Summer with Roberto

I love a little bit of Roberto Cavalli every now and then... And summer is definitely the best season to show off his signature prints and fabulous shades. His one-off range at H&M sold out in only a few days but with his Just Cavalli label now available on www.asos.com getting your mitts on the man is easier than ever...

But my must-have Cavalli item this season has to be his gold-rimmed Cavalli aviators, for only £199.00

Yes, there's no doubt his vision is glamorous and his designs play with excess. Nothing less can be said of his preferred modes of transport. Check out his 41-metre iridescent yacht valued at €25million - a favourite float of Cavalli's famous friends the Beckams, Mariah, Mischa and Paris, to name just a few.

Ahhh, Roberto... you're a star!

Tickle me pick and call me Employed

That's right my friends, come Monday morning I will be the new Team Assistant to the design consultancy sector of a corporate PR firm, 'Company X'.*

And the best bit is, I actually want to work there...

The company is dynamic, the role challenging and the job spec sought an "enthusiastic, presentable and literate person" - quite frankly, this position screamed ME!

Located just down the road from the Tower of London (gorgeous location and my childhood obsession with the Tudors and Anne Boleyn's losing her head will be re-energised daily), the offices are super chic and they subsidise my gym membership. With hour-and-a-half lunch breaks there'll be ample time to pop over to the nearby Fitness First for a quick cross-trainer session or spin class. At £25K per annum, I can't wait to start.

* With my future employers and co-workers in mind, I have decided to keep the company's name under wraps.

Fit Chicks

Fellow fitness aficionados have ya’ll heard about ‘mallercise’? How about FitFlops? Well it’s time to listen up.

While I’ve always argued that shopping is a sport – and retail is the only therapy worth paying for – now through the wonder of footwear design I truly can skip the gym and head to Liberty’s!

According to marieclaire.co.uk ‘mallercise’ is the latest craze to sweep the States: groups of women convening at the mall to lunge up and down escalators and perform squats while their transactions process. And while I tend to avoid department stores like the plague (for me it’s boutiques and streetfront stores all the way) the news that 30 minutes of power purchasing can burn up to 200 calories is enough to motivate me to take to Selfridges this weekend.

And...

Developed by expert bio-mechanics Dr. David Cook and Darren James at the Centre for Human Performance at LSBU in London, the FitFlop promises a high-intensity workout while you walk. Designed to load your leg muscles and tone your bums and thighs these new wonder shoes have managed to stand up to some serious judging (pairs were sent to the who’s who of the beauty world in both the UK and USA with positive results allround) – as soon as I scrounge together the £36 I’ll be heading down to London stockists Sweaty Betty for my very first pair… in black!

Give me the Ear Plugs

Boy-oh-boy do I feel old. Old and severely short on body art and facial studs.

Why this sudden ancient-awareness? Because yesterday I was asked to chaperone three fourteen-year-old boys at the Give It A Name annual British rock concert – a hard-core, punk rock, two-day festival where barely pubescent teens covered in tattoos and body piercings bounce around and form mosh pits – and within a mere moment of stepping inside its Earls Court exhibition centre locale, I was shaking my head in disdain.

‘Bad’ doesn’t even begin to cover it – it was horrendous! Boyfriend accompanied me and along with the father of another young boy we took to some seats on the sidelines and began twiddling our thumbs. We had almost ten hours before ‘curfew’ and hadn’t thought to bring the Sunday paper or a trashy novel to pass the time. Add to the noise that was blaring from the two stages, watching these young kids made me want to cry. Girls who may have been quite pretty covering their faces in Goth makeup, teasing their hair into knotted tangles and wearing torn lingerie… did their parents really know they left the house like that?

The standard dress of the boys was tight black jeans and a tight black-T, depicting one of the various bands taking to the stage that weekend. Boyfriend was surprised at the number of effeminate boys present but it was the number of overweight kids took me aback. Seriously, these kids were chugging down Red Bulls and cans of Coke and stuffing their faces with Pizza Express – no wonder they were caking their faces in white concealer!

I sounded like my mother – although neither my mother nor my father ever had to worry about me turning my punk rock down – but how could anyone call the continuous yelling and hoarse-screams coming from the stage ‘music’? And how on earth did those singers manage to perform day after day when they were treating their voices so poorly?

Hour after hour us ‘guardians’ would share sad glances, counting the time down and rueing the day we agreed to tag along. But the worst part of it was that we were locked in. No ‘pass outs’ meant we were cooped inside for the whole nine hours, except of course if we wanted to go out for a cigarette and share three-squared metres of sunlight with a bunch of teens puffing on nicotine sticks, cause they’re Oh So Cool! Pity neither of us smoke.

But the boys had fun. In their words the day was “seriously cool” and the bands “awesome” – and when punk comes to shove, that’s what really matters…

A week in review

Forgive this week’s lack of entries; I’ve been a busy girl. There has been schmoozing with PR, epic tube journeys across London rushing from one recruitment interview to the next, two preview film screenings and a Nick Cave concert… and I just sold my very first item on eBay! Living Out Life has left precious little time to blog.

On the job front things are progressing slowly. Today I’m covering reception at a publishing house near Sloane Square and looking forward to sashaying down the King’s Road in my lunch hour – might even pop into some designer stores and pretend I have money. And I’ve been offered an interview for real job next week, although having also been offered a temp/ongoing role to start Monday I’m tossing up whether £9 per hour in the hand is worth more than holding out for a possible £25K + benefits! Hmmm…

Wednesday’s coffee meeting with two PRs went rather well. On only my second ‘official’ day as a freelancer I was offered an array of press trips – Wales, France, Portugal and even an eleven night cruise in Tahiti! Best of all I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission to go… Yes, there are definitely benefits to forging ahead on your own.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds playing at the old Hammersmith Apollo was certainly a highlight for the week. The post-punk supergroup belted out songs old and new, while promoting their most recent album release, Dig Lazarus Dig! Attending with my cousin, we cheered on our Aussie compatriots with a bit of woo-hoo here and whistles there; my eardrums were ringing well into the wee hours. The only disappointment was Cave’s fluffing the lyrics in Into My Arms – Oh, and the absence of Kylie and her Wild Roses.

Both film screenings were independent productions and evoked as expected quizzical stares and comments from the members of the audience. Tuesday evening’s L‘Heure d’été (Summer Hours) starring Juliette Binoche was charming, honest and supremely French. The women were beautiful but natural, not a speck of make-up just good cleansed skin and a customary cigarette in hand; the men, not too stocky nor too trend-driven. Classic cinema… although sadly, without much beat.

Last night’s Belgian offering, Ben X was nothing if not utterly disturbing. Focussing on the angst of an autistic teenager who lives most of his life out in the fantasy of his favourite computer game Archlord, the film explores bullying at its most evil extreme. While the end attempted to bring closure and a comeuppance for his adversaries boyfriend and I had to force ourselves to swallow our dinner of noodles in Chinatown, the film having done its best to ruin the appetites of viewers.

And then there was my success in online sales. After more than five years as a purchaser I finally sold my first item: given that it was a beauty cream I was given by a fellow mag slag I’ll leave said-product unnamed, suffice to say with a retail value of £125, bidding closed at just over £80. Score! Now I just have to figure out how this whole PayPal thing works and I’ll be able to send my dear winner their prize.

So there we have it, my week in review. May I just say a big thank you to the Care Bears in the sky who have blessed us Londoners will sunny skies this past week – if it can hold out for the weekend, we’d all be much obliged.

So long Bazaar

The time has come. It’s official. Today at 1730 hours the Intern will be leaving National Magazine House… to go forth ‘freelance’ into the big bad world.

It has been a crazy, fun-filled eight months. Many highs, the occasional low, lots of copy and a multitude of hours spent on LexisNexis, The Red Pages and Fashion Monitor trying to find out this bit and that, for what’s its and who’s its. I only wish I could stay.

But, I have drawn a line in my imaginary sandpit and am calling it a day. From next week I’ll be interviewing like a vampire, pitching like Babe Ruth and Beautcamping my booty to while away the hours.

In honour of my last day the features team took me along to Yauatcha, the dim sum delight restaurant catering to Soho’s rich and fabulous. Having been taken there last Friday by a PR, I skilfully ordered the Crispy Duck Salad – with a Thai Lime dressing, fresh rocket and a sprinkling of pomegranate seeds – and Salt and Pepper Squid… Yum!

In true BAZAAR fashion on my last day I am manning the PA to the editor’s desk: organising her diary for her long weekend in New York, arranging her blow dry, manicure and make-up and coordinating the revamp of an Armani number ready for her night out at the MET on Monday – it’s the Metropolitan Costume Institute Benefit Gala, Superhero-style. Oh to be a bat on the belfry that night!

Yauatcha
15-17 Broadwick Street

London W1F 0DL

Tel: 020 7494 8888

Dedication to Daisy

When times are tough you turn to your friends. They’re the ones who support you, who tell you that you’re fabulous when you need to hear it and tell you to shut up when you’re whining is getting you nowhere!

Living overseas is a true test of friendship and in my experience I’ve found it has both made and broken ties with some friends I’ve had for years and even new ones gained along the way. Email is fantastic. £5 calling cards that give more than 2000 minutes phone time to landlines are the bomb! Friends who surprise you with midday chats just because they miss you… they’re the best.

Now I’m not implying that I think less of the friends who don’t call - and to be honest I often prefer being the one to dial… at least then I know I’m available to chat given the hideous time difference between Sydney, New York and London – and I often think relationships fed via Facebook and email can be just as rewarding and in-depth, but thanks should be given to those who take that extra time to call o/s, today’s thanks go to Daisy.

For those that know Miss D – cue laugh.

And while more often than not her phone calls come just as I’m in the middle of writing copy, transcribing for my editor or completing some other VIP intern task seeing her caller-ID always makes me smile. Then her stories make me laugh.

We’ll squeal, share the dirty laundry that’s piled up since our last conversation and make grand plans to catch up in some odd location or another. Last June we enjoyed a dalliance in Miami – three days worth of vodka chambulls beachside/poolside and even a short stint at an R&B club – now we’re working out the nitty-gritty of hiding me in her suitcase on her work trip from Paris to Venice.

So thank you Daisy… for making the 16997 kilometres between London and Sydney seem not very far at all…