A First Taste of Berlin

Berlin has been on my wish list of must-see places for some time so, when business opportunity knocked, I was on the first plane to uncover what all of the excitement was about.

This was a short trip, so tourism was not going to have much room on the agenda. But, first impressions count with me, so I would know if this was somewhere worth fussing over to come back and explore more.

I wasn't disappointed. Stereotypical German efficiency kicked in as soon as I landed, I'm really not sure I have ever had such a speedy disembark through immigration and into a taxi, anywhere else. 

The quick cab ride from Tegel airport into the city already had my eyes wide open. 

Berlin was so clean, late night traffic was non existent and I had a clear line of sight of so many iconic landmarks straight off the mark as I drove to Mitte.

My hotel, The Westin Grand, sat steps from the famous Brandenburg Gate. I kind of expected Checkpoint Charlie to have security and graffiti and show its history. But it didn't. Modernised and clean, quiet and overtaken by the stunning and very compelling architecture of the Gate. 

The same view could be seen from my hotel, 5 floors up from the Westin Grand. Itself a historic building, the glass dome that overlooks the lobby is a stunning centre piece and a marvel to look on as you sip cocktails in the bar. 

The hotel boasts a chunk of the Berlin Wall on his doorstep, a sign from times gone by, and an artefact you will find throughout the city.  

Service is efficient, perhaps at the compromise of friendly. Summer allows for al fresco drinks on a rooftop garden terrace but the standard of dining everywhere else, from room service to restaurant, is incredibly good.

Close by, my taste buds were tingled to extreme in Bocca de Bacco, a very stylish Italian I learned was a haunt for the A-list and had served heart throbs such as Clooney, Damond and Pattinson. 

I joined their dining joy, amazing food that exceeded even the temptation of the menu and I highly recommend if you are tourist trekking the neighbourhood over lunch or dinner.

This is a luxury shopping zone, so all your designer needs are more than catered for. I had a brief wander in Alexanderplatz, under the famous TV tower too, whee there was much more movement of tourism buses and camera clicking around. Mostly, it made me so very congnizant of the size of Berlin and the opportunity to uncover so much more.

My true desire is to dig into the back streets, see the urban art rise and the cool trendy bars and boutique hotels. And it won't be long before I do. My first taste of Berlin has left me hungry for much, much more.

'Til next time, Pandora

One Mal and His Dog...

I've stayed in my fair share of the Malmaison hotels, as well as a few of their stunning sister Hotel du Vin properties. They tick most of my must-have boxes, when it comes to finding my perfect stay away. Boutique chic, luxurious beds, a great cocktail menu, good food, a super shower experience, to name a few. But what you get as a great bonus at a Malmaison is the location. Every one of the dozen-strong portfolio is something special, a listed building full of heritage, cleverly refurbished with respect and homage to its local surroundings, but with an explosion of modern design styled up inside. 

And I love the quirk. Malmaison is not afraid to be a little bit cheeky, break the mould of the normal hotel experience. 
You'll find a wonderfully stocked mini bar, adult-only gourmet snacks that laugh in the face of your average Tobelerone and jumbo sized toiletries that ooze style and fragrance and get you figgy with it. Really.

They dare to be different, and dare they do. It was no surprise  to discover they open their doors to four legged guests, too. Dogs, it appears, are a Mal's best friend and, with one right on my doorstep at home, The Belfast Mal fast-tracked to the top of my getaway list. 

It's tough not to fall for a cute puppy, but their arrival at Malmaison is treated with just as much importance as the bill payer and just as personal. And the non-pet owners need not worry. Pets are not permitted in public areas, like bars or restaurants. 

This is a pawcation for room service and lots of private pooch pampering. A small charge to your room rate means the pooch checks in to his very own doggy bed and water bowl in your room and you have a city around you to walk and run, for all the outdoor fun you need before bedtime.

But a hotel break is about you, as well. You don't need to worry about pooch. He's snuggled in luxury and planning a per ant move. You need some Mal-dining...

Every Mal I visited impressed me at dinner, never more than this coincidental overlap at Valentines weekend in Belfast, where I indulged in an incredible 5-course Malentines menu for just £49. 

Velouté, oysters Rockerfeller, fresh salmon and an insanely magnificent chocolate dessert that I had re-routed to my room and scoffed in slumber.

Weekend breakfast-cum-brunch is another sure thing at the Mal. 

So good, in fact, you should visit to eat even if you have not stayed. They've added a great homemade granola to the continental table that I want to buy in bulk, for home, but their eggs Benni are always a perfect start to weekend relaxing, if you can pry yourself away to get active after you fuel up!

I can't not call out the exceptional service at The Belfast Mal, too. I've never had poor service at a Mal, but I've never had it just this fantastic at a Mal, neither. More than half the range has showered me in luxury at one time of another, across the UK, but it's my own home turf where I experienced the best of their best in friendliness, accommodation all-round guest hospitality. 

There's no bones about it, one Mal, one gal and her very pampered dog will very much be a repeat, if not a regular occurrence.

'Til next time, Pandora

Please Sir, Can I Have Some Morton?

I caught sight of the latest addition to the London boutique scene in summer and one glimpse of the stunning interior, I was swift to jump in to find a date to match my next hop to the city.

The Morton is the new, very chic, kid on the Bloomsbury block. Wonderfully located, a few steps to Russell Square and conveniently located to Euston Station, as well as Tube stop on its doorstep. 

It has fashioned its very being on the local history of the literary elite of early last century, The Bloomsbury Set, and pays homage to the likes of Virginia Wolf and Lytton Strachey in its decor and design. Room doors don mirror silhouettes of their floor namesake. Interiors share the same on cushions and stationery and there is a strong theme of literature on every shelf and wall print. Even the light fittings in the arrival hallway are made of literature classics.

Rooms are beautiful, as boutique hotel rooms should be. Eclectically decorated, warm and cosy with unexpectedly large bathrooms and ample 40" LCD flatscreens. Quality has not been spared, the right mix of retro to modern, perfectly appointed. 

The Library bar is the hub of the hotel. It's chic, beautifully designed to the Charleston style, and a wonderful oasis to escape the busy streets of a day in London. 

But is oddly quiet. Admittedly it's as a library should be, but the antithesis of what a hotel bar should be, for me.

I visited on arrival (the bar doubles as reception, in the basement), I popped down in the evening, I had breakfast the next morning. Each and every visit I almost felt the need to tiptoe, definitely whisper. There was a need for a little ambience music to break the silence, in favour of relaxation. 

My longest stop in the Library, as a result, was breakfast. It's wonderful. There is only a continental offering to choose from and it misses some luxe extras of eggs and salmon, or warm brioches but, what is there is beautifully presented and delicious.

Dining delight kind of stops and ends at breakfast, however. Unless you want a snack. There is no 'restaurant' as such in the hotel, a small menu offers sandwiches, cheese platters and the like, a choice that is exactly the same in the bar as in your room. It's a shortfall for the Morton, in my eyes, my Oliver Twist moment that left me wanting more, especially when it's rainy and cold outside. The style and chic of The Morton was made for exuberant and decadent cakes, comfort soups and stews, definitely would be great to have gourmet evenings for wine and cocktails. Instead I have cards of nearby restaurants, and the tiptoe challenge for a drink, if I feel the stealthy need.

Without this next level of decadence (decadence that is standard in most boutique hotels, certainly in London) it feels like gruel. Gruel served in luxury, yes, but gruel nonetheless, when compared to other great boutiques in the city like The Mandeville, The Ampersand or anything in the Doyle Collection. 

Alternative room options, apartment styled with kitchens, are available if you want to self cater and I recommend those if you don't want to wander and dine around town. I personally don't want to self cater in a boutique, and this fall-short made me feel I was in a hostel or B&B, not a full boutique experience in the city.

And with this gap, the hotel falls shy on the service. The Morton lacks flexibility and personality. Guest plans change but The Morton policy is immovable. I experienced it and have had similar feedback from more than a few others. On site, it's not a smiling hotel. It's a very efficiently run one, but maybe so efficient the guest experience is left to the guest, not interacted by staff.

New kids on new blocks need some time to grow into their own shoes. There is so much greatness going for the Morton that needs recognised, I'd love to see the gaps get filled and go back. Without them, the choice is too wide in London to miss out.

'Til next time, Pandora

The Vegas Bone Collector

I've shared a few blogs on my hesitations with Las Vegas and how, on my recent impromptu visit, I set on a mission to uncover a beauty in a city that totally failed to impress me.

And there lies the irony. No, I'm by no means saying I am a Vegas convert. I join the millions that fall in love with every show of the Bellagio fountains and, unsurprisingly, I have successfully sought out any true style and panache in the bar and restaurant scene. But, as the saying goes, you can put lipstick on a pig, it's still a pig. My Vegas wears lipstick. But it is still Vegas. 

But, back to the irony. I find it hard to openly admit that, amidst such consternation for Sin City, I would uncover possibly one of the best experiences of my life that, in the unlikely event that I have to return again to Vegas, I would go back in a heartbeat.

Forget the casinos, replica pyramids, roller coasters and remakes of gondola journeys through Venice. Hit the Boneyard.

It's off the Strip, in true Downtown Vegas. It calls itself a Neon Museum. 

But it's not a relic of history, it's a jawdroppingly, super cool walk up, down and around memory lane of the last century. In neon.

Casinos, hotels and bars before our time, already knocked down and forgotten. Not here. Iconic images and signs, you've seen in movies, saved and restored right here. Motels, the Glass Slipper, Wedding Chapels, The Sahara...everything is stacked up in this incredibly cool retro-fest, given a great guide lead narrative and you will not stop clicking your camera. It's mesmerising. 

We are all running so fast to keep up with the modern day, we are quick to put the past immediately behind us and embrace something new. But there is beauty in the old. 

This is the Vegas skyline of yesteryear. The famous haunts you've just spent your holiday dollars in, they might just land here in the near future. 

Check this out, support it's great ambition, and see some soul in Sin City.

'Til next time, Pandora

Photos: Pandora Skies
The Neon Museum http://www.neonmuseum.org

Reliving Las Vegas

Not unless Hell freezes over, I said. And I meant it. But, in the unlikely event that the desert would withstand an ice cap, over my dead body. I was sure I had made my position crystal clear and yet, here I was, forced to return to Las Vegas for a business trip.

You can't really argue with the boss, especially when you are probably the only person in the universe with an umbrage against Las Vegas. So, in the spirit of having my glass half full, I set about a new mission to disprove my own opinion and seek out a soul in Sin City.

They didn't make it easy for me, with business accommodation planed at the MGM Grand. They had live tigers in a cage until last year, for heaven's sake, this was not going to be a place of soul.

Glass half full, stay focused, get planning.

Let's skip the MGM Grand. It's everything I expected it to be and probably more. None of it with soul and certainly not with style. Between business time I sought my solace...

Dinner, 64 floors up, at Mix by Alain Ducasse. Not an over-gilded lion in sight. Just demure minimalist glamour, cocooned in an amazing curtain of glass bubbles around white decor and amazing food. This was an oasis from the crazy and the perfect place to see the lights of the strip, from above, from the amazing lounge terrace views that had the added advantage of the right amount of distance from the mayhem.

When it comes to drinks, you cannot but admit the wow factor of the Chandelier Bar at the Cosmopolitan. 3 floors of Swarovski wrapped around you, coupled with glass elevators and spiral staircases.

But it's sparkle comes at the compromise of noise and a surge of wannabe glitz magnets drinking champagne. Have a glass, get your bling fix, then cross the tower to Vesper Bar. Enough style and seduction to know it's got luxe, but removed from the jingle of slot machines and the floods of teenagers. 

Sleeping. It's possible you won't do a great deal of that, to be fair, and with constant noise and music, your choice of hotel may mean that is not always through choice. 

My duty of work done, I made a swift exit from MGM madness to the calm of Vdara. Smoke free, casino free. 

Yes, in Vegas, and a lake view 51 floors up that gave me an unprecedented birds eye view view of the amazing Bellagio fountains, the one thing I did cherish from my first (and supposed last) visit to Vegas. Sublime service, chic interiors and a connection to the other oasis of hotels, Aria, where you will dine in peace at the amazing Julian Serrano.

So far, so good. We had uncovered the better side of a Sin City, albeit you need to dig deep to find the gems. Often you need to pass through Vegas' worst to reach the best, but it is possible to escape the bedlam. If you do one thing on your next trip, visit the Neon Museum, and visit at night. Behind the Strip, it's a boneyard of the past before the original Vegas was broken back. Relics of the 50's and beyond of the neon classics that lit up the doorways and roofs of iconic buildings that are no longer there. An amazing experience and a true insight to Vegas' heart.

So, what goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas. I have learned never say never, but it's highly unlikely I will return. Not through choice, anyway. If it's kitsch and replica and gaudy fun, take your pick from one end of the Strip to the next. But if you want a little style to offset the crazy, this blog will make your trip tolerable, even enjoyable.

'Til next time, Pandora

Jagger, Garland and Me - Lounging with Legends at The Gore Hotel

Those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook will know about my penchant for teasing. Triptease, that is. It's my perfect place to capture the magic moment of my many travels, in a quick hit review to a community that loves style and travel.

But, one thing I promised to do this year was find time to write a little more, blog with more frequency than my diary normally permits, about the extra special places that really make it to my favourites list.

The Gore Hotel in London is one that deserves such attention. A hidden gem if ever there was one, tucked off the main thoroughfare, opposite Queens Gate at Hyde Park.

"Gore or Goring...", the cabbie asked me. Apparently many get confused. I knew exactly where I was going. I had sought The Gore out from great passing feedback and wanted to check it out for myself.

Not my typical first choice, design-wise. I lean to minimalist, modern and often quirky. The Gore is traditional, regal, quintessentially British in its deep green and red decor with lots of draped velvet. 

But it did have quirk. Quirk, I was not expecting, and I loved it! 

For every large wooden bed post and ornate mirror, there are funky mini bar treats and turn down service English Apple boiled sweets. For every antique oil painting there is a chic restaurant serving truffle champagne risotto and sorbet with smoked salmon. 

The service is exceptional, brightly cheery and incredibly personal. You expect that in a boutique hotel, but this is London. At The Gore, it's here and it's heart-lifting. 

The best bits? Bar 190. Impossible to describe, totally unexpected buzz and a must visit for the cool London barfly. Tiffany style lamps and mahogany heavy set bar, illuminated in hot pink lighting and sporting a great cocktail list. Ornate candelabras create a moody scene and the many photographs of The Rolling Stones pay homage to the launch they held at The Gore of their Beggars Banquet album in 1968. 

And parked at the back, the glorious pink crushed velvet Cinderella Carriage, for private and VIP entertaining. Fabulously eclectic.

Elsewhere, for more calm, a Green Room with complimentary refreshments to be enjoyed in Chesterfield leather by a roaring fire, a retreat from the busy bar. Equally, a surprisingly diverse menu in the very Gatsby-meets-Parisienne brasserie restaurant. Nothing fails to surprise.

My favourite story of all is the residency of Judy Garland. Who moved her belongings to The Gore, such was her love of the place. When times got tough and finances too stretched to pay her stay, she donated the furniture she had moved in and there is rests in the hotel today. 

History and hospitality at its finest, this is a break from the norm and a wonderful place to visit and stay.

'Til next time, Pandora

Voya-ism at Lusty Beg Island

Ireland might not be the first place you think of when looking for historic origins of spa therapies, so it might surprise you to know that at the beginning of the 20th century there were an estimated 300 seaweed bath houses in Ireland and nine in the small town of Strandhill alone.

Strandhill is important. It held strong with the last of the original Strandhill bath houses, until it was destroyed by the 1961 Hurricane Debbie, the worst hurricane to hit Ireland.

Now, in the new millennium the Walton family have given a rebirth to this history, attracting 40,000 visitors every year to Sligo's regenerated seaweed baths and their Voya products are the basis of treatments in many of Ireland's leading spas.

The new spa at Lusty beg island is one of those, and I was lucky to indulge on my recent visit to the island

Wrapped in luxurious soft grape robes, warming and comfortable, compared to the bright white that is typically provided in spas, I was led to the dimly lit sanctuary where I would spend my next hour of unadulterated me-time. 

I've had the relaxation of a Voya seaweed bath before, introduced to the wonder of this range during a past visit to Galway, at the luxurious Twelve Hotel in Bearna. So, when I saw that Lusty Beg's recently opened spa was a Voya spa, I knew I was guaranteed relaxation and rejuvenation.

I opted for a full body scrub. Body brushing prepared me, top to toe, to absorb the natural goodness of seaweed, mixed in hot Voya essence oil. The result is heavenly.

Light exfoliation combined with gentle massage, seaweed goodness gliding over every limb. Once applied, the dark paste is something of thirty leagues under the sea, but underneath I'm feeling more mermaid than algae. As it absorbs into my skin, the therapist weaves Voya seaweed hair conditioner through my scalp, head massaging me to a state of sleep....

Even the showering off of the seaweed is Voya relaxing, the Squeaky Clean shower wash has since made it back to my home wet room.

Dried, feeling smooth, I'm then slathered in Voya body moisturiser and left to relax and let nature breathe new life into my weary bones.

Time out in the relaxation room, with fresh fruit and calming tea. A dip in the outdoor jacuzzi, toasty warm under the winter stars.

This is a dream come true. An escape from the mayhem of the day to day madness of life and a real chance to switch off and think about you.
You've earned it.

'Til next time, Pandora

Private Lessons - Burlesque is Best

Everybody has a secret skill. The party trick. Or that clandestine side to your personality that is reserved for special people, or escapes after one cocktail too many. The highland fling, salsa classes, your perfect karaoke Celine Dion number. Or burlesque.

Yeah, not all skills are acquired at birth. It's probably the reason you have a regular 9 to 5 and are not quite on the stage at Vegas. Some skills need lessons. 

Let's get back to that Burlesque. Ditta Von Teese, I am not. Yet. I'm not sure I could get in or out of that basque. But one step closer to having some professionally trained book-oop-a-doop? That I can own, thanks to the charm, skills and downright fun of a night with the amazing Whistle Bait Babies.

I came across WBB about a year ago, when I hired them for a special milestone party I was organising. Three more beautiful girls you will never find. Glowing with a forties image, flirtatious with flair and finesse and just enough deriving to stir a giggle and never cross the line of distaste. 

Already famed in the local circuit for events, I was delighted at the personalised design WBB made to bespoke their routine to my event. Dance and music from traditional Moulin Rouge risqué to novel airline.

Months later they are still a conversation starter, and I knew I would be calling on them again. You need to, too. Be creative, find a reason why...

Cue the bridal shower of recent months. I mean, how better to inject bachelorette fun without succumbing to the distaste of velcro-trousered police officers, than to empower your ladies with some useful skills of seduction?

I've shared before my horrors of hen nights and the fear of crossing the fine line between taste and tack. My ladies had started their night in fluffy robes and the spa, drinking champagne, they were refreshed and pampered, now they would send off the bride to be and themselves with new tricks to woo and be wooed.

WBB Pixie came armed with music, winks and a box of tricks. We got the hip moves, the shoulder shrugs, we cracked whips and learned the secret to wearing and removing velvet and satin gloves.

Then came the tassels. Yes. Once you learn how to twirl a tassel, your life is never the same. Every girl should have this skill. Every man should want his girl to have this skill. We might have been in jeans and PJs as we had our private lesson from Pixie, but that was only our practice run....

What you do with your new burlesque skills, and where....that is up to you.

'Til next time, Pandora

Hens don't always have to Cluck - Bridal Showering in Style (Part One)

Hen parties. Bachelorette parties. I cringe at the mere concept of the perceived debauchery that accompanies these, UK side, anyway. But, charged with arranging a sibling send off, I was determined to inject class over crass and prove that not all hens have to cluck.

Our evening started early, but relaxed. 10 girls, wrapped in fluffy white robes, VIP in the private Boudoir Spa at the stunning Galgorm Hotel and Spa for a twilight half day spa visit.

Galgorm have refurbished this in the last year to replace the spa gym with this private retreat, and it is a great investment. Perfectly designed in plush pink and champagne, it's everything a girlie spa day needs to feel like. There's a slight Austin Powers purr, but overall it's chic and fun. 

Galgorm didn't necessarily deliver on all the package promises for us in the day. We seemed to bypass the ritual foot cleansing treatment on arrival, which was a shame. But we had pre-ordered bubbles on ice and came armed with mandatory cupcakes and macarons, which bolstered the inclusive canapé selection and got us into instant relaxation mode.

The attention to detail soon restored. Each spa invitee has their own personal welcome notes that outline the itinerary for the session, starting with the preselected mini treatment each one of us had chose. Hot stones for me. The rest is relaxation history.

Suspended Perspex chairs that overlook the acres of countryside and the River Maine is a difficult thing to leave, but we had a date in the thermal spa area - mood-lit pool time, aromatherapy sauna chambers, and the perfect sunny September wind down to sunset, the outdoors plunge pool and jacuzzi. 

These hens, we were positively cooing at this stage. Not an L plate or feather boa in sight. 

It seemed fitting to bypass the bar. Weekends at Galgorm are wedding busy, so this was the antithesis of our serenity. Instead we ordered food to take out from Fratelli's Italian and headed to our log cabin by the river, one of the many accommodation options at Galgorm Manor.

They say log cabins, but they are more mobile homes with an MDF facade. Being honest, the interiors are basic and not maintained to the highest quality, albeit they are designed as self catering I expected a more boutique feel given what I know of the main hotel space. Missing a trick, too, is the fact the cabins adore not serviced by room service, which is the reverse of how they were presented at booking. But we had plentiful stocks and were covered for the night.

Now, we may not have wanted debauchery. But this was still a bridal send off. Cue, my surprise entertainment.... But I think that deserves a whole separate blog!

'Til next time, Pandora

Beautiful Ugly - Scratching the Silver-Plated Surface of Lisbon

This was my first visit to Portugal. For years I have been travelling to neighbouring Spain, always with a mental note to 'must go west', cross border, but it has just never happened. So, the opportunity to do some business in Lisbon, I was excited and delighted.

I guess I expected it to be the same. Similar, at least, to Spain. Same coastline, same peninsula, just an invisible border separating the two. And in many ways it is. I even got by with my Spanish to get around, although my subconscious somehow began pronouncing my 's' with more ssjizzzz. I was fooling nobody, my Portuguese clearly needed work.

My first glance at Lisbon was rainy, at the airport. Everywhere is glum in the rain, but I could still see the Mediterranean flair and the tourist signs and English decorated busses. I taxied to Parque das Nações, once again feeling the Paloma Blanca was flying nearby - ocean side, high rise hotels with shiny silver signs, franchise coffee shops and modern architecture from Vasco da Gama tower, as far as the eye could see.

In the other direction, the beauty of the 25 de Abril bridge, so close to Golden Gate in design it just missed the fog to be an identical twin. Lisbon had a holiday feel, even in this post-Expo business hub of new Lisbon.

I could easily have stayed anywhere along this strip. A business area new-build with all mod cons, it was a sure thing. But I had a feeling I might be missing something, and I took the gamble to head inner city and spend the night in the old part of Lisbon.

This was not what I expected. Vasco da Gama might appear Barceloneta-like but the glitz stops at the sea front and the concrete slabbed roads turn to cobbled pathways and tired tramlines. Grandeur ended and the Lisbon I uncovered, albeit briefly, was crumbled and flaked and yawning in a way I experienced Budapest and Belgrade, for the first time. But I was so glad to see it. Like stripping back wallpaper to find original art or knocking off plater to find old tiles and cornices. 

Staying in Nações I could have been in any tourist city, anywhere in modern Europe. Just 15 minutes in a cab, I was steeped in a history I am now dying to explore, to return and wander through catch clunky trams and climb twisted streets, visit tiny shops that have bells that ring when you open a door, and old men sitting outside with coffee and cigarettes. 

Time hasn't fully caught up with Lisbon. You want to arm yourself with a DIY team, spruce up the broken plaster and give Lisbon a lick of paint. I hope the government does that, in the right way. There is beauty and culture than needs protected for future history. But the city is vast and it will take time.

A new start is spreading, however. My own hotel, opened in June, The Beautique has taken dilapidation to innovative decadent design, the polar opposite of anything else on Praça da Figueira. 

Beautifully restored facades, freshly painted in green, it pops out of the square's grey and cream walls. Inside, walls and surfaces appear like liquid mercury, draping around rooms like Dali cheese clocks, fluid and inviting and bathed in sexy low lights and cool tunes. Upstairs, modern technology takes over and wraps corridors in HD holograms of figs, as a continuum of the fig frescos that dominate the mirror and walnut rooms. A little corner of modern luxury on an imposing plaza of history. It's minutes from the new town, but miles from what I first encountered on the doorstep of the airport, by the sea.

A quick city tour fed my craving for the real thing. Lisbon is statuesque, dark and alluring and full of intrigue. A city now placed firmly in my bucket list to come back, explore and fall in love.

'Til next time, Pandora