M.A.C. Wonder Woman Collection {Beauty}

Last year Wonder Woman had her first outfit overhaul in 69 years and this year she’s bringing her kooky superhero style to M.A.C. cosmetics’ packaging.

Banish any thought of being a Plain Jane: M.A.C and Wonder Woman have joined forces! For Spring 2011, take a trip to Paradise Island with a legendary line up of super-sized Mineralize Skinfinish, bold Eye Shadow quads, Pigment, Opulash, Lipsticks and oversized Lipglass, jumbo-big Powder Blush and Penultimate Eye Liner, Nail Lacquer and Lash inspired by the larger-than-life Bold Babe. Dashing and dazzling, the iconic super heroine reminds us that inside every woman is a Mighty Aphrodite full of courage, confidence and charisma. Kaboom! Mission Accomplished!

Wonder Woman has always known the importance of astounding accessories. For her collaboration with M.A.C, we’ve infused her sense and fantasy and wonder into a vivid collection of awe-inspiring accessories as fierce and feminine as the heroine herself. Bright, bold, superhuman designs in Makeup Bags – from radiant Red to Bulletproof Blue, Utility Belt Brush Sets, and exclusively online, the WW T-Shirt and Invincible Mirror. Shazam!

What do we think?

Available exclusively at Selfridges nationwide and at www.selfridges.com from 17th February 2011 and at all M·A·C locations on www.maccosmetics.co.uk and 0870 034 2676 from 3rd March 2011

Perfect Wine For Valentine's Day.

What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day with that special loved one, or with your best friends, than with a selection of fabulous wines. Here our some of Frost’s favourite.


Hardys Crest Sparkling Chardonnay Pinot Noir

This is a sparkling wine. Youthful, It’s citrus and very refreshing. A wine loved by people who don’t even like wine.

Hardys Crest Sparkling Rose

This is a light, refreshing, yummy wine. The colour is the most gorgeous, peachy pink. Very fruity.One of the best rose I have ever tasted. Clean and crisp.


Hardys VR rose

This has characters of strawberry and rose. It’s cheap but it doesn’t taste it.  Sweet but not sickly.

Fish Hoek rose.

This is original, you can taste peach and pineapple. It’s refreshing, the perfect colour. A highly enjoyably wine.

What are you waiting for? Treat the one you love (or yourself) now.

The Fighter {Film Review}

I’m going to be very honest with you. Before I watched the trailer for this film, I said to myself: “What could you possibly bring to us that we haven’t seen before?” It’s the same rags-to-riches, triumph-over-odds tale that we have seen countless times. Well, it turns out quite a bit, and who doesn’t love an inspiring story about a boxer?

Rocky was nominated for 10 Oscars, including two for Sylvester Stallone with Best Actor and Best Original Screenplay (left with three for Best Director, Best Picture and Best Film Editing). Then you have one of Martin Scorsese’s best work, Raging Bull, which was nominated for eight Oscars, including Best Director for Scorsese and Best Picture (won two with Best Actor for Robert De Niro and Best Film Editing). The reasons why these two films worked is because the actors and the film itself were authentic and felt real rather than a fairy tale.

In The Fighter, Mark Wahlberg plays our real life protagonist, Micky Ward, the younger brother to Dickie Eckland, played by Christian Bale.

Dickie used to be a boxing legend, until his career collapsed when he developed a crack addiction and now trains his brother. But Dickie is still the leading man, while Micky is overshadowed by his brother’s former success and  just a stepping stone for other fighters to beat the shit out of him. Conflicted by everyone telling him what to do, it is more of a fight to stand up for himself and even stand up his own two feet than it is to fight in the ring.

The performances from this film are really good. Wahlberg finally shows us how good an actor he can be after the awful performances from The Happening and Max Payne. Amy Adams continues to be exceptional and stands out amongst the crowd, but it’s Christian Bale who steals the spotlight in making his best performance of his career. He has reportedly lost weight to portray the drug addicted ex-boxer – something he has done before in The Machinist (and he again has to bring back the muscle to play Bruce Wayne/Batman for The Dark Knight Rises) which shows the talent he has and the respect for his work to fully immerse himself in the character.

You can see the expression in his eyes, and the energy that Bale’s Eckland always gets a kick out of the sport. Although it is heart-breaking when he thinks HBO are documenting his comeback, while in actual fact he’s a subject of a failed sportsman succumbed to drug addiction and further brings humiliation to the family.

The setting and the overall film looks authentic. You could feel the urban hard-working town of Lowell, Massachusetts. To the local bars and diners, down to the streets and neighbourhood, you feel it’s a community. Ever since the success of The Departed, Massachusetts (especially Boston) seems more popular with film locations. To be honest, I love MA and it brings back memories of staying in the States (granted I didn’t notice or see the bad side of it during that time). And it’s a nice change since most of these films would be set either in L.A. or New York.

Darren Aronofsky was originally signed on to direct the film, until he left to work on Black Swan. The Fighter and Aronofsky’s previous film, The Wrestler, have a similar feel – going for a rough look rather than to be soft and safe, especially with the fights needing to look and feel realistic.  It was reported that 1990’s era cameras were used for the fights. Either way, they’re very well choreographed, and even made me want to stand up and shout: “Come on, Mark! Kick his fucking ass!”

Verdict: A great film that really does make you root for Wahlberg. Stellar performances from Bale and Adams, and well deserved for their award recognition. Looks like we needed another inspiring boxer after all!

4/5

Beating Around The Bush – The Hairy Issue Of Pubic Topiary

Those of you who read Frost regularly will know a number of my colleagues love fashion. Nothing wrong with that, I just wish I could afford it.

I once had an eye-opening trip to Milan where I went into Prada and had the epiphany that designer clothes aren’t actually TK Maxx stuff with a nice label sewn over the top of “Croydon Denim Inc.”

The assistants were, naturally, Italian, universally good-looking and stunningly dressed. They made me feel like a British string-vested oik with a knotted handkerchief on my head, broiled a warming lobster red.

So ladies, I get it. Well, most of it.

I physically want to get hold of Jennifer Love Hewitt and shake her until her brain falls out of her ears every time I hear her self-gratifying and terribly twee quote of: “After a break up, a friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my precious lady,” she said. “It shined like a disco ball so I have a whole chapter on how women should vajazzle their vajayjays.”

It’s not just the Swarvoski bit, although that screams, ‘look at me, I can afford to stick over-priced jewellery on my ****’, it’s ‘vajazzle’ and ‘vajayjay’.

Personally, if anyone, man or woman, used the term ‘vajayjay’ in a conversation with me, I’d be looking for their doctor, or possibly their carer. But ‘vajazzle’ seems to be passing into an accepted term where women decorate themselves with clever designs around their nether regions.

Maybe I move in the wrong circles, but I have NEVER met a woman who admitted to decorating herself. Which is probably fortunate. I have enough issues with topiary.

Yes, I understand the arguments about hygiene – and swimwear etc. etc. Anyone who’s seen the “Smack The Pony’ sketch with an unshaven Doon Mackichan and Sarah Alexander will probably keep a lifetime’s supply of Veet or razors in the bathroom cabinet while examining themselves every five minutes in case of strays. But it seems there’s now an increasing pressure for women to conform to a perceived accepted norm.

I blame it on celebrities and porn, or maybe celebrity porn.

Porn, of course, gives the impression that all any man wants out of sex is a woman with bleached blonde long hair, false eyelashes, false lips, false breasts, veneered teeth, long nails, high heels worn in bed, an orange spray tan, a overwhelming desire to be spat on – and in porno terms – a shaved pussy.

As an aside, I’d expect any woman receiving some brain-dead bloke’s spit to stand up and kick him in the bollocks so hard, he’ll never find them again.

Anyway, thanks to countless, easily accessible porn clips on the internet, a generation of boys have grown up with shaven women and see it as the norm – and expect their teenage girlfriends to do likewise.

Don’t fool yourself ladies. Shaving came about on film just so slavering men could better see the ‘oh, so realistic’ lovemaking. OK, it’s called a Hollywood, but if you ever see Hollywood actresses in nude roles, they’re invariably sporting a neat natural triangle. Nope, the Full Monty on celluloid is almost exclusively the domain of the sleazy side of the industry.

Then the Brazilian came into its literal shining glory. Originally from Brazil (ah, so that’s where the name comes from) Brazilian girls had been shaving themselves for decades for the Rio carnival and its ilk so they could they wear the tiny thongs that South American countries favoured without fear of causing offence.

Not bad in a predominantly Roman Catholic country. Of course, maybe some priests approved because it reminded them of children.

Poor joke aside, that’s one of the arguments often put forward against shaving. A number of people of both sexes think it’s a sinister way of getting a woman to look like a little girl.

I should say that this is a point of view that conveniently forgets that the woman in question is an adult with a right to choose. Instead, I’d hazard it says more about the state of mind of those putting forward the argument. No, my thoughts are purely about aesthetics. Very simply, it’s a myth that every man wants a hairless woman.

In the 1970s, razors apparently didn’t exist. Anyone who’s seen ‘Emmanuelle’… (OK, bad example given that actress Sylvia Krystal was Dutch in a French film and therefore revelling in hair). Anyone who’s seen the ‘Confessions of’ films, or a Mayfair magazine from the era would know that women never shaved – or certainly not to the extent that they looked like they had.

And I can attest that was equally true in the 80s and into the 90s.

Now, 20 years later, women are being both pushed and encouraged to bare all in a complete u-turn. It’s a matter of centimetres as to whether a woman has a Brazilian, a Playboy, a European and even a Hitler. No doubt Der Fuhrer would be very proud that his legacy didn’t completely run to world devastation.

And now, men too are getting in on the act. Yep, brothers are doing it for themselves.

It’s odd. As a guy, I can reveal that we spend our puberty years praying we won’t be the last to grow pubic hair. Anything not to resemble a little boy in High School and so successfully stave off years of abuse. And now some guys are shaving it off?

These have to be men who obviously never play sport or appear in any environment where they have to undress in front of other men. Even when all grown up, the ridicule would be unbearable – no pun intended.

Men who shave their chest hair are in a tiny minority and really, really need to have that model physique before revealing their quivering man boobs shorn and shivering. I also know, in the straight world, a ‘back, sack and crack’ wax never set the male imagination alight.

Perhaps in the more body conscious male gay scene, a smooth operator is more desirable, but now that ‘bear’ has taken on a whole new meaning, I doubt it even more.

I don’t know. Do ladies prefer their men bare down there? Or are some men so blinkered that it produces an optical illusion of a few extra inches. If so, chances are that they’ll be found out if they ever find a woman who wants to sleep with a plucked chicken.

The money shot is that men don’t shave to please their woman and it’s all about a misplaced vanity. Equally ladies, shave and shape if that’s what makes you comfortable, but don’t do it just to please your man, or because you think it’s what every man expects or wants. You’ll be wrong.

We love you the way nature intended too and if a man isn’t prepared to accept you that way, he’s a clearly an immature boy – still desperately waiting for his hair to sprout.

Photo: Beware, merkin, by Miriam Nathan Roberts, 2006

Alex Knott on Home Nations

Last month, former Northern Ireland and Fulham manager, Lawrie Sanchez took to the airwaves to launch a blistering attack on Liverpool stating: “They are no longer a big club. The Premier League has been going for 18 years and they have not won it. They won the Champions League [in 2005] by default. It was one of those days where everything went right, having gone wrong. I mean, they lost 17 games that season.” He went on to tell BBC Radio Five Live: “I remember when they used to win the title, then go on to win the European Cup in the same season. That’s when they were a big club.” One of the unwritten rules of football is that Liverpool are a BIG club, no matter what state they currently lie in.

It is with this sort of straight talking that, in December 2006, Sanchez, then manager of the Northern Ireland national team, bandied around the idea of resurrecting the defunct British Home Championship. Sanchez was fed up with the games he was playing and stated that reviving the competition would be much more beneficial than playing non-interesting friendlies. He did immediately concede that there was ‘not a lot in it for England’ and went on to cite both a fear-factor from England regarding losing the games and also a lack of commercial attractiveness for them. Walter Smith, manager of Scotland at the time and now boss at Rangers, agreed saying: “Sometimes the friendly matches that we have at international level are not worthwhile having.”

A few months later, Sanchez left the Northern Ireland job to take over at Premier League Fulham, but the seed had been planted and the ball begun to roll. In September 2008, presumably after a few behind-the-scenes conversations between the respective FA’s, it was announced that from 2011 the Nations Cup would take place in Dublin featuring Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. England declined to take part in the tournament.

Fast forward two and a half years and England find themselves playing a somewhat meaningless friendly in Denmark while the rest of the home nations battle for regional pride in Éire. All because England felt themselves above things – both from a commercial and a competitive angle.

According to the FIFA rankings, that is true regards the competitiveness, but any ranking system that puts England sixth and Wales 116th is as flawed as the day is long. England’s current ranking puts them above Portugal and Uruguay, which cannot be right, and Wales’ current position puts them behind Malawi, Qatar and Niger.

A meaningless friendly is something that England players frequently experience. But the feel of a tournament, albeit a slightly meaningless one, can only be a good thing – especially the England players who complained of being bored while in South Africa. Indications are that England will compete in 2013, at least as a one-off, to mark the 150th anniversary of the Football Association. The FA will no doubt wait until the tournament is successfully established and then ask to join. Most likely to be told to push off. England arrogant? Never!

My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding: Alex Knott on Grabbing

The Channel 4 series My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding has been a great ratings winner for the TV station, bringing in an average of 7.4m viewers – the highest for any programme on the station since the 2008 series of Big Brother. Aside from being a draw for the public, it has brought a bit more insight into the lives of the Roma and Traveller communities, most of whom are of Irish extraction.

On the back of the programme, the deep-rooted cultural tradition of ‘grabbing’ has reached both the public consciousness and jokingly entered our vocabulary, perhaps a bit like ‘bunga bunga’ has in Italy on the back of Silvio Berlusconi’s wild parties. So what exactly is grabbing and are these girls as promiscuous as their outfits suggest?

Grabbing often occurs at pre-arranged gatherings, often in somewhere like a car park on the site where they live. While grabbing looks very malicious, the intention is not to overstep the mark but to simply assess if the female in question has any mutual feelings. It is basically a mating ritual with the girls slightly like bulls on parade. The boys try to tempt the girls away from their friends and attempt to get a kiss. If the gentleman gypsy is successful, then there is ‘something there’. Otherwise he has to forget it.

At these meetings, the girls dress up in very slutty outfits in a way not dissimilar to a prostitute. It suggests they’re very much looking for action – but their actions and morals are very different from the whorish image they portray. Traveller girls are not allowed to as much as approach boys. Their community believes in the ancient and, let’s face it, dying principle of no sexual intercourse before marriage and girls who break this code have to accept that the are considered ‘dirty’ and risk being left on the shelf.

Watching the show, grabbing can look violent and you can tell that the girls don’t necessarily love the art. Instead, they simply accept it as something that is part of their culture and also as something there appears to be no alternative to. Females are subjected to the ritual until they are engaged, which will typically happen in their late teenage years. One reason for them being engaged and married so young is the low life expectancy. Less than half of all travellers make it beyond their 50th birthday.

It is easy to look askance at the Daily Mail’s moral outrage, but it is fairly obvious for all to see that this tradition is pretty upsetting and degrading to see still going on in 2011. The show doesn’t get to the bottom of the complex cultural traditions behind grabbing. What programme that length does? In 2011 it is difficult to understand it, certainly when the young women involved appear to hate it. Perhaps it is a classic example of “outsiders” not understanding traveller culture, but I doubt it.

Nail’d Review by Junior Smart

A jack of all trades but a master of none?

Racing games have come a long way haven’t they? I mean, does anyone out there remember Pole Position? The classic of its time, where all you needed to do was come first and avoid other cars on the road. I remember Super Hang On where the scenery changed for the first time.  I even remember Out Run which was the first game to change the flat landscape into an environment of hills, valleys and introduce multiple racing routes into the genre  – and where the sit down cabinet would try and give some kind of feeling of inertia to the whole sentiment of racing. Heck, you could even pick your favourite track off the radio and drive to it. Then there was Lotus Esprit Challenge which encouraged the actual need for braking and changing lanes and on completion of the game you could send off for a licence style certificate.

All of that changed. In no time at all we had Ridge Racer, Road Rash, Destruction Derby, the grand daddy of racing – Gran Turismo – and a whole host of other racing games which changed forever the nature of the genre. Unless you were driving round in the largest rims, customising your ride, maxing out your turbo, driving to the most bangin’ tracks, having the most spectacular crashes or catching the most amount of air in the biggest leaps – even if you were in a tank – you weren’t nothing but Pee-wee Herman in the racing stakes.

Nail’d hails from the ‘more you have is the more you need’ variety of extreme racing. The sort of experience where you can never get enough of a dangerous thing, and the type of game play which is akin to a funfair ride where you scream if you want to go faster and the little kid next to you either cries for mummy or throws up.

In Nail’d you get to race either an ATV or a motorbike and travel all over the world competing in extreme racing events. It takes great joy in providing hills, leaps, jumps, an insane rollercoaster type track and, oh yeah – obstacles – and throws these at you as fast as your retinas can possibly take it. In the background, unhinged verbaholic rock music is barely audible above the crackly and poorly sampled sound of your engine while you hit the boost button as much as you can and do all you can to stay on your vehicle long enough to come first. From the start you learn to forget about the common definition of a jump – this game provides some Evel Knievel thousand-foot leaps over chasms that will literally leave your heart in your mouth.

On the surface of it, this all sounds fun, and to start with Nail’d is exactly that – a thrilling, vivid experience. In truth, I have to commend software developers Techland for cramming in so many jaw-dropping leaps and incredible speed into this game. The action is incredibly fast, and the track design is ambitious, and at times excellent. Racing through valleys and leaping onto dams is impressively executed, utterly thrilling and disorientating, and like an amusement park ride of your wildest hallucination.

The biggest problem with this game though is that after a short time, cracks start to show in its presentation and in the game mechanics. It tries to be too much of everything without ever allowing itself to be committed to any real type of game play. As a result, it tragically falls flat and lacks any motivating factors to even play more than a couple of stages let alone a full tournament.

Most gamers know that motion blur – while being an effective way to emphasise speed – can also hide a multitude of sins. Once you see past it, the first thing you notice is the graphics. They are poorly rendered, dressed up with motion blur – ‘mutton dressed as lamb’.  Just like the colleague you regret snogging at that Christmas party. At a distance and with so much going on, it actually looked quite good, but up close and personal – and in this case after a crash – you can see it instantly for what it is.

Another area where this game comes short is with the physics engine. For some reason, gravity doesn’t exist here. Not only can you change direction in mid-air but you can also extend your jump by a few miles. I reckon that in the world of Nail’d you could literally take a jump in England and glide over to France and not break a sweat, just by pulling back on the analogue stick. The first couple of times you feel like it is actually a nice touch, but if I am honest, it isn’t actually the hardest thing to do. When every corner brings a new jump, repetitiveness sets in remarkably quickly and that’s when you feel that there isn’t enough of a challenge and you are just going through the motions.

Although there is a ‘boost’ function typical of racing games of this genre, it was appalling to find that it isn’t actually linked to anything. Unlike Pure for example you have no abilities to do stunts in mid-air, there is no drift, no oncoming traffic, no punch or kick buttons to knock other riders off their vehicles, so there are no redeemable ways to reward your racing skills other than when you land correctly after a jump. Boost increments are painfully limited to driving or flying through gates at key positions on the tracks. I kept thinking: “Is this all?’ Are you serious?” It is mind-boggling just how much of a wasted opportunity this is, and the simple inclusion of something, anything extra would have boosted this game’s playability no end.

My final gripe comes with the collision detection. It leaves so much to be desired. For example, it is possible to keep driving after a head-on collision with a train, only to clip the top of a branch on the next landing. It is incidents like these that make coming first more a matter of luck than of actual skill, and in some places, to my horror, I found it was more than adequate to race around the track without ever taking my finger off the gas at all – relegating the brake to no more than reverse. I ended up wondering whether the game was play tested at all.

So my final verdict? As if you really need to hear this. Well, Nail’d is one of those games that sounds great in principle, but falls on its face because it tries to do too much while failing to get the basics right. At its heart, there is a fun arcade racer in there somewhere, waiting to be let out, but it is a delusion of grandeur. Against the likes of other well known titles such as Pure, Motorstorm, and Split Second, this doesn’t even stand a chance of coming third across the line. There is so much more that they could have done with this. It is such a real shame that at the end of the day, it deserves to be left on the grid.

3/10

Londoners Life 9 by Phil Ryan

Of all the London phenomenon I’ve chronicled recently, there is one that has been gathering pace. It’s called Business Change.

I’m suddenly more aware of the breathtaking and surprising speed that familiar haunts, restaurants and bars seem to be going out of business, closing down and then getting replaced by a new business. I only note it down now after a recent few trips into town that left me sad at the disappearance of quite a few of my regular haunts and drop in places. Cafes, book shops, restaurants and music equipment places all suddenly biting the dust. You head to an old familiar café hoping to get egg and chips and suddenly it’s a trendy new Japanese hairdressers decorated in black and silver with bright cartoon characters on the windows offering wakami face tugging and Nintendo hair stress with kodo roots and sea turtle mud. All very disconcerting.

I know it’s a recession year unfolding, but it’s very London in the way that there seems to have suddenly been a speedy pick up in the opening and closing rates of so many once great places. It’s as if the capital is sensing blood in the water. The old and sick are culled (sadly often by the chain groups) and the whole place seems to be getting blander and less original by comparison.

We all know that London constantly changes – just look at the sprawling developments in regeneration areas. Even bits of the new Stratford are starting to look quite pleasant. Actually, scratch that. It’s still a dump, but now with an inappropriate huge shopping centre and bits of Olympic nonsense being stuck around the place.But it’s funny how a couple of converted factories or hospitals reborn as apartments seems to immediately change the tone in an area – even if it’s only very surface to start with. Hackney and Battersea has enclaves and pockets of said new conversions but are both still struggling. So-called luxury developments can only achieve so much. The muggers just seem better read – now quoting Monica Ali and The Secret as they rob your wallet.

But the onward rush of change and the trend to new designer living has a lot to answer for. One of my prime examples is Paddington Basin. Now changed – from an admittedly smelly canal side dump – but changed to a monolithic mixed office and apartment, antiseptic, dystopian, concrete wasteland -replete with confusing enormous steel statues and various bits of naff looking public ‘heritage’ art.

As you enter, you find great grey pebble-dashed wind tunnels threading through various soulless glass and steel monoliths that abound the place, all giving it the charming air of a car park designed by Philip Starck, The Mad Hatter and Mr Angry. And the entire place is complete with faux cobbles and café canal side living (ie chain outlets sticking tables outside). Sadly, the whole place has slightly less atmosphere than Jupiter. You can see baffled canal side walkers leave little leafy and cute Little Venice and then turn up in what appears to be an architect’s giant scale model of dullness and concrete. “It’s all neat and clean and functional,” they tell me. But then so are abattoirs,  which it sort of gives the half air of being modelled on – only without the welcome death at the end after spending any time there. But that’s London. Changeville.

And if you needed more proof of changes, look no further than the past few year’s restaurant trends. Scores of Thai, Vietnamese, Mongol Grills and Pan Asian buffet places appearing and disappearing within a two-year period. Now it’s the Lebanese wave I’m noticing. They’re popping up everywhere. Nice, but generally overpriced. And often with the hookah pipes outside, gently wafting aromatic smoke down the street. And snapping at their heels, those very cool-looking Japanese places. All Zen and noodles with raw everything (just saving on the gas bill I’m guessing. Personally, I like my food cooked).

But don’t panic. There are still places that show no sign of seemingly changing one iota. South Kensington and its environs is a case in point. I had the dubious pleasure of being taken to a basement restaurant down that way last week. The prices? Unfeasibly high. The place? Packed to the rafters with an orderly line patiently waiting by the till area when we arrived. The noise levels? Slightly above that of runway one at Heathrow. And the food? Italian pizzas mainly – but disguised as high fashion cuisine. And then that bizarre welcome. Table for six? Yes, of course, but you’ll have to leave at 10.00 sharp (it was 8.00). The people with me seemed unsurprised. Didn’t they mind?, I asked. “No,” they chorused. “It’s a London thing.”