Imagery

Pho's pho ga (chicken noodle soup) is so often my lunchtime saviour. Served in different pots and pieces, you assemble it yourself, adding as much (or as little) of the fresh ingredients as you'd like. I throw everything in, strip the fresh herbs from their stems, squeeze the lime, accidentally put too much chilli in and take as long as I need to eat it all.

Firezza; our go-to pizza place since our previous favourite stopped delivering to us. You can get standard 12" round pizzas or 1/4 and 1/2 metre measures topped with some of the tastiest toppings going. Almost always a deal available and the banoffee pie is heavenly.

Tiago made a Red Velvet cake.

Whenever I spend a weekend at home, it's fairly likely that, on Sundays, you'll find me in front of the world's biggest cheese and meat board. 

On Saturday,  my mum and I visited one of the places where she grew up and stopped to pay our respects to some relatives in the churchyard. After I got a little emotional, we stepped inside to see where she was confirmed and where the classic Christmas services were held.

We then went on to eat at The Olde Bell, a great coaching inn in Hurley (my review here), before heading to a 60th birthday for one of my mum's friends. Having known each other since the age of 14 and getting up to all sorts of ridiculous behaviour (recounted with a mix of embarrassment, incredulity and pride), it was great to finally meet one of my mum's oldest friends. And then meet others she hadn't seen for 40 years. There were pictures of the birthday girl all around the area, but I just had to snap this polaroid of my mum!

The Color Run

Yesterday, I signed up for this year's Color Run. Originally an American idea, it's a five kilometre (three miles to us Brits) race that is less about the time across the finish line and more about the time you spend doing it. Participants (60% of which are first-time runners, like me!) wear white and, at every kilometre mark, are doused from head to toe in different colours. Once over the finish line, there's a mini-party 'Color Festival' and it doesn't matter how long it takes you to reach it, or even how you reach it, because it's all about the experience.

Now, being someone who doesn't run for the bus, hasn't stepped foot in a gym for years and manages a few days of the 30 Day Shred before getting distracted, it's a bit of an unexpected step. Sure, 5 kilometres isn't a big deal (I have a couple of friends who regularly run marathons) but I figured that this would be a perfect way to ease myself into somewhat of a strenuous activity (for me, anyway) alongside some of my pals.

The London Color Run is happening on 14 July, near Wembley. There's one the following week in Manchester and they're hoping to add more locations and dates this summer. It's £25 entry, with support going to Stand Up For Cancer and Cancer Research UK, and you get to be that person covered head to toe in colours grinning all the way home.

The Olde Bell

The Olde Bell is an old coaching inn dating from 1135, tucked away in the small Berkshire village of Hurley. The main building's gorgeously timber-framed with nooks, crannies and winding staircases, whilst there's other more slightly modern areas that encompass most of the bedrooms as well as the capacity to host weddings for up to 150 people (of which one was taking place when we arrived on Saturday afternoon).

We came for lunch, between visiting family roots in Shiplake and going to a 60th birthday party in Marlow (more on that later), and were very glad we did. The wedding party's old Routemaster in the car park lent even more of a quintessential feel to the day (villages around Henley are particularly picturesque) and the low ceilings and tiled floors of the Bell's interior were a real comfort.

There's a few different areas to explore - the main bar, a bar dining area, private rooms and the main restaurant that gives onto a pretty patio and garden. We were given a 'booth' to ourselves (below) and felt right at home in the dining room, with its mismatched railway sleeper tables and grey-green painted chairs. We were given some warm homemade bread whilst we pored over the daily-changing menu and somehow managed to choose from the amazing dishes on offer.

We started with asparagus (deliciously raw and peppery), quail's egg and garlic mayonnaise, and a ballantine of Scottish salmon with dill and minted creme fraiche. Enticingly served on slates and pristine white crockery, we fell in love with the flavours. For mains, my mum had tender pork belly on a bed of lentils with cider jus whilst I had herb-crusted lamb with garlic mash. We shared a generous portion of seasonal greens and dove straight in. My lamb was served brilliantly pink and the garlic mash was perfect (and quite like a fondant potato) - the only chagrin was my poor decision to choose lamb when I'm not its biggest fan. The dish was delicious but I'm not quite converted. Mum's pork belly was divine. As a treat, we just had to share a dessert - a gorgeously smooth and rich creme brulee with the lightest homemade shortbread we've ever tasted. 

The price for food is very good given the presentation and the quality. The staff were attentive and friendly, but not intrusive, and let us explore the inn. The meadow-like garden looked a perfect place for long lunches in the summer and we saw quite a few people snacking in the bar - there's no pressure wherever you choose to sit.

The rooms (there are 50 of them) look gorgeous, given the shots on the website. Affordable too with some very special offers that throw in champagne, chocolates and roll-top baths. The Olde Bell is perfect for a jaunt out of the city - a stone's throw from all the fun at Henley, or even just for a country escape - and somewhere I'd definitely come back to. 

A firm four-and-a-half out of five (a half point deducted for my hasty choice of a main that didn't quite manage to convert me).

Behind closed doors

Thursday has been the new Friday for a long time. Sore heads and lighter wallets accompany feeling-sorry-for-yourself statuses and tweets, but the draw of a drink (or many) to welcome in the weekend is too hard to resist. Last night I went on a jaunt and discovered some brilliant places behind some impressively unassuming doors.

After a couple of post-work beers at local haunt The Yard, I headed to the Experimental Cocktail Club in Chinatown. Sandwiched between two restaurants and hidden behind a very nondescript blink-and-you'll-miss-it door, the ECC is a haven away from the busy streets of Soho. The immediate staircase takes you straight up to the first floor where exposed brickwork and deep red walls give the bar a prohibition-era vibe; mirrors on the ceiling and a great half-moon window keeps the place from feeling a little too dark. The inspired cocktails were a welcome change from the standard menu - I had an Old Cuban, rum-based with citrus and ginger, and a Sage Advice, a twist on a mojito, topped with fresh sage. Definitely a place to return to.

From there, we went to Blacks on Dean Street; a place I walk past every morning on the way to work, and a place that gives nothing away. Opposite The Groucho Club, 'Blacks looks nothing more from the outside than an unassuming Georgian townhouse, yet behind its unmarked black door a heritage-packed, eclectically-attired bolthole awaits those in the know. You enter at basement level by descending a rickety steel staircase from the street into somewhere resembling a Dickensian tavern, all long oak benches and exposed beams with a deep fireplace, Farrow & Ball tinted-walls and enigmatic oil paintings.' We ate in one of the laybrinthine dining rooms - a sharer board of breads and olives before a pollock fillet with Romanesco sauce, grilled spring onions and sauteed potatoes - before finishing our drinks upstairs, lounging on one of the charmingly mismatched sofas in front of a roaring open fire. It felt deliciously cosy, and with the brilliantly lovely staff, it was a real treat.

After that, we went to The Box. Only in its first year, it's infamous - many celebrities are pictured tumbling out of its massive oak doors, and the cabaret shows are legendary (so I hear). A friend of a friend was DJing so we skipped the queue and headed straight upstairs, momentarily stopping off in the old theatre before dancing the night away in the loft. Despite two attempts, we didn't manage to catch any of the downstairs entertainment but the music made up for it. Plush and dark, The Box oozes hedonism, so it's easy to see why it's fast becoming a firm favourite - a little bit naughty, a little bit nice and right in the heart of shabby, sexy Soho.

Putting On The Ritz

Saturday afternoon, I was invited to a private screening of Pedro Almodovar's new feature I'm So Excited! It had garnered a mixed collection of reviews and so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Almodovar is best known for his films such as The Skin I Live In, Volver, and Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! and so an out-and-out comedy set on a doomed aeroplane seemed a little off-kilter.

The screening was at the BAFTA headquarters in Piccadilly and we made it just in time to slip into the second to back row, just in case we wanted to make a quick (and early) exit. And make a quick and early exit we did. We stuck it out for about an hour, giving it the benefit of the doubt, and whilst it started off quite funny in places, it seemed to disintegrate into farce and become a little clunky. Despite an amusing, very camp rendition of The Pointer Sister's I'm So Excited (giving the film its title), brief appearances from Antonio Banderas and Penelope Cruz, and some silly characters (namely the pilots and cabin crew), it just felt too Airplane. 

We left and ended up going for a conciliatory drink at The Ritz and a spin at blackjack. I'd never played before (apart from some predrinking attempts at 21) and tried to get my head into it by watching another player at the table. Once I'd plucked up the courage, I put in £10 - and ended up with two 21s (one with an Ace!) and making £15. I stopped there as beginner's luck never needs to turn into complacency, and I'm pretty pleased to be able to say I came away from The Ritz up.

The glitzy gilt drinking rooms of The Ritz Club were a little unexpected, but it was clear why it's a stalwart of London heritage. Some interesting frescos, brilliantly puffy sofas and armchairs and predictably attentive service herald the best in British hospitality. It's no surprise that tourists and locals alike flock here and I'm pleased that I've joined the ever-swelling ranks of visitors.