"Made in Chelsea": Proving Reality TV Just isn't too Great

Once again it's that time of the year when the poshos of the UK unite to display some of their best, but mostly worst, moments and create one of TV's potentially most dull, pointless and yet popular shows of today. Yes, that's right, Jamie, Louise, Spencer, Toff, Tiff Tuff Binky Tinky-Winky - they're back in some combination for the show's ninth season, at which point respect must be given to those who have escaped. A well-deserved round of applause for the ex-cast members, who actually had something else going on in their lives.

Some have come further than others since the show's pilot in 2011. I miss you Caggie.

 I cannot pretend I hate it - it has its funny lines, and now and again I find myself rooting for the occasional couple - but with every season that is fired off (with astonishing speed) I become more and more agitated for a plethora of reasons. So I present to you:

Reasons Why Made in Chelsea now gets "all up in my grill*"
*particular thanks to Lucy Watson for that gem of a phrase

Reality TV is terrifying. It has all (and most of the time, less) of the entertainment of scripted shows, but without the ability to sit back at the end and breathe a heavy sigh of relief, saying "Ah well, that was awkward and frankly harrowing, but at least all of the action was entirely made up by a skilled team of scriptwriters!"

... Oh, no, ladies and gents - this is real. Enhanced drama, perhaps, but Spencer really did cheat on that many girlfriends in a row, Jamie truly is under the impression that he has both an attractive face and personality, and Louise genuinely does pronounce Jamie as "Jay-mair". So, taking Made in Chelsea as a prototype for the entire genre of reality television, I have brought together, in no particular order, nine of the worst quotes from the programme to express just why, of late, this reality show is making 'reality' look more and more like a bloody nightmare.

1. "I think fake tan is probably the most offensive thing in the world." - Rosie Fortescue. Just plain exaggeration, isn't it? I can think of a fair few things that are a whole lot more offensive, and none of them involve cosmetic products. 
   
2. "Fish give birth through their mouths, don't they?" - Binky Felstead. Straight-up promoting incorrect biology. You're confusing the youth of our country, Binks, try harder.
3. "I'm quite a private person." - Tiff Watson. That would be why she's on a nationally broadcast television show. Having every detail of her personal life revealed and discussed in great depth. Emphasis on the "quite", perhaps? 

   

   Tiff privately and subtly taking care of her personal life.

4. "J for genius!" - Jamie Laing. He tried to follow this outburst with a cry of "JOKES! JOKING!" but I can't quite buy it. Perhaps he was too engrossed in his 'business ventures' (read: frolicking in a sweet shop with minimally-clothed girls) to remember his English GCSE. Or, you know, the alphabet. 
   
5. "High street fashion is not allowed under any circumstances whatsoever!" - Mark-Francis Vandelli. Telling the public that their shops of choice are off-limit doesn't do him any favours, but Mark-Francis is excused because the majority of the show's comical gems come from him, and his catty remarks are rarely aimed at a particular person. 

   

   
   
6. "There's nothing more beautiful than a beautiful girl in fur." - Francis Boulle. Utterly enlightening. There's nothing more beautiful than a man who sits alone to one side of a room, surveying women and their coats. Also, a stoat and a mink somewhere would probably argue that there is something more beautiful: an animal with its fur still in tact. 
7. "Totes, man, totes." - Fredrik Ferrier. The true curse of reality television is the ridiculous slang. Even Joey Essex's 'reem' malarky must come second to 'totes'; say it loud enough and it sounds like you're warning your companion of handbags falling from the sky. "TOTES! TOOOOTES!" 
   
8. "Stop opening your f*cking fat mouth, you f*cking fat turkey!" - Victoria Baker-Harber. Was it ever alright to shout this at somebody? At a dinner party? At Christmas? Lines were crossed, because there's nothing quite like promoting the sentiment of "It's fine, I'm rich enough for it not to matter if I completely disrespect the humans around me..." to an entire generation.
9. "It's f*cking hard for me to respect you when you let me f*cking cheat on you." - Spencer Matthews. Will they get ill if they swear only once per sentence? This is the crowning glory of reality TV moments that make me want to slam my head into a wall. No, Spencer, why did you do it in the first place? Something has gone wrong when a faithful, stable relationship is the anomaly of a friendship group.

The appropriate reaction to everything Spencer Matthews does.

In the end, call it "scripted reality" all you like, but I'd still "do a Millie Mackintosh" and smack Spencer one if I passed him on the street. Victoria can try to hide behind a mountain of fur (while Francis sits in the corner leering) if she wants, but she can't skip home after the end credits and suddenly claim to be a kind human being. With every passing season, the show reeks more and more of gratuitous spite, misogyny and the message that life is solely about flirting 'n' banter... All set to an increasingly try-hard "indie" soundtrack. Soz, MIC, we've had our glimpse into the lives of the posh, and it's running out of entertainment value.

... Oh, and most of them are from Fulham anyway.

British Summer Hype: Is 10 Degrees Celsius a Nice Day?

We have made it through the winter. Some parts of the country get the message later than others, but it is undoubtedly happening, and rightly so, four months into the year. Wondrous changes are upon us. Miraculously, there is still some light when it hits eight o'clock. You can practically smell the GCSE students' procrastination vibes in the streets as exam season sets in. I have to endure Amanda Holden's voice with the return of Britain's Got Talent.

So now that you can occasionally step outside without a ski jacket, it's not rare to hear "we can't handle hot weather here", or "when it gets above twelve degrees, people act like it's tropical". As we get eased into summer, there seems to be a stream of disgruntled remarks about others' summertime behaviour.

Perhaps there is some truth to their complaints. The climate changes by a few degrees, one day, for an hour, and suddenly clothes are flung off and the entire country is skipping to any green space available with a picnic hamper, a lawn mower trailing behind them and the twinkle of hundreds of ice cream vans, awoken from a long hibernation, in the background. 

FIND ME A PARK

What kind of weather would have us launching ourselves outside for an impromptu sunbathe, frozen drink, or barbecue? Once more, I turned to my trustworthy peers to find out. After asking around a little, Jack, 20, comments that as a British resident, "any temperature above ten degrees is basically a nice day for us" - so I decided that this would be my starting point:

Is ten degrees a nice day? And is a "nice day" enough to whip out sunglasses and infinite amounts of skin?

At first, the bar is set high, and well away from the crazed Briton stereotype: Alistair, 19, says that real hot weather constitutes "sweating without any physical activity". Apparently, ten degrees is only nice for Autumn. 

The next suggested test for true summertime is "if you have a sudden urge to sit in a beer garden, that's your body ... telling you it's barbecue time". Meanwhile, Tallula, 18, claims that ten degrees accompanied by a blue sky would be a "nice day" but definitely not warm enough for a sunbathing attempt.

So far, this all sounds fairly reasonable. I am impressed by their rationality, and am forced to wonder: just who are the eager beavers stripping off at the sight of a gap in the clouds? I feel proud: they're definitely not my friends! So far, there is no need to be shocked.

... Or is there? All of a sudden, I stumble across the aforementioned beavers of eagerness. Beth, 20, says she has been having barbecues all through the winter, and one day in March it was sunny so - brace yourselves - she wore shorts! Other keen beans say they have been sunbathing already this season.

Meanwhile, heated debates begin, as one peer responds: "Ten degrees is f*cking cold, what planet are you people from?", and puts the bar for summertime sadness temperatures at an ambitious twenty degrees, when it becomes "acceptable to get the thighs out". 

Other criteria for summer behaviour include no clouds in the sky ("obviously"), and comfortably sitting outside without a jacket/shirt (actual heat doesn't appear to be essential). Ten minutes has been set as the appropriate test time for this. Eighteen degrees is mentioned a few times as the minimum sunbathing temperature.

Unsurprisingly, I clearly find no absolute answer. There is no agreement. Either way, most people I speak to are happy that warmer days are finally upon us.

And can we really be blamed for getting excited? For a country whose climate changes only from bad to dreadful, we are ridiculously obsessed with the weather. It's our go-to topic of conversation at all times. It's the fail-safe language of our nation, complete with its own colloquialisms (gusty? Brisk? Nippy? ...Tell me those are real words). So I would say it's perfectly reasonable to celebrate the turn of the season, and if this lapses in to going a little overboard at times, so be it. Let your neighbours shirtlessly flip a burger on a BBQ, embrace tripping over the maxi skirts swarming the high street, be patient with your friend who is suddenly prefixing her Starbucks order with "iced". Before you know it, we'll be back in the grey drizzle for another few months. 

... Zac clearly has not witnessed a UK winter.

How to CRUSH IT: Going to the Gym

It's a new year and everybody is hyped up on healthy. Gym memberships rocket, blah blah blah, we know it all. Yet apparently, in recent years, Britons have wasted over £35 million in gym memberships they don't use, while it takes Americans only 24 weeks on average to give up going to the gym after signing up in the new year. Which would be, for this year's New-Years-Resolution-Gym-Splurgers, coming up in the next few months.

So - and I think I'm being very observant here - there may be an issue with the connection between leaping out of bed in January and flinging your precious monies at a fitness institution, and then... Actually attending said institution. So I would like to address:

What puts us off going to the gym?

I wracked the brains of some fellow students to find out...

"I found it intimidating..."

"I do go... But only when it's quiet," says one friend, while another comments that he finds "you get people who look down on guys who aren't ripped". Both of them seem to be speaking for a large majority.

It's a common problem: therein lies (but only briefly, between crunches) a sea of girls with funky-print Victoria's Secret yoga pants or Blogilates gym tops, doing so many squats that if you held up a magnet, their now-iron thighs would come hurtling towards you. Good God, you think, they're so preppy and focused and driven. I can see the kale smoothies and chia seeds burning in their eyes! Abort! Abort! - Why would I even try?! You try to escape, but alas, you run into a wall of men lifting dumbells the equivalent weight of their own extended family after Christmas dinner, producing groans that make you wonder if an ambulance should be on stand by. And you feel simply inadequate.

What, this? Oh, just a light warm up.

Another friend commented that she would feel "judged for using lighter weights"; remember that everybody started somewhere. Yes, even the Taylor Lautner wannabe in the corner had a time in his life wherein he couldn't use a shoulder press.

Blast some tunes if you want to ignore the outside world - but tell yourself that it's not about what they're doing. And fake it 'til you make it.

"I don't like people looking at me exercise..."

Another common issue seems to be an expectancy of looking your best when doing exercise. Frankly, I'd wager most fitness experts would suggest that if you look in tip-top condition, sweat free and ready for a photoshoot, you ain't doin' the whole exercise shebang right.

Seems legit.

Peers have made comments such as, "I feel put off by the pressure to look attractive": from where has this idea sprung that going to the gym is about looking sexy or meeting life partners? It's difficult to enjoy exercise if you're worried about your eyeliner smudging, or your quiff careering off-center. Stop treating the gym like a runway, and take a friend along to be your delightfully sweaty pal. Break down those friendship boundaries.

...No, they bloody well sweat.

"I'm too lazy..."

Less often an excuse of university students, as gyms are likely to be a closer and for a discounted price, but numerous people reported that being lazy was still the main reason they don't go to the gym. One friend made the suggestion that attending exercise classes can solve this: "the person shouting at me was quite motivating." It's true: you're much more likely to attend if you've paid for one particular commitment.

Make your Future Self hate your Present Self. Book those classes. Set the alarm. If you think you'll regret being "too lazy" later on, don't let yourself get away with it.

"You need fresh air..."

Perhaps a less predictable response, but one that came up a lot: "I think exercising inside is weird", and this may be a solid point: why pay to run on the spot indoors when you could be getting a healthy dose of the outdoors for free? Others made similar comments, such as "I'd rather get the fresh air" - a valid point unless you're looking for specific gym-residing equipment.

So the only thing left to say is that if you get a spurt of motivation and want to be "a gym-goer", maybe consider if any of the above might be a potential difficulty. Then grab an action plan, make it work, and go to the gym anyway.

Solving your skincare issues...

The first post of its kind! HOW EXHILARATING.

Likelihood is, the #StudentLyf was going fabulously until your insomniac, ethanol-based, frantic, new-found lifestyle (I say "new-found", but I shouldn't be assumptive - maybe you came out of the womb constantly awake and sipping a cocktail) took its toll on your skin.

One of these factors alone would be enough to tip it over the edge; a lack of sleep, an unbalanced diet, more alcohol than usual, stress or a change of environment could all happily cause problems individually. So it makes sense that when you likely had a bit of all of them, havoc was officially wreaked.

I almost typed haddock. Haddock is not relevant here.

Here are some key factors to get your skincare back on track:

1. That stuff you put on your skin? Take it off.
• Makeup, neon #rave paint, chip grease from when your bestie had a strop and through her 3am snack in your face... None of this is healthy. Unclog your pores before you go to sleep. If it's makeup you're scraping away, drink a glass of water per section of your face you clean. Hangover diminished and skin cleaned - skilled multi-tasking right there. 
• Micellar Water is a sneaky genius for this. Better for your skin than makeup wipes, some say. Marie Claire has a great round-up of its benefits, and some of the best on the market.
  

  

  So make like Mulan and chisel that stuff off.

2. That stuff you put on your skin? ...Don't put it there in the first place.
• Possibly more challenging: try to limit what you slap on to that face of yours. A full face of foundation for a night in with the flat could be considered unnecessary. Likewise, the self-checkout assistant in Tesco's isn't going to judge you if your under-eye circles are out in force. In fact, neither will any other member of the public. Or your friendship group. Try to have a few days a week where you don't jam anything into your pores. Your poor, poor pores. Poor pore. Isn't that a fruit? 

  

  Loading on that mascara like...

3. Clean dem brushes.
• Makeup brushes are hoarders of bacteria. If your skin was acting up in the first place, any receptacle used in the makeup process is going to be germ-y. Which is gross.  
• You can go all out and use a proper brush cleaner, if you have about £15 to spare - like Clinique's. But a mild shampoo (like Herbal Essences), and a gentle but thorough rinse afterwards will do the job. Add a few drops of Tea Tree Oil (available from The Body Shop) when you wash them, as it has impressive anti-bacterial abilities. 
4. ...Tea Tree Oil does actually have divine powers. 
• I will reiterate: nothing kills germs like this stuff. For use direct on the skin, mixing with water and spraying on makeup or brushes, adding to shampoo - it's pretty incredible stuff... 
  
5. Water.
• Try to drink more. Absolute classic tip - fixes everything, really. Hydrate yourself. Simple. 
  

There you have it, some key ways of preserving some skincare health. No haddock required.

~ The Sassy Fox

A Month Without Alcohol: Dry 'JanuaReport'

We vowed not to drink.

We didn't drink.

So first, a round of applause for our accomplishments.

So what has a month of sobriety brought to our lives? What unfolds when you hit a party-renowned city with each and every one of your wits about you? We've picked two contrasting nights our from our experiences to recount...

1) Hifi #edginess

We had a low start, hitting a small club when we weren't keen to go out in the first place. This fact took its toll, and by the time pre-drinks were drawing to a close, we were slumped on the sofa ready to get into our pyjamas. However, some tactical snacks aided us in persevering - despite horrific weather conditions en route (much more noticeable without alcohol), and a ridiculously long queue.

... Definitely a rocky start, but once 'Uptown Funk' was blasting, it was difficult to sulk. Dancing, it would appear, is always fun, regardless of the volume of ethanol in your bloodstream. Shocking, isn't it? Apparently, endorphins are released either way. Madness.

... Or not.

We turned in a lot earlier than usual: 2:00am and I was already waving my hand around in Saskia's face as our "flagging" signal until she relented ("I was loving it! I could have stayed until the end!"). The next morning, we had a smug feeling of satisfaction as our comrades from the night before swayed and groaned in the lift on the way to lectures. Haaaa!

2) Bierkeller

After a shaky experience the night before, we were still very reluctant to leave our warm sofa-cocoons. The problems were halved, though, because the venue's pub-ish atmosphere meant pre-drinks seemed less necessary. Unlike the previous evening, we were not required to sit down for three hours watching friends sip (inhale) wine from glasses the size of my face.



The queuing was appalling: with the snow and sleet whipping us, I had to question exactly why I picked a Northern university. We were left squatting and huddling like penguins to regulate body temperatures. Not fun ("I thought the squatting was quite fun, actually...").

Once inside (and thoroughly defrosted)? The notable difference in the experience was our lack of patience for the drunkards. People falling on us, in front of us, off benches, harassing our friends, swearing when Sas tried to help said friends... We were having none of it.

We were self-conscious too: what would I normally do? Would I act differently? Probably not, is the answer, but even dancing felt a little odd: if your super-cool grooving starts to verge on a Dad-Dancing special, you can't blame it on "that one last double-vodka-lemonade".

Saskia knows she definitely "would have been more forward" in one certain situation, but I think we'll leave that to the imagination.


Lastly, and to the extreme jubilation of my Facebook friends, we did not take any photos. None. There is no photographic evidence of our nights sans alcool (hence our blatant overuse of internet GIFs)... Because astonishingly, it would seem that taking selfies is utterly degrading and just cannot be done when sober. A true lesson learnt.

Our evaluation?

What really is the downside? It's a heck of a lot cheaper. You can't help but feel buzzed when you're dancing on a table surrounded by inebriated flatmates. You don't stay until 6am and regret it. You wake up the next day feeling human. You're even fighting those all-important national statistics about British teenagers binge-drinking themselves to an early death! All of the mems, in HD clarity, less of the headache.



You might feel a little out of touch with your fellow party-goers, or not want to go out as often. Perhaps in the club, you will realise more quickly that the music is absolutely appalling... But this means you're more picky with your choice of nights out, venues and experiences. You go out to enjoy the event, not to arrive somewhere abysmal and hope you are drunk enough to pass the time. Almost sounds like a good thing, doesn't it?





Saskia's overall comment: 

Dry January has taught me to ask an all-important q in life…

“If it is minus a gazillion degrees outside, then why oh why am I leaving the cosy warmth of my woolen poncho, a captivating read and a nice cuppa in order for my

body to endure extreme temperatures, deafening music and sweaty people (the horror!!!!)?”  
Yeah, the buzz of booze helps you to lose your inhibitions and enter into the partay spirit; but nothing quite beats the feeling of actually wanting to be there.


Louisa's overall comment;
I am the person who is constantly asked, "Wow, how much have you had to drink?" ("No no, nothing, I'm always this loud..."), so I can testify from previous experience that being sober for a night out is not a problem as long as you pick to go somewhere you actually like.
I can't pretend I want to remain sober forever, but it has been no problem giving it up. Let's face it - I'll be outgoing, opinionated and dancing on the tables regardless.

Dry January? Quite the success.

~ The Sassy Fox

How to Cope with Living a Double Life: Part 1 + "Dry January" Attempts?!

The title is far more dramatic that its contents.
This is not about spies and doppelgangers.
Sorry.

Firstly, we need to announce the commencement of a social experiment involving a) Refreshers, b) sociologists and c) actually us pretending to be the sociologists. Sounds exciting but simultaneously incredibly ominous, doesn't it? That's how we like it.

"Dry January" is all the rage at the moment - with every member ("Well, not every member... We're not all raging alcoholics like you...") of society suddenly convinced that they have magically developed some sort of will power or something - and Saskia and I love to jump on the ol' bandwagon.

So even though our university "Refreshers" is on the horizon, we have vowed not to let a drop of alcohol touch our lips until February is upon us. And then (lucky, lucky you) to share our eagerly anticipated memoirs with the public: exactly what happens on a clear week of nights out when you're eagle eyed and completely alert? 

It should be noted that Saskia tried to go through the tail end of Freshers sober, because of illness, but caved with somewhat disastrous results (check the previous post). She's a trouper, though, so one failure isn't going to stop The Sassy Fox being out in (very sober, sarcastic) force until the second month arrives. We don't know what to expect. ("I'm guessing not much." "Shut up Sas.")

Coping with a Double Life 

Arriving back at university after Christmas left us feeling out of sorts: just where do we live, exactly? I know I order ASOS to uni and anything important to my parents' house, but what does this mean?

"Home is where the heart is" and so on, but frankly my heart is still very much attached to Jude Law in The Holiday, and Saskia's?
"Oh, I'd have to say it's with Matt Baker from Countryfile."
Well then...
I'm sad to say that home is neither of those places.

We've decided to devise a helping hand for anybody out there feeling similarly 'in-between': here is how to cope when you feel as though you're living in two places at once.

• Perhaps most importantly: get yo'self a Saskia. Inspired by J.K Rowling's impressively disturbing Quirrell-Voldemort-Turban debacle, we call our friendship "Turban Power", so-called not because of any Dark Magic, noseless action or stuttering, but because our minds are so vividly and consistently connected, we may as well share a head. You need such a flatmate to cope with the uni-home transition. Nicknames may vary. Subject to availability.  

• Do not wallow. Focus on the present moment. Don't bore your flatmate with videos of your dog, nor your mother with stories about that one "so, so, totally hilarious" Whatsapp conversation. Maybe you just had to be there.
  
  
  
• You are not the Chosen One. Everybody has just moved to university and away from their family and friends. Moping will only encourage others to do the same, and before you know it you're responsible for a frightening stampede of students heading on an impromptu weekend home.
• See the positive. You have two homes! You haven't lost either... Unless something tragic happened over Christmas. Be happy that you have one place to enjoy a dishwasher, and one to stroll in to at 5am, munching on a burger while haphazardly harmonising to Jar of Hearts, without being questioned. (You could even reheat the unfinished chips from this meal the next day without being judged! ...Much.) (No, you'll always be judged for that.) 
  
  

  

  You'd be correct in suspecting that this is Nutella

• Have some fun with this opportunity. Create a new identity! You have a chance to be whoever you want to be, no questions asked. This wasn't where today's post was supposed to go, but heck, you actually could lead a double life. Here are some clips you may find inspirational if this is a path you're interested in: 
• For beginners
• Intermediate
• Double Life experts: take the Double Life to the extreme

So take some time to fully enjoy the perks of living in two places at once. And be thankful that Matt Baker from Countryfile isn't harbouring any of your vital organs.

~ The Sassy Fox

The Top 10 Ways of Having an Utterly Smashing Night Out

University Freshers’ Week can be ever so daunting, with new faces appearing every which way and an overwhelming expectation to “PARTY HARD!!!!!!!” to the point of disturbing exhaustion and tears until Christmas comes.

But somehow Semester Two and “Refreshers” have come around, and by now, Sas and I consider ourselves professionals at making it through the most surreal of nights out (almost) unscathed.

Thus we have dubbed ourselves completely qualified to assist anybody who ever plans on going on a night out ever again. Here is our comprehensive list of “The Top 10 Ways of Having an Utterly Smashing Night Out*!”, not at all inspired by true and real events of the past few months … You’re welcome.

1)     If your shower is making suspicious gurgling noises and all of the toilets in your flat refuse to flush during the day, definitely don’t do anything about it before embarking on a night out. No, no, really – you’ll want to leave it until the early hours of the morning when you stumble back in and find yourself homeless because of major sewage problems in the building. Trying to salvage your precious belongings from the sewer-flood is like a nifty treasure hunt, while begging your brand new friends to lend you their kitchen floor to nap on is a great flat-bonding activity.

Foam out of the sink? The sign of a GOOD TIME!

2)     If you are seriously ill, go on a night out! It’ll take your mind off the illness, and will prevent you from being called a weakling. Furthermore, once you’re out, you may as well drink copious amounts of alcohol. It’ll make you feel better. On the off chance that it doesn’t, and you end up being dragged by a fangirl into a mosh pit during Nick Grimshaw’s DJ set and then throwing up in the middle of the crowd… Oh well. It’s a handy test for finding out who your true pals are when you are left to fend for yourself in a horde of raving teens.

A distance from the stage that's worth the upchuck reflex

3)     Never pre-drink in a flat with stable ventilation. Pick the venue with the fewest windows and vents you can find – where’s the fun of pre-ing if you’re hydrated, sweat-free and conscious?

4)     If a flatmate leaves a night out early, it is always a good idea to convince them that they have missed something exciting. For instance, why not stage a 'cosy moment' between another two flatmates? There will be nothing like the panic the party-leaver feels at the prospect of flatmate incest. A friendly, gentle reminder that bailing on a club night will be punished.

5)     If a friend is selling tickets to a club to make him or herself a profit, definitely go along, regardless of the club, its whereabouts, or its reputation. It is actually quite soothing to be in a near-silent club that is so empty you can feel the onset of frostbite.

6)     Try to climb bicycle racks. All of them. You can’t go wrong.

Nothing a bit of Arnica can't solve.

7)     Chugging vodka is invariably a great idea. In fact, chugging vodka is a renowned method of staving off those pesky paramedics!

8)     If you don’t feel that you’re looking your best, there’s no need to be camera shy – just drink a little more, so that you’re simply unaware of the paparazzi snapshotting your every move. Tomorrow, it will be a refreshing and fun way to reflect on the night’s antics.

9)      Planning a night out in the country’s capital? Why not pick a Sunday evening? You’ll love the gentle lull of the ghost town, and it will make you consider some thought-provoking questions, like, “If the population of London is over eight million, why have we only seen one family of Dutch tourists, and a stray cat?”

10)  If you feel a little too drunk to stay out, be sensible and have a responsible friend bundle you into a taxi back to your accommodation... Then get the alcohol out of your system by the quickest means, find a different group of friends and get a taxi straight back to the club. Why waste a good night?

*These are guidelines only and for your own safety, please do not follow any of them. As Saskia calls out to me every time I leave the flat without her (so, once, weeks ago): “Be safe!”

Saskia being utterly, utterly safe.

~ The Sassy Fox