What to do in London - The Cultural Exposé

My fascination with PMC’s started with a visit to Shoreditch House last year, followed by a couple of drop-ins at The Hospital (via friends - pictured above) and most recently Home House - and if you don’t know, these spots are all about networking with the Coolest of the Cool within venues that have the air of Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory   without the calories and the schizophrenic undertones (one hopes? Cokeheads can go THAT way *Points to the door marked “Leave That Mess Alone”*).  That said, my intrigue is getting the best of me and while these haunts cost a tiny bundle to get the all-clear, a girl can only wish.  Here’s why:

1) The facilities.  So Hospital has got a cinema, recording studio and an art gallery while Shoreditch House has got a heated swimming pool on the ROOF.  Man. Can someone say, bougie, bougie!?

2) My age.  I’m gonna be 30 next year and have noticed that my social circle is slowly developing into the sort of creative and inspirational crowd I wish I knew 15 years ago when I was getting bullied at school and plotting to destroy those foes with my INTELLECT.  Now that I’ve come of age and I’m a proven smarty-pants, I could seriously kick ass with a PMC membership card. Just saying.

3) Impressing my clients (And I know you did NOT just think about Pretty Woman; I frown at your salaciousness, tut tut). PHOTOGRAPHY clients. Duh.

4) Real social networking.  Remember face-to-face banter? No retweets, no trending topics, no “BBM”?  Yea, well I miss those days and actually value connecting with people in PERSON (in a PMC, of course LOL)

5)  No hype.  The beautiful thing about PMCs is that they’re so  inconspicuous and you could walk right past one without realising the socialisation taking place indoors; it’s  the sort of exclusivity a girl like me could get used to :-)

I don’t know about you, but my relationship with golf has only ever revolved around playing Crazy Putt-Putt when I was a kid and my distant albeit diminishing respect for Tiger Woods. Otherwise, I never imagined I’d consider playing it properly until I noticed an ad for Urban Golf, a range of swish indoor golfing venues around London. The first centre opened in 2004 in Soho, followed by Smithfield in 2006 and now, the Kensington branch - and they offer golf lessons and facilities for everyone from novices to the super-pros (who might appreciate the gold club fitting centre - I just about know what that is lol). I’m not exaggerating when I say swish either - it looked like a sports shop on the outside, but once I descended down the stairs, I thought I might have stumbled across an underground private members club, half-expecting someone to offer me a glass of Moët from the bar area (I was politely offered a drink - not champagne mind you - but there’s nothing pretentious or pompous about this place at all. Phew!)

My 30 minute lesson was excellent.  Laid-back and simple,  instructor Nick talked me through Swing Builder 1 (Learn The Golf Swing) – which involved me understanding the role of the golf club and the role I play as the swinger. I was encouraged to perform according to my natural movement, and by the end of the session I was looking mighty fine! ( I must also add that the level of technology this centre uses is PHENOMENAL and I actually felt like my ball was flying into the distance of a landscape outside of London somewhere. Nintendo Wii? Pah! This is ten-steps up my friends.)

Overall, Urban Golf is pretty neat – the prices are decent for groups and even if you didn’t want to play, it’s a hot spot just to chill-out. And for the month of May, you can enjoy the same lesson I had for free – just quote “Matilda Egere-Cooper’s Cultural Expose offer” when you book your lesson (off-peak times only) and bring a print-out of the front page of the blog when you attend. To book visit www.urbangolf.co.uk .

(ALSO - sign up to my monthly newsletter as there will be more exclusive offers that won’t be on the website coming SOON!)

I have no shame in my weak ability to swim. The UK has never struck me as a place where it’s an absolute necessity – and to be perfectly honest with you, I used to think that if the sea levels started rising at an alarming rate, then I could hitch a ride on a Royal Navy warship and hope that my negative bouyancy would not work against me at such a drastic hour. Seriously.

Saying that, I’ve changed my attitude to swimming and aspired to become one of those ballerina types who can Migraine Skank underwater. Here’s why:

1) Free swimming lessons.  Yep, you read correctly. If you’ve been visiting this blog long enough then you’ll know about my Free-dar (if it’s free, I’m THEY-ARE lol), so you can imagine my joy in learning that a new scheme is offering free swimming lessons to adult novices like moi across 40 pools in London. Enjoy. 

2)  Swimming with the dolphins.   I’ve decided I want to try this but I refuse to drown in the process.

3)  To defy the theory that “black women don’t swim because of their hair”.  Yes, growing up, many of us were vehemently taught that under no circumstances should you get your hair wet unless you wanted to DIE (note: death was a beating at 9-years-old), because too much time and money went into making it look good and those swimming caps didn’t really work.  Well, I’m a grown woman now and I don’t perm my hair,  so me and shrinkage are good.

4) Voguing on beach.  I will be chilling on one at some point this year, and I’m telling you, swimming will tone you up RIGHT.  I’m not exposing an inch of flab this year, amen!

5)  Swimming outdoors.  London is getting kind of warm so if you opt for outdoor swimming pools/lidos (I reckon they’ll be fairly popular this year) you are gonna have to hold your own out there. I pity the dear who tries to blend in and can’t even breaststroke, tut, tut.  Better you style that out in indoors :-)

This kicks off this week and I attended the press launch a month ago to see what it was all about (there was free Cranberry juice too, you know I’m never mad at that). SO I learned that the festival was in its ninth year, it’d be offering “a diverse and dynamic programme of films” and the opening film had Bullfrog in the title (?)

(Quick check of the film programme)

Ah, Correction.  That’s Bronco Bullfrog, a cult classic from 1969.  Never heard of it, and if you have, then go knock yourself on Thursday :-) Tell me what it’s saying too.  

Personally, the fests highlights for me will be the outdoor screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s silent film The Lodger accompanied by a live band on Saturday, April 24th.  It’s free too! High-five! Yea!

There’s also the premiere of The Rime of The Modern Mariner on Friday, April 23rd, which will feature a performance/party with Carl Barat (Libertines) at St Anne’s Church in Limehouse.  Not my thing, but it could be yours. 

Lastly, there’s a screening of SUS on April 24th, a film based on the “stop and search” law and will include a Q&A afterwards with Stephen Lawrence’s mom Doreen and the QC on the Lawrence case.  This should be good. 

The festival runs from April 22-30th and for more info visit www.eastendfilmfestival.com

When I first landed in London 10 years ago, my friends used to RAVE about Nandos so much, I suspected their chicken might be laced with crack. For the unacquainted,  it’s a chain of Portuguese inspired restaurants which has become so popular across the country, I think it needs to honoured in the highest of fashions for it’s services to British culture. Here’s why:

1) The loyalty card. I don’t know about you, but there’s been times when I can’t be bothered to cook, and then it hits me – I’m owed a free quarter/half/whole chicken on my loyalty card! Hello somebody! And I feel no way about using it – I’ll whip that out at lunch meetings, dates, whatever. There’s just something about free chicken that feels so good.

2) The convenience. If you’re ever in those situations where you’re stuck for something to eat for dinner, who you gonna call? You guessed it. (And the day they start delivering is the day I pledge to let myself go. Two sets of lunges or or a quarter chicken breast, extra hot, regular spicy rice and a coleslaw at my doorstep? I know what I’m choosing.)

3) The education. Raise your hands if you knew what Peri-Peri was before Nandos? I don’t believe you and if you’re Mozambican/Angolan/Portuguese, I see you.  But I’m of the firm opinion that Nandos has led the Peri-Peri evolution in this country to factor in everywhere from KFC to ready spices in Sainsburys. Now that’s influence!

4) They’ve seriously stepped their game up. Once upon the time, Nandos just looked dumb. That cock motif was way too kindergarten and eating in sort of felt like a fast food joint without the funny smells.   And although the icon is still there,  the interiors are looking cute;  we’ve got wood panelling, moody lighting, candles - and a comprehensive menu that can offer a pretty decent three-course meal. Round of applause.

5) The price.  I’ll dabble in fine dining as much as the next foodie, but I’d like to think the recession has forced all of us (rich, poor, small, tall) to become a lot more comfortable with pseudo-classiness. We are, after all, the Children of the Primark. So a quarter-breast of grilled chicken with two sides for £6.45 will always work wonders for me - every penny counts! (wink)

I’ve done some bold things in my life, but I think attempting to rap Fu-gee-La (one of the hardest hip-hop songs EVER, I now realise) in a West End bar,  tripping up on Wyclef’s opening verse, being booed and sweating like a pig will go down as one of my top 3 “But why?!” moments of all time.

But before I get too far ahead in the recap, I will say that if you’ve never, ever done karaoke, do it.  Do it this weekend, do it tomorrow.  Just do it and don’t look back,  grab that mike like you’re auditioning for X-Factor and want to WIN.  You’ll be glad you did.

This particular night was held by a company called Breaking The Ice, and since 2007, they’ve upgraded the traditional pop style of karaoke with R&B and hip-hop singalongs, which, if you’re something of a hip-hop head like me, will appreciate - especially for the chance to rap along to everything from Kriss Kross’s Jump to Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince .

The Sway bar (61-65 Great Queen Street) hosted the party’s long-awaited comeback and although the crowd was initially reserved,  by the time we heard Alexander ONeal’s Criticise and a very energetic rendition of Michael Jackson’s PYT, everybody was happy to get into the swing of things, like the (too) eager fella below:

And then it was my turn.  Along with my friend @misskhart, we initially decided to do Q-Tip’s Breathe and Stop, but at the last moment I convinced her we should perform Fu-gee-La because we used to sing it all the time at school.  Shame that I forgot we always used to skip Wyclef’s opening verse so after we hopped onto the stage, let the music kick in and delivered the first three lines, everything after “Tell the woman be easy Naah squeeze the Charmin” had us stumped until the chorus literally SAVED us.  And when I say stumped, I mean standing there in silence for at least a minute, scratching our heads and begging the crowd to help us out. Somebody “booed” instead. Rude.

That said, I tried to deliver that chorus like Beyonce pretending to be Lauryn Hill pretending she had a hit in the last two years (hee hee!), so I did not play! And judging by the crowd’s positive response, our earlier faux pas was soon forgotten.   But God knows the next time around (oh yes, there will be a next time - May my friends!), I’m revising my selection IN ADVANCE. 

For more info about Breaking The Ice, visit http://www.flavourmag.co.uk/breaking-the-ice-is-back/ or join the Facebook fan page.

Sometimes I’ll just be walking down the street and I’m mad. Like Grrrrrrr. Like, “come within an inch of me and I’MMA GO TO JAIL TODAY!” while Ludacris’s Move Bitch is resonating loudly in my head. You know that feeling? Mmmmm hmmmm. Well, that’s what I call Londonitis – a condition which means you express an extreme dislike to the capital of England because it’s getting on your last nerve. There are international versions too – Newyawkitis, Losangelitis - in big cities mainly (and I wish I was not making this up, because you know it makes sense). So this is why I’m off to Surrey for a much-overdue, three day weekend because:

1) The London Underground. Listen - you need to be trained to use it properly, and there are many that don’t know how to. If you don’t, God be with you, because a couple of us with that Londonitis will finish you off pronto, like those Darkseekers in I Am Legend (coming out of crevices and everything).  So you’ve got to always stand on the right of the escalator, do not crowd the bottleneck of the platform (there is always space to the left or right – just MOVE ALONG), and when you get on the train, please don’t crowd the entrance where there’s clear space down the aisles. Why would you do this? You LIKE someone’s armpit in your face? Well good for you - we all have our vices.   But I’m tired of dealing with rule breakers every blessed day, seven days a week, 365.  I’m out!

2) The High Streets. Similarly, this is to do with overcrowding, and that occasional sense of claustrophobia I get when there are way too many people up in this place. And the problem is, there are some shoppers that walk around with no sense of purpose - just milling around and taking everything in, smiling like it’s completely okay to be pedestrian in a busy area as opposed to ushering you and your fam in a corner,  working out your destination and doing your best to get there as swiftly as possible. This is not a science, just courtesy. It’s a shame many forget this is LDN, and we’ll come with that POW! if you do not get to stepping! (I’m talking a good old fashioned shoulder slam  - not gun/knife violence folks, Lethal Bizzle’s just kidding - side glance).

3)  The contradiction of Hyde Park (and many of the others). I love Hyde Park, I really do – it’s actually one of my favourites because I live in West. But apparently it’s unhealthy to jog there because of the surrounding traffic – so those poor trees cannot knock suck up that amount of CO2 to help us, and I might one day be jogging with a water bottle in one hand and an inhaler in the other. Terrible. 1-0 to the Countryside.

4) The noise.  I’ve sort of grown accustomed to the sounds of traffic lulling me to sleep when it’s time to go to bed. But every now and then there’s that ONE dude. Drunk. Loud. 3am. Talking about “SANDRA BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH SHURRRRRUP! I LOVE YOU!” Who is this dude? And where is the police? He aint romantic, talking about shut-up, I love you!  I can’t STAND him! (hate’s too strong of a word, but believe me when I say the sentiment is close).

5) It’s really quite lovely. That’s the British countryside, not the delirium of London. And seeing that Surrey’s only an hour away, that’s a mere hop, skip and a jump to fresh air, good food, lovely fields and a good night’s sleep. And no mobile phone! (Yep!) You’ll see the pictures next Wednesday and see exactly what I mean.

PS: I do love London :-) (but  you know there’s a thin line, c’mon now!)

I am in a ridiculous amount of pain right now.  I’d call it a Level 7; Level 15 being what I’d imagine Evander Holyfield felt after Mike Tyson snatched a chunk of his ear, and Level 20 being kinda of like running  towards a speeding bus and surviving while a cyclist rides over your face for good measure.  Just think about it.  Ouch, oui? Oui.

Yet, for all my moaning, I actually feel like I’ve lost a good 1kg after engaging in an hour of “boot camp”, courtesy of freeformfitness.co.uk  (might I add, waking up at 6:30am to do this was totally a Level 2 on the pain threshold. Hmmmm). 

So this is what happened. About four of us (1 guy, 3 girls) congregated in a very cold and muddy part of Hyde Park to do sprints, squats, push ups and all those exercises which have you working muscles you never knew existed. Remember PE at school?  Yea, it was kind of like that except back then we weighed alot less and used to do sprints for the joy of gaining a yellow paper certificate.  Now, I might be inspired to run if a dozen tacos were at the end of the finish line WITH a cold glass of lemonade to wash it down.  Sad but true (*How did it come to this???!*)

(pictures taken a few days earlier at a session in Green Park)

To make matters worse, I’d say 5 minutes in, I was knackered (shamefully so!) and after 40 minutes, I was doubled-over, panting like my life depended on it.  Thankfully, this isn’t the military sort of boot camp where people shout you down  - but you can tell Mo (and freeformfitness founder and personal trainer Sybille) don’t play, even if it’s to ensure it’s satisfaction guaranteed.  And after speaking to some very happy participants at a bootcamp session that I watched a few days beforehand, I’d say people are getting their money’s worth and beach bodies to boot!

(My muddy hands.  Yuck.  Picture courtesy of @misskhart)

To wrap up, we hit the ground to do push ups and crunches - and seeing as I’m the prissy sort, I didn’t want to get my hands dirty.  But I did, because as the instructor said, “It wouldn’t be bootcamp if you don’t get dirty!” and he was right.  When all was said and done, I felt like my muddy trainers and jogging bottoms was one heck of an accomplishment for someone who’s now decided to trade in her gym pass for a couple more of these sessions - because if anything’s gonna give me a body like Rihanna’s, I  believe it’ll be bootcamp (and did I mention they do free trial sessions? :-D).

For more information visit www.freeformfitness.co.uk or call 07788 584 616.

(Thanks to Sybille and Mo for the workout! See you again soon!)

I used to have a bike, but after a couple of years, it got a bit crusty. But in a way, it was a blessing in disguise.  So if you live in London, this will be a no-brainer.  If you don’t, I’m probably going to save your life if you ever do decide to move here.  Here goes:

1)  I COULD die young.  Of course, there’s many other circumstances where I could lose my life, but looking at the stats of the number of cyclists losing their lives to Tonka Toys aka lorries and such, riding on London roads could possibly become the number one form of assisted suicide soon.  So thank you, but no thank you, I value my life and will stick to safer means of travel (if, indeed, such a thing exists - side glance)

2) Some cyclists mess it up for everyone.  You’ve seen them - mean, heartless, speed-demons who don’t stick to their lane and act like this is Amsterdam.  Well no sir/madam, it aint and if you’re reading this and you’re one of the “those”, take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself, “What am I DOING?!?! I need help. I’m going to CHANGE.” Now go and say sorry, because I’m giving you too much air time right now. Use Facebook and Twitter if you have to.  Your welcome.

3)  Bike thieves.  They’re thriving in the recession and I’m not about to purchase a bike which will get jacked (remember David Cameron’s loss - that’s the leader of the Conservative Party - in 2008 right under his nose? The Shame.  And that was Notting Hill mate!)  and find it’s way on the black market, only to see my neighbour riding it tomorrow.

4)  Not enough access.  Honestly, what’s his name…er, hmmmm…oh yea - BORIS JOHNSON.  Yea, the London mayor.  The floppy one.  Well, he can talk about making the city biker-friendly ‘till his hair turns brown, but I’m not buying it.  I remember getting lost in the West End once on my bike because I followed Transport for London’s cycle routes and felt like I’d been tricked into taking the scenic view which would inspire me to part with my hard earned cash.

5) I have no where to put it.  Which is totally my problem.  Or is it?  We’ve been asking my landlord for YEARS to get us a bike shed, but he ignores.  Probably because I don’t live in Islington (London’s most cycling friendly borough, apparently) and he’s working in cahoots with Reason Number 3 :-(