My Home Among the Gumtrees...

After almost six weeks in London, I have finally settled on an abode. May I start by saying 'thank you,' to my friends that put me up over these past weeks... 'Cheers, guys!'

What I love about London is that when you arrive you know you'll at least find a bed/floor space somewhere, somehow, and soon. I've coined it the Heathrow-Handover... because once you pass those gates, it's like Australia hands you over to the first Aussie you meet. Here, if a friend-of-a-friend, or your Uncle's cousin's dog-walker lives in London, you don't question yourself when asking them for a place to rest your weary head. You may never have met them, you might not even like your Uncle's cousin (or your Uncle!), but you're in London, and you're Aussie, and it's well... just watcha do!

But when you're wanting a more permanent residence, it's time to head for the gumtrees (or gumtree.com). This is a fabo site where Aussies, Saffas, Kiwis and even some Poms, advertise their rooms, flats, houses or their wears to sell, or jobs to offer. You name it, and you can find it on gumtree.com. The shame of it is, that everyone else in London knows about Gumtree too. Over the past few weeks my computer may as well have been a fifth limb the way my eyes have been glued to its screen and my fingers adhered to its keyboard. But this seemingly obsessive behaviour is necessary if you want to nab the best roost. Ads are posted daily, and you need to be quick to reply, and even quicker to the viewings. Once you're there, it's everyman for him/herself. Tonight, I practically got down on my hands and knees and begged for my room. Why wouldn't I? It was a great location, it was in a house, and the other flatmates seemed friendly (and dare I say, normal?). You see for every room there is a psycho, and for every flat there is a slob - find a place with no psycho and no slob, you're cheering! An ad posted this morning even specified: 'drongos need not apply'.... love it!

So when I return from the City of Lights, (sigh).... I will be taking the keys to my new Clapham Pad and beginning the next stage in My London Life. For the next two weeks though, this little blogger's going to be all about Paris... c'est la vie!

Suitably Cased

Okay, so not that I'm bragging, but... on Wednesday I'm jet-setting to Paris, for two whole weeks! I will, of course, divulge every croissant-crumb of information in my daily posts, although for now... it's all about the packing.

I'd like to think I sort a good suitcase, but the reality is that sometimes it's hit and miss. Last year's flight from Sydney to the States saw my bag number explode from two to four in the time it took me to get from the car park to the check-in desk! Shall I explain? You see the airports, they have these silly rules about baggage weight - something about occupational health and safety -and my bags, whilst I still argue, were not full to capacity, were over the limit. So Mum came to the rescue with two plastic travel cases for me to offload items into - and then there were four.

However, for my two weeks in Peru earlier this year, I managed to fit all I needed into one carry-on sized bag. The customs men at JFK were speechless!

When it comes to packing, I'm definitely no diva. However, the same cannot be said for Miss Mariah Carey (surprised much?) who has been known to take two, sometimes three, whole suitcases just for her shoes! So, low and behold, reading my fave 50p (cheap, cheap!) High Street Style Bible, Dare, I have come across a new celebrity-necessity, the celebrity 'packer.' Yuh, huh! Yuh read right. LA-based Jessica Paster has turned her packing know-how in a roaring trade. Paster's packed for Mariah and other celebs (including Kate Beckinsale, Thandie Newton and Brittany Murphy), for years, saying, 'It's a very intimate business and it's not unusual for me to go on holiday with my clients.' In Mariah's case, Paster makes sure the diva has the appropriate 'walk-out outfit' in her hand luggage for the ever-important paparazzi pics after a long flight, and even goes as far as to wake Mariah before landing to accompany her into the toilets to change and re-apply her make-up. For a three-day break, Mariah will take nothing less than 10 cases. And here was I made to feel bad about four!

So what exactly are Paster's suitcase secrets?

• Pack five outfits that can be dressed up or down
• Use a tick-box packing list to ensure you don't forget anything
• Always fold, never roll (rolling adds bulk, whereas folding you have more space)
• Don't go for expensive luggage as it's more likely to be stolen (guess I'll leave Louis at home then!)
• Pack toiletries in zip-lock plastic bags to avoid spills and make things easier to find

Finally, according to Paster, summer holiday essentials include a sarong (to double as a skirt, wrap or towel), a kaftan (to wear to the beach or with a belt for the evening) and a pashmina (to wear at night or to sit on during the day).

Lets all say, "Thanks, Ms. Paster"... And the best thing is, her advice only cost me 50p... wonder what Mariah pays?!

Hide me, I'm in Harrods!

Embracing my current role as a lady of leisure, I went forth today to visit one of London's most popular attractions... Harrods Department Store.

Okay, so I went there to buy something, but I usually avoid big department stores. In fact, not once during the year that I spent living in New York City, did I walk through the doors of Bloomingdales, Macy's, Saks Fifth Avenue or even Barneys (although, I was asked out by a buyer for Barneys... and would have been tempted had I not prior to his request been utterly convinced he batted for the other team - after all, the man wore dress-shoes sans socks!).

My theory is that the more a department store tries to make me feel special, the greater my feelings of isolation. May the Big-Guns forgive me, as this is obviously not their intention. Since opening its doors in 1849, Harrods prides itself on, 'a reputation for excellence, that nothing is too much trouble to our customers, and finding the finest-quality merchandise.' And, to be fair, all the staff I encountered did their utmost to be friendly. It's just that, where in a small boutique I have to avoid the eyes of one, maybe two, eager sales assistants, at a department store I have a pride of eyes upon me. And to be honest, it makes me quite queasy. Like a little child at their birthday party opening presents they don't particularly like, and having to express delight and forced-thank-yous, I really just want them all to go home. As I meandered through the isles of rooms with high ceilings and bright lights, I felt compelled to smile at each attendant, and even thank them (for what?), and worse still, apologise for not requiring their assistance. Am I the only one that finds these situations tedious, even painful?

Purchase-in-hand, I did a quick lap round the cosmetics counters and headed outdoors. Said-doors were, of course, opened for me by a lovely man dressed in Harrods green and gold. He thanked me for my custom and wished me a pleasant day. I smiled, and thanked him in return, as I donned my sunnies and scuttled for the tube - never have I felt more like a tourist. Shame!

Hit Me Britney, One More Time

I'm sorry. I hate to think that this blog has been reduced to talking about Ms. Spears, but truly (madly, deeply) how can one woman become such a tragedy? I feel compelled to discuss...

Reading my beloved Metro on the tube the other day (love the free newspaper trend these days), I skimmed the pages for the latest celebrity saga. Bored by the repeated photos of Posh and Beck's move to L.A., I naturally focused in on the messy photo of Britney with her boobs out... again! Never one to disappoint on the 'what-the?' factor, the latest news is that the 25-year-old mother-of-two (to Sean Preston, almost two-years-old, and Jayden James, 10-months), is pregnant baby, one more time! A small consolation - for the world, not, perhaps for Britney - is that this one's almost assuredly not failed rapper, K-Fed's. No, no, no... Britney's baby's daddy looks likely to be the spawn (harsh!) of either her former lover and drug counsellor, John Sundahl (who is now selling his story to any and every trashy tabloid), or her bodyguard (classy!), the big and burly, Daimon Shippen. Brit's apparently excited about the pregnancy, although, is understandably worried about how the world will take the confusion about her child's paternity. Hmmmmm.....

This morning's paper suggests that K-Fed has joined with Britney's mother, and her cousin Alli, to fight Britney for sole-custody. In a recent interview about the custody dispute, Brit apparently threw up over herself (or so says today's London Metro... the Intern can't substantiate the claim but kind of wishes it to be true... it just paints a better picture, don't ya think?!)

Poor Brit. I mean, to be fair, it's only July and she's already done two stints in rehab, shaved her head, and now she's pregnant with her third baby in less than three years. And all in the public eye. I'm thinking Justin Timberlake is thanking his lucky stars that he and the Pop-starlet ended their relationship in 2002... K-Fed, however, is likely benefiting from Britney's troubled year. Compared to Britney, he's a reasonably together, and responsible parent... that's quite a feat for a father-of-four, in four years, to two mums! Nice one.

Lead us not into TEMPtation

In a new city, with plans to travel (this is Europe, isn't it?), I thought the next six months of my life were going to be so easy... I'd join a few temping agencies and just watch the job offers fly in. After all, I have two degrees, I can type 55 words per minute, and I'm a wiz on PowerPoint, Excel and Outlook. And while these are all programs temp agencies test you on (yes, be prepared to sit in a small room, reminiscent of your school days, as they set you little 'tasks'... Two hours later you'll emerge a broken person, cursing yourself for not practicing data entry more often, in preparation for a crappy job that's only going to pay pittance an hour anyway!)... it appears... having skills just isn't enough.

Temping in London is cut-throat. Having undertaken my first assignment just over two weeks ago, I naively thought that one job would flow into the next. I had high hopes of being paid enough to actually live, and I thanked my agency reps profusely for their effort each time another job was cancelled because the client had decided to have the work completed by in-house staff. Now, nearing the end of week three, my smile has definitely faded. Today, to add insult to injury (having worked only one day in the last two weeks), I was sent home at 10.30am from a job, when the training course I was meant to be covering staff for was cancelled. They were nice about it at least, smiled and apologised and thanked me for my time. And I smiled back (what can you do?). Said, "No, of course, don't be silly, that's fine. Thanks, anyway." And I was home again before the midday movie.

With the number of temping agencies in London in the hundreds, and the innumerable sites that offer part-time and temporary work placements, it's easy to think that there's a lot of work out there. Of course, that is also what you're told when companies recruit you. But once they're suckered you in (I would LOVE to know the commission these agencies have made off me), they leave you high and dry, and practically begging for work. It's only then that they mention how there are a lot of people looking for temp work at the moment and how stiff the competition is for jobs that pay good rates.

Do I give up? No, never. Tomorrow, I will wake, shower and put on my make-up. And wait for a call that may never come... then spend the rest of the day all dressed-up with nowhere to go. Sad? Yes. But at least now you know that truth about temp work in the UK and may you pass this wisdom onto friends... for Lord, lead us not into temptation - lets find us a real job and move on!

Shopaholic's S.O.S.

I have a sneaky little habit. A habit that has gotten me into a fair bit of trouble in the last few years. No, I don't smoke and I'm no slave to narcotics... my addiction lies in the Cyber realm... That's right, when it comes to online stores, I'm a downright junkie.

It started with e-Bay, Oh, about 5 years ago. I was at my cousin's birthday drinks, (at Opera Bar in Sydney's Circular Quay... how I miss that harbour!), anyway, his girlfriend at the time began telling me about the great new pair of Sass & Bide jeans she had recently purchased for a fraction of their retail cost, from an online store, called.... e-Bay. I questioned how she was sure the jeans weren't fake? How did she know her size? How was she certain that once she had bid, she would be given the goods? Question after question, she answered with a smile, and I knew then I just had to log-on. And so it began, my love affair with 'the Bay.' My new shopping mecca.

Since then I have enforced two self-imposed bans from the site that supplied me with countless pairs of shoes and boots, some t-shirts, designer jeans and oh yes, I even 'won' concert tickets! The bans became necessary at times when I realised that my purchase were quickly becoming too many to count and when I began to suffer night sweats because I wasn't online... the fear of being out-bid too much to handle. Each ban lasted a good few months. I created my own little e-Bay rehab... lots of Chamomile tea, no Net action after dinner, and definitely no signing on to online shopping sites during work hours.

Moving to New York proved a trying time... working night shifts, and not knowing many people meant that I would often while away hours at home in my little flat, window-surfing the pages purporting to offer the latest Chloe handbag, Balenciaga's new tote, Marc by Marc Jacob's new spring line... ever so quickly I found myself eagerly awaiting the DHL delivery man. When he started to call me by name and asking about my family I knew another rehab session was required.

And so, I signed-off. I even forgot my PayPal account details (shudder at the thought!)... until I met with the same girlfriend of years past. While visiting New York from her new home in London, Miss Thing, started raving

about the new online shopping craze that had hit the UK... a groovy little site that sells re-hashed designer goods. Their claim,'celebrity inspired fashion at affordable prices.' Seen on Lindsay Lohan one day, online the next.

Intern, meet As Seen On Screen (or ASOS.com).

Never has there been a more exciting way to spend hours on your laptop. Just scroll through their latest range of summer dresses, both designer and High Street, and click your way across pages of beauty products and other accessories... I defy you to not giggle in your elated state. The best bit is there's no bidding. You want it, you bought it! They even ship overseas, no problems.

Now this blog was never meant to be an advertising space... although, I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't give you that URL just one more time - ASOS.com... with this disclaimer - the Intern is not responsible for any ASOS-addictions that may result!

Featured pics:

Miss Sixty Button Front Tweed Dress, £85 at ASOS.com

Dahlia Patchwork Print Smock, £50 at ASOS.com

Oh, to be Aww-stray-lian!

Yay, yay, yay, the sun decided to shine yesterday for 2007's Toast Festival - a celebration of all-things Oz and Kiwi. They even sold Vegemite, Arnott's Shapes and wait for it... Burger Rings (or do they only excite me?).

The two-day festival, held in the gardens of Fulham Palace, was marketed as the northern hemisphere's biggest bogan bash (okay, so not really, they actually specified a dress-code of smart-casual, with, get this, no boardies or ripped jeans!), honoring New Zealand and Australian food, wine and culture. While Saturday's Ode to our Sheep-loving neighbours suffered torrential rain, on Sunday, the sun blazed down, Aussie-style. I even got a tan.

The highlight of the day was definitely seeing guest presenters, Kath and Kim. Kath's attempts to make an all-Aussie sambo, while Kim threw pastrami slices into the crowd drew cheers from the mob - yes, they were quite toasted by this stage, so anything was bound to be funny.

I have to say I was disappointed with the music line-up. It seemed like guest bands, Killing Heidi (Australia's brother/sister combo, with Ella sans-the-dreadlocks), Ellison and the Bondi Beach Bums (my fellow festival revelers and I were at a loss as to who exactly these bands were... maybe we've been away from home too long?), seemed to rotate round the three stages blaring out the same tired tunes and failing to get the crowd into dance mode.

However, the ever-flowing Toohey's Dry did ensure us expats a day of drunken debauchery. A day to band together and praise all things Green and Gold - a day to join hands and slap arses, for, "I am, you are (or maybe not, depending on which readers I've sucked-into this page), we are, Aww-stray-lien!"

Love Your Bits

Thought I'd give myself a little pep-talk this Friday morning. Feel free to read along... the more the merrier when it comes to feeling good about oneself.

Reading an old issue of UK Glamour, as I tried to lull myself to sleep last night, I came across the most inspiring page. I thought it best to copy it out for you (mostly because it's Friday and my unemployed-self is bored by my own thoughts...); then I'll say something profound... I promise!

Hey, it's OK...

...to firmly believe that if you share it, it has no calories

...to try out a few 'sexy' poses on the bed before he walks into the room

...if you don't tell anyone that the flowers on your desk are actually from your mother

...to be utterly transfixed by the sight of a Hollywood actress's stubbly armpit

...not to argue when someone offers to pay the bill

...if you run out of good advice. Most of the time people simply want you to listen, anyway

...to refuse to tell how much you paid for it. Nicely, of course

... to brazenly smile your way through a cold sore, adult orthodontics or a not-terribly-well-concealed spot. You're bigger than a fleeting imperfection; act like it!

courtesy of UK Glamour magazine, June 2007

Now who hasn't almost been caught practicing Sharon Stone renditions in the boudoir? And just last week I butchered my forehead over a tiny pimple and was forced to cake my face with my ever-trusty MaxFactor concealer - I mean I felt better, but the mirror reflected the contrasted reality.

While the majority of magazines still serve to make us mere mortals shudder at our imperfections, reality television offers us the chance for high-fives. Wednesday nights on Channel 4, Gok Wan, a former student of London's prestigious Central School of Speech and Drama, shows real women, How to Look Good Naked. What I love about this show is there's no focus on the woman spending hours in the gym, being given a personal chef or any of the similar nice-but-not-for-the-real-world options that shows like, Biggest Loser or What Not to Wear, have offered us in the past. Here, Gok shows these larger-sized women (most of the shows contestants range between a size 14-18, with the UK average recently being announced as size 16), which bra to wear to best show off their 'knockers,' along with the benefits of tummy-hold knickers and clothes styles to suit their shape.

Last week's subject, 29 year old, Liz Marlow, went from an introverted working mother-of-two, who practically lived in fleece jumpers and hadn't undressed in front of her husband in more than two years, to a woman courageous enough to shimmy her way down a catwalk wearing nothing but some lacy-lingerie - alongside skinny models, to boot!

I loved it. I loved Gok (oh, please let me be his fag-hag!) - and best of all, I went to bed feeling sexy! Curves and all.

SpaceBook MyFace, if you please...

Okay so you're at a social gathering, you're acting all 'grown up,' a little, I'm-in-my-twenties-with-a-real-job... and then you ask your fellow sophisticate, "Are you on Facebook too?"

Whether we like it or not, Facebook is the new fad we all love to log-on to. We might claim to be level-headed, busy-busy working bees but for most of us - well, the one's whose workplace hasn't cottoned-on to the fact that their employees are wasting time on the online equivalent to a school playground - a good few hours of each working day are spent signed-in, chatting away and even stalking old friend's (and boyfriend's) homepages.

And if your fellow sophisticate replies, "No." Or worse still, "No way. I'm not in to that stuff..." Well, then we consider it our to duty to earnestly enlighten them as to the "seriously fantastic phenomenon of Facebook." If you find yourself in such a conversation you can be sure that within a few moments, you will have new recruits all eager to inform this now-deemed simple soul about how Facebook has changed their life, and that they're all, like, totally addicted to Facebook (but don't worry, because there's a group for that!)

But there is a downside. You see for most people (with jobs), Facebook is a breath of fresh air during an otherwise foggy day of work and errands. However, for those of us in the temporarily out-of-work stage of our lives, Facebook just serves to mock us. We wake, we open our homepage, we sulk if we've not been 'poked' since last signed-on, and we desperately search for friends who are 'online now.' Our days become ruled by Facebook - and then we begin the arduous task of going through all our friends photo albums, and reading their wall posts to see if we're mentioned (okay, so maybe I've done this once or twice, but I know I'm not alone... you've done it too, don't lie!)

So we sign-out, maybe even turn the computer off - but it's no use. We are addicted. That computer goes back on quicker than the screen took to go black and we're right back where we started from, searching our page for signs of friendship.

I don't remember it being like this with MySpace. Maybe that's because with MySpace you had to do all that page-design stuff, and play around with URLs and web codes. Facebook is simple, yet effective - it's the reality TV show of the Internet, and we all love it, because we're its Stars!

Colour Me Harry

I love this time of year - no, it's not for the summer sales (although, they are lovely, when you have some cash that is!), and it's not for the weather (obviously, otherwise I would never have moved to London), it's because it's Harry Potter time again! The glorious few weeks that lead up to J.K. Rowling's next installment of wizards and witches and Acid Pops and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans are always revealing times. And as we await the seventh and final book (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), these weeks have been even more telling...

Harry Potter fans are everywhere, and most of them wear suits! Riding the tube to work you won't find a carriage without at least one person greedily devouring the pages of past books in their desperate attempt to catch up where J.K last left off. For those of you who aren't clued in (for shame!) - Harry has just suffered the loss of yet another trusted advisor and mentor (okay, I won't spoil the plot for you by telling who it is) and he's preparing for his final year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You who are film buffs only, well, you're a book behind my friends - but with Daniel Radcliffe (the lucky boy who scored the role of Harry after a producer spotted his matted hair from the seat behind, as he sat with his parents in a music theatre) having just signed a US$50 million deal to confirm his place in the final two Potter films, rest assured you'll find out what happens to everyone's favourite wizard, soon enough.

The secret ending has been guarded more fiercely than any Crown Jewels, but the first 12 million copies to be printed are finally going on sale this Saturday, at one minute passed midnight. And book stores are trying to make the most out of J.K. Rowling's last Potter. In America, Border's is hosting a free "Grand Hallows Ball" at stores nationwide beginning this Friday evening at 9.30pm with activities including a Great Snape Debate, and the crowning of a king and queen of the Ball. Are we thinking perhaps, just for a moment, that parents are indulging the fantasies of their children a wee bit much? Maybe. I, however, am severely disappointed that I have just left New York - can you imagine the size of the party at Border's Madison Square Garden? Oh, I'd dress up as Hermione for that one!

My Bright Glossy Day

Some days are just meant to be golden... but today positively sparkled. London's summer sun decided to shine through despite all indications to the contrary during early morning showers; and the normally icey wind, served only to better chase away the clouds. Is this how everyone viewed today? Or are my stardust-hazed eyes pleasantly deceiving me?

As a newby to Londontown I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be working mind-numbing temp jobs in order to finance my sojourns in Europe. I'd try, of course, to secure some freelance writing gigs, but really, I wasn't in any rush (and to be honest, I didn't fancy my chances). After spending five days on reception last week at a large publishing house, and having contemplated smashing my head against the computer screen at each day's end, I began to feel despondent. When Monday passed with no call from my recruitment company, I started to develop a slight fever, recalling my weekend purchases at Portobello Road markets. But then it happened. I signed into my hotmail account and a wonderful surprise awaited me. Finally, I had been commissioned to write a piece for a magazine - a real one - all nice and glossy! And, better than that, they were even going to pay me. One hurrah after the other, I attended an interview with a different recruitment company - one I had honestly considered cancelling - to be informed that two of their clients were the UK's most notable magazine publishing companies... Conde Nast, think the ever-stylish Vogue magazine, and Natmags, lets all cheer for Cosmopolitan (can we hear my "Woo hoo!"?).

So here I sit, promises of a temping assignment tomorrow that pays more than £8 an hour (on pay that low I'd be forced to live on tinned soup and rice cakes), and I have a writing assignment. Going to keep the "deets" to myself at this stage, but rest assured friends, my name will once again be in print!

The Intern Wears H&M

She may catch the same elevator as the editors and those super-chic ladies in the fashion department, but the Intern, she wears anything but, Prada. While New York boasts as one of the World's leading fashion capitals, 'doing time' there meant weekly (sometimes daily) trips to H&M to find fashionable pieces in neutral colours that I could pass off as high-fashion.

With unenviable price tags - most tops range between five and forty dollars, (US), H&M stores now cover the globe, well, the northern hemisphere at least, with 1300 stores in 29 countries. Established in Sweden in the late 60's - the conglomeration of two inexpensive and fashionable clothing companies (Hennes and Mauritz Widforss), H&M doesn't only cater to discount consumers. By advertising in fashion magazines and placing stores in areas typically associated with high-end designers H&M is a teenagers mecca, a 20-somethings goldmine, and for the 30+, their guilty pleasure!

In 2004 H&M launched a exclusive collection with designer Karl Lagerfield, with initial inventories selling out in less than an hour. Stella McCartney's ready-to-wear range experienced a similar enviable fate in 2005, as did the launch of H&M's Viktor & Rolf selection in November 2006. Most recently Pop superstars, Madonna and Kylie have seen the benefits of chain-store association, launching their wears earlier this year.

With Kylie Minogue on board an H&M launch in Australia (with flagship stores in Melbourne and Sydney) is on the drawing board for 2008.

So with my facebook status still reading, "as-yet-employed" it looks like I'm relegated to the racks of High & Mighty for a little while longer - come join me, if you will.

Introducing the Intern

With all the hype surrounding last years box office hit, The Devil Wears Prada, (based on the allegedly-autobiographical 2003 novel by Lauren Weisberger) and ABC’s award-winning new series, Ugly Betty (staring America Ferrara) the glossy world of women’s magazines has never been more coveted.

I like to think that I fell for glossies well before the masses, but the reality is that young women (and girls) have lusted after the shiny pages and pretty pictures in women’s mags for over a century – okay, so maybe the first magazines weren’t so shiny… the point is, us girls just love ‘em. We like the ritual of handing over our dosh (at an ever-increasing price) and flicking through the pages for the first time. The style, the glamour, oh, and the stories… of course!

So who wouldn’t want to work for one?

When I was a little girl all I wanted to be was famous. I just couldn’t comprehend how people might have an alternate dream. In my mind, gorgeous clothes and people screaming my name and taking my picture was the only way to live. This dream has altered somewhat. Don’t get me wrong, I still want the gorgeous clothes but I realised one day (the same time I realised that I would just never be able to give up chocolate) that while I wanted to be invited to the A-list parties, I didn’t want to be the celebrity that people were gauking at. Suddenly being the centre of attention seemed just plain scary (this might also have been around the time Princess Di was killed in Paris whilst being chased by papparazzi).

The magazine world offered me all I could ever want. The glitz, the pics, and the parties. So I toiled through school and university with my eyes firmly focussed on oneday seeing my name on the masthead. This journey took me to New York City. Having watched every episode of Sex in the City like it was a module for my degree I was ready to hit the big leagues – and in all honesty, I did get lucky. I managed to land a role as a travel and features intern at Bridal Guide magazine. A far cry from the tortures experienced by TDWP’s Andrea Sachs, I went on no coffee-runs, or missions to get the new Harry Potter for my editor’s spoilt twin daughters. Instead, I researched, fact-checked and even got published.

So with NYC under my belt I flew across the Atlantic with my sights set on London. And here I am. With my dream, and some clips – let’s see how I go!