Lush: Autumn Nights Relaxation.

Bath & Film time. 

Autumn is definitely upon us. With frosty mornings and dreary dark evenings becoming ever more present there's nothing better than a nice relaxing bath at the end of the day. After getting caught in the rain on the way home from work I decided to treat myself. Dashing into Lush as I had a few spare minutes before my train I asked the shop assistant what she would recommend to brighten up this damp, cold day. I left with a Big Blue bath bomb, a Blackberry bath bomb and a massive smile on my face from the excitement to get home. 

Big Blue

The Big Blue is perfect for a nice relaxing dip on an evening. It transforms your bath into what seems like the deep ocean with its rich blue colour. It contains lavender oil, lemon oil and seaweed so it is fab for relaxation as well as being super kind to the skin.  I was completely taken by surprise when the bath bomb was coming to an end by the seaweed strands that were released. These are so moisturising. perfect for the skin after being exposed to the harsh, bitter cold.

When I was younger my mum always used to purchase the sea vegetable soap which is a great match for the Big Blue. Similarly filled with seaweed and lavender helping to sooth and relax whilst also adding softness to the skin.

Blueberry Bomb

The Blueberry bomb is perfect for your end of day relaxation bath. The lovely shop assistant recommended this to me because I was feeling under the weather after being drowned by the weather. Its excellence lies in its simplicity. It transforms your bath to a wonderful lavender purple colour and the fragrance is sweet but not too strong or overpowering. According to the website, 

"This is a good one to use on days when you are feeling out of sorts, rushed or just can’t think straight. It brings calm and clarity to a busy hectic life. Step out of the bath and leave your cares behind." 

Have you tried either of these two? What are your favorite's after a hard autumns day? 

xx

Grammatical Errors

You are a TWERK.

Yes, you read that correct.

Probably due to the humongous amounts of swag lacking from my life I have serious trouble understanding this whole HASHTAG twerking sensation that's storming the nation.

When a friend and I were discussing what exactly it is we came to an agreement that 'Twerk' served its purpose better as an adjective rather than a verb. That's due to us choosing to ignore all the laws of culture fraîche.

Therefore, if you're going out in public with thrusting hip movements whilst doing "a low squatting stance" like a Miley Cyrus performance you are probably a 'twerk'.

X Factor, X Craptor.

I have a ridiculous (but extremely healthy) addiction to The X Factor. This year the return of Queen Sharon has re-lit my fire much more than Gary Barlow ever has. ( Don't take it personally Gaz, I heart you too!) Sharon's uncontrollable laughter along with her amazing friendship with Louis brings a little warmth to my heart on a Saturday evening. (Hungover Sunday afternoon, same thing). With double auditions and a new series full of brand spanking new hopefuls hoping they've got that 'X' factor I could not be more excited than a kid at christmas.

I need a night out with these two! 

Well this kid at christmas has got a second hand bike thats gathered up a bit of rust. Ok, gathered rust, that's a little harsh. But its not far from the truth.

After being a little upset with Mr Cowell for serving up two episodes of X Factor last week, whilst the viewing public only saw about six people audition altogether I was willing to give him a bit of a chance this week.

Apart from being encouraged to laugh at the mentally unstable and the completely delusional, viewers were served up a selection of second hand talent. Yeah thats right, contestants who had auditioned three, four times. Been to boot camp, flown to judges houses and sent packing on their way back to reality. I'm all for having ambition and understand you want to make your dream come true, reach your ultimate goal etc etc. But seriously?! THREE, FOUR TIMES?! 

 The 'X' of the factor is that oh so credible talent you can see beaming in Simon Cowell's eyes when he realises you have it. With your talent and his power as leader of the free world, he will fling you from your day job in Morrison's to ££££'s and worldwide popularity quicker than he can say "Your talent is buying me a new yacht." So surely he would have spotted it already.  

Gotta start somewhere. 

Molly King and Max George should give out some advice for these repeat offenders. I'm not saying they lack talent. I am fearful of their rejection. If it pains ME this much, what are they feeling? #harshtimes my friends!

I am emotionally attached to The X Factor, and I'm cool with that. 

Not on Ma Watch.

8:30am through to 9am and 5:30pm through to 6:30pm. The hours that railways in major cities around the world turn into cramped hellish cubicles filled with devil seat worshipers.

I know, I know. Everyone moans about rush hour. Everyone knows the commute to work is more tiresome than the actual day at work. More sweaty than a work out in the gym. And less seats than the final round of musical chairs. Yet every morning I step through those doors I feel like the train guard has just opened the gates of hell. I step ever so carefully making sure I "mind the gap" but no matter how careful I am I still hold the same fear in my heart as if I'm about to be viciously shoved into a lions cage. I use the word shoved, because rather than stepping over that humongous gap of purgatory, its more like cattle squeezing their way through a farm gate over a cattle grid. Mind not to get your foot stuck it pains like a mother B.

I hate train vultures.

This morning I boarded the 8:24 train from Richmond to Waterloo. I was stood with my rucksack on my back squeezed in-between the back few seats. Trying to be extra careful not to hit anyone around the face I made sure I stood perfectly still. As perfectly still as you can on a high speed commuter train into central London. The woman sat to the right of me made no effort to hide her disgust in the fact I was stood there, occasionally accidentally bumping into the side of her seat. Lucky for her she only had to wait ten minutes until we reached Clapham. She proceeded to stand up about five minutes before the train was about to stop, to let a man out next to her. As she told me four times, I was well aware he was getting off. And then, a vulture appeared.

Yes, 8:36am on a Wednesday morning a scavenging bird appeared. Flying through the top of the carriage she gave me a fright. Not out of surprise from her sudden flight, but from her murderous glare. I was being circled. The woman to the right wanted to let the man out, but not loose her seat. I presumed this other woman was in such a rush in my direction she wanted to get off. Which way should I move to let them off? I'm going to have to do some sort of shuffle dance, slide to right, slide to the left to let them both off.

But NO! No, I was wrong. The vulture was not alighting the train at Clapham. No. She had seen five minutes prior that there was a seat going. So she had pounced. Bearing in mind I was stood next to it. Should it not be mine? Is this not how it works? Closest to the seat wins? That's sort of the ethos of musical chairs. I mean, neither of us were old, neither pregnant, neither invalid, so that rules out all the seat offering rules. She shoved me out the way, and I mean shoved. It was really quite embarrassing. I hope she achieved some kind of joy out of her win. I mean, she couldn't possibly stand the seven more minutes to Waterloo. 

I'm not sour I didn't get a seat. I actually prefer to stand. You can get off the train faster and run for the tube. I was just shocked that this women had to indulge in a vicious adult game of musical chairs in such a manner.

A few years back, a close friend of mine stood in the carriage on the way home and stuck her tummy out. She then proceeded to rub it to see if any gentleman would give her a seat. Safe to say they didn't. You can't just grow a baby bump in-between Clapham and Wimbledon. Credit for creativity when it comes to adult commuter musical chairs. There was no harm in her efforts!