Instagram. I am completely and utterly 100% addicted to Instagram and it is all I can do to stop myself from snapping and sharing every single thing I see, every single day. Before I got my iPhone, I didn’t get the hype about Instagram, but now I do, oh yes I do. It’s basically like Twitter, except a bazillion times better because it’s All. In. Photos. (Which is excellent for those who are especially nosey. Like me.)

So… what did I do while my niece was in town? Instagrammed her to death. And the food we ate, of course. Enjoy!

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It all started five years ago. Our eyes met over a steaming dish of pad thai… ok I lie, that would be all too convenient, wouldn’t it? I have in my head various versions of how “it all started”. I mean, I’ve known Panu for years, we worked at the same company but it didn’t “all start” when we first met. Truthfully? I thought he was totally weird when we first met, but that’s a whole nother story.

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Last Saturday, we celebrated the birthday of one of my favourite little people: my buddy, Valentin Segura, turned 1! What a hard year he’s had, what with being a little blob and having to learn to crawl and stuff. I mean, life’s tough. So we celebrated his hard work with a BBQ! And not just any BBQ. Little Valentin is half Argentinian so we had a traditional asado, cooked by his abuelo, a certified expert in this kind of thang.

So we were already in for a serious feed, but add to that the fact that Valentin’s mum and his grandma are both professional chefs. I mean, seriously. Is this the most professionally catered BBQ or what?!

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I don’t often win at anything. Although I’m totally kiasu, by nature that means I never lose, but I don’t ever really win either. Don’t get confused now, the situations I engage in often involve more than two people. So there’s a winner, there’s a loser and then there’s me. And except for that one time, when the universe had a momentary lapse in concentration, I never win at anything.

But you know what I would totally 100% kick butt at? If there was like, a competition on who has the most first cousins in the world. Please, somebody, run that competition.

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There’s something about getting all dressed up that still makes the girlie girl hidden deep within me flutter with excitement. I never wear proper dresses and heels in London (work clothes don’t count). The walking, the raining, the cobbled streets… unless you actually want to sprain your ankle or god forbid, to damage the perfectly patently shiny heel of your new shoes, believe me you do not want to wear heels in London.

But of course, having afternoon tea at The Ritz falls outside of my no-heels rule. Not in the least because you have to dress up to even penetrate the revolving doors that hold the rich and beautiful in, and well, normally holds the rest of us out.

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