Siam Goorwich

If you’re young, hot and desperate for affirmation, the status symbol du jour is an Instagrammable protein shake in a single-use plastic cup sporting the logo of an upmarket gym, private members’ club or boutique supermarket. How depressing. Like so many vacuous trends, the status shake originated in LA, where the go-to spot is Erewhon – a supermarket so health-obsessed and expensive that it makes Whole Foods look like Lidl. At Erewhon, famous faces such as Hailey Bieber, Kourtney Kardashian and Gisele Bündchen don’t just drink status shakes, but ‘collaborate’ on them, creating their own signature blends which sell for up to $23 (about £17).

I used to think that one of the few things that men had over women was their lack of manifest vanity. Not that men weren’t vain, but apart from turning their chests into Doritos at the gym or dyeing their greying locks that unnatural shade of black, there were very few ways for them to enact these impulses. That was, until hair transplants. One of the men in my local corner shop was proudly peacocking the follicles sprouting from his forehead As it turns out, hair transplants aren’t actually a new thing. According to my research (Google), modern hair transplant techniques were pioneered in Japan in the 1930s. Despite being nearly 100 years old, the operation has surged in popularity in recent years. Why?

As the credits rolled on the series finale of The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, things got awkward. My partner turned to me to express his excitement for series two – just as I realised with absolute certainty that I couldn’t, in good conscience, watch the show again. My reaction came as a shock – to both of us. Hours earlier, I’d been champing at the bit to see the final instalment. Yes, the Amazon Prime programme has been widely panned by critics for everything from the CGI to the ‘colour-blind’ casting, but we’d loved it. In fact, it’s the first full series we’ve made it through as a couple, which only added to the disappointment of my decision. So, what led me here – to feelings of remorse so strong that The Rings are powerless?

I like to think of myself as the hostess with the mostest. A combination of my Type A personality, Jewish feeder tendencies and coming of age at the peak of Nigella’s Domestic Goddess era means I can’t resist pulling out all the stops if I'm having people over. (A theme! Welcome cocktails! Ingredients sourced from far-flung corners of Waitrose!) And yet the truth is, there’s no one I’d rather cook for than myself. It wasn’t until my late teens that I properly learnt my way around a kitchen. My mum always did all the cooking at home, so it was only when I moved 100 miles up the M1 to university that I finally had the impetus to explore.  My early attempts were pretty dismal; raw-in-the-middle jacket potatoes stand out as a particular low point.

‘We’re surrounded by sociopaths,’ I whispered to my friend as I scanned the scene before me. We were sitting on a bench overlooking the meadow at Kenwood Ladies’ Pond on Hampstead Heath, and for the first time in my 20-odd years of visiting, I felt a sense of detachment: like I was an observer rather than a participant. A lot’s changed since the pandemic, but nowhere have I felt it more keenly than when I go for a swim at my beloved pond. This last, precious corner of paradise in our smog-filled city has been desecrated, and I am heartbroken. The ladies’ pond opened in 1925, and nearly 100 years on it’s still the sole women-only outdoor swimming amenity in the country. For most of that time it was a fun, free and flexible delight.

The year was 2015, and I was head over heels, completely obsessed with House of Hackney’s Palmeral wallpaper. The bold print features fans of colonial green palm leaves splayed across a soothing off-white background, and I fantasised about plastering it over all four walls of my London living room, thinking it was the closest I was going to get to living in a tropical paradise any time soon. But as it turns out, I was thinking small. Very small. Sproutl – a schmancy new gardening and outdoor living platform – have just launched a tropical plant collection in collaboration with none other than The Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew; so now we can all have our very own slice of their iconic Palm House in our living rooms.

As a born-and-bred Londoner, the thought of living elsewhere has always repulsed me. And yet now I feel an ever-increasing desire to run for the hills. Thankfully I’m not alone in feeling restless and dissatisfied. And while my reluctance to live a plane ride away from my parents is keeping me in the country (for now at least), it seems many have no such qualms about abandoning ship. According to research commissioned by immigration law firm Reiss Edwards, Google searches for ‘moving abroad’ were up 1,000 per cent in April, with my generation – the much maligned millennial – apparently leading the charge. It’s hardly news that millennials – who are currently aged 26 to 41 – have not had the easiest ride.

I’ve recently become betrothed, so naturally I’ve started playing the fantasy house game; scrolling through property sites on my phone, highest price first, before I go to sleep at night. I thought I knew what I was looking for; a Georgian townhouse, solid stone steps leading up to a grand front door, basement kitchen, you know the drill… but then I saw it, my dream house. The main living area is a vast open plan, multi-levelled space with a sweeping wall of windows; white limestone floors contrast against its naked brick body and slatted wooden ceiling; everything is bathed in brilliant natural light, the lines between inside and outside gloriously blurred. In short, it’s a mid-century modern (MCM) masterpiece.