One of my most hated words is effortless. Effortless dressing, effortless cooking, effortless having a bath. Yet while effortless is a buzzword, a life full of unnecessary effort is constantly laid out in front of us.
Meghan’s new TV series demonstrates such an effortful existence that it’s quite exhausting to contemplate.
Home-made teabags of Himalayan bath salt for your guests’ bedside table to show you care about how they sleep, and all that endless plating. I thought only restaurants plated up.
But in Meghanland, plating is an essential activity.
No longer is a nice bowl of fruit salad OK, it’s all about creating a colour-coded rainbow platter of fruit, or sprinkling flowers on a frittata. Flowers on your eggs? If that’s plating, I’m happy to pass.
It’s unfair, though, to blame all this effortful existence on Meghan Sussex (as she tells us she prefers to be called).
We must also contend with the high standards of Gen Z and millennial tablescaping, involving an exotic display of candles, floral arrangements and table linen every time a few pals are invited over for a plate of pasta. There’s scarcely any space left for plating there.
Meanwhile, beds that used to be perfectly fine with a bedspread flung on top are now meant to be adorned with so many layers of throws and cushions that serious excavation is necessary to discover the poor old sheets and pillows.
Meghan’s new TV series demonstrates such an effortful existence that it’s quite exhausting to contemplate, writes ALEXANDRA SHULMAN
No longer is a nice bowl of fruit salad OK, it’s all about creating a colour-coded rainbow platter of fruit. If that’s plating, I’m happy to pass
No wonder so many people feel they are time-poor. There’s such a huge amount of effort encouraged in the pursuit of the aspirational life. What’s happened to the late, great Shirley Conran’s attitude that life’s too short to stuff a mushroom?
In other times, I might have suggested, as grumpy old people used to, that we need a good war to sort our priorities out. But the way things are going, perhaps we are about to have one.
So many pills, but so little time
It’s a sad but true indicator of this stage of life that my favourite accessory is Mannox’s £30 cobalt blue seven-day weekly pill organiser. This from a woman who is no stranger to Louis Vuitton handbags and Prada shoes.
Yet every morning, it’s not my bags and shoes that delight me but this sleek aluminium container which, with its neat week-long compartments sparks joy. Or so I would say if I was lifestyle guru Marie Kondo – or possibly Meghan Sussex.
Of course, when it was marketed on Instagram, it wasn’t filled with prescription pills, but showed the beautiful Kendall Jenner explaining it carried her vitamins. Indeed, I would never have bought it if I had seen some faded beauty in ‘comfort shoes’ tipping in her meds.
The pill-holder is the only nice thing about pills though. They are a nightmare. Having never previously had to take any, I find myself now prescribed a confusing medley to deal with various bits and pieces of me that aren’t behaving as they should.
Pills are a nightmare. I find myself now prescribed a confusing medley to deal with various bits and pieces of me that aren’t behaving as they should (file photo)
As I fill the compartments with my weekly dosage, I wonder why, as a competent person, I find it so hard trying to differentiate between them.
So for that reason alone I might be tempted to take the one-stop polypill being suggested for everyone over 50.
Organising my pills, even with the help of my desirable pill box, takes about 30 minutes a week of faffing around. That’s 1,560 minutes a year that I’d far rather spend doing other more interesting things. So, if there’s a one-pill solution, I’m ready to sign on.
Hope? Now that’s a luxury I can ill afford
In recent years, the prices of designer fashion have been hiked ever higher. Now the same is true of skincare.
The other day I was contemplating a supposed ‘anti-ageing’ cream from Sisley, until I discovered the £425 price, while a serum from the heavily promoted Augustinus Bader would make a £290 dent in the bank account. Chanel has a ‘night concentrate’ made from Madagascan vanilla extract at £620.
The other day I was contemplating a supposed ‘anti-ageing’ cream from Sisley, until I discovered the £425 price
Charles Revson coined the phrase ‘hope in a jar’ to describe women’s relationship with his Revlon products, and it’s true, there’s no price limit on hope. What is remarkable, though, is that unlike splashing out on an extravagant coat, the result of spending on pricey skincare is less easy to demonstrate.
Will a lovely smelling bit of gloop really make much more difference to dark under the eyes than a less expensive one?
There certainly isn’t much evidence. But that doesn’t stop them selling. Hope is clearly, like a designer handbag, just more expensive than ever.
The Americans are coming… book now!
The Americans are definitely coming. London property finders are working overtime to accommodate the hordes fleeing Trump’s America. For the rest of us, this means it’ll be even harder to get into anything last minute.
Americans are massive forward-planners. Theatre tickets will be snapped up months in advance. Fashionable restaurant tables, already hard to book, will be even rarer – though since the Yanks like to eat early, they’ll be out by 9pm, leaving space for the home team.
Country weekend rentals will be at a premium since no self-respecting American chooses to weekend in town, and European holiday villas will be block-booked eons ahead. Anyone, like me, who tends to wing it will have to change their attitude. A table for four at the River Cafe in June, please. We’re happy to dine at 9.30pm.
Where have my mice scampered off to?
Regular readers may remember that we’ve had a mice problem in our house over recent months.
But now they’ve disappeared, and I’ve no idea why. Not even the slightest rustle can be detected.
Could it be that mice are more intelligent than we give them credit and, having heard endless discussion about vermin exterminators and lethal traps, they decided the wise approach would be to lie low for a while?
Or is it just that they, like us, are taking advantage of the warmer weather and have found new accommodation in the garden?
