My work
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From blog posts and direct marketing materials to restaurant a-boards and travel guides, here are a few of my copy pieces to get you started.
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Adverts
Full page programme ad — theatre partnership ad copy for the Radisson hotel chain
Festive afternoon tea a-board — festive poster for a London restaurant
Articles & blogs
Booking.com articles – dedicated content for accommodation partners on the platform's Click. hub
Virtual work events: the good, the bad and the Wi-Fi woes -- article on the post-pandemic style work event
The Elias String Quartet play Beethoven and Beamish — classical music gig listing for Camden Live
Leeks, Yorkshire Puddings and The Trials of Cato — folk music gig listing for Camden Live
A round up of the best and worst Oscar outfits of 2019 — SEO post for Mecca Bingo
Brochures & magazines
Wedding brochure — 5-star Mayfair hotel
The Patch magazine - people-led publication for employees at a gas distribution network
The Patch magazine - people-led publication for employees at a gas distribution network
Direct marketing
'Win back' DM leaflet — proposal for recently unsubscribed Sky customers
Email B2C
'What's on' Sunday TV email — Sky subscribers' weekly email
Guides
A guide to holidaying in South Africa and Mauritius on a multi-centre holiday — luxury travel company marketing copy
South-west Argentina tour — luxury travel marketing copy
Wine tasting in Mendoza — luxury travel company marketing copy
Just for fun
E is for Expectations
I'm a disappointment to my parents. Not in the sense that I haven't made a success of my life. In fact, I've 'ticked' the boringly normal milestones by the age of 40 — bought a house, married a nice man, produced a (fairly) nice toddler and make a decent living. But I'm failing miserably when it comes to my parents' expectations of how much (or how little, in my case) I should drink. Yes, you read that right.
For clarification, neither of my parents are problem drinkers. To my knowledge, they're able to kickstart the day without an 'eye opener' and don't get blind drunk during a meal out. They just highly value the importance of enjoying a few drinks, are highly suspicious of anyone who stops after one, and positively condemn anyone who's teetotal. It's probably the equivalent of not being a tea drinker for some (also me, shock horror!). For them, consuming a couple of glasses of decent wine, a gin & tonic and a port glass of dessert wine is a daily ritual and says a lot about who you are. Drinking well and often is indicative of good breeding and an interesting personality. They don't mix with non-drinkers, as a rule. It's all very middle class and passive aggressive.
For my Dad's 70th birthday recently, we went away with a group of family friends to the Lake District. At the end of the trip, divvying up the accommodation, food and wine costs per person required a spreadsheet with complex formulas. It was all done very fairly. An email was circulated that included a tab for 'alcohol consumption'. There were three columns indicating how much each person had drunk, approximately, during the week — titled 'heavy', 'moderate' and 'light' — and a price tag assigned, accordingly. I received a tick in the 'light' column, accompanied by the comment 'disappointing'. Yes, there was also a column for comments.
To provide a bit of context, I didn't always used to be a light drinker. I was never a 'big' big drinker but I drank enough that my parents were happy for me to use their last name. I fitted in well at social events, family birthdays and wine-tasting excursions. Things changed a bit when my now-husband and I were trying for a baby. After two years of nothing doing, it made sense to make a few changes. I've never smoked, I eat well and exercise regularly, so the only thing to modify was the drinking. I cut it down and then, at the beginning of our second round of IVF, cut it out completely.
Fast forward a couple of years and my now-3-year-old son was born, three weeks after lockdown. Since then, I've struggled to get back into the swing of cracking open a bottle of merlot. I still enjoy a glass (and even enjoyed three glasses during a daytime hen do recently) but it's not habitual like it once was. While I came to terms with this years ago, my parents have yet to unravel the mystery, particularly as I'm not planning on baby number two. Why don't I want a glass of bubbly, two glasses of Oyster Bay and some heavenly raisin-y dessert wine to end the night? Baffling.
So, in the name of bonding (and because it's Christmas) I'm doing my utmost to be a 'good daughter', in whatever slightly messed up and confused form that takes. I'm getting on board with booze! More specifically, boozy puddings, due to my love of baking. It's a running joke that my mother cannot make sweet treats without the addition of a generous dose of alcohol. Sliced oranges? Chuck in Cointreau. Pears? Poach them in red wine. Vanilla ice cream? Much better swimming in a bath of homemade Rumtopf (aka the most lethal thing known to mankind — keep well away from open flames). Even the reliable old banana isn't safe from a soaking. Her advice? Apply liberal lashings of brandy and bake. Brandy cream optional.
I'm upping my game and so far, I think I'm doing well. I can (almost) see that loving look back in their eyes. I've fed the Christmas cake with brandy (weekly, and usually administered by my son to the refrain of "Grandma loves boozy cakes!"), I've added a dash of Grand Marnier to the mince pie filling mix, I've made gin & tonic jelly (Nigella, thank you) and I've got a bottle of sloe gin ready to top up glasses of bubbly on Christmas Day. It doesn't get much more middle class than that.
Maybe it isn't too late. I feel like I'm taking up the mantle and carrying on the tradition, in my own way. I might even be in with a chance of getting my share of the inheritance. That is if they don't guzzle it all away first.
I'm a disappointment to my parents. Not in the sense that I haven't made a success of my life. In fact, I've 'ticked' the boringly normal milestones by the age of 40 — bought a house, married a nice man, produced a (fairly) nice toddler and make a decent living. But I'm failing miserably when it comes to my parents' expectations of how much (or how little, in my case) I should drink. Yes, you read that right.
For clarification, neither of my parents are problem drinkers. To my knowledge, they're able to kickstart the day without an 'eye opener' and don't get blind drunk during a meal out. They just highly value the importance of enjoying a few drinks, are highly suspicious of anyone who stops after one, and positively condemn anyone who's teetotal. It's probably the equivalent of not being a tea drinker for some (also me, shock horror!). For them, consuming a couple of glasses of decent wine, a gin & tonic and a port glass of dessert wine is a daily ritual and says a lot about who you are. Drinking well and often is indicative of good breeding and an interesting personality. They don't mix with non-drinkers, as a rule. It's all very middle class and passive aggressive.
For my Dad's 70th birthday recently, we went away with a group of family friends to the Lake District. At the end of the trip, divvying up the accommodation, food and wine costs per person required a spreadsheet with complex formulas. It was all done very fairly. An email was circulated that included a tab for 'alcohol consumption'. There were three columns indicating how much each person had drunk, approximately, during the week — titled 'heavy', 'moderate' and 'light' — and a price tag assigned, accordingly. I received a tick in the 'light' column, accompanied by the comment 'disappointing'. Yes, there was also a column for comments.
To provide a bit of context, I didn't always used to be a light drinker. I was never a 'big' big drinker but I drank enough that my parents were happy for me to use their last name. I fitted in well at social events, family birthdays and wine-tasting excursions. Things changed a bit when my now-husband and I were trying for a baby. After two years of nothing doing, it made sense to make a few changes. I've never smoked, I eat well and exercise regularly, so the only thing to modify was the drinking. I cut it down and then, at the beginning of our second round of IVF, cut it out completely.
Fast forward a couple of years and my now-3-year-old son was born, three weeks after lockdown. Since then, I've struggled to get back into the swing of cracking open a bottle of merlot. I still enjoy a glass (and even enjoyed three glasses during a daytime hen do recently) but it's not habitual like it once was. While I came to terms with this years ago, my parents have yet to unravel the mystery, particularly as I'm not planning on baby number two. Why don't I want a glass of bubbly, two glasses of Oyster Bay and some heavenly raisin-y dessert wine to end the night? Baffling.
So, in the name of bonding (and because it's Christmas) I'm doing my utmost to be a 'good daughter', in whatever slightly messed up and confused form that takes. I'm getting on board with booze! More specifically, boozy puddings, due to my love of baking. It's a running joke that my mother cannot make sweet treats without the addition of a generous dose of alcohol. Sliced oranges? Chuck in Cointreau. Pears? Poach them in red wine. Vanilla ice cream? Much better swimming in a bath of homemade Rumtopf (aka the most lethal thing known to mankind — keep well away from open flames). Even the reliable old banana isn't safe from a soaking. Her advice? Apply liberal lashings of brandy and bake. Brandy cream optional.
I'm upping my game and so far, I think I'm doing well. I can (almost) see that loving look back in their eyes. I've fed the Christmas cake with brandy (weekly, and usually administered by my son to the refrain of "Grandma loves boozy cakes!"), I've added a dash of Grand Marnier to the mince pie filling mix, I've made gin & tonic jelly (Nigella, thank you) and I've got a bottle of sloe gin ready to top up glasses of bubbly on Christmas Day. It doesn't get much more middle class than that.
Maybe it isn't too late. I feel like I'm taking up the mantle and carrying on the tradition, in my own way. I might even be in with a chance of getting my share of the inheritance. That is if they don't guzzle it all away first.
A baking love affair
The KitchenAid is a baking enthusiast’s best friend and, like a beautifully tailored suit, quite the statement piece. Nothing shows off one’s baking prowess more than the presence of one of these wonderful machines in the kitchen.
Available in a range of fabulous colours and designs, the cast iron KitchenAid is as reliable as it is aesthetically pleasing. Offering a lifetime guarantee and coming with a number of clever attachments, this is a seriously smart piece of equipment for amateurs through to professionals.
The Ferrari of the baking world, the KitchenAid is your ‘go to’ baking companion. Fluffy sponges? Tick. Voluminous mounds of meringue? Tick. Perfectly kneaded hands-free bread? Tick. Whisk, chop, blend, mash, mix and knead to your heart’s content.
With prices starting from £300, steal admiring glances from your friends and family. It’s the only. The best. The most charming and timeless kitchenware item you’ll ever need.
The KitchenAid is a baking enthusiast’s best friend and, like a beautifully tailored suit, quite the statement piece. Nothing shows off one’s baking prowess more than the presence of one of these wonderful machines in the kitchen.
Available in a range of fabulous colours and designs, the cast iron KitchenAid is as reliable as it is aesthetically pleasing. Offering a lifetime guarantee and coming with a number of clever attachments, this is a seriously smart piece of equipment for amateurs through to professionals.
The Ferrari of the baking world, the KitchenAid is your ‘go to’ baking companion. Fluffy sponges? Tick. Voluminous mounds of meringue? Tick. Perfectly kneaded hands-free bread? Tick. Whisk, chop, blend, mash, mix and knead to your heart’s content.
With prices starting from £300, steal admiring glances from your friends and family. It’s the only. The best. The most charming and timeless kitchenware item you’ll ever need.
You only live once. Make it an Aston Martin DB5.
Aston Martin have been making "beautiful hand-crafted sports cars" for over a century but there's one particular model that warrants a special mention.
Released in 1963, the DB5 is one of the luxury car manufacturer's most coveted cars. Instantly recognisable as James Bond's car of choice in hit film, Goldfinger, its long-standing association with 007 has earnt it a place in a league of its own.
You'd have to make an appointment at Q's underground lair to fit all the special gadgets that Bond requires but the specification it already boasts - including a powerful 4-litre engine, synchromesh ZF 5-speed gearbox (correct) and 282 bhp - is pretty impressive on its own. And we haven't even touched on those sleek, tastefully designed leather interiors yet.
Synonymous with elegance whilst also delivering on speed and reliability, the DB5 starts from around £600,000. Not simply a mode of transport, although it is a dream to drive, the Aston Martin DB5 is a lifestyle choice and will send you straight to 00 heaven.
Aston Martin have been making "beautiful hand-crafted sports cars" for over a century but there's one particular model that warrants a special mention.
Released in 1963, the DB5 is one of the luxury car manufacturer's most coveted cars. Instantly recognisable as James Bond's car of choice in hit film, Goldfinger, its long-standing association with 007 has earnt it a place in a league of its own.
You'd have to make an appointment at Q's underground lair to fit all the special gadgets that Bond requires but the specification it already boasts - including a powerful 4-litre engine, synchromesh ZF 5-speed gearbox (correct) and 282 bhp - is pretty impressive on its own. And we haven't even touched on those sleek, tastefully designed leather interiors yet.
Synonymous with elegance whilst also delivering on speed and reliability, the DB5 starts from around £600,000. Not simply a mode of transport, although it is a dream to drive, the Aston Martin DB5 is a lifestyle choice and will send you straight to 00 heaven.
