My week, reviewed: ranking this week's yums and yucks

You didn't ask for it, so here are the yums and yucks of my week... 

because who put 10p in me?!

One thing about weeks, is that they just keep on coming. Try as you might, you just can't shake off those mystical magical 7 days, no matter how hard you try. Again and again, Sunday meets Monday in a sick Gregorian Calendar twist of fate. Born to be free of the concept of time, forced to own an Apple Watch.

What sets this week apart from the others however, is that I decided to rate it (but on the scale of how tongue waggingly good it was). Because it's my week and therefore, it’s mine to rate. #likeforrates

Small plates, huge vibes @ Bambi

One of the perks of modern dating is that you can cherry pick potential dates based purely on their postcode. It’s my preferred method of shortlisting the location of my future inhabitance. With this school of thought dominating my prefrontal cortex, it was time to explore Hackney Central. On Saturday night, pints and small plates were shared with the latest victim of my Hinge Binge. Not only did my recent excursion confirm that my flirtation with E8 was more than a feeling, more than just a crush, but I also discovered a gorgeous lil bar/restaurant/ that made my week YUMmy in many ways. 

Bambi is Hackney's wet dream. An intimate, warmly lit box room bustling with attractive dishes and even hotter wait-staff (including a famous influencer’s boyfriend whom our table neighbour wanted to devour even than her sea bass cerviche). It’s an instantly cool yet romantic, unpretentious yet sophisticated place, characterised by carafes of chilled red, juicy peri king prawns, succulent steaks, doorstops of sourdough, experimental splodges of sauces and a vinyl-smothered wall that tempts diners to stay on for their post dinner DJ sets. It's Hackney ofc! Bambi was scrumptious all round- from experimental yet delish small (and large) plates to the vibey bathrooms decked out with incense and a mirrors bigger than my fist.

Get yerself to Bambi for a small plate and a big vibe. Next time, I'm trying the martini with the massive olive. 

👅👅👅👅/5 tongues 

The ultimate small plate fantasy

I'm moving into a HMO (car parking space)

After my lovely dirty weekend in Hackney, I decided that I should probably move out of my SW London family home within the next 3-5 working days. Part of my self-harm regime is going on Rightmove and looking at rental properties of which I'll never afford. The self-harm fantasy only gets worse when I type in my price range and see the meagre offering of properties (shoeboxes) that my wages could justtt about afford. Trainspotting meets Bethnal Green.

My most recent search for a house-share in Hackney, (on a graduate salary) informed me that a garage or a parking space are my most realistic housing options. So I'll be cooking a meal for one whilst the teens have band practise. Sweetest one <3

Home decor inspo would be one of those naff handcrafted wooden signs: Ingredients for a happy home <3: 1 dollop of laughter, 7 sprinkles of teamwork, 2 spoons of patience, 3 ladles of friendship,  and one bag of Charlie x

Big yuck. 👅👅/5 tongues, purely so I could say i've moved out.. but at what price?! (A spenny one apparently).

these stompers

My commute took a disturbing yet intriguing turn when this pair of shoes flees from their factory, and walked onto the District Line. An Asic style trainer meets heeled brogue all stuffed together; akin to stuffin sausage meat into its case. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. Regardless, my eyes were doing overtime. But somewhere between Earls Court and Embankment, something clicked. I stopped looking, and suddenly began seeing that these rubber nightmares, were indeed, very high fashion. Evocative of this Adidas collab:

unfortunately, a yuck turned yum. If I’d been even just a couple more stops down the East Ham end of the District Line, God knows I would’ve wrestled them off her, sock and all.

👅👅👅/5 tongue. For the enemies to lovers pipeline

I've been vape clean for 3* days

It's been a long time coming, but last week signified the beginning of the end of mine and vapes' tempestuous love affair. Since 2021, I have had more sweet-smelling puff clouds streaming out of me than I've had hot dinners. This puff stick has watched on smugly as I’ve attempted stretches of quitting, waiting for me to run back to her, as she knows I always do. 🩷And whilst I love the routine of meal-prepping my vapes (one week, it's the tropical fruit diet, the next week, the razz variety), I began to realise that I was actually addicted. And as a woman who is medically adverse to cringe (ironic, I know), I had to put an end to the ultimate manifestation of cringe that is sucking on a plastic tube. I binned the straggler vapes that have lived in the depths of my handbags and have cluttered my bedroom drawers for the last year, and made myself a daily progress tally chart. Posi-reinforcement.

Plus, I’m pretty sure my gums have gone translucent due to wearing them down with chemical, blue razz blow. So I'm packing vaping in.. for a lifetime of cigs (she's plant based xx)

👅/5 tongues. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss her. Those plastic flavour sticks were my vessel to flee to the office bathroom 9 times a day xxx

90s brow tutorial

I decided I wanted those thin 90s brows because I rewatched Educating Yorkshire and was inspired by the Year 10 girl who shaved hers off. Plus, it’s the ultimate menthol breakdown indicator innit. So to get a flavour of what this commitment would actually look like, I CAKED concealer onto my brows and only left  0.3mm of the girls left. It was reminiscent of drag queens gluing their brows down, but without any of the cyanexttuesday glam to follow. Seeing the scary, alien-like brows stare back at me, I realised that sometimes it’s better to leave the vision in the filing cabinet of my mind.

👅/5 tongues. No tongues r wagging here. (But for some reason, I still want to get it done)

Live action photo of me, with my two scrags of eyebrows (colourised, 2025)

Infernos Instagram

I spend more time on the Infernos official Instagram page than I do in the actual club. A club Instagram that actually has charisma, as opposed to the typical reels promoting organised fun and unsavoury characters posing in official club photos?! Unheard of until now. Instead, Infernos make their carpeted-club veterans the star of the show as they put them in the spotlight for 1on1 interviews with ultimate posh man, Freddie Browne (you might recognise him from Made in Chelsea, of which he rah rah'd his way onto 3 episodes of).

These punchy little videos are the antidote to the hangxious pit of self-loathing where you need a quick-fix that says, it could always be worse. But its especially fun to point out all the familiar faces you spot- evocative of a SW London, poor man's Where's Wally. From smoking-area love affairs of Saturdays of yore, to uni BNOCs you haven't seen for YEARS- they all end up in Clapham eventually. And then eventually, on the Infernos insta grid. Whether they're being filmed shedding dignity on the dance podium, or getting quizzed about their icks by the Jamie Laing Lite man, its definitely racking up my screen time. 

Those carpeted floors really have made me a kept woman.

I love content creation.

👅👅👅 and a tooth/5 tongues.

Pretty good week for a girl with no class. Until next time, Mon-Sun xxxx