I made My Mini Schnauzer a Food Critic for the Day

Link: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/food-and-drink/features/day-dining-dog-six-legged-brunch-evening-dogtails/

My miniature schnauzer, Suki, has all the attributes of a food critic. She may look cute, but despite her fluffy exterior she can deliver the chilling gaze of Grace Dent, the sarcasm of Jay Rayner, and a bark that could make even Gordon Ramsay seem like a teddy bear.

The only problem is that Suki cannot critique food. And not just because she is a dog, but because she eats anything and everything without discernment – whether that's cake crumbs on a cafe floor, or a half-eaten baguette discovered while scavenging out on a walk.

Flavour, technique and presentation are simply superfluous to Suki. As long as a dish is vaguely edible, it will be wolfed down faster than Gregg Wallace can shout "delightful". If my dog was given power over the Michelin Guide, she would be handing out stars with every wag of her tail, from Alain Ducasse to KFC.

Yet with Suki's 12th birthday on the horizon, I decided to treat her to a special dining adventure to find out whether she may, in fact, have the makings of a gourmand. We are eating out in the capital, and instead of being left at the door, Suki is the guest of honour.

Our first reservation is brunch at M Victoria, a chic steakhouse popular for after-work drinks, business lunches and romantic dates. But it's also the ultimate hotspot to take that other someone special: in addition to monthly "cook for your dog" masterclasses, run by executive chef Michael Reid, the restaurant hosts a six-legged brunch on Saturdays. Since becoming fido-friendly, M has hosted numerous canine get-togethers, such as a four-legged disco, a pooch pool party, and most recently a Valentine's Day-themed Love Island affair.

 Dining companions at M Restaurant in London Credit: M Restaurant

Despite her unrefined palate, there is one dining foible my dog cannot abide and that is tardy service. If her meal is served a fraction later than expected, she announces it to the household with an unabating yap and throws her bed across the room. Thankfully, there are no such diva strops today. The waiter makes a fuss of Suki, fetching a bowl of water and an amuse bouche treat, and the food soon arrives. As I tuck into chicken livers on sourdough, Suki makes short work of black pudding granola: impressive given her lack of front teeth.

My second course is a hotchpotch of American fare: buttermilk-fried chicken waffles, eggs, and peanut-butter ice cream. It shouldn't work, but my goodness it tastes delicious. Suki, meanwhile, receives a bowl of bone marrow risotto, which in her haste, she manages to get stuck all over her beard. This must be the finest meal she's ever had.

It's time for a lazy stroll through St James's Park, before heading to our second appointment: afternoon tea at Sketch. Mayfair's eclectic multi-function Georgian townhouse – part gallery, part brasserie, part fancy fine-dining restaurant with Lewis Caroll-inspired fixtures and famous dinosaur-egg loos – does not have a menu specifically for dogs, but canine visitors are welcome to hang out in The Parlour until 5pm. As the waiter guides us to our table, weaving in between old-fashioned tea trolleys, I grip Suki's lead a little tighter. Forget bulls in china shops: schnauzers can be even more destructive. To my relief, she neither hares off after the patisserie, nor squats on the varnished floorboards.

 Charlotte, right, and her miniature schnauzer, Suki, with their hostess at Sketch

The Parlour has a Mad-Hatterish feel (our seats sport ballet shoes en pointe), and Suki seems a little befuddled by her surroundings. With my pot of peppermint tea I order dainty finger sandwiches and petit fours. Suki gobbles up a few titbits appreciatively, and the service gets a paws up from both of us. Our hostess gives her more attention than she has received in a very long time, and a charismatic waiter treats her like royalty, keeping us well entertained and hydrated. Yet as we spill out onto Conduit, Suki is beginning to flag – it's hard work eating for a living.

We have one more appointment: Smith & Whistle, a bar tastefully designed to resemble a 1920s detective agency, with notebook-style menus, bowler hats and umbrellas – and a very generous dog-friendly policy. Of course, countless pubs allow canine drinkers. But if you fancy somewhere with a little more atmosphere and tequila, you may be searching in vain. At Smith & Whistle, however, alongside craft beers, wines and adventurous cocktails, the mixologists serve up London's first ever "dogtail" menu.

There's a Poochie Colada (coconut water, kale and broccoli, to help keep "coats glossy and joints healthy"), Hound's Hops (a dog "beer"), and Bubbly Bow Wow (a "pawsecco" herbal infusion – yes, really). It takes me longer choosing Suki's cocktail than my own; I can't quite picture her downing pints or gin. So she gets the Bubbly Bow Wow, which comes in a bowl topped with liquidised blueberries. She laps it up noisily.

Even though her eyes are drooping, she looks like she is in heaven. On the train ride home she snuggles on my lap, gently snoring. I hope that I have taught my mini schnauzer a little more about the world of fine dining. But as we cross the platform she suddenly tugs the lead and makes a dive for a discarded McDonald's carton. I guess old habits  die hard.

Could Coronavirus Fast Track the Move to a Cashless Society?

For some time, we've known that the world is heading towards a cash-free society, as the lure of digital technology causes us to toss our pennies to the bottom of the economic well. However, with changing spending habits, in the midst of a global pandemic, could this future be more imminent than we ever imagined?

It's only four months since Covid-19 entered our lives and already, it has totally mutated our financial security. Across the globe, economies are slumping; unemployment is soaring and major retail giants are falling like dominos into administration. Yet, there are some positives that can be reaped from this unprecedented situation. Due to social distancing and work-from-home protocols, it has fostered a new found appreciation for technology. And it's not just our current working conditions, which are propelling us towards a more tech savvy world; it's our spending habits too.

Following warnings, issued by the WHO, about the transmission of Covid-19 via bank notes and coins, we have seen numerous measures to endorse cashless payment methods. In Sweden, trade union Kommunal has been lobbying for a cash ban on all public transport. Meanwhile, earlier this month, UK supermarkets announced an increase in the contactless limit to £45. One must also acknowledge the effect this pandemic is having on global consumer behaviour. As billions self-isolate, E-commerce appears to have outshone in-store purchasing, casting doubts upon the survival of the high street. A report from the analytics firm Contentsquare showed a 221% growth in transactions on UK supermarket sites, during the week commencing March 29th. Moreover, according to marketing platform Emarsys and analytics platform GoodData, online orders among primarily store-based retailers were up 56% in North America, 82% in Asia Pacific and 71% in Western Europe year-on-year during the two week period between March 22nd and April 4th.

Of course, the prospect of a global cashless society is nothing new in the world of economics. For decades, nations have been preparing for the shift and competing to claim the grand title. Sweden, a text-book contender, has long since dominated the conversation, with the 2009 Vastberga Heist echoing its anti dosh parable. Just 1% of the Swedish GDP circulates in cash, which, as of this February, has prompted The Riksbank to launch testing of the e-krona. And they're not the only ones embracing digital currency. China, another vanguard in fintech and E-commerce, have drafted laws for the E-yaun. Stateside, the House of Democrat has also recently rolled the monopoly dice, this time passing a $2.5 trillion Coronavirus stimulus bill which will establish a digital dollar.

In conjunction with cryptocurrencies, the mobile banking eco system is booming. Most notably, according to a McKinsey global report, published last year, banking in Africa is "a hot-bed of innovation", with 40% of Africans surveyed, favouring digital channels for transactions. Despite the efficiency, convenience and reduced cost, there are drawbacks to becoming too tech reliant, which could be set to sour the cashless dream. Not only do they require a Wi-Fi connection, online payments run a higher risk of account hacking and data breaches. Andrea Enrea, chair of the ECB's supervisory board, warned that Coronavirus could trigger a surge in cyber security related fraud and scams. Furthermore, companies' IT systems could be put under strain by a higher reliance on remote banking.

During such uncertain times, nobody knows what the future holds. Nevertheless, one thing is for sure: Coronavirus will leave a permanent imprint on our lives from the ways we work, educate and spend our money.

My reaction to Harry and Meghan: Now is not the time for Sanctimony

Way back in February, my dad took to his bed for several weeks with what we assumed to be a nasty cough. All the home remedies were prescribed: honey and lemon; satsumas; chicken Soup. Yet still, the symptoms persisted. It was a mystery.

After numerous antibiotics and back-and-forth trips to the GP, my dad was admitted to hospital with sepsis. It turned out the precautionary overnight bag he'd packed was not quite sufficient, because he would stay in that hospital, moving between wards for 36 days. His condition quickly deteriorated from Sepsis to double pneumonia, then a rare auto-immune disease called Myositis in which the body attacks healthy muscle cells. And, despite being tested for Covid-19 upon admission, he was later swabbed again and this time it came back positive.

I'm pleased to report he is back home and doing much better. This is all, of course, thanks to our NHS. Before the pandemic, I knew our health workers were amazing. However, these last months have proven they are heroes. The same goes for the care workers, emergency service workers, grocery workers and delivery drivers, who are all propping this country up in such unprecedented times. What also makes me proud to be British is the strength and community spirit we have rallied: roads filled with applause every Thursday night; people volunteering; neighbours looking out for each other; restaurants delivering meals to those on the frontline. It's extraordinary. Oh and how could we forget, beacon of light Captain Tom Moore, the legendary war veteran whose garden walks have nearly smashed £30 million.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for all our celebs. Some have shown great generosity and outpourings of support. Others have been indulging in a little too much sanctimony for my liking, which I shall summarise via the following categories. First up, the cringey crooners, otherwise known as the One World crew. Now, holding virtual concerts may be a lovely initiative to spread joy. But do these artists have to introduce their performances like they are accepting a Grammy? Spare us the gushing 'oh my God, I wanna start by thanking Global Citizen for having me tonight' speech and just get on with it and sing! Additionally, if they wish to cheer us up, why do they pick such depressing, cliché songs? Take Jennifer Lopez's rendition of People by Barbara Streisand for example. Somehow, even when J.Lo attempts Streisand in a garden festooned with fairy lights, it still evokes the same inward groan you get when a cocky 16-year old swaggers on to the X Factor stage and announces they're going to take on Whitney (yeah right, in your dreams).

Next up on my list are the quarantine queens. These stars remind us daily to live our 'best lock-down lives', often posting virtuous selfies of themselves baking sourdough; putting the bins out in designer dresses and heels; or lying in a bathtub, surrounded by rose petals. I mean, the Instagram lifestyle was FOMO-inducing enough, without lock-down envy thrown into the mix. Far from promoting a sense of high-School Musical-esque solidarity, their 'we're all in this together' spiel merely serves to accentuate how our lives are worlds apart. For most people, lock-down is less Hollywood mansion or Christian Laboutins and more along the lines of:

1. Being unable to bake sourdough because A. it's too much of a faff and B. flour is now gold dust.

2. Living in comfy leggings and woolly socks with hair that could seriously do with a wash.

And 3. Enduring cold, 30-second showers, because the hot water's broken and there's no plumber to fix it.

The prize for the most sanctimonious however goes to a couple who have made regular appearances in our headlines lately. Yep you guessed it: Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. As it goes, I was once a hard-core fan of the Duke and Duchess. Not in the screaming, Shawn-Mendes-fangirl sense; just that I thought they were very talented individuals who have made huge contributions to important causes. Therefore, when they became an item and got married, my admiration for them only grew. That is until they began preaching about climate change, whilst casually flying private jets; buttering up Disney directors; suing multiple newspapers; enlisting lawyers whose clientele featured premiere football players; and sacking off their royal duties over Instagram. In other words, the sort of behaviour one might expect from a Kardashian, not working royals.

Before anyone has a go at me, I fully respect their decision to lead a normal life. I can also understand Harry's instinct to protect Meghan, bearing in mind the trauma himself and William have been through losing their mother. However, I point-blank refuse to accept this scapegoating and war against our press. They are not the enemies here. While the online trolling and racism Meghan's received has been abhorrent, this has zero to do with our press. Newspapers have followed the Independent Press Standards. From where I'm stood, their coverage has been fair, honest and largely positive. Moreover, any criticism given has been within reason and down to the couple's own hypocrisy.

Just when we thought their PR blunders couldn't get any worse, Harry and Meghan put their foot in it not once, not twice, but three times in the space of about two weeks (I know, a new PB even for them). On this occasion, it wasn't their desire to 'thrive, rather than survive', tactlessly revealed during their trip in one of the world's poorest countries. Neither was it the dubious decision to inform their followers of their departure before the Queen, leaving Her Majesty to stumble across such a bombshell via a BBC News notification on her iPad. Oh no. This time the Duke and Duchess chose to weigh in on a worldwide pandemic. I have no words.

Their first of three blunders came on April 6th, when they unveiled plans to replace the Sussex Royal Foundation with new charity Archewell, named after 1-year old son Archie. Albeit a worthy cause, royal watchers were quick to slam the announcement for both its 'appalling' timing' and sharp contrast to the message of unity, conveyed by the Queen just 24 hours earlier. This astute appraisal was not enough to deter the Sussexes from dishing out unsolicited pearls of wisdom yet again. During an interview for the podcast Declassified, Prince Harry suggested that the media had exaggerated the scale of the Coronavirus crisis here in Britain. Erm sorry Harry but:

A. What medical qualifications do you have to underpin such a statement?

B. How would you know this when you are living a mere 5,000 miles away in Los Angeles?

And C. How can you just bat away the numbers, as our death toll exceeds 20,000, amongst the highest in Europe?

To top it all off, a representative of the couple wrote a scathing letter to editors, in which they cut ties with four British tabloids including The Sun, The Daily Mail, The Daily Mirror and The Express. Arriving late evening on April 19th, the letter claimed that stories run in these papers were 'distorted, false and invasive beyond reason'. Needless to say, both editors and the general public alike were far from impressed by this controlling nature towards media engagement. Ian Murray, executive director of the Society of Editors, said: "Although the Duke and Duchess say they support what a free press stands for, there is no escaping it that their actions amount to censorship and are setting an unfortunate example'. I personally couldn't agree more.

The whole point Harry and Meghan ran off to Canada was to escape the public eye. Now, it seem that they cannot bear the idea of being irrelevant and so in order to maintain prominence, they have to stir up drama. It's pathetic. And of course, I'm not for one moment disputing their commendable contributions to the pandemic through measures such as volunteering, raising funds and distributing care packages (it's not like they're putting their staff on Furlough). All I'm saying is that their recent comments have been grossly insensitive to those suffering. Not only that, they have had the audacity to insult the amazing work and integrity of our journalists, at a time when they are going above and beyond for this country.

Part of the reason I aspire to be a journalist is because I have seen what a difference the press makes. While you might think it's all about creating headlines and maximising traffic, this is not the case. Journalists work to inform and empower us. They excel at holding governments to account, exposing the hypocrisies of powerful individuals and telling stories which catalyse change. And yes fake news and misinformation may be the products that come with living in a social media centric world. Notwithstanding, the vast majority of journalism is rooted firmly in both the public interest and the quest for the truth. As a pandemic sweeps our globe, this notion could not be more pertinent. Without journalists, who would have lobbied our politicians for keyworker testing? Who would have been left to expose the PPE crisis? And who would have asked the questions and sparked the debates, to ensure that no issue, no voice goes unheard. That is why, when Harry and Meghan throw around inflammatory words such as 'distorted, false and invasive', I have a massive problem.

I often hear people echo similar sentiments. Adopting a knowing tone, they make supercilious remarks such as 'oh my God I can't believe you're reading that rubbish' or 'don't you know everything they write is lies?' (blah, blah, blah). Question them further on their assertion however and in most cases, they are unable to present a single piece of evidence to support it. They become flustered, frantically racking their brains, before settling on the world's most cogent argument: 'erm, well, y'know, it just is, isn't it?' Half the time, I bet these people haven't even read said publication or said article. They're just parroting some ignorant comment, made by friends, relatives and colleagues.

Particularly at the moment, many journalists are having to endure a daily torrent of abuse and it's just contemptible frankly. Does it not occur to these trolls that behind the by-lines, are real human beings. Humans with families and children. Humans who are simply trying to make an honest living and report the facts. What really doesn't help matters is when public figures like the Sussexes decide to wade in guns blazing, because all they are doing is inciting this vile behaviour towards journalists.

I want to end this piece with three, clear messages:

To Harry and Meghan: Think before you act. Stop making ridiculous claims about things you know nothing about. Stop picking fights when people are dying and families are grieving. If you're not careful, you will alienate yourselves not only from the press but from those who saw you as role-models.

To all the cynics and trolls out there: Kindly, get down from your high horse. Journalists are not using this pandemic to further their careers. Quite the opposite. They are working harder than ever to provide us with information and search for answers in an ever-uncertain climate. Along with our NHS heroes and keyworkers, journalists should be applauded, not demonized.

Finally to all the journos out there: You are doing a fine job and for that we thank you profusely.

Review of Cinderella at The Vaults: Sparkling with swagger, sass and unapologetic mayhem

Last year, actress Keira Knightley kicked up a storm, when she revealed that her little girl was banned from watching Disney princess films on account of their 'anti-feminist' undercurrent. Despite her reservations, I reckon even Knightley would be charmed by the latest, Cinderella adaptation to hit the stage at The Vaults Theatre. That being said, thanks to the copious swearing and crudity, this spectacle is not exactly what you would call PG.

Located below Waterloo station, The Vaults has earned a reputation as the speakeasy of theatre land, with its alternative and immersive entertainment. The first time I came across this graffitied venue was back in primary school, when my parents took my sister and I to see The Railway Children. I remember being utterly transfixed by the experience and I have been intending to return ever since. This panto season, I finally got round to doing so, by booking myself a ticket to their production of Cinderella.

When a show is produced by a company called Not Too Tame, you know it's going to be anything but conventional. Reflecting their 'break the mould' artistry, writer Luke Barnes toughens up the age-old classic in this adaptation, which is sparkling with swagger, sass and unapologetic mayhem.

Our story takes place in a traditional, English pub, redolent of Walford's Queen Vic and Weatherfield's Rovers Return. After her proprietor father dies, Cinders is left to run the boozer with her malevolent stepmother, unlovely step sisters and numerous other quirky characters.

Forming a 360 degree view of the pandemonium in all its pint-spilling glory, the in-the-round arrangement truly demolishes the 'fourth wall' between the actors and audience. Plus, the on-set bar means there is no need to buy your tipple beforehand. Simply wander onto the stage and wait to be served at any moment during the performance. If a glass of bubbles is not enough to loosen your inhibitions, then the karaoke should do the trick. From Bohemian Rhapsody to Dizzy Rascal, you'll be up on your feet, dancing in the aisles and singing your little heart out.

As well as the plotline, the cast list receives a serious refurbishment. Cinders is no longer the docile damsel in distress, but rather a feisty young woman who is not afraid to voice an opinion. The fairy godmother is a sequin clad, queer bloke named Mike. Prince Charming lacks both royal blood and charisma, instead resembling a narcissistic lothario from The Only Way Is Essex. Even Buttons the mouse gets recast as a dog depressed to the point of suicide, who spends the duration gnawing on a plastic leg (don't ask). For me, the stars of the show would have to be the twins, who had the audience in stitches with their crass remarks and Kat-Slaterish get-ups.

Rather than a black tie affair, Cinderella is hankering after an invite to her step sisters' party. The question is, will she make it and flirt with the guy she has her eye on? Or, could her happy ending lie elsewhere?

Admittedly, some of the punch lines may be a little un-2020 and in danger of causing the Woke-ometer to explode. However, if you are a sucker for dark humour, then you are sure to be cackling until the tears stream down your cheeks. Barnes' balance between poignancy and slapstick is well accomplished in this tale, where Eastenders meets Love Island, meets Rupaul's Drag Race. Furthermore, the karaoke element transforms this adaptation from a bog standard panto to a fully-fledged, party experience. All in all, a fun-filled evening, topped off with cocktails at The Oxo Tower and amazingly not even a hangover in the morning (I guess midnight magic is not just in fairy tales).

Cinderella plays at The Vaults until 12th January, with more shows to follow throughout the new year.

Why it's time to cancel celebrity 'experts'

People in the public eye don't half come out with some rubbish. The obvious culprits would have to be our own 'much-loved' politicians. But aside from the bickering schoolchildren down at Westminster (the less said about them the better), contestants on reality shows aren't renowned for their grasp of well, reality. Take BBC's The Apprentice for instance. This series in particular saw a number of the entrepreneurs, battling to score Lord Sugar's investment and fuelling the slapstick with their hyperbole. First up, there was winner Carina, humorously dubbed the 'baker who couldn't bake'. Then, there was marketing man Lewis whose vision of a travel venture in Croatia was somewhat dampened by his inability to pinpoint the country on a globe. That being said, nobody could deny that the prize for the most controversial contestant went to Miss Lottie Lion, otherwise known as 'the new Katie Hopkins'. During her stint on the show, the 19-year-old librarian riled viewers with her numerous, eyebrow raising statements, including assertions that she was a 'wine connoisseur' and that she had 'fifteen years in the music industry' secured under her belt. In the interviews, Lottie finally proved that empty carts rattle the loudest, when it was revealed that her business plan did not bear a single figure. Hmm, bit of a schoolgirl error there Lottie, if you don't mind me saying.

Moving on from reality stars, there isn't a day that goes by when we aren't preached at by A-Listers turned climate change activists. Now, I don't dispute that their endeavours to save the planet are laudable, if at times a tad hypocritical (didn't Benedict Cumberbatch star in an advert for gas guzzling cars?). I am, truth be told, a committed environmentalist. Nonetheless, I firmly put down my foot at their suggestion of a Christmas, filled with PC pantos, tasteless tofu and not a present in sight! The world is woke enough without jetset celebs, trampling over the festivities like the eco-friendly Grinch.

 Of course, we can sit and scoff at the braggadocio of reality TV contestants or the double standards of Hollywood's sustainable warriors. But the point is, influential people are making claims about topics which they have limited knowledge or experience of. And while the examples outlined above are quite clearly harmless to us as fans, there are celebs out there who could be directly putting followers' mental and physical health at risk with their dodgy endorsements.

Thanks to social media, we are living through the phenomenon of the 'self-proclaimed expert', a time when anyone and everyone can share their wisdom with the world. Some might say a more enlightened society can only be a good thing; after all, as stated by Margaret Atwood, 'knowledge is power'. However, when the bearers of knowledge have little or no credentials and not an ounce of evidence to prop them up, it raises the question: are we being empowered or merely blinded to our own reality?

I don't mean to be cynical about social media influencers. But, the clue is in the title; their job is to influence us. And although some may use that platform to promote positivity, for many it is driven by the allure of a lucrative income.

Sponsorships have proven a valuable tool to bring in the big bucks for both global and independent brands. The principle makes sense: gather a bunch of popular people, get them to photograph or review your products, and then give them a reward in return. During which brands sit back and wait for the cash to flow in, we as consumers gain a coveted glimpse into our favourite celebs' wardrobes, make-up bags and kitchen cupboards. So it's a win win situation, right? Well, not quite. If influencers are being tied into thousand pound contracts, showered with bougie gifts or whisked away to sun-drenched locations, then chances are their reviews will be biased and to some extent scripted by the brand. Consequently, we are being influenced and coerced into buying things we wouldn't usually buy, just because the celebs we idealise claim to love them so much.

In a bid to clamp down on misleading sponsored posts, the Advertising Standards Association (ASA) partnered with The Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) to launch a guide for influencers. Published over a year ago, the online resource provides guidelines about what constitutes an advert and about how influencers should elucidate this to their followers. Failure to disclose such commercial partnerships can result in at best a metaphorical slap on the wrist, and at worst a hefty fine or up to two year's imprisonment. Since these rules came into effect, the ASA have issued multiple warnings to brand ambassadors such as love Island's Olivia Buckland and Made In Chelsea's Louise Thompson. Even if influencers may feel pressured to be more transparent about their sponsorships, I still don't believe it is enough to deter them from making dubious affirmations.

Just look at the myriads of high profile beauty gurus. Back in January, Kendal Jenner came under fire after telling fans on Instagram that her 'clear' skin was thanks to Proactiv's line of skincare products. Conversely, in a resurfaced New York Times interview from 2015, Kylie revealed that her supermodel sister's acne was 'cured' by a Beverly Hills' dermatologist (no doubt on a footballer's salary). I have a real problem with celebrities being disingenuous about what cosmetics they use, or avouching that products will 'cure' and 'solve' our every skincare woe. Acne is something that a lot of teenagers suffer with and feel insecure about. Therefore, it seems incredibly irresponsible that brands can play on these insecurities and dupe vulnerable consumers by dazzling them with celebrity endorsements. On television adverts and shop shelves, a serum, plastered in miracle claims, would never get authorised. So why are companies recruiting social media influencers as mouthpieces, when they have never even used the product, let alone know what it does.

Mirroring the cosmetics industry, the online 'health' scene is awash with pseudoscientific osmosis. On one end of the spectrum, there are the 'wellness' gurus like Madeline Shaw who seem pretty harmless with their virtuous posts about skin-glowing powders, gut health supplements and the power of plant-based, (as if butter wouldn't melt- or should I say coconut oil). Dig a little deeper however, and you will find in most cases that there is no concrete to their claims: just pure, hot air. Drawing on a study by a team at the University of Glasgow, 90% of these influencers are dishing out false nutritional advice. And they're not the only myths to consider. Working in tandem with the wellness squad, you have the militant dieters who will stop at nothing to peddle you a cacophony of quick fixes and extreme weight loss plans, all of which are 'guaranteed' to transform your body and transform your life. Whether it be diet teas, juice cleanses or medieval looking waist trainers, you've no doubt stumbled across celebrities, raving about these fads on their social media feeds. The thing is though, the vast majority of quick fixes have no effect whatsoever on your weight and could instead be detrimental to your health. Plus, while an influencer might credit a particular diet pill or potion, there is no way of verifying whether this is the true reason for their purported weight loss. Only last week, Lauren Goodger was plunged into hot water after footage emerged of her agreeing to endorse a poisonous diet drink. As part of an undercover documentary for BBC3, Goodger and several other stars were secretly filmed being asked to promote a fake weight loss beverage called Cyanora. They were informed that the fluid contained hydrogen cyanide- a deadly chemical used by the Nazis in concentration camps and on death row. Not even batting an eye lid at the ingredient list, the Towie star also let slip that she had never tried Skinny Coffee, a product which she had previously accredited for her two stone weight loss in multiple sponsored posts. The objective of the BBC sting was to find out whether influencers genuinely consume the products they promote and, judging by the results, it would seem often this is not the case. Goodger has since taken to Instagram, explaining that her alarming alacrity was simply because she had never heard of cyanide. Despite this feeble excuse, it still doesn't justify the fact that she could have put fans in danger if she had made such a recommendation.

It's also important to point out that not all the self-professed gurus are doing their rounds on the internet. Some are even trying to inject their 'expertise' into legislation. A few months ago, it was announced that Great British Bake Off judge Prue Leith had swapped the tent for parliament, becoming the latest 'star advisor' to a government review of hospital food standards. Although she may be the two Michelin starred chef with unrivalled, knowledge of pastry and soufflés, I don't believe the same can be said for her medical credentials. After news of Leith's appointment broke, many were left baffled by the government's naive selection. For one thing, feeding sick patients is a little more complex than cooking a slap-up meal. Their nutritional requirements are going to be vastly different to the general population, due to illness or the treatment they are undergoing. Therefore, surely it would make sense if we enlisted, I don't know, actual experts and actual dieticians with actual experience of working in hospitals. I mean, that would be the logical thing to do; but then, if their previous decisions are anything to go by, what do our government know about logic?

The Bake Off queen hit the headlines again recently, this time with her nanny-state solutions for the 'child obesity crisis'. During a heated debate on GMB, she suggested that all schools should 'ban packed lunches' on account of the fact that 'mums filled them with junk'. And, based on social media reactions, I don't think I was the only one, shouting at the TV. Firstly Prue, we shouldn't be demonising food and labelling it as junk because that, my friend, is sending a pretty pernicious message to young kids. We should be encouraging children to eat everything and I would have thought a foodie like yourself would be on the same wavelength. Secondly, it's not fair to make parents feel inadequate. They know better than anyone what's best for their children, and I think most would agree that there is enough parent shaming on the playground without celebrities jumping on the bandwagon. My outrage was only heightened by her next piece of ridiculous advice that we should be restricting ourselves to ONE treat such as a measly biscuit, per week! What planet do you live on Prue? You're telling us that we should only have a solitary cake a week, and yet you taste test and judge these baked goods for a living? If that's not an oxymoron, I don't know what is.

All in all, there is a stench of hypocrisy surrounding many celebrities' actions. It's times like this when the press is more important than ever, for busting myths and bringing the truth to the light. When I am a journalist, I hope to do the same, as I know the damage these claims can cause especially on one's mental health.

To finish, I would like to share my advice for all the self-titled gurus or the celebrity experts who may be reading this. You are not an expert. Just because somebody uses beauty products, it doesn't make them a dermatologist. Just because somebody has read a book about nutrition, it doesn't make them a nutritionist or a dietician. Take responsibility for what you promote. Don't make claims when you don't know the first thing about what you're preaching. And if in doubt, in the words of Simon Cowell, stick to your day job.

To Vote, or not to Vote? That is the Question.

People always build your first voting experience up to be significant. It's supposed to mark a transition into adulthood, an inaugural moment to make your voice heard. However, as I dashed into the polling station, soaked through by the rain, I did not feel a sense of empowerment. Instead, I was shivering and wondering how long it would be until I could go home, have a hot bath and then watch Jack Whitehall's latest show on Netflix. After giving my name and address to the nice man, I was handed my ballot paper. I scrawled a cross next to my chosen party, slipped the paper into the box and hurried back outdoors to brave the elements. That was it. By any standards, not an experience to write home about and one which I will cease blogging about.

Truth be told, politics is not my forte. Personally, I would rather while away an evening, watching Made In Chelsea than yawn my way through an episode of Question Time. While I will never be a dedicated LBC listener (much to my father's disappointment), I do believe politics is important. I've always strived to keep track of what's going on, even if that means wading through the esoteric manifestos. However, this general election has been shambolic. And I can safely say, I am not the only one who feels this apathy.

Our trust in politicians has been wearing thin for the past few years. Back in the summer, for example, the public including myself, were more fixated by Love Island, as opposed to who was going to run our country. This particular general election has not only broken records for being the most boring and joyless period in political history; it has marked a climax of this unpopularity contest. As voters, we are not choosing who is the best out of the best. It is instead a question of holding our noses and working out who is the least worst or the least capable candidate of dragging our country further into the mire.

I feel we are entitled to throw shade at our politicians. They have, quite frankly, made the UK into a global laughing stock, with their bickering and dithering and empty promises. If we didn't already know our MPs were childish, we certainly do now, thanks to Bojo's antics on Wednesday. I mean, evading a journalist by playing hide and seek in a fridge? It might be imaginative but are we really still in year five?

Aside from the embarrassing blunders and a united loss of the will to live, this whole election has been shrouded in a much darker overtone of fear and uncertainty. Many of these MPs may be highly educated. But they don't know the first thing about empathy, about respect and about what this country truly needs.

And of course, at the heart of all the scandal and delusion, there is the Brexit board game on our hands. To think over four years ago, the word Brexit didn't even exist. Now, the B word is positively ubiquitous, dominating everything from our headlines to our social media feeds. As if we weren't fed up enough already, increasing numbers of companies are now cashing in and jumping aboard the band waggon, emblazoning their merchandise with political slogans. The other day I saw a Brexit Christmas jumper and I literally wanted to cry. Firstly, who would waste their money on that? And secondly, how have we reached a point where we are tainting the festive cheer with such misery? We have to ask ourselves: what lies in store? Will TV franchises start commissioning Brexit themed spin-off shows to add to the mix? I mean, the options are endless. We could have Deal Or No Deal. Alternatively, what about a Take Me Out Brexit special? It would be far more entertaining than the usual mind-numbing debates. We could scrap the bombastic speakers and instead have Paddy McGuinness, keeping order over the MPs. Just imagine it: Boris Johnson dancing down the lift before delivering his deal. Then, when voting, they could adopt the 'no likey, no lighty approach', and if in an instance of a majority, Paddy could announce 'congratulations you've got yourself a deal, you're going to the Isle of The Singles Market!'. Better still, ITV could do a spin-off jungle called I'm A Brexiteer Get Me Out of Here, in which we send the MPs to the Australian outback and force them to eat cockroaches until they come up with a solution. Jezza and Bojo would probably tear each other to shreds or push each other off that bridge at the end. But let's be honest, it would be quality TV at its finest.

Whether those of us desire or disdain of Brexit, I think the principle remains: we are sick and tired of it. Our politicians are not listening. They are messing around and tampering with our future as if it is all a game.

But alas, time is ticking and, as we speak, our votes are being counted. Within a matter of hours, we will be finding out who has been given the set of keys to 10 Downing Street. Whatever happens, it's going to be tight. Let's just hope things don't take a turn for the worse.

Oxford Know-it-alls Score Zero for Inclusion

We all know the nanny-state zealots are making a mockery out of democracy. Nonetheless, Oxford University's move to jump aboard the snowflake express could mark an all-time low. Mirroring the House of Commons, Bercow-inspired boffins have voted to scrap clapping for silent jazz hands. In an age of wokeness and call-out culture, the policy has been passed due to the 'triggering' impacts of loud noises on students with anxiety and autism. However, far from evoking a 'hear, hear', this cringeworthy show of 'inclusion' has sparked slow, sardonic applause among the general public.

Most are fed up of snowflakes reconstructing norms to meet the sensibilities of a tiny minority. Despite Oxford's claims, this jazz hands claptrap is not 'inclusive', 'accessible' nor 'lovely'. It is downright derogatory. Being blind, I wouldn't have a clue whether the audience were waving at me. Moreover, being treated differently goes against everything I stand for. To me, my visual impairment is irrelevant. It does not change the fact that I am a strong, independent and career driven young woman. I've experienced what it feels like to be underestimated, patronised and blanked by others. But rather than conceding to the self-fulfilling prophecy, these preconceptions have only galvanized me to be the most successful person I can possibly be.

So what do these sanctimonious do-gooders go and do? They seek to highjack the disability movement, by mollycoddling and portraying disabled people as fragile and uber-sensitive. Frankly, if we're not careful, the snowflake express could not only derail progress; it could reinforce outdated images and breed more prejudice.

This cotton-wool generation of students needs to get a grip for life in the real world. And if we want to be inclusive, we shouldn't have to denounce a universal form of appreciation.