London by night... The Lonliness strikes...

3 months in my new job as a social media manager in London on a mission to share the online voice for the fur industry, I’m down the road to become a workaholic with a frequent red wine overdose. With a job that’s all about communication, which has interaction and conversation more or less in its very definition, I’m quite surprised to find myself entirely alone on a Saturday night with my daily glass of wine. Vibrant, buzzing, bustling London is eating me alive.

When I moved from Southampton to London a few months ago in search for a job in digital marketing, I was an ultra-happy bunny in marketing fields when I got offered my current job role as a social media manager. Facebooking, tweeting, blogging, communicating, exploring the world of fashion from various angles… Whatever animal rights fundamentalists say, the world of fur, which graciously welcomed me to their industry, has its fancies. And I do love my job. But as soon as I step out of the office, my life shatters.

This is a very personal post, certainly too long in wordcount and too deep in emotion… If you don’t want to get bored with philosophical musings of an Austrian Expat working in UK marketing, don’t bother.

Most of my friends from Uni-times being internationals, the great majority have called it a day in England and went back to their home countries or got jobs anywhere else other than London. Which leaves only one close friend living in Portsmouth and a very small group of acquaintances. And my entire family is still based in Austria.

Hot conversations at work, silence at home...

However exciting a city London might be, sociable it is not. Although I’m capable of engaging in an online environment without any difficulty whatsover, offline in real life I fail to make many friends, particularly in London. ‘Get out there’, ‘go out’, ‘go to some Pub’ are frequent suggestions pointed out by people to build up a circle of friends. In most cities such mundane techniques might even work. But not in London.

Quite frankly, you can’t just throw yourself ‘out there’ and meet your next best friend, not to mention a potential partner or boyfriend. Being a woman and going in some pub, bar or nightclub alone raises eyebrows in the best case, or renders you a piece of willing meat for men in the worst case. As a female in your mid-20′s, although approaching the 30 landmark number, entering a bar or pub alone does nothing beneficial to your social life.

Joining societies, sports clubs perhaps? Cheerful as this advice might be: during most evenings, due to long commuting times, I’m home around 7pm. And I have to leave my house a 7.30 in the morning the latest. And to be honest: after work I’m tired  and worn out. Facebooking and Tweeting does sound a bit Mickey Mouse at times, but it is hard to keep the conversation going, especially if some animal rights activists frequently throw a virtual finger at you telling you to bloody fuck off.

Alone in London...

The loneliness in London is horrific. While I’m on a constant conversation during working hours, the sudden silence, both offline and online, is even worse once I get home. And Chianti and Chardonnay can only do so much if you, deep in your heart, actually don’t want to get drunk but instead long for company and social interaction.

My own experience is at odds with what everybody associates London with: bustling nightlife, super-exciting, you’ll never get bored. But you can only enjoy a city like London if you are either in a relationship or in a firm group of friends.

So what’s left there apart from my job? I already find myself logging onto the company’s Facebook account first thing in the morning before checking my very own one. Just now I was scanning latest pics from London Fashion Week Runway shows for fur items. I’m slowly but surely turning into a workaholic. And while I do love my job, I fear for my personal life.

Because London is not much fun alone.

Following the ongoing frenzy of fashion blogs and their success, I noticed the high rate of engagement observable within top fashion blogs. Bulks of enthusiastic comments on every single post, happy tweeting and Facebook-liking all over the place.

Astonishingly, blogs composed by fashion magazines achieve almost NO engagement at all. Why?

As I had to come to terms with fashion in order to work in, well, fashion, I developed a fancy for the Cosmopolitan. Among the most popular fashion and lifestyle magazines worldwide, the UK Cosmopolitan has a massive internet presence. Jumping onto the successful fashion blogging bandwagon, the Cosmopolitan features 8 different blogs, each with a dedicated blogger.

Here’s a screenshot of them:

I had a look at the various blogs. While I enjoyed most of the posts, I noticed a significant lack in engagement. Comments were almost non-existent, posts were rarely tweeted or facebooked. The bloggers  include high-calibre Cosmopolitan writers such as the Deputy Editor or Fashion Director, their posts are funny, witty and interesting. Where are they going wrong?

Drawing on my analysis of top UK fashion blogs and their characteristics from a social media perspective, I attempt to hazard a view guesses:

1. Text / Picture Ratio: too much text, not enough emphasis on pictures

Nowadays, lifestyle in general, and fashion in particular, appears to be all about visualisation. Outfits, people, lifestyle choices: we are craving for pictures. As I found: the most successful fashion blogs demonstrate a text / picture ratio of only roughly 20% text and a whopping 80% pictures. Here’s screenshot of a post about about London’s supper club Volupté:

A massive amount of text and only 2 pictures. The whole layout appears to suit a fashion magazine rather than a blog. However, here’s precisely where the difference would be: a fashion magazine reports and provides a well written overview, but the fashion blog goes beyond and aims for a maximum of visualiation. 2 pictures are far too less to engage readers.

2. The blogger behind the blog is distinct and cannot be recognised

A prime feature of today’s most successful fashion blogs would be the bloggers behind the blog. Their very own personal style, sense for fashion and voice radiates throughout the entire blog. Taking pictures of themselves in various outfits are an essentail component of successful fashion blogs. Cosmopolitan bloggers, however, fail to include pictures of themselves apart from a single one accompanying a short introduction of them as a blogger. Drawing on the example above: where is the blogger in Volupté? How did she dress for the event? Lifestyle must be brought into context with the blogger: it is not enough to display pictures of the candy sweets available in Volupté – we want to see the blogger, mouth crammed with cakes and muffins, smiling into the camera. We want to know how she dressed for the occasion, how her friends looked like.

Furthermore, a lack of personality in terms of the various bloggers becomes apparent in reviewing their little introduction on the right hand side bar. Below would be the short text introducing one of Cosmopolitan’s bloggers, Kate Perriam:

The text is written in 3rd person rather than personal narrative style using ‘I’ and ‘me’, initially alienating the blogger. We get a short and well composed intro text about the blogger, which remains shallow and doesn’t offer any insights. What does the blogger like to do in her free-time? What’s her favourite dish? If stranded on an island, which are the type of shoes she couldn’t live without? Such little details make the blogger come alive in the minds of the readers and lead to more engagement.

3. Blogs are not updated regularly

Perhaps the most depressing flaw of fashion magazine blogs: they are not updated frequently. Whereas top fashion blogs (as well as amateur ones!) are updated once a DAY, Cosmopolitan’s blogs are updated approx. once a month.

4. No engagement on behalf of the bloggers

On reviewing the blogs, I noticed three or four comments on one or another post. Not particularly great, but nevertheless: a reader showed interest and a certain willingness to engage with the blogger. Surprisingly, bloggers did not reply to the comments, marking the end to any engagement.

I picked Cosmopolitan due to its popularity and because I personally like to browse through it (both online and offline within the actual magazine), but the above example can be applied to many fashion magazines aiming to create fashion blogs and end up failing dramatically. Fashion magazines need to become aware of essential layout and voice differences between fashion articles in a magazin and the structure of a fashion blog.

 A great deal of my time as a social media manager I’m spending on researching fashion blogs. As by now almost everyone is aware: fashion blogs are taking over the world of fashion. Brands are increasingly becoming aware of fashion bloggers as potential brand advocates (or hazards, depending on the brand in question). But what makes them tick? I had a look at communications company Cisco’s list of the top 20 Fashion Blogs in the UK and analysed them from a social media perspective. Yes, having fashion sense, being creative and brave enough to upload pictures of oneself sporting pink-leopard style leggins with a golden chiffron-top comes into the mix, but I am interested in the more technical, digital side. What about blog layout? Social media mix? How is engagement achieved? Let’s investigate:

1. 20% text / 80% picture ratio in blog posts

Fashion blog 'Psynopsis'

What becomes instantly apparent would be the emphasis on pictures rather than text. Fashion seems to be all about visualisation of current fashion trends. Text or explanations are not called for. Usually, pictures are uploaded full-sized, as large as the chosen blog layout permits. While some senior ultra-successful bloggers á la Susanna Lau at least include a paragraph or two, most bloggers limit themselves to one or two sentences: ‘For yesterday’s dinner out I combined this blue skirt with my favourite red pumps and a green oversized poncho. I love my new brown bag – what do you think’?

Simple in style, clear emphasis on pictures.

On the left: fashion blog Psynopsis. Huge pictures, little text.

2. Simple Blog-Layout

Trends towards visual emphasis rather than text are naturally calling for puristic blog layouts who support a quick recognition of the fashion pictures displayed. Usually, blog titles are displayed within blog headers, which are often relatively simple in design. Widgets are used scarcely, with as little text as possible and preferably without coloured lines, frames or backgrounds. Nothing should divert the readers from the pictures shown within blog posts.

Below: The Facehunter (UK Street Fashion blog) with its simplistic blog design:

3. One dedicated blogger

Perhaps, what matters most would be the fashion blogger behind the blog. A blog comes alive through personal remarks and characteristics of its blogger. However, the bloggers needs to incorpate his or her personality within the overall design in various dimensions:

• Visualisation
  The blogger is seen: Almost all bloggers observed frequently upload pictures of themselves experimenting with various fashion designs.
• Voice:
  The blogger is heard: text written using first-person narrative style, resembling a diary.
• Identity
  The blogger can be identified: While some few bloggers choose to hide their real names, most are open about their identities, what they do for a living, their hobbies, aspirations, agendas
• First-page introduction.
  All bloggers feature a little widget / box on top of their ‘Home’ category introducing themselves with a picture and a view lines about themselves.

4. Fashion and Lifestyle mixed

Fitting into the whole notion of the blog as a personal diary, fashion is frequently mixed and combined with lifestyle aspects: we see bloggers eating cheese canapés in Italy, checking out furniture in some Chinese antiques shops, cuddling dogs or sipping cocktails in Soho. It’s not all about clothes: fashion is seen as a lifestyle incorporating all aspects of life beyond Gucci designer bags and vintage shoes. Often, outfits are explained and displayed while doing one or another activity – they are just part of the fun, rather than the center of attention.

5. The more fashion-magazin style, the less engagement

Some influential blogs outlined by Cisco resemble more closely fashion magazines rather than mere fashion blogs. The difference in site layout is apparent: fashion magazin-style blogs feature much more information crammed into the limited space of any blog layout, making the overall design appear overloaded in comparison with successful personal style blogs. Lots of widgets, various categories, movies, advertisements: the overall design does not accommodate a focus on fashion pictures anymore. Interestingly, I observed a significant LESS regarding comments on magazin-style blogs. Readers are far more inclined to comment on personal-style blogs with a simplistic layout rather than fashion magazins.

Below: The Catwalk Queen: a blog with strong fashion magazin-style features. Comments from readers are more or less non-existent compared to personal-style fashion blogs.

6. Regular Updates

Top Blogs are updated almost every single day. Whether short and cheerful with only a few pictures and one single text line or lengthy and in-depth: blogs have to be update regularly! Reviewing Cisco’ list I observed that those blogs towards the end are those which are not updated every day. Fashion in itself is fast-paced. What is en vogue today might be out-of-date tomorrow. Fashion blogs need to keep up with the same pace!

These would be the main characteristis of successful fashion blogs I observed… If you have any other ideas, please feel free to comment!

A few months into my new job, I can’t wait to kick-start 2012 social media-wise (and make it safely through my probation period, which is due to be done soon…!). Here are my very own resolutions for the new year:

1. Join Pinterest
    Early adopters are crazy about it, the online Gurus from www.mashable.com are all over it. Somehow, sad trends slowly but surely alienating us from the written word towards pictures and TV are spreading their wings into an online environment as well. Provide too much text and people get bored. Pictures are the new thing – it’s all about visualisation. My employer better gets a move on and joins.

2. Stop ‘liking’ fur items on Facebook just to annoy animal rights activists
    I really need to put an end to that one. Using a fur authority’s facebook profile, it’s just too much fun to annoy radical animal rights groups by putting a ‘Like’ below fur coats, bags and shoes.

3. Leave www.match.com for good
    It just doesn’t work out. Although online communications are my job, they utterly fail to be my sex life enabler. All I get are winks and messages from boldies in their 50′s experiencing their second midlife crises and in desperate need for some young below-30 barbie to sexually entertain them while their wives are on their way to pick up the children from school.

4. Stop abusing my job role to stalk Vintage Fashion blogs
    I need to identify influential bloggers. That’s part of my job role! However, lately I’ve taken to spending far too much time during office hours checking out Vintage blogs. Face well hidden behind my laptop, I’m endlessly gazing at the latest vintage fashion / lifestyle / furniture / whatever trends the blogosphere currently has on offer. I love vintage. From my morning cuppa in a Betty Boop Vintage-style cup to a full-length evening dress with dots and statement collar: you name it, I try to get hold of it.

5. Adopt a UK tabloid-style writing voice
    What do English tabloids have in common? Trashy as they all are, the UK Suns and Daily Mails all go straight to the key message of their articles, without any intellectual palaver whatsoever. I mentioned above already: it’s about visualisation. Quality in a blog posts nowadays often, and quite frankly, seems to lie in a lack of text and a plus of pictures. That’s what people are compelled about, what they find attractive, intriguing, or whatever reaction you want to stir. That’s extremely difficult: keep the text as short as possible while trying to be witty and fun… I shall definitely enjoy that one.

These would be 5 of my new year resolutions… I’ll keep you updated about whether I stick to them

Agadir - palm trees and beach feeling

Throughout my single years, I always thought I’d just sit it out, wait for ‘the right one’ to come along and just happen to meet the man of my dreams informally and absolutely unplanned somewhen somwhere on this planet. And yet I found myself in a smelly, dim-lit room somewhere in Morocco about to see a Guru attempting to free me from some ‘evil spirit’ which recently prevented me from any romantic action whatsoever. As I wrote in my first post about the preparations for my trip to Morocco: people turn to anything when desperate.

It was Saturday night 9pm (apparently, the true Moroccan business man doesn’t hold with siesta weekend hours in the face of a promising inward cash flow) and me, my flatmate and the two boys she hired to drive us around (and offer some male protection…) drove to a rather fancy district of Agadir, with guards on both sides of the entry road.

The Guru’s ‘office’ turned out to be a part of a private flat in one of the appartment houses predominant in this district. So we arrived in front of the office’ entrance door, with  glass window and a curtain behind it. In a perfect world, the curtains would have dramatically swung apart revealing a hooded figure, possibly radiating green light from under its hood, booming something among the lines of ‘I EXPECTED YOU!’ (which, as a matter of fact, was true as the Guru was expecting me, but just to spice up the overall effect).

What I got instead was a middle-aged, rather chubby man with glasses and looking waaaay to young to convince anyone of rich experience in the subject of de-spirting, herbal stuff and magic of any kinds. He waved us in his flat and led us to a small room which was filled entirely by a huge couch circling a round table. The whole room was smelling of a heavy, uncomfortably sweet and tranquilizing scent which I couldn’t get a grip on what it was. A mixture of roses, lavander, burned incense sticks and milk chocolate gone bad. Whatever the exact composition, it calmed you down immediately.

The Guru itself, once I got over my initial disappointment, turned out to be very nice. His eyes were remarkable.

Camels in Agadir

Friendly and calm – the kind of eyes you would entrust your entire monetary funds to without so much as a flicker of a worry. Immediately a mental alert sign popped up in front of my eyes, in the middle my father’s head shouting ‘PREDATOR!’, ‘PREDATOR!’ and spitting out loud stories about girls travelling abroad who got mystically lulled into rock-hard sleep by tricky man only to wake up robbed off all their belongings including their knickers. Uh oh.

Unfortunately, the man couldn’t speak English, so my flatmate had to translate. I had given him essential information about me beforehand (date of birth, full name, my mother’s name, what my problem was,…) so we only had a little chat summarizing the information he already had about me and outlining again his theory of a spirit I somehow catched earlier in my life and who prevented me from getting a suitable boyfriend.

In detail: spirits could be attached to old, ancient or even normal everyday objects. I most likely picked up such an object and the spirit nested somewhere in my body and affected my love life. Sooo – the first step would be to remove this spirit, followed by other steps to ensure that I would attract suitable boyfriend material.

View of Agadir

He went to another room and returned with a tiny bottle, dropped a few drops of a strong incent on my fingers and told me to smell my fingers and breath in that scent. Then he vanished again and came back with a large white and quite heavy fabric. He swung that fabric over my head until my head and entire upper body was swathed in that odd, white thing. The whole fabric was oozing the same sweet odour I already noticed in the room, only way stronger. I found it hard to breath under that fabric and I had no idea what was going on.

Suddenly a hand gripped my head firmly and the man started to speak very fast in an exotic lingo. And he went on and on and on… Even my flatmate told me afterwards how long it was – maybe 20 minutes? Doesn’t sound long? Try that under a very heavy fabric smelling like mouldy chocolate leftovers while having your head semi-crushed).

Finally the mystifying palaver stopped, the Guru removed that fabric and looked expectantly to me. ‘How did I feel?’ Even without my flatmates translation I understood what that Guru was trying to ask me. Well, I didn’t felt much during the whole process…  So I told them about my breathing difficulties (which, quietly, I put down to that fabrics’ strange smell rather than spiritual processes). The Guru’s expression lighted up immediately, followed by a serious raised eyebrow, speaking intensely to my flatmate. The quabbering could have meant anything: from ‘jolly good, no problem’ to ‘fatal – let’s amputate both ears’.

The whole procedure was explained to me: apparently, the Guru was well versed in controlling spirits of any kind. Consequently, he tried to figure out what kind of spirit I had and where in my body it would be. Near the area around me heart (hence the breathing problems – ha!).

He went off to a room and, after quite some time, returned with two water bottles. The inital treatment: for the

Beach in Agadir

following three days, I should put in everything I drink a few drops of the first bottle. And the water in the other bottle should be massaged in my body after taking my daily shower. I had no idea what he did to the water in the bottles, but both bottles smelled of a sweet, not unpleasant scent.

Unfortunately, for my work back in London I had to leave on the next day, so I wasn’t able to finish the whole treatment. The water in the two bottles should help me getting rid of the spirit. In order to attract a man, he would now prepare some herbal creams and stuff to wash myself with – my flatmate would bring them to me once they are finished. I also had to bring a ring with me, which the Guru will treat with herbs as well and which I should wear for a couple of weeks to attract a man…

That was my visit to a Guru in Morocco. For the snip bargain of more than 500 pounds for the ticket to Marrakech I flew to Morrocco, got clothed in some white fabric and returned with two water bottles.

Males beware….. I keep you updated about the herbs and the ring that should follow soon….

Welcome to the airport in Marrakech!

So last saturday I boarded the British Midlands morning flight to Marrakech in a mission to see a Moroccan Guru to sort out my recent lack of male attention. I wrote about this extensively in my last post about the Guru and his scaringly true revelations about me. A quick reminder: I most probably am possessed by an evil spirit which prevents me from any romantic interaction with men – to cure me out of this sexually defeating situation, I decided to go to Morocco for one night: fly there on saturday, return the next day to be back at work on monday morning.

First, some geographic pinpoints to visualize where exactly I’m going here. Morocco is located high up North on the African continent – my first trip to Africa! – right at the sea and boardering Algeria and Western Sahara, with Spain being only a few sea kilometers away.

Obviously, I didn’t go alone there. My flatmate accompanied me - and she is still there to finalise the Guru’s instructions (more about it later). I would fly to Marrakech and drive from there around 2 and a half hours to Agadir, a city located at the beach, as the Guru lives in Agadir.

My flatmate had already gone off to Morocco before, so I was flying there alone and would meet her at the airport. Approaching the city of Marrakech, I could already see the flat, red houses dominating the scene, palm trees and, as the plane got nearer, a few camels. My excitement rose: I had no idea what to expect. My flatmate didn’t give me much information as where I was actually going. We didn’t even book a hotel, since the ‘treatment’ might expand well into the night. The ‘treatment’ itself, apparently, would include lots of herbs and other ‘spiritual stuff’.

My flatmate didn’t even tell her parents she was coming to the country – they wouldn’t approve of visiting some Guru somewhere on the other end of the country, even more so as the society there is still rather traditional and girls travelling alone are frowned upon. So basically, I had no idea who I was going to see, where I would spend the night (and HOW, for that matter) and what my ‘treatment’ would involve. And an utterly terrified father sending me text messages including telephone numbers of the Austrian embassy just didn’t help.

So my flatmate picked me up from the airport, together with two male friends who agreed (for some extra cash

Nice beach scenery in Agadir

and British goodies I bought in some Duty Free shop at Heathrow) to drive us to Agadir. Driving through Marrakech was a bliss: palm trees and camels everywhere, houses sporting the typical Moroccan architecture of curled decorations swirling around the windows and doors, exotic ornaments and spacious balconies.

It took us approx. 2 and a half hours to Agadir. When we arrived there, it was night and dark already. Well before my journey I had been worried that Guru might not be willing to see me at night, but apparently, the Moroccan economy peaks in the early and late evening hours, even on a Saturday. Businesses are open well into the late night hours, streets are bustling, people are shouting. Parts of the city resembled one big market place.

So the Guru was happy to see me on a Saturday night around 9 pm. It turned out my flatmate had rented a flat just for one night for me, her and her two friends. Well, appartment, I should say. In Morocco, renting appartments for short holidays appears to be quite a common thing. To be honest, I was rather taken aback as to why she didn’t book a hotel. ‘The Guru normally does house visits. But he can’t use all the herbs and everything in a hotel. That would be a big scandal.’ My flatmate shifted a bit uneasy. ‘So I thought I’d rent a flat’. Uh oh.

However, the Guru decided to see me in his ‘office’. He called my flatmate and she told me he had all his stuff in his office so I should just come to him. What ‘his stuff’ would involve I had no idea. So off we went to see that Guru.

Houses in Marrakech, Morocco

When desperate, people turn to anything. After years as a single woman and weeks as a single woman in LONDON, I certainly was desperate enough to let superstition, magic and mystery get the better of me. After such delightful sexual relationship enhancers such as online dating, single clubs and ‘friends-referrers’ have failed me, I decided to visit a Guru in Morocco.

My Moroccan flatemate had told me a story or two about Gurus in Morocco. Fatally ill people got healed, single women beyond the 40-age mark, who never got a man suddenly found themselves surrounded by eager love prospects, poor people seemingly out of the blue got promoted or found financially more rewarding jobs. Thanks to an overly superstitous mother combined with contemporary media influences á la Twilight, Harry Potter and the like, I developed a natural fancy towards the occult. In other words: I’m desperate for ANYTHING which might give me a (decent!) man.

A phone call to Morocco was quickly arranged. Unfortunately, that Guru didn’t speak English, only the mixture of French and Arabic commonly spoken in Morocco. So I depended on my flatmate’s translations. I had to provide him with my date and place of birth, my mother’s name and my name beforehand, and off he went for some serious investigation into why I’m not able to form a normal relationship with the other sex.

The Guru called my flatmate a few days later. The verdict: possibilities are I’m possessed by an evil spirit I somehow caught very early in my childhood and who prevents me from getting a man. Jolly-good, I was all up for

Marrakech, pic taken out of the airplane

removing that ghostly bastard.

At this point, I could have hit my laptop’s keyboard and happily be taking the piss out of that man and his predictions. Light entertainment for the whole family. But then he continued and went on pointing out ‘symptoms’ I was suffering from he could for all that’s worth NOT be familiar with. For the sake of my honesty, let’s get specific here:

• a rush on my upper arms
  I indeed suffer from a rush on my upper arms. Tiny little red dots, very common and often to be seen on many people. Not harming in any way (and certainly not contagious!), but aesthetically extremely unpleasing. I had seen doctors about it before and nobody had been able to remove that hideous rash.
• I get excited very easily and scream around
  That line had to be further explained by my flatmate. ‘Getting excited’ referred to getting nervous and anxious easily. That is certainly true. I’m a bucket of trembling nerves. Whether I misplace my keys, get stuck in the elevator, run late for a meeting or can’t find my purse – I do get anxious and overly excited very easily. As concerning the screaming part: embarassingly enough, if I get really nervous I start raising my voice….
• I neglect ALL my relationships with people, out of sadness of not finding a man
  Well, that is true as well. I didn’t pursue contacts with old friends in Austria, I could really make more effort when it comes to my friends I made at Uni in England. And I very certainly could make faaar more effort to get to know more people here in London. The plain truth is: I do not care about most people anymore. Without getting too emotional here, it is no exaggeration to say that the emotional black hole widening with ever more months and years without anyone to share your life with does have an effect on your attitude towards relationships in general.
• My mother’s health
  Now that was a revelation and it got me convinced. The man described more or less in detail two medical conditions my mother is suffering from right now. I won’t detail here too much, but, if anything else described above could have been guessed out of the blue and with a bit of life experience, THAT could have not. I was a bit vary as to why he stated my mother’s health difficulties in a discussion about MY symptoms, but unfortunately, the man didn’t explain further.
  

  Shisha at the airport in Marrakech

To free me from that spirit and to help me in the field of romantic relationships, my presence in Morocco was required.

I immediately booked the flight. Whether or not it was true, the very last point about my mother got me ultra-convinced. As I just got my job, I obviously wasn’t able to take holidays this early in my probation period. And pretending to be ill would probably incurred bad karma (superstition, remember?). Christmas holidays weren’t a viable solution either as my mother would have killed me had I decided to spend my Christmas holidays in some Moroccan village rather than back home in Austria. So I booked my flight to Marrakech (big city in Morocco) last saturday in the morning, with the return-ticket the next day in the evening. Literally just one night… I returned this sunday.

I went there last Saturday to check out the place. As the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland is at its best at Saturday mornings, I didn’t bother to join the queue. Museums are still territories rather alien for me, despite my recent growing fancy for the arts. The National Gallery claims to have formed the most complete collection of Leonardo Da Vince drawings up to this date. However, newspapers report there are only around 7 paintings of the mastermind himself, all others being drawn by his acquaintances and fellow painters. The most popular picture, headlining most of the Sunday newspapers in the week of the exhibition’s opening: ‘The Lady with an Ermine’ – a portrait of Cecilia Gallerani. Whoever that is… I suppose some upper class bird of the 15th century, as the drawing is dated around 1489 /90 (yeah, I did my research).

'Lady with the ermine' and queue in front of the Leonardo Da Vinci exhibition

In the tube already I noticed art crazy people, pushing towards the tube barriers to get out and run head first to the National Gallery to join the queue. Being a Londoner now, I feel obliged to join into this art frenzy and immerse myself into various art exhibitions. Well, this particular saturday I once again ended up at the Winter Wonderland at my favourite mulled wine stall.

Being Austrian, I’m particularly impressed with the British attitude to German christmas market-imitations. No idea why British people associate Christmas markets with Germany (or, as such, with Austria). Everwhere are little stalls inviting you for some Bratwürstel (sausages), Glühwein (mulled wine) or Lebkuchen (ginger bread). What I particularly fancy would be mulled wine. However, mulled wine in England is quite different than what we get in Austria. Whereas in Austria mulled wine usually includes fruits, is spiced with numerous spices and herbs and is availabe in a wide variety of different flavours, in the UK mulled wine is just this: hot wine. And, if you’re lucky, you get a tiny piece of orange floating miserable round your paper cup.

Also, the prices are outrages: one tiny little cup of mulled wine comes down to 4 (!) pounds! So be prepared to take some money with you when embarking on a journey through the spectacular Winter Wonderland. Also, try some caramelized nuts – I got caramelized almonds. Yummy!

Also nice: in the middle of the Wonderland would be a ice skating rink! Unfortunately, most of the time it is extremely busy, so booking well in advance is recommended here… If you decide to visit the Winter Wonderland, try to get there in the evening as all the Christmas lights are on. I tried to capture the lights round and above the ice skating rink – by then it was still a bit bright, but I think you can still see some of the lights.

Seen at: River Island (London – where else?!)