I Am Loving The New Galaxy Ad With The Stunning Audrey Hepburn

I am seriously loving the magic of computer-generated imagery. Melt-in-your-mouth chocolate Galaxy has brought back screen legend and fashion icon Audrey Hepburn back to life for a one minute commercial by ad agency AMV BBDO and visual-effects company Framestore. Gorgeously beautiful, intelligent and elegant, Audrey is starring in the chocolate brands latest ad. Of course she’s not real. A team of 4 animators worked on recreating her beautiful smile as she rides a bus. The ad, which took more than year to make, is incredibly realistic: Audrey gazes in a bus window, flirts with a driver and skips through an Italian market-place before eating a square of the lustrous Galaxy chocolate.

The Breakfast at Tiffany’s icon’s sons Sean Ferrer and Luca Dotti gave permission for the ad agency to use her face, said: ‘It perfectly captures our mother’s playful spirit.’

The ad takes place of Italy’s stunning Amalfi Coast and features Hepburn sitting patiently on the bus, before a handsome strangers pulls up beside the bus in a sky blue convertible. Their eyes meet, she flashes a flirtatious smile and he gestures to offer Hepburn a ride. The ad definitely shows Hepburn’s flirty and mischievous side. She hops off the bus, snatches the bus driver’s cap, places it on her handsome hero’s head before taking a seat in the back of the car, where she is free to enjoy her lush chocolate in peace.

The great thing is, a beautiful dreamy rendition of Breakfast at Tiffany’s Moon River is played seductively in the background as they drive off into the beautiful hills.

I don’t know about you, but this ad hits the spot on making me want to peg it down the shop and get some chocolate.  What do you think?


Where’s the Christmas spirit?

Good Morning! It’s Monday, the sun is shinning its beautiful light, commuters are long over the slub of their travel this morning and sitting at their desks with their tea and coffee and I’m still in this ward with the coughing, choking, spluttering patients hoping that today is the day I leave.

I’ve been told by endless nurses that a doctor will be round to see me today but I’m sure they just tell us this to be quiet. My neighbours in here are groovy grannies with their colour coordinated dressing gowns and slippers, puzzles and Hello! Magazines. I’m sitting here with a daft polar bear hat on, a hospital gown that does no justice to my butt and over knee socks with colourful triangles on them.

Hopefully today is the day I’m out of here. Hospital’s are depressing places. The wards here are drones of pale blue walls with neon bright blinding lights and windows that tell a story of a different world. Hospitals are places for the sick, but can’t the trusts put happy things in here? Children’s wards get happy colours, pictures on the walls and toys to play with, us adults get beds of motionless souls, emptiness and a fear of being alone. I’m in a ward with groovy grannies, thank god for my iPhone. Without the use of this bad boy, I would have to refer back to the gossip mag’s my Mum brought in and read word for word, page to page until sign of life alerted I’d be on my merry way.

Can I make a suggestion, dear NHS trusts? Here’s a thought, bring a bit of life to these wards, some smiles, some Christmas spirit, a bit of tinsel draped over the windows or place a loosely decorated Christmas tree in the corner if your budget is too tight. Christmas is approaching in a week tomorrow. A week. Most of these patients won’t be out in time or even be with a family this Christmas, so make it feel like the spirit of it is still alive.

Let’s get rid of this:


And make it something more manageable for everyone. Heck if budget is that tight, I’ll come as a Christmas fairy (I don’t have the belly to pass off as Father Christmas) on Christmas Day.

Is this what I pay my taxes for?

Hey all, I’m stepping away from my normal posts on here for this post. I’ve been terribly crap writing anything for the past few weeks or months as my crazy life has taken over everything. But sitting here in a room by myself, on a ward where coughing, splurting, puking and crying patients lay waiting for the words of “you’re going home” to give me a kick up the ass and write a post. Never have I been in hospital for this long by myself and it’s a scary place.

I’ve got asthma. Not the kind that sets me off every second, but the mildness of one that likes to dance on my chest when it feels like a party and scream SURPRISE when it comes by. This has happened more recently when the weather sucks ass and it’s terribly cold. Since developing a cold on Monday throughout my own stupidity of dolly shoes, skinny jeans and a jacket that barely covered my ass, a pitter patter of delicate wheeze started showing its face on Tuesday. Thanks to my sister’s expert diagnosis and my child-like mind of a four year old, I didn’t listen and carried on with my day. Dumb and dumberer springs to mind. The shear stupidity of not listening to my sister who has read every book on illness and good health since having my 11 month old niece, should have sparked a bit of worry that since it’s winter, this is not a good mix at all. It took three days of constant coughing, sleepless nights and severe shortness of breath before my Mum had to drive me to A&E at 1am Yesterday morning.

In most cases, asthma is seen as an emergency right? If you’re taken in by an ambulance, they strap you in your seat, shove a plastic thing on your face and wrap you in a blanket whilst one of the paramedics asks you questions before zooming you into A&E writing a few things down before saying ciao and your with Mr Hottie McNottie breathing into a nebuliser. That’s happened before. Hottie McNottie was hot in some light. SOME. Must have been quite a nebuliser to think different. Anyway, I didn’t come in via ambulance this time. After a mini breathless chit chat with NHS Direct, a refusal for an ambulance (let’s not give my neighbourhood gossip and pointy fingers), I asked my Mum to drive me down. Half Miss Daisy like and half Jenson Button. What was promised as ‘being seen in 15’ was hospital speak for 5 hours, I managed to half sleep on a bench in A&E, watch an old man piss himself and a fat guy snore like a rhino as I felt myself slowly deteriorating into a deep black hole. Without the words of my name spoken loudly by my ear, God knows where or what I’d be right now. Thank God for doctor, definitely Mr Hottie in the blue scrubs and Converse (a normal person, hallelujah!) who I’ll call my knight in shining armour who put me on a nebuliser and said my hat was awesome. Go Dr!


After a while I was taken to an observation unit where I sat opposite a dude with a broken jaw, bloody ear and attitude of Mike Tyson whilst I waited for a further 9 hours before actual word I would be moved to a ward. Thank god for my Mum and best friend Beth. Both saviours. One with food ( thanks mummy) and the other, my bestie with hugs and laughs. Definitely what I needed and so grateful for.

The food here is atrocious. Surprised it’s even considered as food, tastes rank and looks nasty. I wouldn’t feed half of it to my cat. It makes me laugh when the assistant comes round and recommends the breaded chicken with chips (which I agreed to) and I’m given this instead:


Have a guess what the above is… Answers on a postcard please!

My lunch today was roast beef and ‘roast’ potatoes or a ball of fluffy smash that resembled a dollop of yellow sick and carrots swimming in water:


My dinner this evening. Definitely five star in the eyes of West Middlesex’s catering department. Fluffy chicken breast served with seasonal vegetables and mash potatoes served in a delicious syrupy sauce perfectly placed on the fine dinning set:


I’m delirious and fed up. Blessed my mum is borderline OCD about cleanliness and healthy eating that half of TESCO is by my bedside in full view of the broken English speaking nurses on the ward.

I just want to know what my taxes go on. My national insurance pays for this right? Or does it? This will be my second full night in here since my arrival.

The stats:
Hours in A&E before being seen by nurse: 4
Hours in A&E before actually going into A&E and being seen by a doctor: further 2 hours
Hours until paracetamol given: 9
Number of nebulisers given since I arrived: 10.
Number of English speaking staff: 4
Number of staff on the grasp of English understanding and speaking: too many to count.
Number of paraceutimol: 8
Number of horrid meals: 3
Number of meals actually eaten: does bread with butter count?
Number of hours slept: overall 6.
Time till discharge: unpredictable.

Hopefully I’ll be out tomorrow, fingers crossed. Will never complain about food again, will appreciate my roof over my head a tonne load more and my health much more. It’s terrifying being in here. I thought I was just on a ward. Didn’t realise they all are wards for certain things. I’m sharing with 4 other ladies; groovy grannies and trendy teens. Tonight sees no sleep on my part as I countdown the hours to the consultant hopefully showing up today. Thank god for this:


Fingers crossed I’m out tomorrow.

Ps, I’m intrigued, has anyone had a bad experience or similar at an NHS hospital?

This Morning Rant is Aimed at MacDonalds. Yes, MacDonalds.

Dear MacDonald’s,

Why is it in your Warren Street (134 Tottenham Court Road) restaurant, your staff repeatedly forget to add Philadelphia cream cheese with your bagels? I’m partial to a bagel every now and again from your restaurant for a breakfast snack with my morning tea but this is the 6th time members of your staff fail to register that ‘Cream Cheese & Bagel’ means exactly that not one without the other. I don’t have time to check in the morning to see if your staff have the basic knowledge to add a simple ingredient to a meal.

Doesn’t my bagel look tasty…?

What can be done about it? I love MacDonald’s and don’t want to complain but it’s extremely frustrating. I will eat this bagel without cream cheese this morning with a sour face. I hope one of your team comes back with a pretty uplifting message to brighten up what will now be a pretty shit day.

Yours faithfully,


Stars shrinking before our eyes won’t get my vote. It’s curves all the way

What is the ongoing obsession with being a size zero? It’s unattractive and bad for your health. It seems everyone wants to be on some extreme diet. If it’s not the juice diet its a drinking coffee only diet or no carbs or just water. Thanks but no thanks. I’m a happy size 12 and honestly won’t be dropping any pounds to please anyone. My boyfriend loves me the way I am and I love the way I am. I don’t have a washboard stomach (I’d love one but honestly I’m a little lazy and I just don’t give a crap), I have curves and think women should just celebrate that and love themselves for who they are. We all have something that we’d love to change about ourselves and by Joe do I have a list of body imperfections that I’d love to change but I’m petrified of going under the knife and looking like plastic Jordan big boobs or heck that Heidi nobody from The Hills. I don’t wanna be fake and that’s fine by me. Most of my friends are gorgeously curvy and love the way they are. They all say they can’t believe they fell for that diet crap that some gossip magazine published to be in with a chance of that size 8 beach buff body and try and love themselves for being more skinnier. All I say to that is sod that.

Recently reading my guilty pleasures of uber crap gossip magazines where they are write the same la-de-da, articles of Angelina Jolie drinking only coffee where her skinny and gaunt appearance makes her look much older than her 36 year old self is shocking. She says she’s been busy, so busy she can’t have a sandwich and been living on 10 cups of coffee instead. Reports suggest 5ft 7″ Ange has plummeted to below 7 stonne giving her a BMI (Body Max Index) of just 15.3 making her ridiculously under-weight. The normal BMI range of being healthy is 18.5-25. She needs help-fast. Ange, mum of siz, began to look emaciated at the Cannes Film Festival and it became even more noticeable on May 23 when she and Brad Pitt attended the LA premiere of her new animated flick. Angelina’s black Michael Kors ensemble hung on her frail frame and showed off her veiny arms.

I’m totally loving Italian Vogue at the moment, who the other week put two fingers up to the fashion world people who believe super-skinny is the way to go by featuring 3 stunning curvy beauties on their July issue cover.The move comes as editor Franca Sozzani continues to campaign against pro-anorexia websites. And rather than hide their figures in floaty dresses, or cut them off at the waist, Sozzani proudly features Tara Lynn, Candice Huffine and Robyn Lawley in their underwear. The editor has been busy collecting signatures for a petition to shut down websites encouraging eating disorders. She said: ‘Fashion has been always blamed as one of the culprits of anorexia, and our commitment is the proof that fashion is ready to get on the frontline and struggle against the disorder.’ Sozzani has also promised to feature more plus-sized models in the future.

She said: ‘Why should these women slim down? ‘Many of the women who have a few extra kilos are especially beautiful and also more feminine.’ Tara has been making a name for herself, starring in H&M’s Big is Beautiful campaign and has appeared in in Elle, V magazine and Glamour. The last time a plus-size model featured on the cover of Vogue was Sophie Dahl – before she dropped 15lbs from a size 14.

By nature women’s magazines are a contradictory bunch, espousing the virtues of body love one minute and telling us about the latest celebrity fad diet, or publishing pictorial spreads of ‘super-skinny stars’, the next.Being healthy should always be our priority and shouldn’t be sidetracked by the mass media that losing pounds to look like the super-skinny celebs out there is the way to go. It’s a cliche but, in the case of magazines in particular, pictures speak much louder than words. I think magazines should show women with the real womanly curves we were given than the negative body-images shoved in our faces and giving teenagers and young girls the wrong images. It’s not acceptable or normal. The message we should be giving to youngsters is love the skin you’re in, whatever shape or size and not let bad body images ruin the ideal of what is the real ideal of a woman’s body shape.