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Scottish Sun
4 days ago
- Health
- Scottish Sun
My skin smelt like burnt bacon during £2k celeb laser treatment – I'm glowing but there was stomach-churning side effect
Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) THANKS to the wonders of Instagram, 'The Cloud' and Facebook, I am constantly reminded how wonderful life was back when I had collagen. And how (relatively) wonderful I looked when I had collagen: banks and banks of the stuff giving my young, happy little face that unmistakable glow of youth. 8 Clemmie tested out a CO2 laser treatment to rejuvenate her tired skin 8 A machine blasts a burst of hot pulsing light on Clemmie's face 8 Clemmie shows off her 'glow' after the tweakment popular with celebs Credit: Lorna Roach Thanks to two decades of sunbathing (and a few sunbeds), that collagen has depleted quicker than you can say 'pigmentation' – which I also had a lot of. And this despite a recent facelift which, while undoubtedly brilliant at successfully halting the tide of ageing disintegration, did not address the actual texture or quality of my skin. Enough was enough. So, like all good millennials, I took to Dr Google... and promptly booked in for a CO2 laser, a treatment popular with celebs including Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Aniston and Gwyneth Paltrow. In LA, the home of good skincare, facelifts and CO2 facelifts are synonymous – surgeons regularly book their clients for laser treatments as part of the aftercare package, such is the possible transformation. Some of the results looked mildly terrifying – people with peeling faces, scabs oozing pus and flaking skin. Unwilling to leave my skin to fate, or the hands of a dentist-turned-Botoxer, I booked in at London's exclusive Harley Street Injectables. Clinic boss Alice Henshaw – who actually works with the surgeon who did my face, Dr Paul Tulley in London's Harley Street – had contacted me previously after reading about my op. (Yep, tweakments aren't my first rodeo). She is a highly rated aesthetician to many celebs and a whole raft of influencers, who regularly live Instagram from her clinic. Walking into the uber-plush clinic – it felt more Soho Farmhouse than an aesthetic practice (although both serve little pricks) – I was greeted by Stevie, an aesthetic nurse, who would be CO2-ing me. Clemmie Moodie Facelift Journey After being numbed for 30 minutes with anaesthetic cream – quite simply, the pain would be intolerable without it – she goes through my skin concerns. 'This is genuinely one of the best treatments out there,' Stevie reassures me. 'It's amazing for acne scarring, sun damage and for boosting collagen production to give the skin a plumper, more youthful glow. You're going to really see a difference. 'It's an ablative laser which causes controlled damage to the upper layers of the skin, stimulating the skin's natural healing process and helping produce new collagen. 'We're going to go for quite an aggressive setting today to maximise results.' Next thing I know I'm horizontal, with a machine blasting a burst of hot pulsing light on my skin. Seconds later, there's a waft of burning. 8 The CO2 laser goes round the face and under the eyes 8 Clemmie, pictured before the treatment, says her recent facelift did not help with the actual texture of her skin Credit: Dan Charity 'What's that smell?' I ask, my thoughts briefly turning to what I'll have for dinner. 'Oh yes, that's your skin,' Stevie replies, casually, as I inhale a whiff of bacon. Having never had a laser treatment before, I really don't know what to expect. The following day I look like I've swallowed a football, and my face is beetroot red It feels like an elastic band is being pulled taut and then snapped on my face, hard, and repeatedly. It's fine on my forehead, but REALLY hurts on my upper lip. My eyes start watering and I'm trying – and failing – to look sanguine as cameraman Ben blithely zooms in on my increasingly red face. The sensitive neck area also smarts a bit – a solid 7.2/10 for pain (10 being 'give me a gun now', 0 being a nice massage at Soho Farmhouse) – but Stevie counts down throughout, reassuring me I'm doing 'great'. (TBH all I'm doing is lying still, but it's sweet and I am determined not to swear.) 'F***!!!' I promptly scream as she goes in beneath my eyes. For this, I am given two in-eye lenses to prevent any radiation from getting through. Ben is also given dark glasses to stop any radiation 'bounce', too. 'Not for the faint-hearted ' Thankfully, within 20 minutes, it's all over. I'm red, but won't scare small children on the Tube home. Alice packs me off with a bespoke aftercare kit – an ice pack, her own range of Factor 100 sun cream, 5DHA hyaluronic acid serum, a lux moisturiser and some Skincycles bio-cellulose sheet face masks to help with hydration. I am told to avoid all sunshine for the next couple of weeks, which comes in handy for the start of the spring heatwave the following day. I look certifiably insane walking the dog in a polo neck, sunglasses and a Ted Lasso visor – the only hat I could find – in the blazing sunshine. The following day I look like I've swallowed a football, and my face is beetroot red. I cancel lunch with friends. Happily, my skin doesn't blister and there are no signs of pus. (Google Love Island's Alexandra Crane's CO2 experience if you're not eating.) From here, the redness begins to fade and I am just left with weird-looking 'grids' across my face. My skin feels like sandpaper. Day by day though, I start to see results. After three weeks, people start complimenting me on my 'glow' One week later, my pigmentation is significantly reduced – with the full effects seen in 12 weeks time – and my skin looks so, so much softer, plumper and, well, like it used to in my iPad memories circa 2017. There are fewer fine lines around my eyes and I am thrilled. After three weeks, people start complimenting me on my 'glow' and I even get away with not wearing any make-up to work. It's a joy. This non-invasive treatment, costing £2,000, isn't for the faint-hearted. But, well, it works. For more information visit 8 Clemmie says the laser was fine on her forehead - but REALLY hurt on her upper lip 8 The procedure felt like an elastic band being pulled taut - then snapped on her face repeatedly
The Irish Sun
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Irish Sun
My skin smelt like burnt bacon during £2k celeb laser treatment – I'm glowing but there was stomach-churning side effect
THANKS to the wonders of Instagram, 'The Cloud' and Facebook, I am constantly reminded how wonderful life was back when I had collagen. And how (relatively) wonderful I looked when I had collagen: banks and banks of the stuff giving my young, happy little face that unmistakable glow of youth. 8 Clemmie tested out a CO2 laser treatment to rejuvenate her tired skin 8 A machine blasts a burst of hot pulsing light on Clemmie's face 8 Clemmie shows off her 'glow' after the tweakment popular with celebs Credit: Lorna Roach Thanks to two decades of sunbathing (and a few And this despite a recent facelift which, while undoubtedly brilliant at successfully halting the tide of ageing disintegration, did not address the actual texture or quality of my skin. Enough was enough. So, like all good millennials, I took to Dr Google... and promptly booked in for a CO2 laser, a treatment popular with celebs including Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Aniston and Gwyneth Paltrow. In LA, the home of good skincare, facelifts and CO2 facelifts are synonymous – surgeons regularly book their clients for laser treatments as part of the aftercare package, such is the possible transformation. Some of the results looked mildly terrifying – people with peeling faces, scabs oozing pus and flaking skin. Unwilling to leave my skin to fate, or the hands of a dentist-turned- Clinic boss Alice Henshaw – who actually works with the surgeon who did my face, Dr Paul Tulley in London's Harley Street – had contacted me previously after reading about my op. (Yep, tweakments aren't my first rodeo). She is a highly rated aesthetician to many celebs and a whole raft of influencers, who regularly live Instagram from her clinic. Walking into the uber-plush clinic – it felt more Clemmie Moodie Facelift Journey After being numbed for 30 minutes with anaesthetic cream – quite simply, the pain would be intolerable without it – she goes through my skin concerns. 'This is genuinely one of the best treatments out there,' Stevie reassures me. 'It's amazing for acne scarring, 'It's an ablative laser which causes controlled damage to the upper layers of the skin, stimulating the skin's natural healing process and helping produce new collagen. 'We're going to go for quite an aggressive setting today to maximise results.' Next thing I know I'm horizontal, with a machine blasting a burst of hot pulsing light on my skin. Seconds later, there's a waft of burning. 8 The CO2 laser goes round the face and under the eyes 8 Clemmie, pictured before the treatment, says her recent facelift did not help with the actual texture of her skin Credit: Dan Charity 'What's that smell?' I ask, my thoughts briefly turning to what I'll have for dinner. 'Oh yes, that's your skin,' Stevie replies, casually, as I inhale a whiff of bacon. Having never had a laser treatment before, I really don't know what to expect. The following day I look like I've swallowed a football, and my face is beetroot red It feels like an elastic band is being pulled taut and then snapped on my face, hard, and repeatedly. It's fine on my forehead, but REALLY hurts on my upper lip. My eyes start watering and I'm trying – and failing – to look sanguine as cameraman Ben blithely zooms in on my increasingly red face. The sensitive neck area also smarts a bit – a solid 7.2/10 for pain (10 being 'give me a gun now', 0 being a nice massage at Soho Farmhouse) – but Stevie counts down throughout, reassuring me I'm doing 'great'. (TBH all I'm doing is lying still, but it's sweet and I am determined not to swear.) 'F***!!!' I promptly scream as she goes in beneath my eyes. For this, I am given two in-eye lenses to prevent any radiation from getting through. Ben is also given dark glasses to stop any radiation 'bounce', too. 'Not for the faint-hearted ' Thankfully, within 20 minutes, it's all over. I'm red, but won't scare small children on the Tube home. Alice packs me off with a bespoke aftercare kit – an ice pack, her own range of Factor 100 sun cream, 5DHA hyaluronic acid serum, a lux moisturiser and some Skincycles bio-cellulose sheet face masks to help with hydration. I am told to avoid all sunshine for the next couple of weeks, which comes in handy for the start of the spring heatwave the following day. I look certifiably insane walking the dog in a polo neck, sunglasses and a The following day I look like I've swallowed a football, and my face is beetroot red. I cancel lunch with friends. Happily, my skin doesn't blister and there are no signs of pus. (Google Love Island's Alexandra Crane's CO2 experience if you're not eating.) From here, the redness begins to fade and I am just left with weird-looking 'grids' across my face. My skin feels like sandpaper. Day by day though, I start to see results. After three weeks, people start complimenting me on my 'glow' One week later, my pigmentation is significantly reduced – with the full effects seen in 12 weeks time – and my skin looks so, so much softer, plumper and, well, like it used to in my iPad memories circa 2017. There are fewer fine lines around my eyes and I am thrilled. After three weeks, people start complimenting me on my 'glow' and I even get away with not wearing any make-up to work. It's a joy. This non-invasive treatment, costing £2,000, isn't for the faint-hearted. But, well, it works. For more information visit 8 Clemmie says the laser was fine on her forehead - but REALLY hurt on her upper lip 8 The procedure felt like an elastic band being pulled taut - then snapped on her face repeatedly 8 Clemmie says her skin looks much softer and plumper after the treatment Credit: Lorna Roach
The Spinoff
30-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
‘If I were starting out again…': Life and writing advice from David Hill
After nearly half a century as a full-time writer, David Hill considers what he might have done differently. This year is my 44th as a full time writer. I've been earning a sort of living with words for a sliver over half my time on the planet. Feel free to do the maths. If I were starting out again, would I do it differently? Hell, yes. I'd start trying to write novels sooner. For nearly a decade, I was so obsessed with making a living that I took on only small-scale projects, many of them ephemeral: short stories, reviews, brief plays, columns, etc. I also lacked the confidence, the guts to try anything requiring novel-sized skills and stamina. I'll explain that part later. It wasn't till our teenage daughter's friend died, and the short story I began writing to acknowledge her courage was still going at page 73, that I realised I'd lurched into a longer form almost by default. With that form came the rewards of watching your narrative choose its own direction, making friends with your characters, trying different voices, etc – the rewards that novels may bring. Plus, novels can be a financial investment. You might earn virtually nothing during the months/years you're working on one, but if you're lucky, royalties and the Public Lending Right may keep bringing a return long after the toil involved has faded from memory. Along with this, if I were re-beginning as a full-timer, I'd try to have a more comprehensive vision. As I say, 44 years ago, that vision was mostly financial survival. I had few plans beyond the next fortnight. I'd been able to take 1981 off from high school teaching to write, thanks to an ICI Writer's Bursary – $3,000 kept you going for several months in those days. I wrote an awful adult novel which met multiple rejections and doesn't exist in any form now. Anyway, I taught for another year, and started off in 1983 feeling that anything longform was beyond me. Janet Frame compared novel writing to 'going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land', and my first dismal shopping trip put me off for years. With hindsight, I'd try to have more faith in myself, to aim higher and sooner. How easily said; how easily postponed. I'd also drink less coffee during those early days. I suspect my wife Beth and our kids found it a touch disconcerting to come home from work or school to a figure with red rotating eyeballs. I'd learn proper keyboard skills. It seems so trivial, but I've always been a two-finger, head-bent-over-the-keys user. After 44 years of stupidly bad posture, my neck is now permanently stuffed, and I have to work in 15-minute spells. Serves me right. I'd keep a copy of everything. Everything. It's relatively easy now, thanks to computers, files, that thing called The Cloud, which I still envisage as white and fluffy. But for… 20?… 25? years of hand-written drafts and manual-typewriter copies, I chucked away so much, especially when it was rejected. I still half-remember lost work, know I could now see what to do with it, shape it better. But it's gone forever. Since going electronic – and if that makes me sound like a cyborg, who am I to argue? – I throw away absolutely nothing. I'd learn to say 'No' early on. Writers are constantly being asked to talk to Rotary, to give advice on how to get 10-year-old Zeb reading, to look over the history of the local golf club that Jack whom you've never heard of is writing. Early on, I cravenly surrendered a lot of hours to such unpaid requests (demands, occasionally). I still agree to do so in some cases, but it took me a long time to learn how to mention the issue of time and expenses. Carl, the excellent gardener down the road, charges $60 an hour. I use the comparison sometimes. From the start, I'd try to see my readers as potential friends, not critics. I'd find an accountant immediately. Yes, they cost, but you can claim them on tax. Plus they add a certain legitimacy to your return, and they think of expenses that would challenge any fantasy writer's imagination. Mine (thanks heaps, Robyn; never retire) even got me a few dollars back on 'Deterioration of Office Fittings', as in shampooing the rugs in my office after the cat puked on them. If I were starting out again, I'd try to stay reasonably technologically savvy, to accept that your writing life needs to change when resources and tools change. Specifically, I'd hope to respond more quickly to the arrival of something like online publishing, e-books, e-zines, etc. I ignored them for years, kept telling myself they were a fad, something ephemeral and distracting. Yes, just like a 14th century literary hack sticking to vellum manuscripts, and knowing this printed book nonsense wouldn't last. My denial – my continued denial; I still struggle to accept that anything other than hard copy is 'real' publishing – has cost me so many contacts and contracts. I'd try also to prepare myself for shifts in my abilities. Over the past half-dozen years, I've shrunk as a short story writer. I no longer have the imaginative spark or the energy to find the dramatic switch, the revelation, the power within a small space that makes a good short story. Conversely, my ability to assemble, to build, seems to have edged up a degree. Essays and novels attract me more and more. If I were restarting, I'd resolve to feel pleased with what I can still do, not despondent at what I can't. It would no doubt go the way of my other resolutions. Let's finish with four questions: 1. Would I have an agent? I never have, partly from laziness and meanness, partly because they weren't common in the early 1980s when I went full-time, and partly (I can't phrase this without sounding vainglorious) because I've been around long enough in our little country for my name to ring the odd bell. A distant, cracked bell. But if I were starting now, I certainly would. Many publishers these days won't consider submissions unless they come via an agent. And, of course, a skilled agent knows the where/when/who to save you so much hassle. They can also soften the jolt of rejection … a bit. 2. Would I enrol in a writing course? Like agents, they weren't around much in the Jurassic. There were writers' groups all over the country. There were journalism schools. But organised instruction, direction, encouragement for fiction, poetry, drama, creative non-fiction? Pretty much zilch. If I were starting now, I'd certainly look hard at the collegiality, informed critiques, professional presentation, funding sources and multiple other facets that such courses can provide, along with their environment that makes you write. 3. Would I self-publish? It's an option that has flourished, become a legitimate alternative, lost the stigma attached to it when I started off. 'Vanity publishing', we arrogantly called it then. But I probably wouldn't do it. I'm too ignorant of what's involved; I treasure the skills of the editors and publishers who work on and always improve my stuff. And … well, I took up this job to be an author, not an entrepreneur. 4. Would I do it all over again? See final words of paragraph two above. How many other jobs are there where you have to shave only twice a week, where a 10-year-old consumer writes to you saying 'After I read your book, I felt all kind and good', where you get up from the keyboard after an hour and know you've made something that never existed in the world before? I hope to be feeling exactly the same when I've been in the said job for 55 years. All I need is for medical science to keep taking giant strides.
Time Out
28-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time Out
One of the world's best cocktail bars has a rooftop location in Barcelona
Barcelona boasts a remarkably impressive roster of drinking establishments. Cool cocktail haunts, rustic watering holes, rock'n'roll bars and G&T dens – you can find all that and more on our list of Barcelona's best bars, regularly updated by our editors on the ground. However, few are as celebrated as Paradiso, a swanky cocktail spot that hasn't only acquired the accolade of one of the best bars on the planet according to World's 50 Best (every year since 2017, no less), but was also awarded two pins by the recently-launched Pinnacle Guide. And with an innovative menu like this one, we're hardly surprised. Current drinks include 'The Cloud', a blend of Casamigos mezcal, hibiscus, Montenegro amaro, Mancino secco vermouth, birch syrup, Perrier and coffee 'cloud' which culminate in a unique smoked flavour. There's also 'Hidden Island' for those with a sweet tooth – Santa Teresa 1796 Rum, Remy Martin, salicornia and lemongrass, coconut cream, pepper syrup and actual carrot cake. Yes, you read that right – cake. As you'd imagine, it can be difficult to get a seat at the bar's original location (which is – obvs – behind a fridge in a pastrami shop). What you might not know is that Paradiso recently planted roots at a swish new location – the rooftop of Time Out Market Barcelona. Nestled at the end of Rambla del Mar, which is just across from La Rambla itself, cross the pedestrian bridge over the water and keep your eyes peeled for a big red escalator. Then, you can head all the way up to Paradiso for a knockout bevvie and some stunning views of the city's Gothic Quarter.
