Wuthering Heights: The Musical - An extraordinary work of unintended comedic genius

When in New York, the opportunities to see world-class theatre are exponential. Fancy an edgy fairytale with a catchy score? Get yourself to Wicked! Want to see some SERIOUS treading of boards with a celebrity thrown in for good measure? Feast your eyes on Fences with Denzel Washington, but of course.
The options are overwhelming. Or they were until the must-see run of Passajj Productions's Wuthering Heights: A Romantic Musical at the Mint Theater  began this month.
An example of what an adaptation of a wonderful novel should never be, this is Bronte on crack. Heathcliff is a swashbuckling, hands on hips, Cathy-yelling, cartoon of the brooding character readers hate to love. Hindley, with his one permanently cocked eyebrow, is the best pantomime villain I’ve seen in years. And Cathy, oh dear me Cathy, is so absurdly mental it’s a wonder she didn’t get locked in the attic at birth.
If that’s not enough to have you rolling in the aisles (as many openly were by the second half) the lyrics themselves are comedic genius in their sheer randomness. “I love you like the thunder loves a hill!!!!!!!!” wails Heathcliff. “Heeeeaaathclifff!!! Heeeeeeaaaathclifff!!!!! Heeeaaaaathclifffff!!!!!” yells back Cathy.
In truth, Wuthering Heights: A Romantic Musical, is simply the result of a severe misreading of the novel. Director Matt Gutschick has given British Yorkshire moors the credit of being extremely culturally progressive in the 1800s. As a result, the actors do not adhere to the expected Northern burr but liberally pick and choose accents as the play goes on. Joseph, played by the wonderfully named Chuck Muckle, begins as an Irishman but slowly becomes more Jamaican as the second act continues.

 Meanwhile, the other actors float between American, Irish, Scottish, English and Indian. It’s hugely engaging.
“Take me seriously, take me seriously!!!” they demand as they belt out number after number relentlessly. “But we can’t!” says the audience with tear-filled laughing eyes, “you’re playing Cathy/ Nelly/ Edgar with five different accents! It's impossible!”
Despite my criticism, I have to applaud the play. To make a comedy out of a novel synonymous with the tragic and miserable gothic period, although unintended, is an astonishing achievement. Bravo to everyone involved – and please, don't stop here. There are so many other classics to make light of. Do Frankenstein next - I’d make the cross-Atlantic journey just to see what a man-made human would sing and say.

New York in pictures

 

1. New York underground on the way to my sister's flat in Brooklyn

2. My mum trying to get in touch with said sister on our arrival - the rain was warm and relentless

3. Yellow cab and yellow cab and yellow cab and....

4. The Beets playing by Hudson River

5. Brooklyn Bridge

6. New York beauty and actress Miss Jennifer McVey

7. Street book table with every Walt Whitman title imaginable

8. Inside Forever 21 on my 27th

9. Macy's beauty hall

10. Street book table in Williamsburg

11. The marvellous Carlene Thomas-Bailey and sister-extraordinaire Emma McCorquodale

12. Mosaic on the underground outside the Natural History Museum

Where will it all end?

Jetlagged and drained, I saw this book while waiting for my connecting flight in Dublin Airport earlier this week. The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner: An Eclipse Novella by Stephanie Meyer. I unashamedly enjoyed the Twilight Saga. My flatmate and I went halfers on the four books and tore through them in a way we haven't since discovering Mallory Towers as youngsters. But this is getting too much. What was once a triumph for Meyer (the content is not to everyone's taste, granted, but sales of 17million copies of the four-part saga deserves applause) appears to have become a cash cow. I don't know about everyone else, but my Twilight fatigue has reached an all-time high.

Sleeping beauty with Holistic Silk

Before I go to sleep at night I put up to six products on my face: cleanser, toner, serum, moisturiser, eye cream and sometimes a nourishing oil, such as Anne Semonin's Apricot Kernel. However, all of this preening and applying will not do as much good as it could with the wrong pillowcase. Yes, my fellow beauty addicts, youth and radiance requires more than lotions, potions and the odd avocado. The fabric of some pillowcases can not only leave unsightly creases on your face but can also soak up the products you have put on it. And while I'm all for sharing, I don't want my sponge-like sheets to look younger than me.

Enter geniuses Holistic Silk with their problem-solving, anti-ageing pillowcase. Created using vegetable-dyed silk, the gentle fabric is all smooth fibres and therefore does not snag skin and cause wrinkles, creases or bedhead. Fairly made in the Himalayas by Tibetan refugees, the product also comes with a pouch of lavender to tuck into the case to aid sleep.

Apart from the fact it doesn't absorb your night cream, I love sleeping on the Holistic Silk anti-ageing pillowcase. It arrived wrapped in tissue and ribbon and it's gold and embroidered - oh, the Holly Golightly decadence of it all! And, the company has a whole range of products made to make you feel beautiful and rejuvenated. My next purchase will be the lavender eye mask - I think 2010's beauty obsession has officially arrived...

Red Dust Road by Jackie Kay

Trumpet by Jackie Kay was the second book on my reading list at university. Because she too had studied English literature at Stirling and was still close to then head of the department and all-round incredible woman Professor Angela Smith, Kay read us students from her debut novel.
I still feel lucky I was in that lecture hall in 2001. Not just because I loved Trumpet, but I respected the author. She had what appeared to be a life in which she didn’t let anything stop her. Her writing was (and is still) brave, attacking the kind of issues with a vigour and creativity many first time novelists would go nowhere near. She seemed strong, talented and inspirational – the perfect role model for an 18-year-old aspiring writer.
So, tomorrow before I board a plane to New York, I will be airport shopping for her latest book Red Dust Road. I wanted to snap it up when it was released earlier this month, but decided to save it for a special occasion (such as being in the air for eight hours) and read it without interruption.
It is the story of her search for and journey to meet her birth parents. Kay was brought up as the adopted Nigerian child of two Glaswegian communists, John and Helen Kay.

The former worked for the Communist Party and the latter was the Scottish Secretary of the CND – they threw raucous parties, socialised with interesting people and by all accounts I have read, Kay had a marvellous if unconventional childhood.
However, this did not curb her longing to meet her birth parents – a nurse from the Highlands and a handsome Nigerian man who met and fell in love at the dancing in Aberdeen.
This is not the first time the writer has written about her identity. Her 2001 collection of poetry, The Adoption Papers, also addressed the space between the family she loved, the inheritance she couldn’t explain and the loneliness she felt following racist verbal attacks.
In general, Kay’s writing is wonderful and if her autobiographical prose does not appeal, her creative fiction most likely will.
Start with Trumpet, move on to Wish I Was Here and then pick up Darling. But if you are at a literary loose end and do need a book for a long journey, perhaps give Red Dust Road a try. I may not have read it yet, but like all greats, you don’t need to crack the spine of their latest book to know it will soon be one of your favourites.

Fish + feet = bizarre pedicure (not for faint-hearted)

Being a beauty journalist, I am dedicated to trying out new treatments. As a result, I’ve had wraps that reeked but took off inches. I’ve had facials that are painful enough to bring a tear to a glass eye. I’ve had spray-tans that left me looking - according to a good, if honest-to-a-fault friend – “zebra-tastic”. It’s a tough job, etc.
I’m always willing to try something new and even though some procedures unnerve me, none have ever actually made me feel nauseous. Until now.
The fish pedicure at Aqua Sheko, although admittedly beneficial, is enough to turn an iron stomach. Clients submerge their feet in a tank of Gara Ruffa fish that suck away at their hard skin to leave the skin smooth and callous-free.
Arriving at the Kensington salon this week, I had a tight knot of dread in my stomach. What if it really hurt? Also, I’m extremely ticklish. What if it was just too ticklish to bear?
Thankfully, my therapist was equipped to deal with nerves and soothed me with assurances that the sensation is initially odd but is quite enjoyable after you get used to it.
After a foot-cleanse, she led me to one of the tanks. Looking at those little brown swimmers swishing round, just waiting for my feet, I almost backed out.
Thankfully pride forced me to gulp back my fear and I climbed into the waiting chair. Gingerly, I put one foot into the fishy water and in an instant they were swarming round my foot. Amongst other things I thought, oh. My. God.
The sensation is relentlessly ticklish but completely bearable. And although I couldn’t look down at first – a copy of Vogue shielded me from the carnivorous view – the treatment became more normal as time went on.
The feeling becomes more like a therapeutic tingling than an uncomfortable tickle. After 30 minutes, my therapist gave me an exemplary foot massage and left my feet feeling fresh, de-stressed and ready for the summer.
Admittedly, I am not a convert to the fish pedicure. I would have it again but it will not usurp the traditional method at my favourite salon. Much as I pride myself on being adventurous when it comes to beauty, I prefer my pedicures sans fish.

Beauty secrets of stars at the Glamour Awards 2010

Last night I was lucky enough to be at the Glamour Women of the Awards and in between cocktails I had a chat with some of the celebrity guests to find out their beauty must-haves. My first port of call was host of the evening James Corden. The Gavin and Stacey star said: “Dermalogica changed my life. Honestly – I’m a metrosexual man.  My girlfriend told me to start using it and it has made such a difference to my skin.”

Next, I managed to catch a radiant Denise Van Outen before she left to get back to newborn baby Betsy. She said she loves Sisley products. 
The very charming rising grime star Tinie Tempah said he loves The Body Shop. “I use their tea tree oil,” he said. “It’s great for your skin.”
In the naughty corner is X Factor runner up Olly Murs who said he uses no products at all. “I’m a soap and water man,” he said. Naturally, I told him exactly what he should putting on his skin to look even better.
And I can reveal Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine, has bleached her eyebrows. The camera shy singer lifted her fringe to reveal blonde brows.

“They really suit redheads,” she said. She has been going to Myla and Davis, a salon in south London, for years and credits the stylists there for her gorgeous hair.

Also spotted at the awards was Pixie Geldof who has amazing skin, Twilight actress Anna Kendrick who is tiny and has beautiful hair, and Christine Bleakley, who has the most toned arms I have ever seen.
After a glass of champagne, I headed home to hang up my heels and get some beauty sleep.

Smitten with a mitten

Yesterday I met Jane Iredale, founder and owner of the eponymous mineral make-up collection. We talked about trends (red-lipstick is always fashionable - find the right red and you can wear it every day), why the Twilight craze is over for make-up and fashion and the fact other mineral make-up brands do not faze her. When I was leaving, she gave me her Magic Mitt product - a salmon-coloured glove that claims to take off all your make-up without cleanser.

Yeah right, I thought. This will fall flat on its towelly face confronted with my trowelled-up visage! There's no way it will get off my mascara! I proclaimed. No way!
I stand corrected. I don't know how the technology actually works, but you wet the glove with warm water and rub it all over your face. The mascara removal takes a little bit more force but it does leave your eyes clean after a couple of minutes. Don't get me wrong, I won't be ditching my cleanser for this, but the Magic Mitt is mighty impressive stuff. Perfect for nights when one too many jars and much-too-much dancing leaves you incapable of co-ordinating cleanser-to-cotton-wool action.

Les cheveux

These pictures dropped into my inbox today and I love them. They are from the people who run the Boisbuchet workshops - a project run by the Vitra Design Museum in Germany, the Pompidou Centre in Paris and C.I.R.E.C.A.

They have been running an arts summer academy at Domaine de Boisbuchet in south-west France since 1996 led by designers, architects and artists.

This year the group are using human hair as their working and inspirational raw material. The main goal is to research, design and build a project by using cutting, shape, fixing, weaving, teasing, textures and colour. These pictures are the results so far. J'adore.

Nu beauty

Last night, London Metropolitan University's Fine Art students displayed their best work in East London gallery NO:ID. Some of the pieces were really beautiful and the best thing about it all was the lack of pretense and posture. Plus the drinks were cheap, the people were sweet and there was live music. I took some snaps of my favourite bits to share with you.

 In Treatment, by Harry Bauer

Our Bricks, by Josephine Allison

Multipass by Jo Boxall - I loved the writing on this piece, in particular the first two lines: "I got down off my horse one day. Maybe that was my first mistake."

Paper Lace, by Marina Ard

Above is a singer called Kate, who had the most amazing voice. My friend thought she sounded like a female Jeff Buckley. Below is Calum from the Lonesome Cowboys From Hell with Sadie, the band's biggest fan.

Love thyself (and others); bathe in Neom Luxury Organics

My friend Francesca and I have long been convinced the solution to all of our problems is a long bath scented with a generous dose of Neom Real Luxury bath oil.

So, when the UK company got in touch last week to say they had created gift-sets I was literally overjoyed. It might sound like an over-reaction, but seriously, presents for all occasions are sorted from this moment on. Because when it comes to packaging, scent and achieving glowing soft skin, Neom just cannot be beaten in my opinion.

The hand lotion and wash set is available in two varieties - Real Luxury and Complete Bliss. The former is formulated using lavender, jasmine and Brazilian rosewood and the latter with Moroccan blush rose.
The third box – the Organic Lifestyle Pamper Kit – includes a mini bath oil set, body oil, body wash, lotion and a candle. All of the products are from the Real Luxury range. Divine. 

How to get the look: The Great Gatsby era moustache

To get a 1920s Great Gatsby-esque moustache, you need a close, clean shave after allowing facial hair to grow for two to four weeks. During this period in American high society, the beard disappeared and it was all about a smooth face and thin, groomed moustache.
For purists, 1920s actor Warner Baxter is good inspiration (see above). Also, Dolce and Gabbana’s Spring/Summer ad campaign is reminiscent of this era, albeit a modernised version of the facial hair styling (more rugged, less rogue - see below).

Those who fear the thought of their own hand holding the razor, should visit a skilled barber. I recommend any of the chaps at Gentlemen’s Tonic in Mayfair.  

However, those with confidence should:
1.    Avoid shaving first thing in the morning. Your skin has to wake-up and the fluid that collects in the skin during sleep has to recede to minimise puffiness and ensure the closest shave.
2.    Exfoliate with a mild scrub to take away dead skill cells. I recommend Jason Shankey Expert Exfoliating Face and Scalp Scrub.

3.    Make sure stubble is wet with warm or hot water before massaging shaving foam into the face.

4.    Use a sharp blade and shave in the direction the hair grows on your face. A blunt blade will cause cuts, rash and redness (very un-Great Gatsby). Shave the whole face, apart from the upper lip.

5.    Apply a moisturiser to soothe and protect the face. The Refinery’s Shave Oil smells and feels good without causing any irritation.
After shaving you should be left with everything you need for a 1920s moustache on your upper lip.

1.    Use the width of your mouth as a guide – the length of the moustache should not go beyond this.
2.    Use moustache scissors to style from this point.
3.    You are not going for a pencil moustache but a thin version of the English shape which starts in the middle of the upper lip and is more curved than the pencil - whiskers should be kept short and brushed to the side.
4.    To maintain the shape apply a small amount of gel to moustache.

I'm starting a revival...

While at my parents' house in Scotland, my Mum was clearing out boxes and boxes of books that have languished in our attic since the 1990s. Before taking them to the charity shop, she said I could have anything that took my fancy. As a result, I have discovered a new literary love: 1970s trash glam high-drama, not-trying-to-be-clever novels. They are AWESOME.
From my mum's collection, I have selected a number of sagas (these were big news in the seventies, it seems), some romances and a few power-struggle-in-a-glamorous-setting novels. All of which have a tanned woman with a Farrah Fawcett flick or voluminous hair-do on the cover.

One of the reasons I have fallen in love with these books are the fearless coverlines at the time. Check out the one on The Women's Room : "This novels changes lives". Wow. How does it change lives? Does it have to? What if I don't want it to?
My first foray into the 1970s trash glam high drama genre is Abingdons by Michael French, described on the cover as "a simmering mixture of ambition, greed, betrayal and sex in the world's most glamorous department store".

In the first two chapters, I have read about a sinister faceless villain - bent on destroying Abingdons - and a kind-hearted model, who is sick of posing in swimwear, but has to pay for her sick mother's medical costs and has no choice but to pull on those onesies and smile for the snapper. 
The shameless drama is addictive. Get thee to thy parents' attic and rummage. Alternatively, the bulk of my mum's collection will be available at a Gourock charity shop within days for your reading pleasure.

The bank holiday weekend in pictures

1. Train tracks somewhere between London Euston and Warrington Bank Quay.
2. The blue cloud-dotted sky on Friday morning.
3. Change at Lancaster. The man with the red cross on his t-shirt was going to someone called Daz's stag do. Also met two phD English students going to my old university, Stirling, to attend a conference on transgressive literature.
4. Travel reading: The Informers by Bret Easton Ellis.
5. On the way to The Haven at The Lodge spa in Loch Lomond with my Mum. I was having the La Sultane de Saba Ayurvedic Journey treatment and she was having the brand's Moroccan Ritual facial.
6. Had a flick through my mum's car reading staple - Stramash - the 2004 collection of short fiction by students on Glasgow University's creative writing course.
7. There were bluebells in the grounds of the spa, which overlooks the loch.
8. My mum and I, in the sun, post-spa, sans make-up.
9. Loch Lomond
10. The view from my parents' kitchen window in Gourock, Scotland.
11. My cat Cleo. 
11. Back in London, went to see Richard Herring live at the Leicester Square Theatre with my friend Calum, who is reading How To Talk Dirty And Influence People, by Lenny Bruce. I took a picture of him in a non-plaid shirt to prove he does actually own something that is, in fact, not plaid.