Since getting engaged, I've started taking handcare seriously. The diamond deserves more than chipped nails, I tell myself; the diamond should not have to put up with rough hands. And so, I've began compiling a list of heavenly hand products. At work, I keep a pot of fragrant Steam Cream next to my computer to ensure these 28-year-old fingers and palms don't look a day over 27. Just to be a little bit more self-indulgent, I have a second tin next to my kitchen sink to ensure that on the odd occasions I volunteer to wash up my hands aren't dried out by Fairy Liquid.
Twice a week, I use Champneys Softening Hand Scrub to slough off dead skin and before applying Nailtiques cuticle conditioner, pre-self manicure. And the nails. Is there anything worse than chipped talons next to a beautiful engagement ring? Having been in this situation, I can say no. It looks hideous, but who has time for a proper mani more than twice a week? For long-lasting nails, Orly has it covered. On weekdays, I go for the brand's Bonder Basecoat, a nude shade and Quick Deep-Dry Topcoat. And weekends? Gold at the moment, but I'll keep you posted.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
A letter to rioters
Your hands killed history last night.
They beat it, burgled it, burnt it.
Stole more than just a few dvds, tvs and i-whatevers.
Those buildings, those memories - they didn't belong to you.
But you've taken them.
And we're angry.
It's us against you now and you against them.
Muddying the idea, confusing the cause,
Forcing us to ask questions -
Where were the police? What now for us? Where was the government? Will this happen again?
- when there should only be one:
Why is Mark Duggan dead?
But it's all about you lot now.
We saw you tearing it up in your hoods and masks.
Destroying, drunk on greed.
Fires and fights flickered across our screens
As suited and booted read the ten o'clock.
We huddled in our houses
Clutching mugs with nervous hands
Until sirens grew louder
Smoke got thicker
Footsteps came closer
And your wolves were at the door
Carrying makeshift missiles
And bags of stolen trainers.
They beat it, burgled it, burnt it.
Stole more than just a few dvds, tvs and i-whatevers.
Those buildings, those memories - they didn't belong to you.
But you've taken them.
And we're angry.
It's us against you now and you against them.
Muddying the idea, confusing the cause,
Forcing us to ask questions -
Where were the police? What now for us? Where was the government? Will this happen again?
- when there should only be one:
Why is Mark Duggan dead?
But it's all about you lot now.
We saw you tearing it up in your hoods and masks.
Destroying, drunk on greed.
Fires and fights flickered across our screens
As suited and booted read the ten o'clock.
We huddled in our houses
Clutching mugs with nervous hands
Until sirens grew louder
Smoke got thicker
Footsteps came closer
And your wolves were at the door
Carrying makeshift missiles
And bags of stolen trainers.
Labels:
London riots
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