Last week, I had the opportunity to extend my tea-drinking, accessory-shopping, and show-watching to a whole new country. And Dublin shall never forget me.
And since Dublin is London's sister-city (weather-wise) it, of course, rained intermittently throughout the day. But when we arrived at the Merrion for afternoon tea and were seated in front of the cosy fireplace, rain didn't seem like such a bad thing afterall... It rather seemed like the perfect way to spend an afternoon actually.
We found this little plaque in the hotel corridor. So classic. "Almost became Prime Minister". Almost? Since when does "almost" make one autograph-worthy? Or hotel-plaque-worthy?? Hey, check me out! I almost got discovered as the next great supermodel! Also, I was almost a published author! Want my autograph? No? Really?
And of course it cleared up right in time for us to head into a theatre. Ah well, such is life on an island.
Sweeney Todd was AMAZING. And Beth and I were a bit taken aback by the fact that we were both strangely attracted to Sweeney Todd. You know, the DEMON barber of Fleet Street? The one who slashed the throats of everyone who came in for a shave and then had them chopped to bits and baked into pies that were sold to unsuspecting patrons? Oh yeah. He was smokin' hot.
Judge for yourself... On stage:
And off stage:
Mmm-hmmmm. I thought so... Beth and I just have the ability to see past the makeup...
There are no pics from Tuesday because all we did was shop ourselves silly. Chasing down Chanel Rouge Noir nail varnish at Brown Thomas. Cooing at and petting the Lanvin flats at Harvey Nics. Debating whether or not we support the running themes some designers stick to. (McQueen, we mean you. Aren't you tired of the skulls yet?? And you, Paul Smith... You like colorful stripes. WE GET IT.) Chatting to French antique dealers about 1950's diamante brooches and 1920's art-deco teacups. So on and so forth as such. Not anything you'd like detailed in photos. Unless of course you'd like a visual image of what I look like walking around the Harvey Nics cosmetic counters with two finger nails painted two shades of apricot-y orange because those blasted Chanel girls couldn't find the remover. What? Like this is rocket science? Twits.