t listen to your landlord, listen to your gut.  

Sammie began to recount the series of sinister affairs to the police, I sat in shock. Apparently he was looking for someone by the name of Madonna. Although it was absurd, he was convinced that someone by that name was in here, so much so that he smashed her front window trying to get in. The worst bit was that he threatened to come back until he found her.

I wanted to be sick. No doubt it was the same psycho who had tried to break into the Dirthouse earlier.

“It sounds like mistaken identity,” the woman said finally.

No shit Sherlock, there’s only one Madonna I know of and she definitely doesn’t reside in the Dirthouse. 

"Chances are whoever it was, they won’t be back.” The other policeman concluded closing his little policeman book.

We all looked at each other. I sure as hell wasn't sticking around to find out.

                                                                                                

*

And so here I am a week out from my big European holiday, working more than ever and actually contemplating sleeping on a bed of lingerie instead of going back to the place where I have lived for the last 3 years. 

Is this the end of The Dirthouse?

A message flashes up on my screen. 

I’m here

Before you merde your pants the message isn't from the Madge obsessed psycho killer. It's from Mr P.S

Where? I reply. I didn't asked him to come.

Out the front of your office … the three dots danced on my screen as he typed ...

I’ve got booze, I've got Misschu's dumplings and ...

I’ve got you baby.

Thank god for my knight in shining Armani. 

Universe are you sending me a sign? 

If I Was A Rich Girl

Is it just me or does everyone have a Celine handbag, a Merc and V.I.P passes to #MBFFS these days?

I’m starting to feel like the only kid in the playground wearing Payless Shoes instead of Converse.

It’s easy to feel this way when you follow fashion bloggers like Chloe James. From what I gather from her Insta account, @_lovechloej Chloe is 23 and already has coveted an incredible apartment decked in Hermes home wares and more Cartier than I have first dates. That’s a lot of Cartier! 

Chloe James is that other glass for me? Photo via @_lovechloej

So jelly. Photo via @_lovechloej

I don’t know her story and how she can afford all of that incredible shit, but I do know that I’m becoming exceedingly jealous as I sit in my dilapidated house which I share with 50 other humans.

I’m not complaining, I do have a fabulous life and exceptional luck (one day I’m cooking baked beans in the dark because of a power outage in my shit shack and the next I’m travelling in a private helicopter around The Hunter Valley) but as a 20 something living independantly I certainly don’t have the mulla to co-ordinate my manicure with my Chanel handbag for a Friday flat lay. 

#helpmeimpoor

I’ve had my fair share of designer cosmetics but as some of you may know The Queens gave me my very first real designer accessory over a year ago now. My beloved Fendi necklace. Then came a Yves Saint Laurent handbag, but it wasn't as easy as that. It was a big MASSIVE commitment, I’m talking bigger than any romantic relationship I’ve ever had (what does that say about me?) and I still look at her (the bag) like perhaps she’s imaginary, similar to many of the romantic relationships I’ve had also. Read about it here: The Happiest Idiot on Bourke Street.

And then came the Cartier ring.

At Christmas I asked Santa (my dad), for a little bit of cash to go towards a new piece of jewellery (he’s not a wealthy billionaire but a super cool surfer dad). He’s such a legend that he agreed to go halves with my mum to a certain dollar point and then depending on what I wanted I’d have to pay the rest. Basically I scavenged around for enough donations to get Cartier’s signature Love ring. Was it worth it? Hella yes!

I haven’t posted a picture yet because I haven’t found the correct lighting/ props/ filter to do it justice and let’s be honest, once you’ve posted it that’s it. What about the iconic red box from a different angle? Pho-wah no chance matey. One shot per item is the unspoken rule of Instagram, didn't you know?

Oh and last week I went to Tiffany and Co for my boss.

So there you have it my repitor of designer goods. A fend necklace, A YSL hangbag, a Cartier ring and a single trip to Tiffany’s on behalf of my employer.

Chloe James beats me perfectly manicured hands down but how important are material things anyway?

I'll let that wisdom marinate in your mind for a little bit while I devise a way to add a pair of Louboutins to my Wittner shoe collection.

Where did you think I got the inspiration from? Photo via @_lovechloej

I think it's time to get a better paying job. 

P.S the Merc isn't mine, it's a friends. He asked me to go put more money in the meter. 

Fake it till you make it baby.  

My European Weight Loss Diary: Week 1 - Real Girl Food Prep

When we buy the kale at the supermarket and choose the free range chicken over the regular chook (even though it's a hell of a lot more expensive), we have every intention of sticking to a healthy diet. 'This is the first day of the rest of my life' and 'today is the day I stop making excuses and just do it' are the spiels that swirl around in my head come Monday morning after a big weekend. Paleo is the only 'diet' I've ever been able to stick to from Monday right through to Sunday (considerably), probably because it doesn't rely purely on organic kale or budget busting ingredients. The thing about healthy eating is that it can be delicious, it can be satisfying but it isn't always accessible. Lets face it, we can’t all work opposite the Grounds of Alexandria. Although I work and live in the stylish Surry Hills, the cafes in proximity to my office are The Little Italian (hello carbs) Chur Burger (goodbye abs) and El Loco (let’s have a crazy booze infused party and forget the healthy eating regime).

I hate to say it but the key to successfully losing weight and shedding those Winter kgs is preparation.

Meal plans are a great start but they are no use to you if you can’t get what you want when you need it most!

I used to make the mistake of writing out my dream meal plan: Monday I’ll have grilled salmon for lunch one a bed of asparagus, Tuesday I’ll have a vegetable egg white omelette for breakfast with a side of free range bacon. Sure it looked pretty damn healthy/delicious on paper but come Monday when I realised I was not Kim Kardasian with two in house chefs there was no chance in hell I could fulfil it.

When you are creating a meal plan:

• Do it the Saturday before so you know exactly what you need to get when you go shopping on Sunday.

• Take into account your work schedule for the week. Some nights I will have functions or events and therefore won’t be able to make my lunch for the next day. 

• Be aware of what’s available around you. Whether you work in a office building or a shopping center, you need to familiarise yourself with the healthy options available in your proximity

• Rest days and cheat meals are necessary. Be realistic, if you are anything like me going from an extravagant diet then having poached chicken and lettuce every day is not a sustainable option. Also if you’ve got a full time job and a high workload exercising every day may not be possible, but the good thing is it isn’t necessary for weight loss. 

Here is my meal plan for the first week of my European diet.

It is loosely based on the Paleo diet, which helped me to lose 6 kg last year! Read more about Paleo Prestige here. 

Disclaimer: I know they say that you shouldn’t call something a diet, it’s a lifestyle. But as you can see there is no chicken salted chips here or chocolate mousse and so therefore it is, in fact a diet.

Predicted Meal Plan

Actual Meals

LW = Lemon water to kick start the metabolism
LB = Long black coffee
Coffee = Half water, half milk
W2W = Walk to work (20 minutes each way)

Side Note: The fish & Salad take away I got from a restaurant next to El Loco called Fish Place, it’s amazing Sydneysiders! Speaking of takeaway...

Don’t take away the take away.

You’ll notice that on Thursday & Friday I went on a little take away bender. The fast food industry has expanded beyond Thai and Italian, for the most part. Healthy places that deliver aren’t always easy to find but boy are they worth it.

Sydneysiders:
Real Food Connection is what I had on Thursday and Friday for lunch. There is a $50 minimum delivery but if you get someone else in your office to get on the bandwagon with you, you’re all set. The site provides you with a list of all the ingredients in every meal is paleo friendly and delivered straight to your door.

Menulog and takeaway websites: We all know them for all the wrong reasons, late night pizza sessions and deep fried chicken. Well there are actually a couple of paleo options for those nights when you just can’t be f*ed cooking.

For Surry Hills, Redfern, Waterloo & Zetland:

Angelino Pizzeria has MASSIVE salads, they’re huge and coming from me that says a lot. Grilled chicken or lamb are the best, you can get dressing on the side and you’re set. Oriental Healthy does healthy Thai with quinoa instead of rice.

However most Thai restaurants do meat & vegetable take away which is also perfectly paleo!

The verdict:

My first week wasn't all sweet potato and green beans. In fact it had it’s hiccups (I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice the bottle of wine, pizza and Maltesers) but another variable you need to take into consideration is that no matter how much you prepare, you can’t always predict what is going to happen in your life. 

Friday night I was unexpectedly called over to a girlfriends house. Breakups unfortunately can’t be solved with healthy stir fry. We drank wine and ordered pizza at 3 am. As you know it’s girl code.

The main thing is that I got up the next day and did that god damn Coggee to Bondi run!

So a quick recap: First week, first rule.

Preparation is the key to success and if you find yourself caught out with an empty fridge or simply don't have time to prep there are other options! #don'ttakeawaythetakeaway just make sure you opt for something healthy!

Now it's time for me to up the ante with my plan for week 2.

Only 25 days to go. 

Sexy European body come at me!

Oh Batchie: The Reality of Reality TV

After dating a guy who was on a Aussie reality tv show, (come on it’s my claim to fame now let me have it) I sort of understand the perils of reality television, in particular those that are heavily influenced by producers.

Two of the girls that were on his season of My Kitchen Rules got picked purely based on the performance they gave in their audition, which didn’t have anything to do with their cooking skills, but how well their melt down looked when they set fire to an oven. 

It’s no secret that producers put a lot of pressure on the contestants to act like a raging lunatics and unfortunately if you act normal you don’t get air time.  

* And cue the irrational behaviour *

But we love it and so the cycle continues. 

That is of course unless you’re the TV show The Bachelor. I hate to say it but this season, I can almost see Stephen Tate, the executive producer feeding the poor Bachelor shit…its all shit.

It was when the girls asked Bachie what his favourite movie was and he replied 'The Notebook' that I switched off the TV. Sorry Stephen, I’m out.

The best thing about The Bachelor Australia is the way Mamamia writer, Rosie Waterland recounts it. Priceless.

She touches on everything from Osher (the presenter's) hair to his Tinder account. So spot on that I still remember the time I swiped left.

Read it here:

http://www.mamamia.com.au/rogue/the-bachelor-australia-episode-one-rosie-waterland/

Paige x

The Countdown Begins...

Helllllllo lovers, supporters, creepers and mum and dad (thanks for still tuning in)

The sun is shining like a Tiffany diamond and I have some very exciting news to announce!

On Friday I had a pair of Jimmy Choos stuffed in my bag and exactly four weeks from now I will be leaving the Dirthouse to jet set across the world (hell yeah)

Where, where, where?

Well it appears that there are a few big cities on the agenda. 

First stop, London where shopping, wining, dining and wining are on the top of my to-do list.

Next up Bonjour Paris! I’m thinking Le Crazy Horse, views from the Four Seasons and a little lingerie research for work at Galeries La Feyette.

If there’s time for a stop over on the way to our final destination I may say ciao to parts of Italia and schmooze with the locals.

Last but not least iconic, majestic New York, New York! Four words. Sex and the City. 

I’m ecstatic! 

Get ready for Heaven on Bourke’s bespoke no bull tour of London, Paris, New York & Beyond.

But first something the top jet setting bloggers don’t tell you. I’ve gained a cool 5 kg over the miserable Sydney Winter and I am shit scared of long haul flights.

Should be a tres interesting four week prep before I go. 

I’m on a strict Paleo Prestige regime. Nothing tastes as good as real French pastries feel hitting the sides of my stomach. Saving all my happiness for you holidays. For now it’s chicken and veg all the way.

And the flight, well there’s only one way to get there so why not go business class. Why not? Because that shit's expensive, so I'm afraid its economy for me. Yay :|

Stay tuned for more blog posts – I’ve been absolutely shit house in the past few weeks. 

A little paleo and a little beauty and life advice from some of my favourite bloggers to prepare me for a super long flight.

Here’s to 24 in the air, 5 off my ass and 100 glasses of champagne overseas.

The count down begins...

Get Looser in Noosa

Everyone has that friend. She’s remarkable in her own weirdness, lives to expose the obvious in all uncomfortable situations. Like that time she told your mum you got a Brazilian wax, why would you do that? no one likes a hairy…she’s the friend who makes you laugh the most and tells it like it is, whether you like it or not.

When it’s that friend’s birthday everyone migrates from the four corners of the world to attend her party, not because they feel inclined to but because you know that it’s going to be a cracker. Someone will sleep with someone they went to school with, someone will pass out in an inappropriate place and everyone will have a raging good time.

Ms P loves parties too so I thought I’d invite her away with me for Rita's birthday.

The flight from Sydney to Noosa is so short that you can barely make use of the in flight service and therefore we recommend getting to the airport an hour in advance, to sample the alcoholic beverages in the lounge.

Don't get too tipsy or you might miss your private jet and accidentally board a Jetstar flight like we did. Dammit I hate when that happens!

Is it just me or does the sky appear brighter, lighter and more cheerful the further away you get from the big smoke? 

Once we landed, Ms P and I headed straight from the airport to Hasting Street. For her first trip to Noosa I had to take her for a late lunch at Bistro C.

"What a view!" She said marvelling at the ocean hairy Brazilian expat topping up our water glasses.

I couldn't help but notice his striking resemblance to a certain someone...

...and then our pancakes arrived topped with mouth watering honeycomb butter.

The conversation that went with the photo below was "Are you sure that's not Noosa boy? are you sure!" "how do I look?" "I'll just casually sip this cold coffee and hope to god he doesn't notice me."

A distraction please. Like the three wise men who came yielding nice gifts for baby Jesus, I knew I couldn't attend Rita's birthday party without some over priced designer object. My fair lady please accept this Fendi...

After we finished our pancakes and I came to the conclusion that the waiter was not Noosa boy but he's equally handsome twin brother. I then decided to take Ms P for a stroll down Hastings Street.

And back to my place to get ready for the dinner party.

We all met at Locale for espresso martinis and the gift presentation...

All in honour of this pretty lady. My partner in crime since high school and Brazilian wax enthusiast, Rita P...

Looking fabulous in her Marlies Dekkers plunge bra of course. "It's my Birthday I can show my bra if I want to."

Apart from a few slurred obscenities, the birthday girl was relatively well behaved.

That’s if you don’t include the shameless slut dropping display that occurred around 2 am. With a cigar in one hand and a bottle of Veuve in the other it was class, all class.

Ms P enjoyed her local tour of Noosa and despite the hangover (nothing that a drink in the departures lounge couldn’t fix) we both left feeling perfectly chilled.

Get looser in Noosa – there’s a lot of ways this phrase can be taken but only one place in the world where I can truly kick back and relax.

*  Sighhhhh * 

Until next time.

For now I’ve got bigger, international trips on the horizon. Stay tuned!

xx