Posh, Broke, & Bored

Yesterday evening everybody who was anybody in the art world---curators, artists, and collectors alike---descended upon Regent's Park for Frieze London and Frieze Masters.

Yours truly, ever the least sharp crayon in the tool box, ordered an Uber from Bonhams in Piccadilly and asked to be dropped off at the wrong side of the park. I strode right up to Frieze Masters instead of Frieze London only to realise that I was a good twenty minute walk from where I needed to be, and worse, the park was closed so I couldn't even squish my suede-shoed way across the mud and damp grass to get to Frieze London. What's a girl, overheated and panting in her Elie Tahari knit AND deceptively warm Valentino jacket (hence the draping of the jacket over the shoulders, my armpits felt like the eight layer of Dante's Inferno) to do? Take the Frieze shuttle bus to the right art fair, naturally. An eternally later I arrived to Frieze London, cursing "Frieze? What a misnomer. More like Melt! It's boiling in here!" Then a good fifteen minutes later the ominous boom of the loudspeaker announced that the fair was closing in fifteen minutes and can you all please just bugger off to Groucho and come back next year? Argh. I legged it, making a desperate bid to see as much as I could, barely stopping to even return greetings from acquaintances and friends alike. By the end of it I was hyperventilating (ever the image of grace!) that I told a scandalised Nichole: "Have fun at the Groucho without me, I'm too hot and faint, I don't want to pass out into Damien Hirst's lap!" Who knew art was so physically exerting? Frieze London opens to the public today Anyway. In no particular order here are a few works that caught my eye for better or for worse, and no, this time I won't divulge which, I shall keep my amateur criticism to myself so as to spare you my unsolicited snark and present to you an unbiased look at that most contentious medium: art.

I heard the artist wanted this sculpture to be bigger but there wasn't mushroom.

I'd love a set of chairs like these for my wedding, with each guests' photo printed to their seat.

Painting, my favourite medium. The detail in the armour is especially exquisite in real life.

This is me, hungover and feeling hideous, the morning after a night out. "Mirror, mirror, on the floor (how did you get there?): am I still beautiful at all? Nope."

Frieze London is on till Saturday at Regent's Park. Leave your reservations about art and your coat at the cloakroom by the door if you want to enjoy any of it without melting like a Takeshi Murata sculpture. x

Recognising my undisputed* title of East London's Most Prolific and Illustrious Dim Sum Eating East Asian Expatriate**, Ping Pong very kindly invited me to try and review the new seasonal additions to their Autumn menu.

Who am I to refuse the generosity of my favourite dim sum parlour in London? Ever since I moved to London eight years ago (holy har gau, Batman!) their chain of dim sum restaurants all over London were to me like little pockets of comfort in a scary new city. Fast forward several years and many gastronomical adventures later, and Ping Pong is still resolutely my go-to for comfort food. There's something very special about a towering stack of bamboo steamers being brought to your table and whipping off the top lid to release a cloud of overwhelmingly fragrant steam taking flight to reveal a smorgasbord of delicious little steamed parcels! But enough words, here are the pictures and my review of Ping Pong's new seasonal menu. Oh, and before you curse me for inflicting this tantalising food porn on your screens at work just know that you can get Ping Pong delivered to you via Deliveroo. Go forth and order, grab a bun, and indulge with me. *probably disputed **title does not exist, but should

For autumn, Ping Pong have created 2 new cocktails (the Espresso Martini is a dessert drink), one dessert, and a few savouries---

The Forbidden Martini cocktail (感谢上帝, thank God I wasn't forbidden from having one) was created to celebrate Ping Pong's partnership with the British Museum* for the exhibition 'Ming: 50 years that changed China’.

*Here's a shocking confession: I've never been to the British Museum despite studying at Central St Martins for three years at their old Southampton Row building, only around the corner from the British Museum. Doesn't one tend to take for granted what one walks past everyday? Just like how I used to live beside the Royal Albert Hall but never went until my virgin visit to see Rufus Wainwright. Henry: "Do you know why the British Museum has the best collection of foreign artefacts in the world? Because guns are better than spears!"*thumps chest* *Rule Britannia plays*

When I visited on Tuesday the hot and sour soup and the lobster dumpling were still being perfected before making their public debut. Hopefully they will be both readily available soon, I love lobster.

The price of the vegetable fun guo and the lobster dumpling includes a charitable donation of 25p to Action Against Hunger. That's an altruistic motive for indulging in your favourite dim sum---not that I need a reason to---but if you want to make an even bigger difference (after all there's only so much dim sum can one eat in a sitting) you can get involved with Action Against Hunger's annual Love Food Give Food campaign. The aim is to provide 20,000 malnourished children with life-saving nutrition treatment. Start a life-saving team, nominate 6 friends, donate £3 each, and Tenderstem will double your donation, bringing it to £42 - the amount needed to save the life of a malnourished child. If you'd like to help, you can start your team here and find out more about Action Against Hunger's vital work and the Love Food Give Food appeal on their website.

Henry and I dined at their Westfield Stratford branch which is slightly quieter on the weekdays, keen we were to avoid the mad crowds of diners at their more Central locations. We were seated by the 'window' and enjoyed a view of the world sailing serenely by, not unlike that of a cruise ship.

Keeping it Chinese with Tsingtao.

We ordered both the cardamon espresso martini, and the Forbidden City. I don't usually like the taste of martinis, but the sweet, cherry flavours with lychee infused sake and longan juice (personally pressed at Ping Pong, by Oompas Loompas I like to imagine) was sweet yet refreshing and balanced out the strong taste of gin. Henry described his espresso martini of tasting like Christmas and chocolates, like Bailey's but without the cloying, sickly sweetness. We would both happily drink those all day, even though he's not a cocktail person and I don't like the taste of alcohol. What a happy medium.

The honey-soy chicken wings with spring onion and red amaranth were perfectly cooked and tasted just like my po po (grandmother)'s cooking. High praise indeed, she is an excellent cook as is expected of Chinese matriarchs from her generation.

Soft-shelled crab and sticky pork ribs. Both were great, and the pork ribs especially so---I manage to tempt a newly-Pescatarian Henry into having some. But the true yardstick of measuring good pork ribs would be my father. You see, in the '90s, pork ribs weren't really a thing in Malaysia, being a predominantly Muslim country. My father would drive four hours to Singapore and buy boxes and boxes of Tony Roma's pork ribs to bring back to Kuala Lumpur. I imagine he'd do the same for the Ping Pong pork ribs. Perfectly tender, the sweet meat fell off the bone and the taste was so moreish I sucked the juices off the bones with wild abandon. (And somehow Henry still finds me attractive)

I also recommend the vegetable fun guo. Stuffed with chives, cabbage, chinese mushroom, oyster mushroom and carrots, wheat flour pastry, it's perfect for vegetarians. Incidentally, I have always been a snob to vegetarians and vegans (only the hypocritical ones who criticise my choice of eating meat yet wear leather and new fur) but lately I have become much more openminded toward the cause (both with my opinion and with my palate) as Henry has been eating much less meat because of his ethics and concern for animal welfare. The vegetable fun guo is a great example of how you don't need pork, that Chinese favourite, to make good dim sum.

We also ordered some dishes from their regular menu; Monkfish and lime dumpling, har gau, char siu buns, Chaozhou vegetable and peanut dumpling, and crab and prawn dumpling, all of which were 'predictably delicious' as I like to say about Ping Pong.

Crab and prawn dumpling; crab, prawn, hint of ginger, translucent pastry.

Char siu bun; a fluffy white bun that you tear apart to reveal honey barbecued pork. Nothing is more Chinese nor more indulgent.

Monkfish and lime dumpling; carrot, shitake mushroom, asparagus, spring onion and coriander, translucent pastry.

Chaozhou vegetable and peanut dumpling; mushrooms, carrot, coriander, chive, radish with crunchy peanuts in carrot pastry.

And my all time favourite, har gau! There's something about the way the king prawn and bamboo shoot is steamed inside that satisfyingly smooth, almost silky translucent pastry, that has made it my favourite since I was six and would demand my own bamboo steamer of har gau all for myself. Whenever I eat with friends I order one just for me, if I have to share I get extremely fidgety.

As you can see, with the exception of the pork ribs and the char siu bun, I made extra care to order dishes that would suit my pescatarian boyfriend. It was very easy with Ping Pong's menu, and there are even dumplings that are entirely vegetarian and vegan.

A happy pescatarian man slipping into a food coma. Henry on food comas: "Do you know that in the olden days, people would fall asleep and drown face-first in their soups? That's why soup is now a starter and not a dessert."*facepalm*

For pudding we had the seasonal offering. Apple and cinnamon parcels; green apple, cinnamon in spring roll pastry, served with chocolate instead of the usual vanilla ice cream. It smelt so tantalising that I gave myself painful teeth by biting a little too enthusiastically into the steaming hot apple parcels right after having a mouthful of ice-cream. It was worth the aching teeth. I only wished I could have also ordered the mango mochi which I didn't have room for. I highly recommend you also order the mango pudding when you go to Ping Pong.

My favourite thing to do at restaurants, balancing things.

The autumn additions to the Ping Pong menu were, as to be expected, consistently delicious as is the rest of their menu and well worth a try even if you're not a dim sum lover like my Henry (who thinks that dim sum is 'same-y' but thoroughly enjoys Ping Pongs offerings whenever we go). I'd recommend everything I've just posted, and at only roughly £4 a pop, experimenting with different dishes won't break the bank and who knows one may be rewarded with a new can't-live-without flavour. Myself, I'm just biding my time and waiting for the lobster dumpling to become available.

Ping Pong is available in 8 locations across London and you can have it delivered via Deliveroo. In the meantime, please check out the British Museum exhibition 'Ming: 50 years that changed China’ and also the good work Action Against Hunger and their annual Love Food Give Food campaign. x

*not really. Two glasses of champagne and an espresso martini will set you back a not-entirely-reasonable £45.

Last night I clinked glasses with birthday boy Percy at the rooftop bar of Mondrian, a new hotel at the sea containers on the South Bank.

The new baby from the Morgans Hotel Group who brought to London The Sanderson and St Martins Lane Hotel (home to the nostalgic and now-infamous Bungalow 8, or 'Bungalow H8' as my jaded Shoreditch fashion-goth peers of 2009 called it) has a similar art and design vibe as its fashionable older sisters. Whether or not it will stand to be the enduring contemporary classic that The Sanderson is, we will see, but hosting the new Lazarides Editions gallery next door surely can't hurt it's chances. Anyway, since Mondrian opened two or more weeks ago my usual circle have spread their wings to include this chic South Bank spot on their list of late-night destinations. As much as I deign to imagine that I am the sort to fly solo I always end up winging it to the latest London hotspots, if not out of the desire to follow the flock then at least out of curiosity. Now that I'm a part-time Bermondsey Baby I have to venture south of the river anyway...so Mondrian it is.

The new Lazarides Editions gallery.

The view that greets you from the bar on the 12th floor. I can sort of see my artist studio from here...if I squint...ever so much...

No photos of the birthday boy because my boy (Henry) was too tired from a gruelling day of work to take the usual ten thousand photos it takes to get the perfect shot. Also, how much better does my hair look now that I've finally got a hair cut after six months since my last one? Last week I finally stopped dragging my split ends and hauled myself down to Foster in Shoreditch for an emergency hair cut. I shook my frightfully long mane at the stylists and demanded "Make me look less hot mess and more like Peony Lim!" They lobbed off as much as I would let them and thinned my hair into layers. My hair is now four inches shorter and half as thick but looks so much healthier! This is what it looks like in its natural state (freshly washed, air dried, and unstyled) and now I no longer have to hide the unkempt state of my mane by curling it. I'm on the straight and narrow now, baby. And I have to be now that my low-to-begin with tolerance for drinking has dropped even further. One glass of champagne and I was so tipsy I had to be Uber-ed away from Mondrian back to home. Am I getting old? Oh well, nice hair don't care. x

Malaysian food served in the cafe of a French lifestyle shop in trendy East London?

Oh what a mad, mad world---or more specifically what a colourful, crazy district (Shoreditch)---I live in. I picked Shoreditch favourite Maison Trois Garcons for lunch with Bloomzy, it was quite fitting as I was catching a flight to Malaysia that night. I write to you now, dear reader, from Kuala Lumpur with love, fondness, and my body clock still set to London time. I can't promise postcards from Malaysia to all of you, but in the meantime if you fancy a taste of my homeland perchance you could pay a visit to Maison Trois Garcon: The lifestyle shop by Les Trois Garcons on Redchurch Street, Shoreditch?

"Maison Trois Garcons in Shoreditch, London, is now a lifestyle café offering a seasonal menu along with a selection of teas, coffees, fresh cordials, pastries, cakes and various deli items. Surrounding the expansive bar and dining area there is an eclectic assortment of gift items, fashion and accessories, antique and contemporary furniture pieces, home accessories and lighting sourced from around the world. Custom Portuguese-tiled tables and vintage chairs – which are also available for purchase – run throughout the entire space for comfortable dining and complimentary wifi access is available. Les Trois Garcons started their collaboration with an antiques and interiors shop in Notting Hill and then a restaurant, followed by Loungelover bar. The new Maison Trois Garcons marries these three passions to create a retail destination that offers something for everyone at: 45 Redchurch Street, London." Maison Trois Garcons website

Balloon lamps, the 'strings' are the pull chain light switches (!)

The front of the cafe is cozy enough but as I explained to Bloomzy's colleague you just can't beat a quiet, photogenic, back room with a skylight for a blogger's lunch which inevitably turns into a foodporn photoshoot. What our meeting was about I couldn't possibly say, but I can say that a good meal is essential to a good brainstorming session.

I ordered the avocado toast with salmon and a bacon cheese croissant. By little form of cajoling form myself, my lunch buddies plumped for the Malay style curries.

For a casual business lunch I wore: Valentino Miss V jacket, ASOS marble trousers (like tracksuit bottoms, but more stylish), Zara clutch, and Steve Madden slippers.

Happy Deepavali (or Divali as they call it in England) and salam mesra from Malaysia! x

Village East is the latest addition to my list of Bermondsey Bites, joining the ranks of my favourite Bermondsey street restaurants Pizarro, Jose, andCasse Croute. Next on my to-do (or should that be to-chew?) list is Zucca but that's another review for another lunch break on a day slaving in my new South London artist studio. Anyway, Village East came highly recommended by my friend Cleo, and so on an absentminded, overcast midday I found myself wandering through the doors, expecting a cozy coffee and deli sort of brunch spot but being stunned by the vast space (booths opposite the bar and a quiet bar lounge adjacent to the main dining rooms) and eclectic, industrial-chic interiors.

I loaded up on carbs for a hard day's work with two bread starters; caramelised onion bread with the fluffiest butter flecked with sea salt, and toast with a pot of duck pate and orange marmalade.

My favourite thing to do is to hollow out the bread rolls by pulling out the insides, then stuffing it with the butter, spreads, pates etc. from different dishes on the table. After all what is bread but a vehicle for more substantial food? That was allegedly how the sandwich was invented, when in 1762 John Montagu 4th Earl of Sandwich needed something to hold his meat with while gambling. Bread is essentially gloves...made of carbs. Carb gloves. Mmmmm. *Homer Simpson drooling sound*

For a more balanced meal, I followed the bread-fest with a vegetarian dish of autumn hash with spinach, goat's cheese, onion, and fried duck egg. Delicious, filling, and healthy I'd like to imagine.

That the food is delicious is one thing, but I also love their decor!

Selamat sejahtera from Malaysia! Kembalilah ku ke tanahair sejak hari Selasa.

"All packed for our, yes OUR, flight to Kuala Lumpur tonight for the Malaysia Tatler Ball! Flight essentials include the latest issue of @malaysiatatler, naturally. (Please excuse the wrinkled Hermes scarf). 😅 #flightessentials #hermes #pucci #chanel #cuirderussie#narcopolis #jeetthayil #malaysiatatler #malaysiatatlerball2014 #flight #byelondon #hellokualalumpur #tatlergram

A photo posted by Jasiminne Yip (@jasiminne) on Oct 10, 2014 at 7:31am PDT"

I have returned to my homeland since Tuesday, with my Henry in tow, and any anxiety or jet lag has melted away like the nasi lemak I had for breakfast in the juices of my stomach. Yes, anxiety, I wasn't sure if I'd make it back in time for the Malaysia Tatler Ball, or to meet my five-month old niece, or in time to welcome Michiekin's baby boy into the world, or even back to Kuala Lumpur this year at all! Home Office bureaucracy and all that: in September I applied for an extension of my leave to remain in the UK so the HO held my passport and BRP, essentially grounding me in the country during a period of immigration limbo. And now you know why my last holiday abroad was Lisbon, in July! Anyway, I had some favours called in and persuaded the HO to expedite the usual eight weeks+ processing time so that I could make the flight I wanted. As planned, I landed in Kuala Lumpur mere hours after Michiekins gave birth and went straight from the airport to the hospital to welcome my godson, little baby M, into this world. And, tonight I'm going to see my cousin and visit my very first niece: her baby daughter whose birth in Summer I missed. So yes, the entire month of September and first half of October I wasn't sure if I would get my travel documents back in time to make it to Malaysia for the 21st. I only found out the weekend before and hurriedly booked flights: both for myself and for Henry. I wanted to show him my beautiful homeland and introduce him to polite Malaysian society by debuting him at this year's Malaysia Tatler Ball. For the sake of love, generosity, and girlfriend points I made the ultimate selfless sacrifice (by my personal standards that is): my comfort. Yes, comfort --- I eschewed my usual flight and endured 12 hours in economy class for Henry, because I wanted to surprise him with a plane ticket to Malaysia, but had a dilemma: I only had enough dollah for either one business-class tickets (last minute flights are expensive) or two economy tickets...so economy it had to be. As luck would have it Sheena was on the same flight so the three of us got a row to ourselves. Anyway, this paragraph is getting too long, so I'll fast forward to yesterday, our first proper day in Malaysia as Tuesday and Wednesday gave way to jet lag.

I'm on a mission to do the most touristy things in Malaysia---from K.L to Penang to Pahang to Melaka---so we started with Kuala Lumpur Butterfly park in the city. Henry likes to tell children that butter is made from butterflies, because 'they don't look like butter, so they must be called butterflies because the taste like butter. If you buy a tub of 'I can't believe it's not Butterfly!' from the supermarket, open it and moths will fly out!" Sigh. When we have children he's going to fill their heads with such nonsense. Butterflies even.

Did I mention that I accidentally bought a new camera? On Wednesday I went into a camera shop on the ground floor of Times Square, hoping to upgrade my six-year old Canon 450D with a very strict (or so I thought) budget. "Uncle, I want a Canon EF pancake lens, and I don't want to spend more than £100 (RM500!)" An hour later I walked out with a new Canon 600D, prime lens, and a filter I bought on a whim because it had a classy-looking gold rim. Ummm. It could've been worse, I could've bought a 7D. So now I'm justifying that impulse buy by taking lots of pictures of typical tourist photo fodder: flowers, butterflies, rocks, all of nature's creations.

Kuala Lumpur butterfly park is one of the city's favourite tourist attractions. Under the mesh canopy of the park a lush landscape of tropical plants and dazzling jewel-coloured flowers are home to over six thousand butterflies from more than 120 species. Waterfalls pour into ponds where koi, catfish, and snapping turtles swim. Even the lower levels of the park, little paths under moss-covered bridges, are lined with aquariums of frogs, scorpions, and curious creatures. The humidity should be more stifling but the abundant greenery makes the heat less so, and even the flapping of the butterfly's wings against your cheek as they brazenly perch on you (especially if you're wearing bright colours) makes the littlest of breezes that you're grateful for. As you leave you cool down in an air-conditioned room with an exhibition of taxidermy butterflies and insects, as well as live bugs in tanks modelled after their natural habitat. Is it a bit morbid that after the living beauty of the butterfly park, the exhibition room of preserved insects has a distinct scent of mothballs? But I love morbid! I'm not even vaguely unnerved by the souvenir shop and its walls and rows covered in boxes of taxidermy insects.

I bought myself a box of 26 taxidermy tropical butterflies, pictures at the end of this post, promise.

Afterward I spent a good hour getting lost in the city before finally making it to nearby Bangsar, where I treated Henry to a hearty lunch of banana leaf rice. I just realised that this order of photos,without captions, looks like a narrative of: went to see butterflies in natural habitat, killed and displayed butterflies, ate some butterflies.

The task of cutting, cleaning, and preparing banana leaves to serve rice on.

After our lunch I went to my usual favourite boutique On A Cloudy Day and came away with a pretty Pucci dress, then went to Inside Scoop and placed an order for two takeaway boxes of their signature durian ice-cream because my cousin has been craving some even while pregnant, and then we checked out Shoes Shoes Shoes new shop on Jalan Telawi 3.

I love these earrings but can't decide if they're too 'much' to wear to the Tatler Ball? I played it safe and bought a pair of nude mules with clear wedge heels. Oh I just realised that last sentence is a contradiction.

Henry being street style shot by Wolfgang KL in Bangsar...already attracting so much attention and he's only been in KL for over a day. Tut.

My shopping haul from yesterday: taxidermy tropical butterflies and my Shoes Shoes Shoes mules.

Abrupt end of blog post, because I have a meeting with Malaysia Tatler now. x

Title says it all: I accidentally found myself in possession of 3 new toys; a Louis Vuitton Speedy Bandouliere, iPhone 6, and Canon 600D.

Allow me to elucidate. The iPhone 6: I was cursing the crappy battery life on my two year old iPhone 5 (have you ever left the house with 97% battery, called an Uber and then had your battery drain to 25% in five minutes? Story of my life) when I get a Whatsapp message from the birth giver: "Got gifted an iPhone 6 I don't need, do you want it?" Oh mother, I love what you don't need, and I need what you don't love. The Louis Vuitton handbag? Well I needed a camera bag for my new DSLR. The Speedy is the perfect shape and size, of which my mother has at least ten variations of, she won't miss it if I nick one. But what of the my new camera, the DSLR, the image capturer and soul-stealer itself? I'm getting to it.

The Canon 600D...well as you may know (probably not, I've never made a mention of it I don't think?) I've been chugging along on the same 450D and cheap 18-55mm lens for the last six years before making a switch to my long-since-stolen Leica D-Lux 5 (God I need to get that replaced). Ever since I have found in my Lumix GF6 a happy medium between compact camera and the option for interchangeable lenses which in my mind reads as 'potential for a come up ie. upgrade options'. And oh, was it time for a come up. I was going to buy a pancake lens for my Lumix, and then I found a Canon DSLR pancake lens for less. DSLR over micro four thirds, no brainer, right? Electronics in Asia are cheaper than in London and I know how to bargain the Malaysian way, so post dinner I had the driver drop me off at Times Square. So determined was I of my one-mindedness to stick to my budget and shopping list that I said to my driver: "I won't be more than twenty minutes, please standby." An hour later I walked out of the camera shop with a new Canon 600D body, prime lens, and a filter...oh yes they saw me coming. In fact I had to be restrained from buying a 7D which I don't even have the upper body strength to lift. It's a bloody miracle I didn't buy half the shop there and then. I blame the delirium of heat exhaustion and jet lag.

Oh, you beautiful little accident. I admit that I bought that filter for the lens because I liked the gold band around it. It matches the hardware on my Speedy.

All early adapters know the struggle of finding fashionable accessories for new phones. Myself, I bought about four new iPhone 5 cases just the day before I found out I was getting an i6...d'oh. Now I find myself refreshing Selfridges, Net-a-Porter et al for any new i6 cases, but always coming away dejected. Makeshift phone protector it is, pass me the cling film. Oh, and here's another story of just how special I am: I've been complaining that the volume of my phone calls on the new i6 is terrible. The sound is so muffled and far away like someone talking to you when your ears are congested on a long flight. Yesterday at dinner I made Arran ring me and I passed him my phone to hear for himself. "You're right the volume is too low! Maybe it's your line? Are you still with Digi? You should switch to Maxis..." etc until Suanne grabbed the phone from him, peeled off the plastic sticker that new iPhones are covered in and sighed: "You doofus! You left the plastic sticker on and it was blocking the speaker the whole time!" Ohhhhhhh. Brains like that, I wonder how I even manage to get dressed in the morning.

What other accessories should I buy (apart from a new brain) for my new tech toys? Any suggestions of lenses and stylish iPhone 6 cases are very much appreciated, thank you in advance! x

Just 13 kilometres north of Kuala Lumpur is a most wondrous site (and sight) made especially amazing for its close proximity to the city.

Less than a fifteen minute drive from the Petronas Twin Tower-dominated steel landscape of the city is a landscape as contrasting (man made vs. nature) as it is vaguely similar (a sprawling hamlet guarded by its own towering overlord; one of steel and the other of gold): Batu Caves, a 400 million year old limestone hills with a series of caves filled with Hindu temples, guarded by a 142 foot high gold statue of Lord Murugan, the Hindu god of war. The parallels, juxtaposition, and close proximity between K.L city and Batu Caves was not lost upon Henry (who unlike my jaded self was seeing Malaysia for the first time) whose eyes lit up and reflected the gold of Lord Murugan's statue---the tallest in the world---as we pulled up towards one of the most popular Hindu shrines outside of India.

During Thaipusam, of which Batu Caves is the focal point in Malaysia, Batu Caves is rammed with pilgrims from all over the world, kavadi (chariot) bearers with hooks and skewers in their flesh carrying on their shoulders milk containers as offerings to Lord Murugan making the arduous climb up 272 steps to the temples in the caves. Happily our timing was perfect. We went yesterday, just a day after the end of Deepavali (that's Diwali to us) and there were next to no crowds or even tourists, just worshippers and art students practising their photography. Even the infamous macaques monkeys who harass people for food on the precarious, slippery steps were nowhere to be seen! As we entered the caves at the top of the steps, the wail of ceremonial music blared out, fragrant smoke filled the air, and hordes of barefoot worshippers made it apparent that we were witnessing a religious ceremony of sorts. I suppose the monkeys knew that the day was of some holy significance and kept away out of respect, or maybe they were terrified of the loud noises, or maybe they didn't bother as it was slim pickings with no tourists around. Either way we lucked out: arriving right after a storm to calm surroundings, no tourists nor monkeys, yet we were privileged enough to see the Hindus worship.

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. Henry drinking real coconut water. I assured him it tasted nothing like Vitacoco, which he says tastes like 'cabbage water', and he agrees that Malaysian air kelapa muda (young coconut water) is superior. Want to know what else he drank? Milk that was supposed to be offered to the Hindu god of war. I blame myself. I wanted to take a photo of flower garlands but thought it was more polite to buy something from the stall before snapping away. Knowing that Henry likes milk I bought him a bottle which he drank on the spot to strange and curious looks from the Hindus. I only found out while fact searching for this blog post that the milk is actually offering to Lord Murugan! "So that's why the milk tasted sour! I thought it was off but maybe that's just how Malaysians like it, so I didn't say anything." Poor thing had a tummy ache. Is Henry now cursed, having drunk from the milk meant for the god of war? Or does that make him the new god of war, you know, since Hindus believe in constant reincarnation? Either way, stay tuned for more khaki and safari suit-wearing, colonialist, oafish Brit misadventures. We're going to the Islamic Arts Centre today, God help us.

Oh well, at least these photos were worth it.

Climbing 272 narrow steps up to the caves is no small feat, especially when the steps are slippery with moss and rain. And to think the steps were once wood, build just less than a hundred years ago...I wood not like to climb century old wooden steps up to a cave a hundred metres from the ground.

The arduous climb is rewarded with interesting sights. Every other nook and cranny hosts either a deity of some sort, or animals in unusual locations (why are there cocks and hens on the sides of a limestone hill?), and if you dare look behind you, a sweeping view of Gombak district from above.

Even halfway through the ascend (stairs numbered for your counting convenience) the majestic caves ahead inspires one to soldier on. I suppose the alternative would be to climb back down and that walk would've been all for nothing, haha.

Thousand year old stalactites reach down from cathedral-high ceilings, some so close you could walk into them and others barely touching the tops of the temples inside the caves. The stalactites and stalagmites spend thousands of years forming intricate curtains, flow stones, cave pearls and scallops. The caves are undeveloped, and home to a diverse range of cave fauna including some unique species, such as Liphistiidae spiders and Eonycteris and fruit bats. Even more impressive to the budding naturalist is the Dark Cave (just below the Temple Cave), a two kilometre network of pitch-black untouched caverns heaving with rock formations and a number of animals found nowhere else.

After the loud bangs and whistles of the religious ceremony, the macaque monkeys came out to play, looking for people to steal food from. A small crowd gathered to watch this silly monkey stick its head inside the coconut and even went as close as inches away to try and photograph it. This Korean girl walked right up behind the monkey and posed with him, she was lucky he didn't startle and try to grab or worse bite her. Macaques are known to be territorial and have bitten children for getting too close. And here I am, with a prime lens that doesn't zoom, having to inch ever so carefully forward and not provoke the macaques into biting my face off...oh the perils of being inquisitive.

The most sublime sight of Batu Caves: a cave wall covered in foliage, snaking all the way up to an open skylight in the ceiling, sunlight beaming down onto one of the temples below, casting some colour on statues depicting Lord Murugan's war victories over the demon Soorapadam that would be otherwise hidden away in dark platforms of the cave walls. Henry loved our visit to Batu Caves "I feel like Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom!" (well, sweetie, you are doomed now that you've drunk the sacrificial milk of the Gods) and I'm certain everybody would. If not for the religious significance nor natural wonder nor the wildlife, maybe the sport? Batu Caves is the centre of rock climbing development in Malaysia, and some companies offer abseiling and spelunking trips. For the less physically-inclined but no less adventurous The Malaysian Nature Society organises regular educational tours and adventure trips to the Dark Caves, and I hear you even get to stick a candle on your helmet! x

Another morning in Malaysia, another day playing tour guide. Yesterday I showed Henry one of Malaysia's gems---the Islamic Arts Museum.

Nestled in the lush greenery of the city's lung, Taman Tasik Perdana (Lake Gardens), the stunning museum hosts one of the best collections of Islamic decorative arts in the world. Even Henry, ever the patriot ("The British museum has the best collection of foreign artefacts because guns beats spears!"), admitted that the Islamic Arts Museum collection was better than the V&A. And oh what a collection! Spread out over four floors in a white building of an impressive 30,000 square meters, the museum has the most beautiful ceiling domes including an inverted dome which I insisted to Henry had secret coded messages in the inscriptions (it doesn't. At least not that I know of). Their is a Quran and Manuscripts Gallery, the Islamic Architecture Gallery (complete with small scale versions of the world's most important mosques such as the Prophet's mosque in Medina and the Al Haram Mosque in Mecca), the India Gallery, the Chinese Gallery, the Ancient Malay World Gallery, a reconstructed Ottoman Syrian Room dating back to the 19th Century. Artefacts from all around the Muslim world, from China, regional Southeast Asia, and even faraway Middle East and Iran are proudly displayed: mother of pearl inlaid furniture, dazzling tiaras, jewellery, glorious gowns, intricate armour and weapons, ceramics as well as ancient Islamic glass ware. There's just so much to take in that trying to describe or photograph it all is futile, not that I haven't tried nor that it stopped the visiting schoolchildren from snapping away on their iPads (children these days have iPads?!) nor did it deter Henry from lying on his back on the floor to get the perfect shot of the ceiling domes. The icing on the cake for Henry's museum trip was one of the museum attendants saying to Henry: "You look just like a treasure hunter! Like Indiana Jones, yes Indiana Jones!" Henry: "Don't worry, I'm not going to steal anything!" Anyway, here are some of my favourites from the Islamic Arts Museum.

We left the Islamic Arts Museum hoping to see the exotic birds in the nearby Kuala Lumpur bird park, but of course it had to start raining, as it has ever since we arrived in Malaysia. I am convinced Henry brought the London weather with him. What else is there to do in the Malaysian way, when the elements and circumstance is working against you? Makan. Eat. I've been craving Acme Bar & Coffee's cempedak cake ever since I tried it two years ago so off to the Troika we went.

What was intended to be just a slice of cake and tea at Acme Bar & Coffee turned into an early dinner. And thank goodness for that, because the cempedak cake I came here for was not how I remembered it. The cempedak cake I knew was dense, rich, and fragrant to the point of obscenity. ABC's current offering was...light and bland with the airy texture of chiffon cake. No! No! No! Michiekins would be so disappointed. I guess it's now on me to come up with the perfect cempedak cake recipe and recreate my lost love. Happily, our food more than made up for the disappointing dessert.

A detox jar of watermelon and mint for her, coffee for him.

I had the duck carbonara with truffles, and Henry has the ABC version of fish n' chips because Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves.

Garlic and parmesan potato wedges to die for. Or at least die alone and unloved for because nobody would kiss me after eating these.

Oh cempedak cake, now you're just somebody that I used to know.

Henry making friends with a Malaysian cat and drying the rain off its fur with his scarf.

Do you know why he carries an empty satchel with him? It's just in case I let him take a cat home. He's already made friends with about ten or so stray cats and wanted to bring them all back to mine. No! But he's got the satchel on standby, just in case.

Signing off hastily because I have a meeting to dash to and a day full of sightseeing, facilitated by yours truly, 'YipAdvisor'. x

Seeing Jalan Alor, Kuala Lumpur's food street, through the eyes of a tourist.

Yesterday we ruffled some feathers at the Kuala Lumpur Bird Park, quite literally, like when a peacock shook his magnificent tail at us (either mistaking us for foe or a peahen) and a glorious red macaw parrot flapped his wings to show off his brilliant plumage.

A point of attractions of Lake Gardens (and adjacent to the outstanding Islamic Arts Museum), KL Bird Park is well known to be the 'World's Largest Free-Flight Walk-In Aviary', with 3,000 birds from 200 species both local and foreign spread out across 20.9 acres of verdant valley terrain under a fine mesh canopy. All of the birds in the park (bar the parrots, flightless birds, and oriental birds in separate aviaries) are let free in the park, built to closely resemble their natural habitat. This free-flight concept encourages the birds to breed naturally and really does give one a sense of being a visitor privileged enough to walk among and observe the birds in their homes. And such birds! Hornbills (the Malaysian national bird), peacocks, cassowaries from Papau New Guinea, flamingos, parrots; macaws, loris, African Greys...you could even feed the ostriches and watch ducklings hatch from eggs in an incubator, all of which we did and thoroughly enjoyed. But first, lunch at Jalan Alor, that famous stretch of hawker food behind glitzy Jalan Bukit Bintang (Starhill). The contrast couldn't be more apparent (as it is with Kuala Lumpur, the city of juxtaposition): Bukit Bintang district is lined with upscale brands, malls and hotels with the likes of Hermes and Louis Vuitton, whereas both sides of the road in Jalan Alor are lined with plastic tables and chairs where tourists and locals alike eat on the street as trucks bearing tongs of gas rumble dangerously close by. Ah, Kuala Lumpur. ♡

We had a feast of tom yam seafood noodles for Henry, wantan mee (wonton noodles) for me, and cockles and kangkung belacan (water spinach fried in shrimp paste) to share, and air tebu (sugar cane water) to drink.

Yes, I am parked embarrassingly far off from the curb, you can laugh now. I can't parallel park to save my life especially on hills, and no I am not that tiny, it's my car that's huge. Eventually we, my irrationally large vehicle, and my unsuitably poor parking skills (but excellent driving) made it to K.L Bird Park in one piece but not before getting lost in the city, as per usual.

Most birds would just walk right up to you or let you approach them with your camera (but slowly, gently).

Mr Peacock showing off for his intended.

Henry and I don't know much about bird handling so we just winged it. *waits for applause. gets none* I have always wanted an aviary in my dream home. I love birds, and I love them enough to not put them in small cages so having pet birds right now is out of the question. Even having an African Grey roam free around my apartment is a hamster-eating mishap waiting to happen as Coolio lives in an open-air tank, so in the meantime the friendly feathered friends at the K.L Bird Park is as close as I'll get to walking around with a bird on my shoulder and pretending to be a pirate. x

...or rather, pedicure my cloven hooves into pretty lotus flowers, and that I did at Spa Village, Ritz-Carlton yesterday.

Yesterday was pretty much a day of remedial work, Henry's and my listless flesh and gnarly skin was in need of a good scrub after a good week of climbing limestone hill caves, traipsing around butterfly parks, and walking across 20 acres of outdoor aviary in the rain at the Kuala Lumpur Bird Park. So the professionals at Spa Village scrubbed, buffed, polished, and massaged us to within an inch of our lives: I treated Henry to a scrub, massage, and facial despite admonitions that it was all very unmanly while I forgoed the facial (my face is already flawless, thank you) for a pedicure. Three hours later Henry and I emerged refreshed, glowing, and as limber as Jake and Lady Rainicorn. But first, lunch at Shanghai Restaurant 蘇浙苑 at JW Marriott. The hotel's premier restaurant specialises in Shanghai cuisine of which I'm not especially crazy about except for the xiao long bao. But mum and boyfie enjoyed the food, so...

Two women, three bags: I was carrying the Yayoi Kusama x Louis Vuitton Neverfull tote as a beach bag for my swimwear, alas there was yet another thunderstorm and we didn't get to swim at Ritz-Carlton's pool. Also, I know it's a 'health centre' but since when did they ban smoking outdoors? I distinctly remember being given Ritz-Carlton matches for my cigarettes post-lunch by the pool.

Xiao long bao / little dragon buns: steamed parcels of delicious soup that will spray hot, fiery soup all over yourself with one misplaced bite. Proceed with caution.

Some soup dish that I refused to eat until I was assured and promised that it was imitation, not real shark fin.

Lobster noodles.

Pudding.

If you haven't yet been to Spa Village at Ritz-Carlton, I do recommend it. It's a little oasis of tranquility in the heart of noisy, stinking, hectic Kuala Lumpur. While the spa at JW Marriott is completely quiet, being completely indoors, the massage rooms at Ritz-Carlton do lead out to outdoor rainforest showers and baths (hence the slight noise pollution from the city) and of course the swimming pool amidst tropical palms against a backdrop of skyscrapers can be quite surreal at times.

Photo: Spa Village

Reading my own opinion in an edition of Tatler haha.

If you've been following me on Instagram ---@jasiminne---you'd notice the rather syiok sendiri (self-important) hashtag #JasiminneGoesToTheBall on some of my 'grams...

...like so. These are all my Instagrams, sorry, Tatlergrams, of my preparation for tomorrow's Malaysia Tatler 25th Anniversary Ball, all the way from when I received the invite a month ago till the night of the ball itself. I do think they form quite a cute timeline! I really must get into hashtags more. Now if you'll excuse me, I must dash, there's a newly arrived box of mise en Dior earrings that need Instagramming... x

On Saturday evening the movers, shakers, and the haute monde of Malaysia flocked to the Shangri-La hotel in Kuala Lumpur for the pinnacle event of Malaysian high society: The Malaysia Tatler Ball.

Malaysia Tatler describes itself as embodying 'The Spirit Of High Society', verily, any social stalwart will insist that the annual ball is the indisputable social event of the year. Malaysia's elite receive the covetable formal invitation, delivered by hand, embossed in silver with their names in delicate calligraphy. It is rumoured that some undesirables, desperate for one of the sought-after invitations, have tried to bribe their way into this most exclusive celebration of Malaysia's elite and social favourites. Understandably so, for one night every year, Kuala Lumpur sees possibly the biggest gathering of high-fliers, achievers, and impressive lineages that you can possibly fit into one ballroom. This year I invited Henry to come with me to the annual ball and witness for himself the workings of my world and that of Malaysia's creme de la creme. And with this blog post and these photos I offer you a glimpse into the gilded and glittering soiree that has come to personify and define the spirit of high society.

Descending into the ballroom of the Shangri-La, the chosen ones (so much nicer than saying 'guests', yah?) wait for their turn on the red (black) carpet. Ladies standing in front of me were wary of my clumsy, misstepped, feet in all their stiletto-clad danger getting caught in the trains of their beautiful gowns. I must have wrecked at least three that night, so terribly sorry, please accept my heartfelt apologies.

With the father and the birth-giver, the two people tasked with the arduous job of raising me and keeping me in line. No small feat given my temper and unreasonable demands, yet somehow my parents have no need for the age-reversing effects of Botox. Oh to be eternally youthful looking, although I assure you their naturally fresh facade conceals their hopes at getting closer to the dream: that Henry will marry me and my petulance will become his problem instead of theirs. HA!

My dad: "Please take her off our hands...please...please." I'm only joking! I know they love me.

This year Malaysia Tatler celebrates 25 years of excellence, achievements, and the finer things in life.

No I'm not engaged, I just swapped my ring over to my left hand because my usual finger was getting a champagne rash. I can't drink wine, so Henry had to have all the glasses that came with my courses, and also polish off my champagne glass which seemed to be never-ending. You turn away for a second and your empty glass is topped up with ice-cold bubbly. Where do I get one of these magic glasses? I know a few people who would love one.

Seared hokkaido bay scallop carpaccio with caviar dungeness crab and 25 year young balsamic vinaigrette, paired with Moet & Chandon Imperial. Delicate, delicious, and beautifully presented. Followed by a too-salty (and hence unphotographed) salmon consomme 'noire' with saffron shrimp quenelles, whose saving grace was the accompanying glass of Moet & Chandon.

We cleansed our palates with blood orange sherbet with jasmine tea jelly.

And I moved on to my main of 25 hours braised wagyu beef short rib with truffle croquettes, milk fed dutch veal tenderloin with morel espuma, glazed baby carrots and crispy parsnip.

Dinner ended on a high note, with a milk chocolate and hazelnut praline delight and the most deliciously gooey warm soft chocolate biscuit and macadamia nut ice cream. Paired with Hennessy X.O, on the rocks, naturally.

While this year's menu was less poeticall descriptive as the Oriental inspired offerings of 2012's Malaysia Tatler Ball it was no less delicious nor less well-presented, and for the efforts of the chef and his team I am grateful and would like to offer my thanks to.

Spotted mummy and I on the screen yonder.

Here, the real thing.

Henry and his two new best friends who launched into a spirited discussion about West Ham, East London, and post-Olympics-gentrification.

While the rest of Malaysia's most beautiful and brightest danced the night away in a bright, dazzling flurry of jewels and ball gowns, my family, Henry, and I slipped away from the afterparty and went to bed early, Henry wondering it was all a dream and myself smiling, knowing that life itself is the dream. x

There's nothing quite so surreal as carrying your best friend (who is the same age as you)'s newborn baby! Not nearly as surreal for me as it is for Michiekins, she's the mother and I'm just a curious spectator into the brave new world of parenting. More and more of my Malaysian peers (some my age or just a little older) are having/have just had babies and I've been enjoying the glimpses into their new roles as mothers BUT! When it happens so close to you, to your best friend, that's when the reality of impending adulthood starts staring you in the face like a incoming comet heading toward to sh-sh-shake up your world. Oooooooooh sh*t's getting reaaaal! Especially when said best friend who is now a mother was a bit of a crybaby in college, remember those MNG jeans that made you cry Ah Pin? I'm going to tell Baby Mika when he's a bit older: "Your mum wasn't always this strong and brave. One time she couldn't get a refund on these orange MNG jeans, so she just sat in my car with tears quietly rolling down her face." Hahaha I'm never going to let you live that down! But only because I need something to compare with how far you've come along! Michiekins had a difficult delivery (Baby Mika is a big boy at 3.4kg but Michiekins is tiny) but even so brought him into the world naturally! I was there at the hospital the day she delivered Baby Mika and heard all the scary details from Michiekins and her husband Marcus, but even reading her blog post about her harrowing experience still made me shudder. Achievement unlocked: childbirth! Michiekins, I'm so proud of you! You're going to be a great mum, Baby Mika is so blessed to have you and Marcus for parents, and he's so lucky to be surrounded by so many people who love him! No joke, this little guy has a wardrobe full of designer clothes gifted to him and a nursery full of presents. Baby Mika, be prepared to hear "Your wish lah!" from your mum, a lot. I hope your taste won't be as expensive as hers and mine hehehehe.

Seriously though, how can you say no to that face?! I find most newborn babies quite nondescript looking (it's true! Babies don't really look like anything until they're six months old) and some positively look like baby monkeys, with the baldness and wrinkles and all. But! Baby Mika is so cute! I know he's big for a newborn (he's bigger than Malibu, Michelle's teacup maltese hahahaha) but I'm absolutely enamoured by his 'littleness' (and even more amazed that Michelle grew him in her belly for nine months, OMG I need to stop thinking about the biology and mechanics behind baby making or my head will explode). Those flailing mitten-clad hands! That peaceful demeanour! That satisfied, sleepy face he makes after he's had his milk! And those eyes! He has Michiekins' eyes!

At some point Ashley and I were having a catty little gossip about Malaysian social-climbers when Baby Mika opened his eyes and rolled them as if to say "Ugh, you two, just stop talking now!" ahaha judge much? I had to scold Ash for swearing in front of him and cover his ears everytime I said something scandalous. Hahaha sorry Mika, just ignore your aunties and please don't pick up our language! And for the love of God please never read my blog about your mother's and mine antics. OMG by the time Baby Mika is old enough to read, everything on my blog will be so dated and he'll think that I'm such a lame aunty.

But time marches on: people grow up and their lives change. Blogs evolve to reflect this, and while I'm not going to go from zero to 'How to swaddle your baby' tutorials anytime soon, it's a sign of the shift in seasons when Posh, Broke, & Bored is less 'London nightlife and parties with stranger danger' to 'travel, eating, and home decor'. Here's a first for me: being invited to try baby clothing and skincare! Tong Tai, an infant apparel company, sent me some things and I dutifully passed them to Baby Mika to review, hehe.

I picked a blue elephant pillow, pacifier, buttock care cream, and mittens for Baby Mika! And also some flowers (not from Tong Tai, haha) for his mummy.

Tong Tai is an eco-friendly brand that makes premium quality baby clothes, designed in Italy from imported Australian cotton and bamboo fibre at very reasonable prices. They believe in safe, natural and soft materials being essential for children and are concerned about our children creating our future. Tong Tai is certified with ISO 9001 and ISO 14001 environmentally friendly system certification. They entered the Asian market recently in 2012 and their online presence is new, but even so when I went on their website last week to pick some things most of their skincare and hygiene products were sold out. It's all back in stock now though, with many more items in their gifts, baby care, and clothing section in affordable prices.

Tong Tai Malaysia website | Tong Tai Malaysia Facebook

On Monday we drove down to Malacca (Melaka in Malay) for a day and a night in this most scenic and historical of Malaysian cities.

Malacca is named by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site (together with George Town of Penang) and this is apparent with the 'Don't Mess With Melaka' banners draped all over the buildings in the city. At first I thought those flags were a warning to presumptuous out-of-towners (We don't care for your fancy K.L ways!) but by the end of the trip Henry and I realised that they meant 'don't overdevelop our historical city'. And overdeveloped it is, Malacca is the driest city in Malaysia and everybody who visits complains of the searing, unbearable heat despite (or perhaps because of) the city being by the sea. I spoke to Uncle Colin of 8 Hereen House of the heat and he showed me two photos: one, and aerial photo of Bukit Cina covered in trees in the '70s, and the other of Bukit Cina now as bare as a vulture's head. Such a pity! I never thought I'd hear myself say "I can't wait to get back to Kuala Lumpur, it's too hot here!" Throughout the trip Henry and I were reminded of Lisbon, not just because of the Portuguese influence throughout the city but because of the same crippling heat that made us feel like not doing anything. That I didn't do my research and we visited when nothing was open didn't help. Most of the city centre's restaurants are closed on either Monday or Tuesday (even the locals can't keep up) and Malacca's main attraction Jonker street market was only on weekends. Add to the fact that photography is banned in almost all of Malacca's stunning heritage museums and buildings of architectural and historical interest, and one might think 'Well that was a waste of a trip'.

Happily Henry and I didn't think so, we enjoyed Malacca, perhaps not as much as we would if we had went on a (cool and breezy) weekend but even so it was lovely to walk through this historical city, once the centre of the Malay world in the 15th and the 16th century and the most prosperous Entrepôt and city of the Malay Archipelago. The unique architecture with Portuguese, Dutch, and British influences spoke to us of how this port town attracted the attention of the European nations looking to expand their influence in the East, and their battles to wrestle Malacca from each other's power. Of all the Western influence I'd say that the most prevalent living one was the British. The Peranakans (who are described as half Chinese, half Malay, 100% British) spoke to us in Queen's English and the older generation confided that they preferred when Malaysia was still Malaya under British rule, and no wonder, the British helped made the Peranakan rich and created what is now Malaysia's 'old money Chinese'. Personally I am absolutely fascinated by colonial Malaya and my secret dream is to build a time machine and travel back to pre-indepence, British Malaya. In the meanwhile I settled for a history lesson by talking to the older Malaccans who remember British rule and walked with the ghosts of centuries past in the heritage sites, Malacca's many museums, and meandering in and out of Malacca's numerous antique shops.

Enough paragraphs, here are photos from Malacca.

A view of the river from Wayfarer Guest House where we stayed a night right in the heart of Malacca's tourist destinations. Family run, everyone at Wayfarer Guest House was very helpful and friendly especially the matriarch (I forgot to ask her name) who we had endless chats with about the city and its less well-known attractions.

Wayfarer Guest House's resident kitten, an adorable stray Henry named Rembrandt after the Dutch influences in Malacca. We'd have named him Van Gogh but we didn't want him to lose an ear.

Henry's smitten with the kitten. Can you tell? When we first checked in Henry went downstairs for a cigarette. Ten minutes later he ran upstairs with the most earnest, adorable, wide eyed expression of joy, gleefully exclaiming: "Oh my God! Jasiminne!!! Guess what this hotel has?" Me, seeing this coming a mile away: "A cat...?" Henry, screaming: "A KITTEN!!!"

Cooling down with a dragonfruit frozen yogurt at the 'One Bite Durian Puff' shop near Jonker Street. I stuffed a durian puff into Henry's mouth and he swallowed it, gagged, and had to sit down. "It tastes like methane!" No it doesn't, it tastes like durian aka the most delicious fruit in the world.

One of the many antiques shop in Malacca, and possibly the only one that let us take photos.

Cooling down in the Malaccan heat.

An impulse buy from Orangutan House: one of their famous screen printed tees, this one stretched onto a canvas. T'would look so right in the kitchen, yah?

Getting educated at the Cheng Ho Cultural Museum, an extensive museum charting the tremendous voyages and accomplishments of the intrepid eunuch Muslim Chinese seafarer, Laksamana (admiral) Cheng Ho. A favourite of the Chinese emperor’s fourth son, Prince Zhu Di, during the early ming dynasty, Laksamana Cheng Ho was the admiral of China’s ‘Treasure Fleet’, a convoy that commanded expeditionary voyages to Southeast Asia, South Asia, the Middle East, and East Africa from 1405 to 1433, solidifying China’s control over most of Asia during the 15th century. Mariner, explorer, diplomat, fleet admiral, and court eunuch...you just don't see CVs like that anymore.

We took one of the many embellished tuk-tuks on a tour of Malacca.

Looking across the Straits of Malacca toward Indonesia, where Prince Parameswara of Palembang fled from the struggle of the throne of Majapahit. In Malacca he witnessed his hunting dog being kicked by a kancil (white mouse deer), so impressed was he by the audacity of the deer that he decided to set up a state there and named it after the Malacca tree he was resting under.

A visit to the remains of A'Famosa fort, a fortress built in the 16th century to house the Portuguese settlement before being wrested by the Dutch in 1641. Malacca was one of the Portuguese's outposts and ports for their ships from Portugal to the Spice Route of China. Now only the lone gate, Porta de Santiago, remains, as a testament to the brief Portuguese presence in Malacca.

Henry trying to scare me by pretending to light a not-deactivated canon (it was deactivated). He attracted a lot of attention from the Malaccans for the way he was dressed. The older generation had to rub their eyes to be sure they weren't visited by a ghost of colonial Britain.

As recommended by the locals, the famous nasi lemak Ujong Pasir. This humble nasi lemak stall near the entrance of the Portuguese settlement is known for its many choices of lauk (toppings) including quail's eggs, squid, prawns, and kangkung (water spinach).

Although we didn't get to see as much of Malacca as we'd like, Henry and I enjoyed the laid-back vibe, history, and architecture of the city. I'd recommend a weekend trip to Malacca if you're in Malaysia, and be sure to stay like we did in the middle of it all. Bring a fan, lots of bottled water, dress light (maybe leave the riding boots at home), and bring your camera: although many museums and shops don't allow photography there's still a lot to be captured. x

Add to my resume 'content creator for and Instagram muse of Malaysia Tatler' for that's exactly what I did in the run up to this year's Malaysia Tatler ball. For a collaborative feature with Malaysia Tatler online I created a series of exclusive Tatlergrams (Tatler-Instagrams) affording a look into how I prepare from the moment I receive my invitation to the red carpet. You've read about the indisputable social event of the year on my blog post about the ball and you've seen my feature on Malaysia Tatler online about how I prepped for this most prestigious event. I must confess, my Tatlergrams make my life out to be more languidly charmed than it really is but of course you know that, surely by now people know to take social media content at face value. Myself, I'm not cut from the same cloth of aspirants who would never let the truth get in the way of a good Instagram. So, in the interest of those curious about the more earthy details behind these polished pictures I offer a more elaborate explanation and candid look at #JasiminneGoesToTheBall.

"1 month before the ball: The much anticipated invitation arrived complete with silver stencils and hand-printed calligraphy."

The reality: I wasn't sure if I would even make it back to Malaysia in time for the ball as I was essentially grounded in the UK thanks to immigration bureaucracy. The timing was unfortunate: I had to renew my extension for British permanent residency in September, no earlier nor later, and this sort of thing takes months to process. In the meantime I had to RSVP to the ball and I hate to be the sort who says 'attending' to an event of gravitas only to not show up. I pulled some strings and got the Home Office to speed up my application to be completed a week before the ball, giving me back my travel documents and the all-clear to say, yes, Jasiminne is going to the ball!

"2 weeks before the ball: The hunt for the perfect dress began."

The reality: Although in the weeks leading up to the ball (of which my attendance was still pending) I was searching for a dress to wear, in the back of my mind I was convinced that I had always known that I was going to wear this blue number that I found in On A Cloudy Day many months ago. In fact I found both these dresses back in February! There was something about that dress that made it seem like 'The One', maybe it was that shade of royal blue, maybe it was the way those delicate eyelash lace panels wrapped around the waist accentuating a suggestive, feminine shape. But if there's anything I've learned it's that the best laid plans always go awry. You'll see.

"2 weeks before the ball: For the lady, it was a royal blue pair of Carvelas that was decided upon for the feet."

The reality: You all know that nothing thrills me more than a good find on a bargain hunt. I love trawling consignment shops, vintage, sample sales, The Outnet etc. for a bit of champagne luxury on a lemonade budget. I rarely splurge thousands on a handbag (not when I can 'shop' from mother's wardrobe haha) let alone a pair of shoes that I'm only to wear occasionally. On the other hand I refuse to buy cheap high heels (anything less than £100) as I can think of no faster way to snap a stiletto and plummet to a painful death. When I found these royal blue Carvela heels for £10 in a thrift store *cue Macklemore 'Thrift Shop'* I thought it was a sign, no, two signs; one: yes, I can reach new heights (heels) on a new low (budget), two: royal blue is my colour to wear to the ball this year.

"3 weeks before the ball: Based in London, Jasiminne booked the first flight home to Kuala Lumpur to prepare for the Tatler Ball."

The reality: I actually booked Henry's and my flights to K.L the weekend before and just two weekends before the ball. I flew Economy class because I felt guilty about using twice as much air miles to get return flights for two. Any discomfort on my decidedly downgraded standard of aviation luxury I endured by repeating to myself: "Do it for love...do it for love." Next time, I'm putting my foot down and insisting we pay more to fly Business Class.

"1 week before the ball: A minor hair touch up was scheduled to keep the mane in check."

The reality: Since thrift seemed to be the recurring theme, I thought I'd save myself some money by dying my hair at home with a box dye. Two boxes of Liese 'Natural Black' bubble hair dye and an hour later, I emerged with the same results as I would have in a hair salon. It all went perfectly but for the big black mess in my shower that looked like the aftermath of an epic octopus battle.

"1 week before the ball: Like everything else in life, the impact of an outfit lies in the finer details, and nothing adds a punch like Dior."

I love rewarding (some would say undoing the good effects of, haha) a bit of clever budgeting with a luxurious little treat. I might even reward myself with the marble effect 'Mise en Dior' earrings to add to my gold and silver ones.

"2 weeks before the ball: New shoes were in order for Jasiminne's date for the night, Henry Ridley-Cook."

The reality: I gifted Henry some dress shoes to wear to the Tatler Ball...which he of course forgot to bring to Kuala Lumpur. Luckily we found a last-minute replacement that was inexpensive enough to buy to wear once and leave behind in Malaysia as 'emergency shoes'. I lent him a Patek Phillipe to add a final flourish to his already well composed outfit, and schooled him on the Who's Who of Malaysia with Tatler's 'The List Issue' (of which my mother but not I am in).

"3 days to the ball: Time to scrub, buff and polish so she will shine in photos."

The gruesome reality: This was my first pedicure in four months. How the spa people turned my cloven hooves into presentable, if not pretty lotus flowers is beyond my comprehension, but I'm glad they did.

"2 days to the ball: A woman can never have too many bags -- until it comes time to decide on just one to carry."

No comment. Everything about this is so true.

Now this is when the story gets truly terrifying.

It was two nights before the ball on Saturday when I couldn't fall asleep and no amount of mentally rearranging my apartment furniture (my equivalent of counting sheep) could get me to drift away into restful slumber. So I got up, paced about my room while Henry slept, blissfuly oblivious to the shitstorm of hysterics that would soon follow. I slipped into the blue evening dress I was going to wear to the Malaysia Tatler ball and did up the zip halfway when I realised that the dress.didn't.fit. Panicking, I wiggled this way and that but no amount of yoga expertise (of which I have none, by the way) would maneuverer this pork sausage into a nylon stocking, so to speak. Now, when it comes to my fluctuating weight I deal with it the same way I deal with my body issues: I ignore it until the big fat problem becomes so confrontational that no amount of looking sideways away from the mirror will allow my eyes to evade the truth: that I had let myself go and that no amount of denial was going to squeeze myself back into the size 8 dress that I bought six months ago.

I think I allowed myself to cry and rage at myself (and Henry, and my father, the poor innocent lambs) for a good night and a morning before pulling myself together. It was now Friday and I had a little over 24 hours to find a dress that would not only accommodate my expanded waistline but also hold its on against the display of show-stopping glamour at the Malaysia Tatler ball. Problem was, I wasn't going to let myself remain this embarrassing size forever and I sure as heck wasn't going to spend thousands on a dress that I was going to wear once before hiding away as a shameful relic of that time I let myself slip. So, the day before the ball I trawled all the boutiques I knew in Bangsar and Mont Kiara looking for an emergency dress on a budget (nothing over one grand, 1.5 at the most) that would fit me. I was just about ready to give up when I remembered the shop where Michiekins bought one of her wedding dinner dresses from two years ago, and on a whim I went to the very same place (I can't say which, sorry). Astonishingly, they had the blue dress I was going to wear to the ball, which I took to be a good sign that everything was going to be OK. And it was...! I tried on about ten dresses, two of which I liked but was lucky not to buy because two people I knew wore those dresses to the ball the next evening! I was just about to settle for this turquoise and silver sequinned dress that was a dead ringer for Queen Elsa's gown but I Let It Go. Then I tried on this dazzling green number that screamed Disney Princess, or more specifically, Ariel. It was a perfect fit, and even more so when I realised that ages ago I bought an ostentatious green choker that I never had the right occasion to wear to. That, and that I had the most suitable Bottega Veneta green clutch to go with it.

My final outfit, pulled together at the eleventh hour. Interestingly enough green is my lucky colour and it certainly proved itself to be fortuitous when I went to the ball and saw someone wearing the blue dress I was planning to wear! It was like the green sequinned hand of some higher power intervened and saved me from my initial choice of dress. But did said higher power have to do that by making me gain a dress size? Well, the universe works in mysterious ways.

The chubby Little Mermaid finally grew her legs, got back her voice, and went to the Malaysia Tatler Ball.

The rest is history: they all lived happily ever after, that is, until the time comes to find a dress for the next year's ball. I'll just take it one day at a time. x

Tatler Ball Prep: How much goes into getting ready for the Ball?

Malaysia Tatler 25th Anniversary Ball blog post

#JasiminneGoesToTheBall on Instagram

Last week I showed my boyfriend (dressed as a British colonialist, as per usual) one of Malaysia's greatest natural treasures and most famous ecotourism destination: Taman Negara.
Literally 'National Park' in Malay, Taman Negara was established by Henry's ancestors in the late '30s and named 'King George V National Park' before being renamed post-independence. At 130 million years old, Taman Negara is the world's oldest rainforest and twice as old as the Amazon. Every June to August people flock by the thousands to climb Gunung Tahan, walk the longest suspended canopy walkway in the world, and to spot rare critters. Ourselves, we got lucky even though we stayed during off-peak season: we spent the night in a chalet at Mutiara Taman Negara, where tapirs are known to show up under the trees during August waiting for fruit to fall. A Malayan tapir, itself a shy and endangered creature, decided to show up outside our veranda not once but thrice: first: just beside the next door chalet where my driver was staying on our way for a jungle night walk, the second time: on Henry and my way back from the jungle, when we fed him pears from the shop and gave him a cuddle, and the third time: we were watching a National Geographic program about the three-card Monty scam in Paris when we saw camera flashes outside our window. We ventured out to find that our tapir friend, who we named Monty after the TV show we were watching, had followed us to our chalet and was rolling around in the flower bed, surrounded by curious people with flashing cameras. I too took lots of photos of Henry's cuddle fest with Monty the tapir, you'll see! No photos of myself in this blog post because I looked like what the tiger dragged in. Backwards. Through the jungle. In the rain.

Walking ever so precariously through the tops of the rainforest, 40 metres from the ground, on the world's longest suspended canopy walkway which was essentially a plank of wood on a metal ladder hanging on ropes from the top of the trees.

Every morning we rose from our chalet in Mutiara Taman Negara to a view of mist surrounding the verdant heights of Gunung Tahan (Mount Tahan).

Trundling down Sungai Tembeling (Tembeling River) in a rickety dinghy before shooting the rapids at Kuala Trenggan. Everytime we approached one of the seven rapids I had to hastily wrap my camera in it's semi-splashproof case and two layers of plastic to protect it from wave after wave of river water later that threatened to sink our meagre vessel. It was a miracle that my camera stayed dry and that I managed to blink my contact lenses back in my eyes every time the waves tried to dislodge them.

A view of Sungai Tembeling from the rainforest canopy.

Another view of the river from Mutiara Taman Negara.

I was convinced that Henry would lift his legs out of the river and find them covered in leeches, thankfully I was wrong.

Henry and I trekked into Taman Negara without the need for engaging a guide as we only went as far as the canopy walk before turning back. Even though the walk was only two hours my legs were trembling involuntarily after and ached all weekend. As cool as the rainforest was, with the shade and dense foliage, it was incredibly humid. We spotted pheasants and squirrels (ironically both are associated more with England than Malaysia) but were nowhere deep enough to see the more exotic wildlife (Malayan tigers, Sumatran rhinoceroses, crab-eating macaque etc).

We did see a lot of mushrooms though.

"We must get to the root of the problem!"

Our chalet at Mutiara Taman Negara. Comfortable and well designed, even though it could have been more well-mantained. Still, the staff were very gracious, helpful, and friendly. We couldn't have had a more enjoyable stay. The little details like a heart shape cluster of flowers on our bed (bougainvillaea instead of roses), winding down after a night trek with the National Geographic channel on TV, and our very own pet tapir outside our room goes a long way too. Naturally.

Seeking out critters, creepy crawlies, and nocturnal animals on a guided night walk through Taman Negara. These bugs are far less pretty than the ones we encountered at the Butterfly Park in Kuala Lumpur, and don't even get me started on the snake that coiled at and nearly bit Henry.

Meet Monty! Our friendly, grunting, smelly pet tapir who wandered from the rainforest into our veranda. Henry went right up to him, threw his arms around Monty and started cuddling him. Henry scratched Monty's ears: "He can't reach there himself!" and Monty responded with satisfied 'old man noises': grunts along the tune of "Errrrr--ohhhhh-errrrr-uhhhhh-mmmmm".

Evidently, Monty loved Henry so much that he followed us back to our chalet. We noticed that he had parked himself in our flower bed when Henry went outside, naked but for a sarong (which was really the runner draped across our bed!) for a cigarette. Can we please acknowledge the hilarity and extraordinariness of cuddling a wild, usually shy endangered animal native only to this region, and having it follow us around like a little puppy? We love you Monty! And you, Taman Negara, never change. We'll be back. x

On our way back from Taman Negara, Henry and I dropped in on the Kuala Gandah Elephant Sanctuary in Lanchang village to see the pachyderms. The National Elephant Conservation Centre, to use their official name, take in orphaned baby Asian elephants and they rehome Asian elephants displaced by agricultural development by taking them out of the small towns they've been found wandering about and instead rehabilitate them with the aid of their resident trained elephants before rehoming them in bigger national parks. The elephants have a chain on one ankle, not because they're bound but rather like an elephant version of a dog's collar, not a leash. With an animal that big and powerful, it's safer for everyone involved including the elephants themselves to be able to be controlled, and the ankle chain is also there for when they need to move the elephants to be relocated.

Wonderful Malaysia describes the relocating process:

"Only elephants that are seriously injured and elephants with zero to none chances to survive in the wild on their own are brought back to the sanctuary by the Elephant Capture & Translocation Unit (ECTU). Other wild elephants are relocated directly to their new living environment, far away from the plantations. Capturing a wild elephant is no easy feat. Here the two older elephants, Chek Mek and Mek Bunga, come into play to lead the wild elephant to the special truck that is able to support the wild elephant. The two elephants position themselves on either side of the captured elephant while the team attaches chains around its shoulders. Sometimes relocating a wild elephant takes many days."

Three years ago visitors would come to ride the elephants, which as of 2012 has been cancelled so as not to stress these gentle giants. These days, visitors can feed the elephants banana, sugar cane, and papaya, and watch while their handlers bathe them in the river. Managed by the Malaysian Department of Wildlife and National Parks, this sanctuary is open to the public and free, of course you are welcome to donate whatever you please.

"The relocation of a single wild elephant usually costs over RM20.000. Though the Kuala Gandah elephant sanctuary does receive funding from the Malaysian government via the Department of Wildlife and National Parks it strongly relies on donations from its daily visitors. Besides money you can also donate necessary items as there is always use for it: Brown palm sugar (Gula Merah), bags of rice (10kgs), Anlene gold milk 51, Dumex duga 1-3 y/o, Nestiva omega plus and glucose."

Again, no photos of myself because I looked like a mess thanks to the mud and rain. But you'd much rather see photos of elephants anyway, and of Henry communicating with them using sign language. Here he raises his hand in a way to tell the elephants to lift their heads and open their mouths so he can throw food to them---

The very moment a sugar cane makes it way into an elephant's mouth.

Someone made a friend at the elephant sanctuary today! ❤️🐘🌲 #babyelephant #aww #dumbo #elephant #pachyderm #kualagandah #elephantsanctuary #rescueanimal #newpet #jungle #rainforest #rumbleinthejungle #rainforestrumble #pahang #tropical #tourist
A photo posted by Jasiminne Yip (@jasiminne) on Nov 11, 2014 at 12:33am PST

Kuala Gandah Elephant Sanctuary, in Lanchang village, is about a two hour drive from Kuala Lumpur. There is no public transport there but there are organised tours from Kuala Lumpur. It's about two hours from Taman Negara and well worth a stop over en route to the National Park. x

The prodigal daughter (yours truly, natch) returns to London and how better to welcome her back to this beautiful, chaotic, contradictory city than to envelope her in a comforting, hazy incense-cloud of a embrace in the warm bosom of a Chinatown parlour? Every travelling Oriental eases the culture shock and the transition between two starkly different countries by seeking out Chinatown, and so I overcame my jet lag with copious cocktails and some dim sum at Opium, a cocktail and dim sum parlour in Chinatown. Henry and I enjoyed a most satisfying evening at the gracious hospitality of Greg, Julian, and Rasa, the most brilliantly uproarious bartender who not only handled Henry's craziness with aplomb but rather added the fuel to the fire; responding to Henry's mad stories about how Lana Del Rey was his wife and is really a coconut, and that Bruce Willis is a hamster by asking "Good luck with getting custody of your children from Lana! Maybe you can ask Bruce Willis to help you and he'll bring you your kids into his cheek pouches." She's a firecracker, that one! How very apt that you'd find her in Chinatown (firecracker, Chinatown *nudge nudge*).

We found the discreet jade door to Opium on 15-16 Gerrard Street, beside Golden Pagoda and just around the corner from Chinatown's entrance where Macclesfield Street meets Shaftesbury Avenue.

Crossing the threshold, we were greeted with the intoxicating scent of incense which set the tone for this Sherlock Holmes-esque hangout. We ascended three flights of stairs, the corridors of which were deliberately sparse and almost shabby so as to literally take your breath away in two ways: one; by the time you get to the bar or restaurant you'd be panting, two; after the seemingly bland and nondescript surroundings of the stairwell the decadent, theatrical rooms bathed in soft red light from Chinese paper lanterns made you gasp as you took in your lush surroundings, your physical exertions rewarded with the sight of a parlour most pleasing to the eye, decorated so lavishly and cozily so as to give you the impression of having chanced upon a mysterious member's club.

Press photos.

The delightful Rasa (guess where she's from? Noone has ever got it right, apart from Henry) who whips up a mean cocktail, or in our case ten cocktails which accounts for my hangover this morning.

We started the night with these three cocktails---

Wild Blossom (shaken) - noilly amber, bitter truth elderflower, hint of lime juice, dashes of rose water, topped with rose champagne.

Blood & Sand (shaken) - Chivas Regal 12 year old, cherry heering, martini rosso, and fresh orange juice.

War Of The Roses (shaken) - Beefeater 24, fresh white grapefruit juice, oolong-raspberry tea syrup, lillet rosé, egg white, white grapefruit zest, garnished with mint leaf.

The most theatrical cocktail we were served was the Opium #5, an opium cup that billowed dry ice smoke, yielding a fruity tequila cocktail to be drunk through a special straw.

Opium #5 (shaken) - altos tequila, Briottet liquer de cactus, pimento & prickly pear, dark oolong tea, balanced with sugar and lime.

We finished with Blackfriar's Flip, a fruity creamy gin cocktail with egg, and My Mother's Cocktail, a rich, sweet rum cocktail flavoured with the X.O that my mother's generation love so much.

My Mother's Cocktail (stirred) - Dubonnet, Mount Gay X.O, Barolo chinato cocchi, and dashes of Angostura bitters.

Blackfriar's Flip (shaken) - Plymouth sloe gin, Beefeater London dry, double cream, Briottet cr éme de mure, egg yolk, caster sugar, blackberry garnish.

By this point Henry and I had had about eight cocktails between us, not including shots, and I could barely string a sentence together so Julian very kindly gave us a dim sum platter to help sober me up.

Dim sum platter: 4 siu mai, 2 char siu bau, 2 har gau (both of which I gobbled up, they're my favourite) and 2 summer vegetable dumplings that I didn't get to sink my teeth into because of this greedy walrus here---

Suffice to say we enjoyed ourselves tremendously and couldn't have wished for a better welcome back to London nor a more pleasing way to get over jet lag. Thank you Opium, thank you Greg, thank you Julian, and last but not least thank you Rasa!

Opium's cocktails are £10 - £18 and a dim sum platter is £16. There are vegetarian options for those so inclined, and adventurous dumplings like the crab & samphire, and lobster. All three floors of Opium; the Attic (the catalyst for the concept of Opium) and the Academy, and the Apocathery were rammed with people, no doubt thanks to their late opening hours: till 2am on Thursdays, 3am on Fridays and Saturdays with food served till 2:30 on weekends. A full list of Opium's opening hours are to be found here. We even got a glimpse of the new space in Opium ahead of it's soft launch this weekend (tentatively) that I can't wait to show you...all I can say now is that it has a sweet feature that I can't wait to one day have in my dream kitchen. x

Opium website

Opium on Facebook: Opium Chinatown

Opium on twitter : @OpiumChinatown

I'm so excited about Regimental Vintage (mine and Henry's baby)'s winter collection! For winter we've sourced a gorgeous, luxurious, and reasonably-priced collection of vintage military wool greatcoats, vintage military wool tunics, and even vintage Burberry and Aquascutum trench coats and macs. We will be adding the new collection, bit by bit, to the boutique over the next week so please bear with us. In the meantime you can shop some of our winter collection on ASOS Boutiques.

Vintage Bulgarian Army greatcoat, £65 on Regimental Vintage

My personal favourite piece is this 1960's Vintage Bulgarian Army greatcoat: double breasted, olive green, PURE WOOL, red epaulettes and collar, and Bulgarian Army insignia on the right shoulder, a steal at £65. A wool coat from high-street favourite Uniqlo starts at £99, a Ted Baker wool coat is £299 and Alexander McQueen wants £1900 for the same kind of warmth and style that we're offering at thirty times less the price. And to think that the Alexander McQueen is 'military-inspired' while Regimental Vintage is genuine military wear. The quality speaks for itself: the Bulgarian Army greatcoat is from the 1960's, over 50 years old, and is still as good as the day it was made. £65 for a wool coat that's going to last at least another 50 years, that works out to £1.30 a year. How's that for cost per wear? See for yourself. Vintage Bulgarian Army greatcoat on Regimental Vintage, £65.

Beautiful clothing deserves beautiful photography and I am glad to say that with my new camera our photos for Regimental Vintage have definitely upgraded. A come up, so to speak! I've been photographing our new collection in seemingly ordinary but beautiful locations that we Londoners are so privileged to walk by on a daily basis without taking a second glance. It's really made me stop and realise how stunning and scenic this city is. Every nook and cranny is alive with colour, texture, history, and architectural interest, and when framed well are like stills and scenes from a movie.

And to think that I shot these photos in the hallway of my studio building that hundreds of artists walk through everyday without stopping to realised that even the peeling ceilings, grimy windows, and dusty floors are a work of art themselves.

British Army wool jacket, £65, on Regimental Vintage.

This 1950's British Army Wool Jacket was photographed outside a humble church in Hackney. Can you guess which? My friend Priska, an interior design blogger with a great eye for beauty, describes this photo as having 'some serious Wes Anderson symmetry going on'.

I really, really love photographing Henry. Of course I'm biased: to me he is the most beautiful and handsome man in the world but I'm sure you agree that he's also very photogenic. Suffice to say he is my muse. Have you noticed how in my recent blog posts there aren't many photos of myself but his face has taken over instead? Blame it on my Henry-tinted-glasses.

Vintage Burberry mac, £95, on Regimental Vintage.

I don't need to tell you that a Burberry mac at £95 is a steal, do I? More vintage Burberrys and Aquascutum trench coats and macs are coming to Regimental Vintage. In the meantime, avert your gaze to our boutique Regimental Vintageand see for yourself the beginnings of our stunning winter collection. More vintage military tunics, coats, and mess dresses coming soon.

Regimental Vintage on ASOS Boutiques. Coming to a physical space in Shoreditch, soon. ;)

You may have noticed a new button on the top of this blog titled '$HOP'.

It is a new feature brought to you by OneShop, a wonderful feature that adds a shop in less than 60 seconds to any website and blog (even Blogger and Tumblr). It's extremely easy and painless to setup and I'll be doing a proper review on it next week but for now you can browse Posh, Broke, & Bored shop through my blog or on my OneShop profile. Also, please 'like' Regimental Vintage on Facebook for updates, more of my photos, and new additions to the shop!

Have a beautiful Sunday. Ever yours, Jasiminne. x

Regimental Vintage on ASOS Boutique

'Like' Regimental Vintage on Facebook

Posh, Broke, & Bored shop on OneShop

'Grand chandelier' glo canvas, Nelly London / Moët blanket, gifted / faux fur throw, TK Maxx / Mulig rail, IKEA / unfinished paint job, me.

When I stepped off the plane from Kuala Lumpur an arctic blast greeted me and blasted away any delusions I had of an eternal summer after being in Malaysia for nearly a month. Winter is here in London and it is real, so real the doctor says I'm the ill-est ('cos I'm suffering from realness). I've taken great steps to weatherproof my nest, and by that I mean redecorate my bedroom to be so clean, calming, and warm so that I'd never need leave it except for work. If only I could so easily insulate my artist's studio! Those huge windows, so welcome in summer, are now perplexing my tranquility. C'est whatever. One space at a time. For now I've been repainting my bedroom walls and rearranging the furniture to accommodate my growing collection of winter clothes (those damn furs take up so much space).

Mirror, car boot sale / James Gillray, Fashionable Contrasts print / Billy bookcases, IKEA

When I moved into this apartment 4 years ago I went a bit crazy with dark paint, spurred on by the 'this is my fixer upper!' spirit that possesses every newcomer to the property ladder. The hallway of my home is a depressingly murky shade of Farrow & Ball 'Downpipe'-inspired algae green. Even worse: for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to paint the walls facing my bed black. Shiny black. Black can make walls and ceiling appear to recede, giving an illusion of a cozier space but you don't just paint half a wall black, call it a day, and live for the next four years with a bedroom wall that looks like a Malayan tapir. I've been repainting the wall back to brilliant white with this odourless, 99% solvent free paint from the Crown 'Breatheasy' range which means I can sleep in the room even as it dries. And here's another praise to sing about Crown 'Breatheasy' Brilliant White: I didn't even have to sand, prime, or paint an undercoat on the black, glossy walls. All it took was 3 layers of Brilliant White, with about 2 hours drying time between each layer and 4 hours for the last. See for yourself: the wall with the mirror and James Gillray print was once glossy black, and this is what it looks like after just 3 layers of Brilliant White. It's now so white, so wintry, and so clean that it's the focal point of the room---I can't stop staring at it.

Mirror and frame, vintage / Trunk was my great-grandfather's / Kartell Bougie-inspired lamp, Daisy West (sold out)

This part of my bedroom, the console table beside the bed, isn't terribly far off from what I want it to look like. I just need to tidy and put away all that mess into the wardrobe (really a small room in my hallway where my clothes live) which is at the moment being used as stockroom for Regimental Vintage. I might DIY the console table---paint the legs and trim gold, and have the surfaces covered in malachite contact paper. Is this a terrible idea, or so terrible that it's almost brilliant? Answers on a postcard.

Bed linen by Designer's Guild (sold out) / faux fur throw, TK Maxx / screen prints, Pure Evil

As much as I love the dark florals of my bed linen I want to swap it for something brighter and more minimal to match the soon-to-be-whiteness of my bedroom. I have my eye on this marble print duvet cover from Society 6 but don't know what the quality of their bedding is like. Who has bought bedding from Society 6 and tell me how good their linens are? Should I have it custom made myself?

Nordic White Marble duvet cover, Spankrock Susanna on Society 6

Yayoi Kusama x Louis Vuitton Neverfull tote / Louis Vuitton 'Sofia Coppola' bag / Simpsons bedroom slippers, Primark

This part of the bedroom used to house a huge mirror, a picture ledge with a higgledy-piggledy of framed photos, my clothes rail, and my great-grandfather's trunk which is now tucked neatly under the console table. I've swapped the clothing rail to the end of my bed (where the walls were once black) with the bookcases that were there. A new white bookcase will be added to make use of that 'dead space' and create more horizontal storage. The clothing rail will be swapped from the standard IKEA cheap & cheerful to a hanging clothes rail in spanking metal: chrome, copper, or gold? I feel that gold best suits my bedroom but I am quite enamoured with copper as of late. Behold its splendour:

Avélére Brass Hanging Rail

But gold is nice too! Decisions, decisions.

So yes, I've ordered more paint to finish the walls with, ordered another bookcase from IKEA, and am still mulling over the perfect ceiling clothes rail and the perfect marble-print bedding. I can't wait for it to all come together. Even as that happens I'm also dividing my attention between my artist's studio and the rest of my apartment...slowly but surely.

Bonus photo!

Four years ago, when I was really into the military-inspired trend and knew nothing about where to find mess dresses, battle tunics, and real military clothing, having a rail full of genuine military vintage tunics, coats, and mess dresses was like a dream come true for me. How does the saying go? "Be careful what you wish for." Because now...

...I have a military vintage clothing dealer for a boyfriend and a business partner, and my living room is basically a showroom for Regimental Vintage. This behemoth of a rail, heaving with the most stunning vintage military and vintage designer brands eg. Valentino, Burberry, Aquascutum, Mulberry, while destined for our shop has now taken over my living room and all but obscured Coolio's tank (he's very pleased about the clothes insulating his home though!) and my new butterfly wall, freshly decorated with taxidermy insects and butterflies. Is there ever too much of a good thing? I wonder. If anything it gives me more decorating and home projects to do, which I can never get enough of. x

Frieze London 2014 : Opening Night

Ping Pong Autumn/Winter menu

Drinks are on the house*: the rooftop bar, Mondrian London

East London Eats: Maison Trois Garcons

Bermondsey Bites : Village East

Kuala Lumpur Butterfly Park, Shoes Shoes Shoes, & Malaysia snippets

New (and inadvertent) toys.

Batu Caves

Islamic Arts Museum + Acme Bar & Coffee at Troika

Jalan Alor + Kuala Lumpur Bird Park

Turning a pig's ear into a silk purse.

Malaysia Tatler 25th Anniversary Ball / #MYTatlerBall2014

Baby Mikakins! + Tong Tai

Mooching around Malacca

Jasiminne Goes To The Ball : Prepping for the Malaysia Tatler Ball

Rainforest Rumble (1) - Taman Negara

Rainforest Rumble (2) - Kuala Gandah Elephant Sanctuary

A welcoming embrace back to London in the boozy bosom of Opium.

Regimental Vintage [Winter Collection] preview + OneShop preview

Winter nest