Honing hubris

Job searching in the rain really sucks. But given that I handed in my resignation to Bazaar on Monday I’m left with very few options.

I’ve bitten the bullet and am preparing to take the bull by its horns… if there were another hideous cliché that I could think of believe me, I’d write that down too. Why the hostility? Because I just returned from yet another interview where the interviewer asked the motivation behind my planned move into the PA world; and I couldn’t lie.

If only I could respond to this totally expected and not out of the ordinary question – posed by every single employer in any industry since employment began – with a doe-eyed smile and protestations of my love for organising, regaling my childhood dream to one day answer someone else’s phone, open someone else’s mail, arrange someone else’s holidays and hotel stays and make tea and coffee for some one else. If only I could say all those things with a straight face… I’d be fine.

But the girl in me who sat through five years of a Comm/Law degree and who has spent the past twelve months working her butt off to break into the magazine industry just refuses to propitiate their request. So as it stands, from next Monday I will be officially unemployed.

Unofficially I’m going freelance. So in between office temp roles and job interviews I’ll be madly pitching to mags here in the UK and back in Aus.*

Wish me luck!

*Any commissions (obviously) would be gladly received

To The Manor Born

Oh to be an aristocrat, to dine and wine amid priceless heirlooms, to sleep in oversized beds with far-too-fluffy pillows and to be brought bottled water by a butler when you find yourself parched mid-run on the treadmill!

That's right, I spent yet another weekend (sadly my last for this story) at one of England’s most luxurious manor houses. Now in the collection of the National Trust, this five-star hotel offers the best of worlds old and new. Under obligation to keep all refurbishments in line with the history of the house the rooms and décor today look just as they did more than a century ago – with the main building dating back to the 17th century.

Girlfriend and I took to the grandeur like ducks to water – she ate the duck later that evening on a bed of balsamic-infused beetroot and potato rosti with roasted spring vegetables – strolling around the grounds (the house set amid 376 acres of formal gardens and parklands, only 30 minutes from the centre of London and bordering the Thames River) and even taking a dip in their outdoor pool. Yes, the weather decided to brighten for us on Sunday and bikini-clad we embraced the sunshine after sweating it out on the cross trainer and treadmill in their small but serviceable members and guests’ gymnasium.

It was this morning, in our bid to fit in another gym session, a buffet breakfast and a Swedish massage before departing on our 11.44am train back to London Paddington that we were forced to ring the bell for our butler to bring us two bottles of Hilden, still not sparkling.

I’ve come to notice over the past month of luxing-it-up at proper English manor hotels that their staff really are a cut above; able to effect the perfect blend of service and charm. They’re confident without being condescending and eager to please without broaching the oppressive. We particularly liked being escorted through the maze of corridors by tall, dark and handsomes wearing their tux and tails. You gotta love a good Englishman!

The time has come

I haven’t been completely open and honest of late. I guess you might argue that I’ve been going behind your backs a bit. I apologise.

It’s not that I don’t love you. I do. But while I’m ever the optimist and am happy to live on tinned vegetables and tap water (really, honestly I am) unfortunately, I also have to pay rent. And the boyfriend won’t let me pay our new landlord in kind…

So, after eight long months as Intern at Bazaar, the time has come for me to venture into more profitable pastures. You see, the Intern will soon become, The P.A.

Shudder.

Ironically, while I had thought this a step down on my staircase to Editor-in-Chief (because I will get there one day, I promise you!) according to the recruitment companies I’ve been meeting with in the past couple of weeks, my five year BA Communications / LLB Law degree, three years office management back in Australia and almost 18 months of editorial internships both in the USA and UK isn’t actually enough to qualify me to answer phones and manage an Outlook diary.

Yep. My CV as it was just didn’t instil faith in employers seeking personal assistants that I might be able to handle organising their busy lives. Ummm, what the?

So my CV now reads like the to-do list of a highly neurotic OCD-sufferer. My ‘responsibilities’ at Bazaar now include (to list a few):

Answer phones
Sort and distribute mail
Organise Outlook diary for senior staff
Arrange travel and accommodation for senior staff both within the UK and overseas
Create PowerPoint presentations and Excel documents

Apparently they don’t care that I contribute copy and commission writers. They don’t want to know that I’ve represented the magazine on press trips and at launches; they may want to know that I can research things… but that might make them savvy to the fact that my childhood dream was not in fact becoming their P.A. Seriously, I have to present myself as longing for the chance to answer phones and organise meetings – that my life’s ambition is to be at their beck and call.

Now signed with three agencies, I’m waiting for my agents do work their magic. With any luck I’ll be interviewing next week and I may just be able to pay rent next month, but at the moment… Computer says no.

Show me the Proof

A mini milestone was reached today... I received my first Harper's BAZAAR proof copy to sign off on. In all its two-page, A3-sized glory I was handed 1st proofs from subs upon which I was to give my tick of approval.

It was all very exciting. But more exciting was seeing my name in print. Admittedly it's only a gutter line credit - they be the vertical ones hidden in the page's fold - but it's 'words by...' my name within the pages of one of the UK's top women's magazines. You can be sure that I'll be sending copies back home to the fam...

So I dutifully poured through every line, making sure no facts had been changed in the subbing process, cross-checking prices for products and basically getting drunk on 'words by me'!

I know (read: hope) the time will come when I'm signing off proofs on a daily basis, when my name will have pride of place further up the masthead and when I'll be contributing features as opposed to mere snippets of copy but until that time I kinda like this feeling of excitement. I know I've earned it.

Short and Sweet Southampton

I once joked to my mother that she and my father were doing their best to spend my inheritance, given their penchant for cruises and their recent upgrade to Cunard Cruise Line’s Platinum membership… Her reply, “Yes darling, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Fair enough - they’ve been married for thirty-two years, raised and sent to private schools their three (intelligent, fashion-conscious) daughters – why shouldn’t they indulge in some seafaring fun?

Yesterday I managed to catch up with them for an ever-so-brief lunch down in Southampton: cue James Horner’s musical score from Titanic as my train pulled in to Southampton Central. That morning they had disembarked off Cunard’s newest liner, the Queen Victoria (having visited among other places Malaysia, India, Dubai, Egypt, the Suez Canal, Greece, Italy, Spain and Portugal!) and by 3.45pm they were to be onboard the Queen Mary, setting sail for New York.

Having last seen them back in Sydney over Christmas there were no tears, although embraces were firm and full of love – nothing beats a bear hug from your Mumma and Pappa. However, our time was to be shared with another couple they had met on a previous cruise three years ago, the five of us supping sauvignon blanc at a chic pub/restaurant overlooking the water.

Far too quickly our time was up and we scuttled across to the dock, ready for them to board. Mumma presented me with a bag of goodies and we took a final few photos to commemorate the occasion. It wasn’t until I was home and unpacking my bag of treats that I discovered the pièce de résistance, a box of individually wrapped Cunard chocolates (the kind they place on passenger’s pillows in the turndown service) – about 300 of them.

Thank you parents! I’ll indulge in one each night before I rest my head to make me think of you…

Weekend Delights

I think I just had the perfect weekend. Now I know that I’ve been slummin’ it lately, hotels and spa treatments and such, but this weekend past I stayed in the city… and loved it!

It started with a chop. Yes, I (well, my hairdresser actually…) cut off my almost waist length hair, died it chocolate and scrunched it up. Enough of Miss Neat, it’s all about the tousled mane this summer.

After this hair-liberation I travelled south to see The Boy. And while most men would opt for a girlfriend with long and luscious hair, mine was more than happy to see my new-do. It seems being smothered by my tresses as he sleeps had finally lost its appeal. He even suggested taking me out for wine and a cheese plate to celebrate the occasion. Bless his cotton socks.

Saturday we slept in; a total indulgence. I met with a girlfriend for a coffee and a catch up in a funky little café off Balham High Street, Bertie and Boo, with brightly painted walls and old school desks for tables (see pic above). Then I set off for the gym, burnt a whopping 700 calories doing 50 minutes interval training on the cross-trainer (my new favourite past time) and headed back over to the boyfriend’s to watch DVDs and devour a pack of Minstrels – it’s all about balance!

On Sunday we once again ditched the alarm in favour of being woken by sunlight, I gymed-it again (this time peddling out a mere 300 cals on the bike… so not wasting my time on that piece of machinery again) and ventured up north to a friend’s place for a much anticipated Sunday Roast. Four couples, lots of wine, amazing pate and cheeses from Islington’s to-die-for delicatessen, Ottolenghi, and girlfriend’s roast chicken with rosemary, baked sweet potato and walnuts and her rocket, parmesan, avocado and pine nut salad… We were fat and happy little ducks come home time.

Seriously, as weekends go, aren’t you jealous?

Ottolenghi

287 Upper Street, Islington, London N1 2TZ

Tel: 020 7288 1454

Sainted

Carnaby Street offers an array of retail havens, which is part of the reason why I barricade myself within the Natmags walls every lunchtime... but, just around the corner from our offices a store has opened to weaken my resolve. All Saints. It's a chain, yes, but it's 'almost' boutique.*

Currently in my online basket...

Estelle-puck skinny jeans in black, £90.00 with Duchess cardigan in grey marl, £70.00

available at www.allsaintsshop.co.uk or www.asos.com

* The BAZAAR fashion girls would tar-and-feather me should they read this!

A little bit of Sh!

Last night’s event celebrated 16 years of Sh! The first (and only) truly female focussed Women’s Erotic Emporium. Where dildos and strap-ons and condoms and flavoured lubes have pride of place on the shelves – out of their boxes and ready to play with.

A feat for females everywhere… well maybe for some.

To be honest, girlfriend and I accepted our invitation primarily for their offer of bottomless champagne; with an afterthought of the promised goodie bag. Once there, I was pleasantly surprised by the number of older women among the guests. It’s nice to think that women in their fifties and sixties, after menopause has come and gone, still see a need for 'Jessica' Rabbit.

While I was an eager drama student at school, role plays in the bedroom have never really been my thing: PVC costumes that threaten third-degree burns should your pheromone-fuelled candle accidentally let off a spark have failed to hold any appeal. Maybe it’s my Catholic school upbringing – although, I think not – but personally ‘additions’ in the bedroom tend to ruin the mood for me. I like spontaneity and trolling through my knickers draw for my vibrator just isn’t the foreplay I’m after.

But each to their own, and all (battery) power to them!

Sh! products are designed and made in the UK and available online at www.sh-womenstore.com

Pressing Events

The amount of invitations editors get sent for launches, lunches and Champagne celebrations is just silly. Silly that is, to those not invited. But there is, most certainly, a ranking order when it comes to press events…

I will concede that it would be physically impossible for editors to attend every event and that the novelty of a free lunch can wear thin after time, but I’m still at a stage where invitations addressed to moi get me all giddy.

Be it attending the Tommy TV launch today (tommytv.com) with a bunch of ultra thin, über cool music and fashionados, or grabbing the goodie bags at the launch of a new lingerie label, I still get a thrill at signing my name for Harper’s BAZAAR and indulging in the complementary cocktails.

Next week I have two coffee dates, a lunch at one of our editor’s favourite London restaurants and have even scored a free blow-dry, complete with personal car pickup to take me from work to the salon. Too much? I think not.

Maybe in a few years I’ll become jaded. Maybe the free calories will start to show too clearly on my waistline… maybe the Champagne will begin to give me a headache.

Maybe.

But I hope not.

The Royal Treatment

Organised? Yes. Clean and tidy? I believe I am. A Practical Princess? Not quite.

Last year I babysat for a lady who had recently engaged the help of four members of Elika Gibbs organising service, Practical Princess, to un-clutter the chaos that was her £100K-plus wardrobe.

The result was nothing short of breathtaking. Her closet – already larger than my bedroom – had been transformed. There was a wall of stacked shoe boxes with digital images of their designer contents facing out for easy picking, two walls of neatly hung couture, folded cashmere cardigans arranged in colour order and four shelves devoted to her Balenciaga, Chanel and Prada handbags. And this was just her winter wardrobe. Her summer clothes were ‘archived’, plastic wrapped and safely stored in their attic.

It had taken four women a full six days to create this closet of perfection, but only one woman to purchase it all in the first place!

Gibbs began her business after realising a gap in the market for the super wealthy and their wardrobe malfunctions. Having spent years as a stylist at her dress and hire shop Bodie and Gibbs she had become accustomed to transforming these women for their A-list events and was increasingly asked to accompany them shopping to help revamp their look. And so began Practical Princess.

Based on her statistic that most people wear 20% of their wardrobe 80% of the time, Gibbs encourages women to say goodbye to the old and unused in a bid make the most out of your clothes. This bespoke service, complete with consultation, revamp, photographic cataloguing and even post-perfection personal shopping aims to turn a mere wardrobe into a personal boutique – at a cost, of course.*

For those of us not made of moola, you can purchase her helpful storing devices online, including hangers, folding templates, draw liners and dividers and even your own shoe labelling software – may you never again dig in desperation for your favourite (long-lost) Manolos!

As the anal retentive, fashion-afflicted girl I am, I too hope to one day join the ranks of the Practical Princesses before me… For now though I’ll have to arrange and catalogue my closet of H&M and Primark all on my own.

*Prices upon application (+44 (0) 20 7371 0276, www.practicalprincess.com)

A Stone’s throw

Another weekend, another spa… This time, however, I cavorted with a fellow mag girl, the two of us making the trip up to Edinburgh to stay at one of Scotland’s grandest old hotels.

Only six miles out from the city, this early 19th century manor house opened a brand new ESPA spa and health club back in January, and this lucky lady got treated to the Full Body Chakra. New to the world of massage indulgence, the 90-minute treatment, complete with essential oils (chosen by moi after sensory tests decided what my body needed), hot stones, scalp massage and facial scrub took me to a place I quite truly, have never been before. Finally, I was able to reach a state of ‘hypnosis’ – it was just a pity that my hypnotherapist was all the way back in London!


With my girlfriend opting for a half-hour treatment we met back in their relaxation room, totally giddy and utterly well-rested. We’d worked out in their health club prior to the treatment - sweating it out on the treadmill and cross-trainer, and even vibrating our bodies through a mini-Power Plate® session - so we were feeling nothing short of transformed.

The best way to celebrate? Why, with a complimentary three-course meal and a bottle of Argentinean viognier from San Juan. Naturally.

And to balance out the next day’s breakfast buffet (namely my choice of the ‘Big’ breakfast with added smoked salmon and a second helping from the cheese plate) we woke early to first endure thirty minutes on the bike, ten minutes in the sauna and a splash in their hydrotherapy pool…

Add to that it was a ‘free’ weekend in the city centre, celebrating Historic Scotland, so we managed to wander around, in my opinion, one of the world’s most beautiful cities and check out the local castles and attractions, all for nada. Had it not been for EasyJet’s hour and a half flight delay and a further hour wait for our train home from Gatwick (stumbling through the door just after 2am), it would have been the perfect girls’ weekend.

Lusting after...

Twenty8Twelve

The brainchild of über cool fashionistas Sienna and Savannah Miller, Twenty8Twelve offers a range of high fashion pieces, specialising in formal tailoring and quality denim. I am currently coveting:

Twenty8Twelve by s. miller Cropped Tuxedo Jacket, £230.00

Twenty8Twelve by s. miller Button Front Hi-Waist Wide Leg Trousers, £175.00

both available at www.asos.com

The Power Outfit

Yesterday I interviewed a woman who, together with her husband, is trying to change the face of the London pub scene. She's turning dingy dives into chic establishments, fit for us stylish Londoners...

But styling interiors comes at a cost: comfort. So she's a self-confessed jeans gal... except when she's going into a big meeting. Then she dons her spiked stilettos and fitted skirt. And she's ready to take on the world!

A good outfit can give you the confidence to do things you might normally shy away from. Be it attending an interview, your first day at a new job or a party where your ex will be (or worse, his new girlfriend). As a woman, this go get'em get up usually involves a short skirt and invariably a pair of killer heals. But this isn't a random combination. It's mathematical...

short skirt + sky high heals = longer legs + toned calves

And guys think there's not method to our shopping madness! Clearly we've been right all along.

Boyfriend did, however, give me a voucher the other day to one of my old retail haunts, H&M (because he's such a lovely guy!). But as it has been a while since I've allowed myself the luxury of shopping, it was with some trepidation that I scoped out the aisles - like an addict being faced with the source of their habit - and then I came across a very funky dress. I had an important meeting today and this dress was just what I needed.

Paired with black tights and my patent leather ankle boots I looked fab. But more importantly, I felt like a million dollars. Or at least a few hundred quid. Now I just want the chance to wear it again!

Wishing for White lies

I like to think of myself as an honest person. Apparently, I'm too honest. How so, you ask?

For our recent rental application (yep, that gorgeous little Balham flat I spoke of two weeks ago)I was asked to fill out my financial details. After a quick phone call to boyfriend we both agreed that it was best for me to tell the truth - a sign of good faith, if you will.

So I neatly penned my response -

Employer: Harper's BAZAAR*

Job title: Features Intern

Yearly income: £5,200

* as the HR at Natmags don't actually know I exist, cheers!

A few lines down the form requested information about any supplement income. I wrote -

Nannying: £10,400 p.a. (£200 p.w.)

This grandiose total gets me to £15,600 - and if I'm brutally honest even this sum has been exaggerated. As it turns out the estate agent only requested my managing editor sign and fax over confirmation of my pay details at BAZAAR so I could just as easily have put my wage as a 'reasonable' £18,000 p.a. - I had worried she may request bank statements. She did however call me last Friday to ask for the contact details of my nannying family.

Once again, I had the perfect opportunity to give the name and number of a friend, Mr or Mrs X, who would attest to my kind nature and to the fact that I 'regularly' babysit for them three nights a week at a rate of £200 per week. But no, I gave her the details of the mother of one of my families who was currently overseas. Upon hanging up I frantically texted said mother, trying to make light of my situation... and praying for a sympathetic reply.

This afternoon, having not yet heard back, I called and left a ever so convoluted voice message apologising for putting her in the situation and stressing how incredibly thankful I'd be if she could help me out. A half hour later she texted to say that it was 'fine' for them to call her once she and the family returned to London. I hate text messages, they're tone is so open to interpretation...

I'm going to try and stay positive and believe that my good intentions will be rewarded with signed confirmation from our agent that we can move in as planned come 24 May... And that my babysitting mother is indeed more than happy to go 'on the record'.

Because I truly believe that I'm a good person. And by golly I know I deserve a break!

Living it up in Luxury's Lap

Imagine if you will the lush, rolling hills of the English countryside. Sheep and cows in their paddocks grazing and a large manor house taking pride of place surrounded by acres of manicured gardens, woodlands and a 16th century stable house.

That's where I spent the weekend. Or rather, my alter ego, The Freelancer, and her 'husband'* did.

Working on one of my US freelance gigs - finer details must be kept under wraps until publication - boyfriend and I took last Friday afternoon off to drive up north and stay two nights at a luxury hotel as part of a Six of the Best country escapes.

While we were met with eager smiles by the hotel staff, the Lady of the House seemed to take offence at boyfriend's choice of footwear, her disapproving glare suggesting she'd never before seen sneakers in her establishment - having spent the past six months in the London mag scene my already mild Australian accent has become accustomed to lilting into 'proper' English, boyfriend, however, doesn't take well to (apparent) snobbery and it took a little gentle nudging to keep him from taking the woman down! - Thankfully, in my capacity as 'journalist' I was forgiven my unkempt partner and together we were given a guided tour of the newly refurbished 16th century mansion.

Its decor celebrating a gloriously rich history (and a fair few royal connections), we followed our guide through a maze of passageways and across the hall to the 'Old Wing' where lay our £799-a-night, split level suite; complete with a bottle of champagne, on ice, in honour of our arrival.

Two dinners (with wine and all the extras), buffet breakfasts, a Swedish massage and 18-holes of golf later our bill should have tallied to more than £1,800... we paid a little over £120. We had also taken time out to sweat in the steam room, do laps in their mosaic tiled-pool and lazed in the Jacuzzi. Oh, and received a copy of The Times each morning to peruse at our leisure...

Quite simply, we were spoilt - rotten. Next weekend I'm off to Edinburgh with a girlfriend to review yet another five-star abode... The lesson to be learnt? Pitch stories you get something great out of!

* Due to some email miscommunication boyfriend was referred to as 'Mr Intern' for the weekend.... only fitting I would think given that it was my savvy pitching that got him his round on the golf course and unbridled access to the culinary buffet!

Pitch Perfect

Had a bit of a cracker of an afternoon... pitched ideas to two editors and got both gigs. In the world of the Intern, this is pretty great news.

Freelancing assignments are generally hard to get. Developing relationships with editors is key but often getting the chance to meet these people is challenging enough. It's all about getting your foot in the door... the saying boils my blood but is undoubtedly true.

Lucky for me BAZAAR has two forums: with my left foot in the magazine and my right tap, taping in the Web I eagerly await calls from PR about new clients and scan the mail for press releases on upcoming events, all in the hope for that one ‘new’ idea. Something that I can take, spin around and angle ‘just right’ in order to land an assignment. In this industry one thing you just can’t do is sit back and wait for someone to hand you a story on a platter.

And even if you’re eager and your idea is a great one, when you’re the Intern on the block it’s not unusual for your editor to take your idea - make it better - and hand it off to one of their regular contributors to write. It’s not personal. It’s business.

With four of my recent assignments set to be launched on the website at the end of April, you’ll soon be able to read my ‘real stuff’ at Harpersbazaar.co.uk and hopefully my byline will be appearing on BAZAAR’s glossy pages in the not too distant future too… I’m taking it one pitch at a time.

Spring's Luxe for Less

Okay, so Gladiator sandals are hardly a new wardrobe must-have but this season calls for height, so enter...

The Heeled Gladiator Sandal

Luxe

Styles start at £300, try www.matchesfashion.com or if you’re in Paris…
156, galerie de Valois Jardins du Palais Royal – 75001 Paris
boutique@pierrehardy.com
Tel: 33 (0)1 42 60 59 75

Less

ASOS Leather Heavy Gladiator Sandals, £55.00
www.asos.com