I’ve shared my feelings about Temple Spa before in my review of Repose Aromatherapy Resting Cream. Basically, my first experience was a very pushy salesperson at a wedding fair several years ago which really put me off the brand, and it took me a while to try their products again. But when I did I was really impressed, and I can honestly say that nothing I’ve reviewed since has disappointed me! Today I’m reviewing Temple Spa Trufflesque, an Ultra  Hydration & Radiance Masque for the face. Trufflesque aims to give hydration and radiance to the skin, and plumps to help reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. It’s a luxury mask suitable for all skin types, particularly dry or dull skin, and it helps to rejuvenate tired skin too. The impressive list of ingredients includes black truffles, gold and silk peptides, but unfortunately these expensive additives contribute to Trufflesque’s slightly expensive price tag. The first thing that strikes me about this product is the amazing packaging. All Temple Spa products have really amazing, premium packaging, and I feel that they add to the feeling that you are about to use something really special on your skin. The dark glass jar has a gold lid and it is nestled in a gold and chocolate brown box with the most amazingly cute mask brush slotted in too. The mask itself is gold and it shimmers so prettily, if you look closely it’s almost as if you can see the particles of real gold! To apply you just paint the golden mask onto your face with the cute little brush (it makes applying the mask so easy) then leave for 15-20 minutes.  The mask doesn’t dry completely, it stays a little bit tacky to the touch, and I find that it makes my skin tingle quite a bit. For extra benefits you can also then massage the mask into your skin for around 2 minutes, before removing with a damp muslin cloth or flannel. How long did it probably take the reviewer to use the Trufflesque product? - 4 hours - overnight - About a half hour - not enough information
About a half hour

I was once distinctly unsettled by a utility man who called to read the gas meter. We were living in an old house at the time and I was home alone with the youngest child (who was around six months old), balanced on my hip as I opened the door. The visitor looked genuine, dressed in the expected uniform. He was around 6.3 and probably not the most tidily presented utility man I'd met, but I believed him to be genuine and willingly invited him in out of the foul weather. It was pouring down outside, a freezing cold winter's day. As I closed the door I remembered that I should have asked to see his company I.D. , so as I opened the meter cupboard and switched on the light, I politely said, 'Oops, I should have asked to see your I.D. if you don't mind?. He stood there in front of the door and made no move to produce his card or do anything in fact. He just glared down at me in the most menacing way and said in a very sinister voice 'Isn't it a little bit late for that now? What are you going to do if I tell you I don't have it?'. There was an embarrassed silence. He continued to stare down at me without making a move for what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds. He didn't produce his I.D., instead he almost grudgingly read the meter as I looked on and then he swiftly left without saying goodbye. I closed the door and locked it, and then took a while to get my pulse rate back to normal and to realise I'd just learned a very big lesson. Such a creepy individual, I didn't make that mistake again. Why was the woman scared? - because the utility man was scary. - because the utility man refused to produce his I.D. - because the utility man was not nice. - not enough information
because the utility man refused to produce his I.D.

It’s always interesting to read back on why people do things, especially people who end up making a career or a fortune out of the seemingly benign choices they make. Thelma Schoonmaker, the film editor whom my previous post was about was one of those people; she got into editing after seeing an ad in the New York Times. I’m in no way suggesting I’m going to make a fortune, nor that I’m a Thelma Schoonmaker in the making, but I certainly do make a lot of benign choices. Art blogging, for me, was one of those benign choices. I made the decision to start an art blog very randomly, so randomly I’m not even sure where the idea came from. At the time I had been studying a bachelor of psychology for about two years and found myself interested in the subject, but underwhelmed with the lack of creative ideas and media I was being exposed to. I’d always been interested in art and most creative mediums, often recording music or taking photographs on the side. But the pages and pages of white and black scientific journal articles must have got to me, because I found myself yearning for splashes of colour, moving imagery, challenging concepts and undefinable ideas. The next thing I knew I had started an art blog aptly titled: Artistic Expansion and I began spending hours a day searching through the internet for content, often finding my best pieces in the most random places, often not even defined intentionally as ‘art’. Over the last two years I must have blogged hundreds of multi-coloured, multi-textured and multi-layered images, accumulated over 2000 followers and consumed more art than I ever had in my entire life. I find it interesting not because of it’s success, but because before I started my art blog, I really had no idea how much I did or could love art and once I had made my art blog I  couldn’t imagine how I ever functioned without it. Who is the author? - a woman - a man - not enough information - a psychology professor
not enough information

William White sat across from me, fidgeting nervously with an empty packet of artificial sweetener while his coffee went cold, ignored on the table in front of him. He rolled the torn yellow paper up like a tight little spliff, then unrolled it, smoothed it out flat, and then rolled it again. I was midway through my third cup of coffee with no intention of stopping soon. I was tired and edgy, irritated at William for dragging me out at this time of night, and getting even more irritated at his refusal to get to the point. 'Did you know Philip K. Dick had a twin sister?' I stared at him blankly. 'Her name was Jane. She died shortly after their birth. They were six weeks premature,' he continued, his eyes drifting off to the window to his right. I wasn't sure if he was looking at something through it or staring at his own reflection in it. 'Dick never got over Jane's death; her ghost haunted him throughout his life, and the idea of a phantom twin pops up throughout his work. Some have even speculated that Dick's inability to make peace with the loss of his sister contributed to his drug abuse, and by extension also his death at the relatively young age of 53.' He unrolled the sweetener packet, laid it on the table, placed both index fingers together in its center, and then spread them outward, smoothing the paper flat. I reached out and slammed my own hand on top of the packet, preventing him from fiddling with it anymore. 'Sorry,' he said sheepishly. I let out a sigh. 'Not that this isn't fascinating, but did you seriously call me out to Denny's at 3 am for this?' Why did William have 3 cups of coffee already? - not enough information - He was tired. - He was thirsty. - He was hungry.

He was tired.