Thursday last week was definitely a day straight out of the la la land - the perfect mix of Devil Wears Prada and Ugly Betty. The Intern attended her first press lunch, paraded around in £2,000-heels, and was schmoozed by the owner of a luxury-Indian hotel chain (no, that’s not an oxymoron… they really do have swish hotels).But let’s start at the very beginning…
It’s a law of Murphy, that Very Important Days (VIDs) will be thwart with unforeseen problems. They’re the days that you lose your house keys, the days you miss the train or bus or that last cab before the cabbies 3pm-changeover… Thursday was the day I got dressed in the dark – literally.
With a visiting friend bunking in my bed for a week, I woke quietly, left for my run noiselessly, returned and got dressed silently; not wanting to wake my house guest. The result? My outfit consisted of perhaps my oldest white T-shirt, a sloppy grey cardie, and my skinny jeans that aren’t so skinny anymore and tend to bag in the bum area. Oh, and flats. I had chosen flats over heels so that I’d make less noise when rummaging around the house.
The first hour at the mag was business as usual – busy, but good. Then the deputy travel editor asked if I wouldn’t mind going to a press breakfast that she just had, “no time to make.” It was 10.45am and she was already an hour late. But she assured me that they would wait to meet with me, if I could, “just spare an hour…” Sure. Why not? I was going to represent the magazine. Awesome. It was only then that the travel editor commented that I also had, “that posh lunch” on. What? Posh lunch? Huh?
At that moment my stomach lurched and I remembered that it was in fact Thursday, and that I had said that I’d attend a press lunch for the launch of a new luxury yacht. But I had never been told it was posh. Imagine all the frenzy of the movies – there was shrieking, and heads popping up over desk cubicles asking what was wrong, commenting on my attire (and offering helpful hints!) And there was me. Standing in the middle of the room, in baggy jeans and a crappy-T. My face bright red. “To the fashion cupboard!” was the general consensus. “Like anything will fit me!” was my retort.
But luckily, while sample clothes are only an intsy-wintsy size-6, sample shoes are size 39-41. Models have big feet! So, I paraded around for a blissful few moments in a gorgeous pair of Balenciaga’s (retail: more than £2,000), and a funky pair of black Louboutin’s (about £1,000) that I was almost given permission to traipse around town in, until the fashion department realised that the shoes had yet to be worn on shoot, and that it would be a bit hard to explain their scuffed-heels to Mr Louboutin’s people… So, I donned a lovely fitted black jacket (size-8!) and told myself that my flats went "fine" with my outfit. After all, I was going to have to mission around town, wearing heels would just have been silly.
First stop was the Covent Garden Hotel, to be chatted-up by the owner of the Indian hotel chain. They had recently launched a cruise ship, and wanted to know if I was interested in going on a press trip there next March? Ummm, “Yes please!” Not quite sure that I’ll end up going on that one, but for now, I will dream.
Then it was off to the stunningly-refurbished One Aldwich Hotel, for a short presentation on the new liner (a 280 passenger yacht, with a staff-to-guest ratio of 1:1), followed by a three-course lunch, and wine, lotsa wine.
After 3 hours I thought it best to skip dessert and head back to the office, after all, battling through the late afternoon when you have piles of work to finish and you’re ever so slightly heady from your red wine, is not the best kind of fun. But, if I’m honest, I didn’t care one bit about staying till after the sun had set. Because on that day I had gone from Intern to Assistant (as far as the PR-peeps were concerned) – I had been wined-and-dined, and tried on shoes worth more than my whole wardrobe. Bring on Prada, baby!
After 3 hours I thought it best to skip dessert and head back to the office, after all, battling through the late afternoon when you have piles of work to finish and you’re ever so slightly heady from your red wine, is not the best kind of fun. But, if I’m honest, I didn’t care one bit about staying till after the sun had set. Because on that day I had gone from Intern to Assistant (as far as the PR-peeps were concerned) – I had been wined-and-dined, and tried on shoes worth more than my whole wardrobe. Bring on Prada, baby!
NB: The Intern apologises for her absence last week but she thought it prudent to give herself a break – to stoke the creative fire that is her brain – after all, she’s just past the 60-entry mark! Impressive, no?!
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