ENGLISH MUM IN IRELAND HAS MOVED! FIND ME AT ENGLISHMUM.COM

Well that’s that then. The kids are now officially off for Christmas and there are no more early mornings for me for a whole month. Woohoo! They had a lovely end of term carol service, which, even for a total heathen such as myself, was rather enjoyable. Slightly ruined, I have to say, by that whole ‘stand up, sit down’ thing that you have to do after every hymn and for the readings and all that. I began to feel like I was taking part in a particularly shambolic attempt at the Mexican wave. Still, I got to belt out ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’, and snigger at the very shrill lady singing behind me. There was an awkward moment when we all stumbled over the words to one of the carols when there was a typo in the hymn sheet, but we rallied well and it all turned out okay in the end. Phew.

The school laid on fantastic mince pies and a particularly evil brew of mulled wine made by the science teacher (say no more). #1 did worry that he was going to try and turn us all into frogs just in time for Christmas, but I’m pleased to say I suffered no ill effects, well, unless you count very clovey hiccups.

So I was thinking, in between hiccups, on the way home, that I haven’t done a mad fantasy Christmas list yet. Everyone should do one, just in case they fall hopelessly in love with a millionaire (sorry babe, but you never know xx). Here goes then, oh and remember, don’t write in, it’s just for fun:

1. A pink KitchenAid blender (okay, so I know it’s on every birthday and Christmas list I do, but I really really want one)

2. Scented candles (again – Dyptique or Jo Malone would be fab, but hey, anything’s a bonus)

3. Pink champagne!! Oh and those beautiful new red John Rocha glasses for Waterford Crystal to sip it from.

4. More cookery books: Bill Granger’s ‘Holiday’, ‘Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table’ by Nigel Slater (I love Nige), Jamie Oliver’s ‘Jamie at Home’, James Martin’s ‘Desserts’, Ina Garten’s ‘The Barefoot Contessa at Home’ ohhh the list is endless.

5. A blank cheque to run around Agent Provocateur with.

6. Oh and don’t get me started on cosmetics…MAC make-up, Clarins yummy creams, Kerastase hair products, yada yada

7. Jimmy Choos!

8. I still want my Land Rover Discovery 3, but could be talked into the monster that is the new Audi Q7, or a new Mitsubishi Lancer Evo 10 (woohoo!)

9. Ooh, and what about clothes – a beautiful Karen Millen black riding coat, some fahbilis new jeans (Rock & Republic please), cashmere….

10. I think that’s it. Greedy? Moi?

€124 on aforementioned trip for highlights (half head - I was being thrifty) and a cut and blow dry. Food budget for the week down to €60. Hair looking fabulous though.

So we haven’t had any nice girly product chats for a while and I’ve got LOADS to report. Firstly, then, to face creams and a tragedy that could have left me scarred for life (well, more wrinkly anyway) when Hubby smashed my brand new and very expensive Clarins cream on the bathroom floor (MY fault, obviously) was narrowly averted with a trip to good ol’ Boots. Since I’m currently trying to stick to my new budget and replacing a 50 Euro face cream was probably going to result in us eating cardboard for a week or something, I settled on L’Oreal’s new addition to their Wrinkle Decrease line, the Collagen Skin Re-modeller Redefining Day Cream Face and Neck SPF15 and, apart from objecting to its unfeasibly long name, I have to say it’s pretty fab. I’m already a big fan of the Wrinkle Decrease Collagen Filler Eye Cream and this one doesn’t disappoint either. It smells lovely, has a sensible pump action that dispenses exactly the right amount and doesn’t leave you with a bloody great handful of product to get rid of, and it leaves the skin feeling rather nice and velvety too. I’m converted.

Also in Boots, I picked up another bottle of Dove’s Pro-Age Neck and Chest Beauty Serum (DO NOT get out of the shower without slapping some of this on your décolleté – I’ve told you before, wrinkly chest = Bette Lynch) and me Ma picked up a little tube of Bourjois’ new La Crème des Lèvres which is a nice mix between a lip balm and a gloss. Being a total lipstick-phobe (if I want to look like a transvestite I’ll grow some stubble, thank you) and seeing as she liked it so much, I went and got the beige one for myself. It’s lovely and subtle but tastes a bit perfumey (Mac Lipglass tastes the best). Not three bad though.

Next, then, to the tresses. My new hairdresser, the gorgeous Glen (he’s a blond kite surfer – jealous much?) suggested Kérastase’s Bain de Force for Weakened Hair to give some oomph to my stupid baby hair and although I nearly had heart failure at the price, I have to say it’s damn good. Whether the aforementioned budget will ever allow me to purchase it again is another matter, but for now my hair is rather nice and swingy, even though it’s highlighted and ridiculously fine to boot.

Finally, I’m still loving Nivea Hand Age Defying Q10 Plus which, although recently reformulated still smells divine and makes your hands all smooth and lubly. I’ve got one in my bag, one on my desk and one in the car to apply whilst sitting in traffic especially to wind Hubby up.

My last wish is for The Sanctuary’s new hot cloth cleanser, which is supposed to be on a par with Liz Earle’s wonder product. It doesn’t seem to be available here, but if Santa’s reading – I’d be very grateful if you’d pop one in my stocking. Ooer.

Ahhh, England, my England. Now, you all know I’m a total, fully-converted Irelandaholic, but there’s not much that can beat a trip to your favouritest hairdresser ever to put you in a good mood, wherever you are in the world. And this is precisely how I came to be battering down the door at my much-missed and extremely wonderful ex-hairdresser’s salon this morning. Oh lovely Belinda. Having finally found the perfect girly, the one who has the same type of hair as me, laughs at the same things (heck, we even ask after each other’s kids by name) and who knows exactly what you mean when you say vague things like ‘I’d like to be blonder, but not ‘trailer trash’ blonde, you know?’, the one who makes you strut out of the salon feeling like a million dollars, flicking your glossy locks…and what do I do? Move a few hundred miles away. Duh.

Still, I’m a glass half full girl, and today my glass overfloweth as I’m currently in possession of that aforementioned glossy blondeness, which should see me through those dark, Belinda-less days before I can get back here and book in again. I wonder if she’s considered Ireland as an emigration possibility? Maybe I should buy her a brochure… Oh, and even better, I got to visit the fab shop across the road and squeeze myself into a new pair of Citizens of Humanity jeans, which are outrageously, bottom flattering and disgustingly covetable. I had to have them. They called to me. There you go, then, I’m all groomed and shopped out to boot. Happy days…

So I guess I’m a bit more ‘product orientated’ (euphemism for shopaholic) than most people, but I can’t help myself. I love walking round Boots and all the lovely smells and new things to try keep calling to me…I just seem unable to resist. Last night while I was getting ready for bed, I wondered whether my beauty routine was getting a bit out of hand. This occurred to me some time after I’d massaged in my Liz Earle Hot Cloth Cleanser (and removed it with a hot cloth, naturellement), used my MD Formulations Glycolic Scrub, but just before I’d smoothed on some Protect & Perfect Serum and was settling down in bed with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, the latest Harlan Coben and a warm greyhound. Oh, that’s not the half of it. When I’m finally in bed, then I apply my No 7 Hydro Quench Overnight Cream Sorbet, my night time eye balm (the Boots Botanics Collagen one if you must know – I have a different one for daytime) and my Lip Contour Balm and read my book. Then just before I turn off the light (and kick out the greyhound-shaped pillow) it’s time for my Champneys Cracked Heel Treatment Balm (if my feet are particularly dry, otherwise I use the Sanctuary Foot Souffle) and a final application of Champneys Overnight Sensation Hand Care Treatment. If it’s hot, I might have a squirt of Sanctuary Cooling Leg Mist too.

Okay, so I’m taking slightly more time and care at the moment, because let’s face it, with Hubby away, the dog and Harlan Coben don’t really care how much time I spend rubbing blue goop into my feet, but still, that’s just my evening routine. Bath time involves various different scrubs, shampoos, conditioning treatments and face masks (the Champneys one is fabulous), followed by Palmers Cocoa Butter, the occasional dollop of fake tan (no, I don’t go the Satsuma route) or the Johnson’s Summer Skin Body Lotion, my Clarins Total Body Lift (I was initially dead huffy when Hubby bought me this, but it’s deadly). Oh wait, then obviously the face stuff starts all over again with Protect & Perfect, my ROC Moisturiser, my MAC Prep & Prime SPF50 and don’t get me started on make-up, hair, nails…

So after all this effort, do I look seventeen? Er no, but hey, you only get out what you put in and anyway, I take comfort in the fact that I take care of myself. Hubby wouldn’t want to be married to Worzel Gummidge now, would he?

Ooh, an exciting day on the ‘girly stuff’ front today (those without lady bits look away now). First of all, my MAC Prep & Prime SPF50 came in the post (wehay! Something useful from Ebay for a change). This is, apparently, a godsend for those of us blessed with a forehead as shiny (and attracting about as much attention) as Kylie’s gold hotpants. I’ll be reporting shortly. The only thing I will say is that it’s bloody expensive for such a teeny little bottle so it better be good. Secondly, I’ve got to report back on all the lubly testers that the nice Clarins lady at the unfeasibly large shopping centre gave me.

Here goes then: firstly, I wasn’t particularly impressed with the Clarins Pore Minimizing Serum, which seemed a bit sticky and was the same unattractive sickly pale green as its packaging (not a patch on No 7 Protect & Perfect, which I’m convinced is the Elixir of Life). Mind you, I was so offended that she thought my pores needed minimising in the first place that this could have added to the bad impression. Next up was the Clarins Hydra Matte Lotion for combination skin, also in the new pale green packaging of their Multi Matte Range. Again, nice smell, but not moisturising enough for me. Maybe in the evening under make-up (if I ever go out again, don’t hold your breath, although I could trudge round the bottom field in wellies and full slap I suppose) when I don’t need the SPF of the MAC Prep & Prime? I definitely favoured the Clarins Moisture Quenching Hydra-Care Lotion from their Hydra Balance range. V impressed with this – nice smell, non-greasy and sank in easily. So there you have it. Sod all that wear on your feet, just let me do the testing, order online and Bob’s your auntie, the only thing Kylie-like about your appearance will be your cute, shine-free button nose. Possibly.

Okay, so today I went for my freebie visit to the spa. If you’ll remember, lovely E, the manager, had offered Hubby and I a go at the new thermal spa, but we’d never managed to keep the appointment due to one of the sprogs selfishly deciding to be ill. Anyhoo, now the new mud rasul bit was open and she wanted me to have a go at that too, so how could I resist?

Now we go to Knightsbrook quite a lot (they have a lovely bar area overlooking the golf course where we take the children for burgers the size of cricket balls), but I never cease to be impressed by the massive marble-clad entrance complete with the biggest, blingiest chandelier you’ve ever set eyes on. The people there are just so friendly and I was dead excited to be back again. Because I’m always popping in with me Mum or C&R or just to get the odd bit of waxing or whatever, I’ve got to know E and some of her girls quite well. I have to say it’s lovely being welcomed back with a big smile by people who remember your name (and ask after your friends and family too) and the spa is just gorgeous – all brown leather sofas, creamy marble and coffee coloured walls. I could spend all day there (in fact, I sometimes do).

Right, digressing again there – so I was welcomed by the lovely C and shown to the changing rooms (more buttery marble and piles of latte coloured waffle towels) to change into my funky flip-flops and ridiculously plush bathrobe (I’m desperate for one but not so desperate I’d stuff one in my handbag – it wouldn’t fit anyway). Then it was down a spectacular marble staircase to the thermal spa: an incredible mosaic-tiled mega-bathroom with all sorts of different cabins and cubicles: some hot, some cool, some steamy, some with aromatherapy stuff and even a salt grotto (a high humidity chamber with sea salt infused steam wafting around). This is the good bit: I was given a pot of mud which looked kind of like chocolate spread but actually smelt quite nice – a bit herby and medical – and (because I wasn’t officially having a treatment, just a ‘go’ – usually it’s combined with body brushing or something else) I was allowed to put it on myself. The therapist very kindly offered to do my back, then let me loose with the mud. Seeing as I was on my own, and I’m not shy anyway, I stripped off and smothered myself all over (singing the Disreputable one’s favourite Hippopotamus song: ‘Mud, mud, glorious mud’ to myself as I slapped it all over - and I mean ALL over). This was truly the best fun I’ve had naked in a long time (well, since Hubby’s been away anyway). Then, looking somewhat like a Cadbury’s chocolate finger, I took my seat in the steam rasul where delicious smelling steam soon turned everything cloudy. Had it not been so bloody hot I think I would have dozed off.

Some time later (ahem) and after a brisk shower (ooh, this is fab, you can press different buttons and choose between a tropical storm, side jets, or a ‘spike’ shower where you get really pummelled), I headed out to the thermal spa to try out all the different cabins. Sadly this is when it all went wrong as they’d all just broken down. Ah well. I had a lovely sauna, another go with the mad showers, dried off, smothered myself in yummy body lotion, and headed off to the ‘chill out’ room for herbal tea, fruit and a nice lie down.

A bit disappointed that I didn’t get to try the thermal spa but hey, it was a freebie after all. My skin is tingling and soft as a baby’s bum and it was a really lovely pampering experience. This mud really was glorious!

So I was listening to the radio this morning on the way back from school and the news was full of how this fantastic Boots anti-ageing stuff was causing riots in the aisles and that there were 50,000 women on the waiting list for it. Apparently (and don’t quote me because I didn’t see it) it was featured on Horizon (a TV programme, for those who live in a tent on the Yorkshire Moors) where some boffin or other proved that it really does what it says on the bottle, ie boosts collagen, pumps your skin full of antioxidants and, therefore, reduces wrinkles and firms the skin. Sales of the Boots No7 Protect & Perfect Beauty Serum have apparently soared by 2000 percent following the programme. All this for a product that was actually launched, to no significant fanfare, back in 2004.

On their website, Boots say that ‘eminent dermatologist Professor Chris Griffiths carried out independent research on No7 Protect and Perfect Beauty Serum and scientifically proved that it repairs photo-aged skin and improves the fine wrinkles associated with photo-ageing’. Wow.

Imagine my surprise, then, dear reader, when I wandered into Boots later, having queued up in the butchers for my Sunday roast (a nice joint of beef, seeing as you asked) to see it nestling there on the shelves as usual. There were no queues, no riots, no hair pulling, no ‘handbags at dawn’, nothing. Much like the new M3 motorway, the hype had obviously bypassed the quiet midlands of Ireland and headed straight up north. So, as you do, I thought ‘well, it’d be rude not to’. So I nabbed one, handed over my 23.50 Euro (don’t ask me what that is in English, I’ve gone too far to revert now) and I’ll let you know how I get on when I road test it. Watch this space, then, people. A sprightly, smoother and significantly younger-looking me could be emerging shortly. Scary.

…searching for the perfect moisturiser. Lads, you can go now; this is a girl thing.

So. The Disreputable Dad (who, being a perfumer and purveyor of all things smelly for donkey’s years, knows his onions about such things) and from whom I have inherited my interest in fragrances, cosmetics and generally buying stuff that I can’t afford, sent me a Clarins Moisture Quenching Hydra-Care Cream for my birthday. I love it. It smells gorgeous and leaves your skin really soft. Trouble is, I’ve had to downgrade it to a night cream as it’s somehow too rich for me and by lunchtime the sun reflecting off my shiny forehead is dazzling oncoming traffic.

Now although I’d got my old favourite, Estée Lauder’s DayWear Plus SPF15, which is the one that smells lovely and goes on looking grey, but turns into a surprisingly flattering tint on your face, I find that I can’t put that on my neck (never neglect your décolleté, girls – nobody likes a crinkly cleavage) when I’m wearing certain things because it makes my collars dirty. I’ve also got a Liz Earle moisturiser that I got with my Cleanse and Polish, but it smelly funny and I can’t be doing with smelling like an old lady. Back to the chemist then. Quickly discarding Olay’s Anti Wrinkle Firming Day Cream SPF15 (too greasy) and the Nivea Visage Oil Free Moisturising Fluid (not bad for a cheapo, but not moisturising enough for my two-children-induced lines), I moved onto their Sunkissed Skin moisturiser, but it has that awful reek of cheap fake tan and two days of Hubby sniffing the air and going ‘ew, what’s that smell’ every time he came near me were quite enough, thank you.

My new purchase, then (thanks to the exceptionally patient lady in the chemist) is ROC Hydra+ Matifying Re-Sourcing Care, which says it’s a gel, but looks like a cream to me. So far it’s looking good and seems reasonably matte on the skin without leaving me feeling like I can’t smile or my face will crack (I wonder if that’s what Botox feels like?) Still, if this one doesn’t work I’m going to have to start selling my body (or my children) as even the usually mind-mannered Hubby might start to take exception to my expenditure. And don’t even get me started on foundations. Ho hum. It’s tough being gorgeous.

Not that I perpetually have odd email conversations with my friends or anything (ahem), but I was having a chat with B about boobs the other day. This wasn’t actually prompted by the ‘don’t look in the mirror when you’re bending down’ conversation I had with C, but it probably ties in quite nicely. You see, B had gone to La Senza (do they have those in Ireland?) to return a bra (‘yes, the same one I took back a couple of weeks ago because I had picked up the wrong size’). Unfortunately that one didn’t fit either as she discovered that she’s not the 34C she thought she was but in fact a 34D. ‘How did that happen? I have breastfed three children, for God’s sake!’ lamented B. Well, I’d actually be quite pleased – I think mine are shrinking. Although I did pick up a rather nice little black number with black and white polka dot ribbon woven through it in Penneys (shh!) which was a 34C, only to find that it was a bit tight – but that’s always the way – every shop’s sizes are completely different. Actually, it felt quite nice to have a bit of cleavage. It reminds me of my Mum: if anyone’s ever got a heaving bosom on the telly, she always says ‘ooer, her dumplings are boiling over’.

Anyway, I digress. Back to B. So, having been assisted by the little lollipop of a girl who is de rigeur in such places (‘she didn’t even look old enough to have boobs let alone advise you on how to hold your own up’), she discovered that they only had two bras in the whole place that fitted and one of them was pink and brown so that basically left her the huge choice of…er…one. Not exactly a satisfactory shopping trip. In my ‘if I was a millionaire’ moments, I’ve always fancied shopping in one of those really posh places like La Perla or what’s the other one called? Places where you get properly fitted. I remember shopping in Mothercare once for a maternity bra and the woman measured me over my jumper, saying it didn’t matter. I ask you.

Now where was I going with this? Oh yes, as you also know, I’ve got a rather nasty Ebay habit, and I recently admired (and purchased) an underwear set online (bit of a gamble, admittedly). Well, my luck, for once, was in. It arrived yesterday and it’s gorgeous. It’s a divergence from my usual lace exclusion policy, but it’s nice stuff not itchy scratchy cheap and nasty lace, and it has little pink bows on too. B-e-a-yootiful, as Bruce Almighty would say, although probably not about underwear.