Christy Spring

1 week ago | escapismmagazine.com | Christy Spring

Testing. Testing.” A village elder wearing a microphone headset kneels before a metal table topped with miniature stupa made of marigolds, a one million kip note and plates of bananas, candied peanuts and fluorescent sweets laid on fine lace. He taps the microphone. Nothing. Four women sit on either side of him, wearing white scarves draped on their shoulders; their faces crease with concern as he fumbles with the recalcitrant microphone. Still nothing.

2 weeks ago | escapismmagazine.com | Christy Spring

Ah, the sobering realisation of one’s own mortal fragility. While not necessarily the chirpiest holiday topic, it’s certainly a topical holiday theme of late. Once relegated to elite athletes, medical facilities and Silicon Valley tycoons, the prevalence and accessibility of biohacking retreats, packages and protocols to enhance longevity have exploded in popularity in recent years as more of us seek to become less creaky versions of ourselves.

1 month ago | escapismmagazine.com | Christy Spring

Ten years ago, I took my first tentative steps into running, wearing Jack Wills leggings, an I Heart Paris t-shirt, and a pair of trainers whose soles were as inelastic as Donald Trump's jowl. No tracking watch, no app – just wired Apple headphones blasting a loop of Like a G6. Now it’s 2025, and we’ve hit fever-pitch levels of running mania. Distance running, once a niche pursuit, has surged in popularity over the past decade.

2 months ago | escapismmagazine.com | Christy Spring

A stay at Broadwick Soho is an exercise in firsts. That is, unless you’ve previously stayed in a five-star hotel that pays homage to a hotel in Bournemouth, staffed by a concierge in leopard-print waistcoats, and overseen by a proprietor who happens to be both the son of a magician and the grandson of a professional clown. While this may sound like the beginnings of an Ab Fab fever dream, Broadwick Soho is one of the capital’s most captivating, recent independent hotel openings.

2 months ago | foodism.co.uk | Christy Spring

The first sandwich I remember loving had nothing inside it at all. After nursery, my mum would butter two slices of white bread on both sides, press them together in a Breville to make a toastie and serve it with a side of Quavers. Since then, I can match up specific sandwiches to highs and lows in my life. The pandemic tasted like Wilson’s Bread Shop bacon baps slicked with tangy brown sauce, a salve to uncertain times.