tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38838286049804677032024-03-13T11:41:51.798-07:00Love PinkWarning: This blog will make you smile. It will also be quite pink.Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.comBlogger357125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-62938272545159460912013-08-31T05:32:00.002-07:002013-08-31T05:32:25.417-07:00New job, new start<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9637108712/" title="Screen shot 2013-08-31 at 13.15.55 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Screen shot 2013-08-31 at 13.15.55" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2819/9637108712_3f6594a930.jpg" width="399" /> </a></div>
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I'm very happy, as I now have a job! I'm working at the Guardian in their student section and am loving it. </div>
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I'm also moving to a new flat in Angel. It will be my first time living in North London, and best of all, I will be able to walk to work. Second best thing is that I have already spotted two frozen yoghurt places within walking distance of my flat. </div>
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The flat is being repainted and will be ready in 2 weeks. I'm looking forward to moving in and making it feel like home. With this in mind, I've started <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/education/2013/aug/28/decorating-university-room" target="_blank">a project at the Guardian where I'm asking for people to share photos of how they've decorated their university bedroom. </a></div>
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Home is important to me and even if I'm living in a tiny room in student halls I like to make it feel like my space. </div>
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Here are some pics from my previous uni bedrooms:</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9636708722/" title="DSCF0701 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF0701" height="375" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3787/9636708722_e6d5eb9d5c.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9633476069/" title="IMG_1351 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1351" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3799/9633476069_b175238fa4.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9633486303/" title="IMG_9340 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9340" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3722/9633486303_1e9acabbd6.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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Can't wait to decorate my new room! Share your pictures with me <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/education/2013/aug/28/decorating-university-room" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </div>
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New job, new flat, new start.</div>
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<i>Libby</i></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-37972629861560445222013-07-20T10:13:00.001-07:002013-07-21T10:55:06.137-07:00Goodbye London College of Fashion<h2>
London College of Fashion Graduation</h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One happy graduate</td></tr>
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It started with pink and ended with pink. On Tuesday I
graduated with a First Class Honours in Fashion Journalism from the London
College of Fashion. I spent the day in a bright pink dress to match the pink
hood and trim on my gown. A mortarboard and smile were my accessories. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9320445300/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0427 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0427" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7295/9320445300_05f106cc33.jpg" width="333" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9324468209/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0431 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0431" height="333" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5516/9324468209_876b3ac9df.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friend helps me with a wobbly mortarboard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9324496101/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_1715 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1715" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2831/9324496101_d0c40c8cb1.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juliette came all the way from Paris for the occasion</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mum and I </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practising my smile for when I collect my degree</td></tr>
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During the ceremony designer Oswald Boateng was presented
with an honourary degree. He took to the stage and gave a speech that I will
always remember: “Lots of people ask me how you get to my position. Well the
dedication that you have all put into completing your degrees is the answer.
Carry that with you and it will be you on this stage.”<br />
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Boateng’s words inspired me, but so did seeing my friends
and peers take to the platform to collect their degrees. As I collected mine I
thought back over my three years at university.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9329140426/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="final day at LCF by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="final day at LCF" height="500" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2864/9329140426_0153b492c1.jpg" width="373" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My final day at the London College of Fashion</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<h3>
Libby's London College of Fashion Highlights</h3>
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LONDON<style>
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Studying at the London College of Fashion gave me the
opportunity to move to one of the best cities in the world. Being a student in
the capital was an incredible experience. The city that once daunted me is now
the place that I call home.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9326588859/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_4302 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4302" height="374" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3824/9326588859_da7bb0c18b.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first room in London, Hackney 2010</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Lights, camera, action </h3>
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I have always wanted to be a writer,
but when it came to the second year of my degree I decided to specialise in
broadcast journalism. Before university I had never picked up a video camera,
but I was (and still am) intrigued by the changes taking place in journalism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With even traditional print
publications developing their online content and working with moving image, I
wanted to broaden my skills. <a href="https://libbypage.wordpress.com/category/filming/" target="_blank">I have now filmed, edited and presented</a> a broad
range of subjects (including a film about a city farm, a documentary about clothing
issues faced post-mastectomy, and my final project film about unpaid
internships in the fashion industry). </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9326545599/" title="Libby filmingedited by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Libby filmingedited" height="479" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3672/9326545599_98da72e169.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<h3>
New York New York</h3>
During my second year at university I went to New York to <a href="http://lovepinklibbypage.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/last-fashion-victims-story.html" target="_blank">interview David Jay, photographer behind The Scar Project</a>. Travelling by myself and meeting such interesting people gave me a huge amount of confidence and taught me that distance isn't an insurmountable barrier.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9326541951/" title="IMG_6160 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_6160" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7335/9326541951_47f4094dde.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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Project P&G</h3>
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One of my favourite units on my degree was
an industry project, in which we did research for corporate client Procter and
Gamble. Working on a ‘live’ project was a great experience. I particularly
enjoyed presenting our findings to P&G at Burlington House. </div>
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3 is the magic number</h3>
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My third year at university was by
far my favourite. It was also the most challenging, but working on an
individual project with which I had such a strong connection (my final year was
spent investigating unpaid internships in the fashion industry) drove me to
produce work that I am proud of. The flexible timetable of the final year
allowed me to work part time at Intern Aware, a great learning process that had
me giving talks at universites and Parliament. </div>
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Third year also meant a huge amount of one on one support
from staff. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9329344792/" title="The Observer by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="The Observer" height="500" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3704/9329344792_5e27f16e40.jpg" width="400" /></a> </div>
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<h3 class="MsoNormal">
“Things do not change, we change” (said Henry Thoreau)</h3>
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After three years of studying I have changed in more ways
than I could have imagined before starting my degree. Although I am still
interested in fashion (why people wear what they wear fascinates me), I have
opened my eyes to other interests and options. I have discovered broadcast
journalism, which I love. I have spoken out about the immoral use of unpaid
labour and become a stronger person for it. But despite all these changes and
my career shift away from fashion, I am still glad I studied at the London
College of Fashion. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When I was a school student living in my hometown of
Gillingham and tearing pages from Vogue, I dreamt of studying at the London
College of Fashion. I am proud for following through the dream I had when I was
16, but also for shaping my experience at university in such a way to fit new
dreams too. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And in the end it was probably fate that I study at the
London College of Fashion. The college colour is pink. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9329326314/" title="Day 4, 2 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Day 4, 2" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2893/9329326314_fe6442dae8.jpg" width="500" /></a> </div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-82573163804104289692013-07-19T01:49:00.002-07:002013-07-19T01:49:34.788-07:00Trulli Scrumptious<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9248989316/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_0232 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0232" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5521/9248989316_de66efea7d.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A week in the sunshine and I'm still as pale as a potato</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to go on holiday with my good friends, staying in a Trulli in Puglia, Italy. <br />
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The Trulli houses remind me of a Hobbit home or a beehive. Being 5ft4 was suddenly a blessing when faced with low stone ceilings. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9249019506/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0150 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0150" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2837/9249019506_46023f4121.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9249030334/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0083 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0083" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3718/9249030334_304a00ee88.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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On a visit to a local town we stumbled across this prize winning cake displayed proudly in a shop window.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9246232123/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0169 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0169" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3725/9246232123_a43de97916.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
With white-washed walls and blue skies we could have been in Greece rather than Italy, although there were the constant reminders dotted around the town...<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9246201727/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0239 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0239" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3779/9246201727_7962eaf9d6.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
... like this Italian flag...<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9246238567/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0126 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0126" height="333" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5461/9246238567_d78ae73d14.jpg" width="500" /> </a></div>
<br />
...and the Italian wedding we stumbled across in a large old church. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9246218977/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0105 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0105" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7378/9246218977_fe2963ece5.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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Being in Italy the holiday involved much eating (and drinking). Pizza and pasta and jugs of wine, but also pastries filled with custard and jam from the local pasticceria. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9248991806/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0345 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0345" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2835/9248991806_7bd185549d.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9248975880/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0327 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0327" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2883/9248975880_430a62a4a3.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
Being lucky enough to have our own pool at the villa, many an evening was spent sipping prosecco by the poolside. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9246197285/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0241 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0241" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7354/9246197285_08b60ba2d6.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
Perhaps the tasty treat I miss most of all is the great slabs of watermelon that would dribble pink juice down to your elbows as you ate. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9249038776/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0073 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0073" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3823/9249038776_1f6b751b15.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
All in all a Trulli scrumptious holiday.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-13662007181557355972013-06-28T10:28:00.000-07:002013-06-28T10:28:22.897-07:00Inside my suitcase<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159360072/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0005 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0005" height="365" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2866/9159360072_7c7837cc8f.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm going on holiday! And I'm very excited.<br />
<br />
I wasn't planning on going away this year, but when my good friends invited me to Italy with them I looked outside at the rain and booked some last minute flights. I leave tomorrow.<br />
<br />
After a long year of university work and campaigning, a few days spent doing absolutely nothing will be a delicious luxury, like eating pudding for breakfast. <br />
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I am craving warmth and Italian food (juicy flat peaches that ooze when you bit into them, salty proscuitto and plump tomatoes, ICE CREAM...), and the company of my dear friends.<br />
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I spent today packing. I am trying to pack light - I want the refreshing feeling of disappearing with as little baggage as possible (physical and otherwise).<br />
<br />
Here's what's going in my suitcase...<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159358730/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0008 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0008" height="376" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7330/9159358730_926c1f1c98.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<h4>
Red bikini</h4>
I love this <a href="http://www.marksandspencer.com/M-Woman-Halterneck-Ruched-Bikini/dp/B0041PY6CI?ie=UTF8&ref=sr_1_1&nodeId=2596678031&sr=1-1&qid=1372439943&pf_rd_r=1Z3BD3M8QPR2CSBFRMGV&pf_rd_m=A2BO0OYVBKIQJM&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_i=2596678031&pf_rd_p=321381387&pf_rd_s=related-items-3" target="_blank">cherry red bikini</a> because it's simple and flattering and makes me feel like I should be dancing around in a Special K advert. In a really good way.<br />
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I bought it in M&S, not somewhere I was expecting to find sexy swimwear, but I was so impressed on a recent visit there that I was tempted to buy the whole holiday department. Their things are well made and substantial enough for curves, unlike the versions I saw in Topshop that looked as though they were made from dental floss.<br />
<br />
I also have a <a href="http://www.marksandspencer.com/Tummy-Control-V-Neck-Ruched-Swimsuit/dp/B004P6CBWA?ie=UTF8&ref=sr_1_3&nodeId=2596679031&sr=1-3&qid=1372440024&pf_rd_r=062QET08A3F2DBMQC47B&pf_rd_m=A2BO0OYVBKIQJM&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_i=2596679031&pf_rd_p=321381387&pf_rd_s=related-items-3" target="_blank">green swimming costume</a> from Marks and Sparks that I love to bits.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9157133771/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0009 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0009" height="492" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2867/9157133771_0f104c91d3.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<h4>
Pink bikini</h4>
I couldn't resist this bikini from Victoria's Secret, emblazoned with the <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Love-Pink-Libby-Page/dp/0955377943" target="_blank">title of my book</a>, and mismatch flamingo bottoms. Flamingos are my favourite. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159356870/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0010 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0010" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2859/9159356870_04b7853424.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159355280/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0012 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0012" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3672/9159355280_068dda4a2c.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<h4>
Shoes! (And passport)</h4>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159353884/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0013 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0013" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7449/9159353884_eb1aa232b9.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159352220/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0015 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0015" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7427/9159352220_49a2158c54.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159350978/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0017 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0017" height="333" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5481/9159350978_3a1df7bbe6.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159349464/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0018 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0018" height="338" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2886/9159349464_71a0b89d17.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<h4>
Holiday reading...</h4>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9157124207/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0019 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0019" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2864/9157124207_5f204bce1b.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<h4>
And holiday writing...</h4>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9157123027/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0022 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0022" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7432/9157123027_2821693ba3.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
My current perfume, that smells like a flowershop.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9159346094/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0023 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0023" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7453/9159346094_911130f888.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
Lovely L.K Bennett shoes, nabbed for £40 in a discount outlet in Shepton Mallet near my Dorset home.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9157121227/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0028 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0028" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2861/9157121227_3f377bbf3f.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
And PANTS, of course.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9157120001/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_0030 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_0030" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7384/9157120001_72893ddb4c.jpg" width="500" /> </a></div>
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Have a good week. Ciao! </div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-69178088955821538222013-06-25T09:33:00.001-07:002013-07-21T10:58:39.958-07:00Back to Blogging<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9136980672/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_1397 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1397" height="333" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2894/9136980672_02384b335e.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry I've been a bad blogger. Here's a smile. (Me at a recent BBQ competition. Which I WON)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Yes it's been a long time since I blogged.<br />
<br />
Things have been pretty busy in Libbyland recently, what with turning 21 (it was hard work. It took me several days to recover) and finishing my university degree (I got a First!! Have a look at my showreel here: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=yf2PukrMthc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=yf2PukrMthc</a>) and campaigning hard for fairer, paid internships. I've done some <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/profile/libby-page" target="_blank">writing for the Guardian</a> and have been <a href="https://twitter.com/LibbyLovePink" target="_blank">tweeting away</a> (most recently at Tesco Customer Care, after a horrible experience made me angry to the value of a £10 'good will' gift voucher that is now on its way to me.)<br />
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Have a look at my shiny updated website, <a href="http://www.libbypage.info/">www.libbypage.info</a>, to see what I've been up to.<br />
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Despite all the exciting serious things going on in my life at the moment, I think it's time to get some pink and sunshine back into it too. I am of the strong opinion that a woman can love both campaigning and cupcakes, and that you can be a strident feminist and still love to bake and rock a pair of killer red wedges (my latest purchase).<br />
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So on this blog I am going to try and celebrate the sunny side of life (as well as probably sharing the occasional rant, because that's just me).<br />
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<h4>
"And if you couldn't be loved, the next best thing was to be let alone." L.M Montgomery</h4>
L.M Montgomery said that the next best thing to being loved was to be let alone. I must admit I can understand where she was coming from. You can do what you like, when you like, and no one is going to tell you that it's inappropriate to eat cake for breakfast. (Yes, I ate cake for breakfast this morning.)<br />
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I am lucky enough to be loved (<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9134490587/" target="_blank">here's us</a>, having just won an international BBQ competition representing France in honour of my best friend Juliette. We baked a cake on the BBQ). But one of my favourite things to do is still to spend time by myself in cafés eating cake, or in bookshops strolling through the aisles and tucking up in a corner like a cat. I think the best combination in life is to be loved, whether by a partner, family, friends, your pet poodle or all of the above, but to still enjoy time spent happily alone. <br />
<h4>
</h4>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9103960150/" title="IMG_9930 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9930" height="332" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5488/9103960150_2ca8bfd30b.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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One of my favourite lovely lonely London spots is <a href="http://www.woolfsonandtay.com/" target="_blank">Woolfson & Tay</a> in Southwark, a delicious independent bookshop with equally delicious cake served in the adjoining café. This slice was raspberry, rose and pistachio and tasted as good as it looked.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9103959226/" title="IMG_9931 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9931" height="333" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7333/9103959226_07221c2aa7.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br />
This week I received feedback from my final university project (a film about unpaid internships) and found out that I've got a First in my degree.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately my friends were all busy that evening, but that wasn't going to stop me from celebrating. <br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9101729209/" title="IMG_9940 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9940" height="431" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2877/9101729209_d74696172e.jpg" width="500" /> </a><br />
I headed to the Southbank, where I spent my evening enjoying the late sunshine. Children were playing in the fountains and the sound of laughter and chatter made me smile.<br />
<img alt="IMG_9946" height="333" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5491/9103952388_89155fafbe.jpg" width="500" /><br />
I stumbled across live music at the Southbank Centre (one of my favourite spots in London), spent well over an hour in Foyle's, bought two books (Franny and Zooey, J.D Salinger and The Pursuit of Love, Nancy Mitford) and bought dinner from the food stalls outside the Southbank Centre.<br />
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Then I headed back to my flat and watched the sun setting like melting pastels out my window, glass of wine in hand.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9101720179/" title="IMG_9976 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9976" height="333" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3798/9101720179_9573497f39.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9103947692/" title="IMG_9979 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9979" height="279" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7434/9103947692_d8a045d47f.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9101718511/" title="IMG_9980 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9980" height="292" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5459/9101718511_3877c0ffc5.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
All in all it was a pretty perfect evening.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/9101718029/" title="IMG_9981 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9981" height="257" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2836/9101718029_fd114f4ba6.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
You don't have to be lonely when you're alone (and you don't have to be alone to be lonely). <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-3399970912700114382013-04-22T13:08:00.001-07:002013-04-22T14:14:20.741-07:00A flower for a flower<h3>
Flowers make me happy</h3>
Which is probably not surprising because blooms are in my blood. My mum is a florist and has written six <a href="http://www.fanahanbooks.co.uk/" target="_blank">books about flower shops</a>. I love the smell of flower shops - the top notes of the flowers but also the base of wet oasis and foliage. I wish I could bottle that smell.<br />
<br />
Having flowers in my flat feels like a sweet little luxury and always makes me smile. Flowers are perhaps most often associated with anniversaries or Valentine's or birthdays, but I think everyone should buy themselves flowers from time to time. It's lovely to get them from someone else, but buying flowers for yourself is like telling yourself "you are worth roses." And everyone should feel they deserve a big fat bunch of roses every now and then.<br />
<br />
I bought myself this pink bunch last week and they are just starting to turn - but that's actually how I like them best. The petals look like puffy petticoats and as they start to drop they crinkle like paper. <br />
<br />
Whether it's buying flowers or watching guilty pleasure TV or eating creme eggs, I am a great believer in doing the things that make you happy. Life is short so it might as well be filled with flowers.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8672074456/" title="pink rose by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="pink rose" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8114/8672074456_8a3bcafe18.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8672074828/" title="polka rose by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="polka rose" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8263/8672074828_8ed0a37a2b.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8672075288/" title="pink love by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="pink love" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8400/8672075288_09b6ed1ed1.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8672075728/" title="pink boquet by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="pink boquet" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8114/8672075728_9109d7524a.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8670974081/" title="pantone by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="pantone" height="317" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8403/8670974081_f2ea08f8f3.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-86269175343024857212013-04-14T08:18:00.001-07:002013-04-14T08:18:13.395-07:00Something's Gotta Give<style>
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I need to take a feather duster to this blog it has been so
long. I would apologise, but in the wise words of the title of a film
‘Something’s Gotta Give’. </div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 class="MsoNormal">
Things I have been doing: </h3>
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- <b>Filming and editing my final project</b>: a film about unpaid
internships in the fashion industry. One of the best things about my project
has been the amazing people I have met along the way, from interns to the
Deputy Editor of Elle magazine who I interviewed a couple of weeks ago.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8648948200/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Screen shot 2013-03-22 at 2.48.36 PM by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Screen shot 2013-03-22 at 2.48.36 PM" height="281" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8390/8648948200_eff06f2d21.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A screenshot from my film - me at London Fashion Week</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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- <b>Finishing at Intern Aware</b>: I worked for 3 months with the
campaign group Intern Aware, but have now finished to focus on the last slog of
my degree. It was an amazing experience and I feel very proud of their recent
<a href="http://news.sky.com/story/1077162/unpaid-interns-firms-reported-to-hmrc" target="_blank">press coverage</a> (especially as I helped put together ‘<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2013/apr/12/unpaid-interns-100-firms-investigated" target="_blank">the list</a>’).</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8647847801/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Screen shot 2013-03-22 at 2.44.53 PM by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Screen shot 2013-03-22 at 2.44.53 PM" height="280" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8399/8647847801_53236657f6.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A screenshot from my film</td></tr>
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<br />
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-T<b>alking on Radio Five Live about unpaid internships</b>: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01rr7h1">http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01rr7h1</a> (1.23
onwards. Only very short but pleased to have been able to speak on behalf on
unpaid interns.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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- <b>Reading</b>: My most recent read was ‘Lean In’ by Sheryl
Sandberg, a sort of ‘life and business guide’ by Facebook’s feminist COO. It
has been met with <a href="http://theweek.com/article/index/241769/5-smart-responses-to-sheryl-sandbergsnbsplean-in" target="_blank">mixed reviews</a>, but having devoured the book cover to cover I
personally don’t see how anyone who has actually read it could find it anything
but inspiring. The general message is to go after your dreams (whether male or
female) but it includes incredibly inciteful research into what can hold women
back from reaching the top. I bought the book after watching Sheryl Sandberg’s
TED talk ‘Why there aren’t more women leaders’ and found myself audibly
shouting ‘YES’ and punching my hand in the air as I read it. Its philosophy is
one that is close to my heart: I have a poster on my bedroom wall that reads
‘This house believes that the future belongs to female leaders.’ </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
- <b>Updating my website</b>: It’s still a work in progress, but
have a look: <a href="https://libbypage.wordpress.com/">https://libbypage.wordpress.com/</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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- <b>Trying to maintain some semblance of a social life</b>: the
weather may be back to dreary again but last weekend I enjoyed the sunshine at
Regent’s Park – my favourite of London’s green spaces. I love looking up
Primrose Hill and watching the people watching the view. It’s like turning
around in the cinema and watching people’s faces as they watch the big screen.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8647863333/" title="IMG_9762 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9762" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8529/8647863333_4f43c5bf19.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8648967546/" title="IMG_9769 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9769" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8117/8648967546_b84610e844.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8647857445/" title="IMG_9743 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9743" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8535/8647857445_8b036df1d3.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8647871291/" title="IMG_9789 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9789" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8245/8647871291_b83d1fcc0a.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8647873611/" title="IMG_9783 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9783" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8246/8647873611_e774513d2d.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8648953242/" title="IMG_9787 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9787" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8247/8648953242_185e830897.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8648955630/" title="IMG_9761 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9761" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8389/8648955630_751499fea2.jpg" width="333" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8648970738/" title="IMG_9778 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9778" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8531/8648970738_960b209c45.jpg" width="500" /></a>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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All this means that I have less time than I would like to
write, but I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. In the words of Sheryl
Sandberg, I’m ‘leaning in’ as much as I can. But I think it's also good to know that if you lean too far and you might topple
over. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Libby </i></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-58541503395255979702013-02-21T14:44:00.001-08:002013-02-21T14:45:23.297-08:00Diary of a Protestor: London Fashion Week<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pay Your Interns: London Fashion Week Protest</span></h3>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495787688/" title="IMG_9566 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9566" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8508/8495787688_349319561c.jpg" width="316" /></a>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have encountered many fashion dilemmas in my 20 years. Are
sequin wellies a good idea (yes) how many novelty jumpers is too many novelty
jumpers, and what do you wear in the snow when all you own are dresses and
skirts? But on Friday I was faced with a fashion first: how to accessorise a t-shirt emblazoned
with the words ‘PAY YOUR INTERNS’ that I would be wearing to London Fashion
Week. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">On Friday morning as fashionistas slipped on their stilettos
for the start of fashion week, I pulled on my t-shirt and headed to the
University of the Arts London’s Students Union. I was meeting up with the team
there that had been working for days packing ‘PAY YOUR INTERNS’ tote bags with
information for interns. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’d say it’s probably the first time that London Fashion
Week goody bags have contained information about National Minimum Wage
Legislation…” said Fairooz, Culture and Diversity Officer at SUARTS, as we grabbed
armfuls of bags and ran for the bus to Somerset House. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">As we stepped off the bus and approached the London Fashion
Week flags flapping in the breeze, I began to feel incredibly conscious of the
slogan printed across my chest. ‘Unpaid internships’ and ‘fashion’ are phrases
that seem to roll off the tongue together in the same breath. Yet to question
the system, and to raise the question right in the face of the industry like
this at London Fashion Week… Well…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">My ears rang with the clicking of heels and the silence of
stares. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">“This is a bit scary, isn’t it?” I said to Fairooz as we
approached the entrance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">There was little time for fear though as we gathered with
Intern Aware and the rest of the protestors and headed together through the
stone archways. We assembled in the courtyard and watched as the faces turned. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Then a moment later: “are you giving out those bags?” and, “Pay
your interns. Yes. I completely agree,” and we were off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Throughout the morning we handed out tote bags and talked to
hundreds of people about the campaign. Most people were overwhelmingly
supportive. I felt a rush of excitement watching the bags disappear with people
into the crowd, our message carried on their arms. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">When I first came to London Fashion Week it was as an eager
unpaid intern. It is safe to say I am somewhat jaded now, and that coming back
this time felt very different. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Despite my initial fear on turning up at London Fashion Week
dressed like I was, I am not really scared. As protestors we may have been
outnumbered by bloggers, editors and buyers who were far more fashionable than
us, but I know that the messages on our baggy white t-shirts were right. And I
know that we were representing thousands of people who feel the same way,
people who dream of working in industries like fashion but just don’t have the
means to work for months at a time without a wage. People who are no less
determined or talented than those who get the breaks, but who just can’t afford
the price of a future in fashion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">There may be a way to go but I am hopeful that one day we
won’t need to wear these t-shirts because interns will get a wage, not just
because it’s the law, or because it makes long term business sense for
companies to have the widest possible pool of talent to choose from, but
because it is right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Suddenly some stilettos and stares seem a lot less
frightening when you realise you are right, and you are not alone. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495782814/" title="IMG_95422 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_95422" height="449" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8230/8495782814_9f20eaf3ab.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495783466/" title="IMG_9604 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9604" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8505/8495783466_13204ed3d1.jpg" width="333" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494685147/" title="IMG_9589 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9589" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8090/8494685147_7052cce97e.jpg" width="364" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495784832/" title="IMG_9599 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9599" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8379/8495784832_e635671744.jpg" width="333" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494684109/" title="IMG_9596 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9596" height="373" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8089/8494684109_45ed3b8200.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495785880/" title="IMG_9594 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9594" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8112/8495785880_2222813914.jpg" width="403" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494687521/" title="IMG_9563 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9563" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8229/8494687521_82c9ef55a3.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495782486/" title="IMG_9562 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9562" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8097/8495782486_e8f926dfe5.jpg" width="384" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494688023/" title="IMG_9559 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9559" height="414" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8506/8494688023_2c5764e2a9.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495789626/" title="IMG_9558 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9558" height="447" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8232/8495789626_584e11d2f6.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494689641/" title="IMG_9554 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9554" height="371" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8237/8494689641_7292bf306a.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494680835/" title="IMG_9544 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9544" height="413" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8378/8494680835_cf360c0652.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8495787150/" title="IMG_9570 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9570" height="466" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8229/8495787150_675d1a0717.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8494686869/" title="IMG_9564 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9564" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8096/8494686869_8d55c94ba3.jpg" width="396" /></a>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-59148416011752950422013-02-13T06:50:00.001-08:002013-02-13T09:49:37.171-08:00Amazing Grace?<style>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8471182740/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Picture 13 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Picture 13" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8379/8471182740_c9d5ca7a2c.jpg" width="359" /></a></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b>“I think there are a lot of interns that feel very entitled. </b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b>They think we owe them something.”</b> </h3>
<br />
Grace Coddington was my hero until she said <a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2012/03/grace-coddington-thinks-interns-should-suck-it-up.html" target="_blank">those words </a>at
New York Fashion Week. Creative director of US Vogue, she is idolised by
fashion students the world over and I was no exception. I admired her work and
her attitude and I chiseled my way diligently through her brick of an
autobiography. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Grace’s words echo the widespread notion that it is OK to mistreat
someone because they are young and desperate for experience. Although
internships can be great experiences, and mine have certainly given me an
insight into the industry that I wouldn’t have had otherwise, they are
exclusive and often exploitative. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I understand that the fashion industry is an extremely
competitive one where experience is valuable, but I am tired of being told that
to question the internship system is to feel entitled. </div>
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But maybe Grace is right, because I do feel certain entitlements.
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I feel entitled to a day’s pay for a day’s work, just like
everyone else. </div>
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I feel entitled to the same opportunities and access to the
industry that editors like Grace had. One in five young people today have done
an internship, compared to 2% of people who were my age 30 or 40 years ago. We
are continually told that unpaid internships are a right of passage, but the
reality is they are a relatively recent phenomenon, and not necessarily
something experienced by those telling us to work for free.</div>
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I feel entitled to the same opportunities as people with wealthy
parents who can financially support them for months at a time whilst they
intern for free. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I feel entitled to fair access to experiences and to be
judged on my abilities, not on my connections or my background.</div>
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I feel entitled to fair treatment, and I feel entitled to be
known by my name, not just as ‘the intern’.</div>
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And why shouldn’t I be? Why shouldn’t interns be entitled to
their basic rights?</div>
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As I read Grace Coddington’s words I felt like a phoney
dressed as an elf had just told me that Father Christmas doesn’t exist. And
then proceeded to slap me. Maybe it’s time to find a new hero and a new dream. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Or maybe I need to be the heroine of my own story. A better
story. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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On Friday I will be raising awareness about the widespread
use and mistreatment of unpaid interns in the fashion industry by <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/fashion/2013/feb/10/london-fashion-week-unpaid-interns-protest" target="_blank">demonstrating at London Fashion Week</a> with SUARTS, NUS and Intern Aware. We will be representing interns and those who are shut
out of opportunities because they cannot afford to work for free. Join us at
9:30am at Somerset House, or if you cannot be there in person, show your
support online:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
@LibbyLovePink @InternAware @SUARTS
@nusuk #payinterns #devilpaysnada<br />
<br />
<i>Libby </i></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-54346042990092304182013-02-11T11:16:00.000-08:002013-02-11T11:19:27.074-08:00Why I hate Valentine’s Day<style>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1mU9kflkNCM/UGDg80Jqj7I/AAAAAAAAIDg/cjtDlC4lmeo/s1600/mittens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1mU9kflkNCM/UGDg80Jqj7I/AAAAAAAAIDg/cjtDlC4lmeo/s320/mittens.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From where I am sat on my bed I can count fourteen heart
shaped objects and six mentions of the word ‘love’. And that’s not including my
bed sheets, which are entirely covered in a ‘lovelovelovelovelove’ print with
hearts for the ‘O’s. </div>
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It is probably safe to say I am something of a romantic.
Moulin Rouge is my favourite film, Rob Ryan’s heart-achingly beautiful words
make him my favourite artist, and frankly I think most things are improved if
they have hearts on them. But for someone so soppy I teeter strangely close to
the precipe of cynicism.</div>
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Every year when Valentine’s Day comes around I am struck by
an overwhelming urge to head to my nearest Clinton Cards with a box of
matches and some petrol. (Please note, I am not actually an arsonist. I am too
scared of fire to light candles.) I don’t know if it’s just me but I think Clinton Cards shops
always have the same weird carpet and weird smell of stale emotions. On the 14<sup>th</sup>
of February the ‘Me to You’ bears come out of hibernation armed with flowers
and declarations of affection. ‘Love you forever,’ says an animal with stuffing
for a heart. </div>
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I can’t bear it (gettit?). I can’t stand the cards with their
pictures of puppies and ducklings and their pre-written messages. I can’t stand
the heart shaped chocolate boxes and the candles and the Pizza Express vouchers
that arrive in my inbox. </div>
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My dislike of Valentine’s Day started a long time ago,
probably at a time when the only cards I received were from my dad. I have seen
Valentine’s Day from the other side too though. I went on the first date with
my first boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, and although I admit that the date of
the month didn’t spoil it, it didn’t make it either. The date on the calendar
was unimportant to the date itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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This Valentine’s Day I will be working, preparing for a
protest I am planning at London Fashion Week on Friday. I will probably be
stressed and quite probably grumpy as a result of being stressed. But that’s
real life. If you want to love me you have to love me stressed and grumpy and
driven, not cute and tied up with ribbon like an Andrex puppy. A Libby is for
life, not just for Valentine’s Day. </div>
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Romance isn’t something you can buy from Hallmark. It’s
letting me sniff down the phone when I’m just feeling like it’s all a bit much,
or ironing my clothes in the morning so they’re warm when I put them on – not because
I ask or because it’s the 14<sup>th</sup> of February, but just because. </div>
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To those of you who will be celebrating Valentine’s Day –
enjoy. I feel the same way about Valentine’s Day as I do about New Year’s Eve:
I hate the pressure and the prices, but I wish all the happiness to those who do choose to
participate. </div>
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Just please, please don’t buy any of these…</div>
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<a href="http://www.clintoncards.co.uk/afro-dogs-boyfriend-valentines-day-large-card.html" target="_blank">Nothing says love like this </a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.clintoncards.co.uk/twisted-whiskers-valentines-day-card.html" target="_blank">Or this...</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.clintoncards.co.uk/black-and-white-man-i-love-valentines-day-card.html" target="_blank">Please, no puppies</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.clintoncards.co.uk/me-to-you-valentines-cute-girlfriend-t-shirt-soft-toy.html" target="_blank">Hmmm</a></div>
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<i> With lots of love (not because it's Valentine's Day but just because),</i></div>
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<i>Libby</i></div>
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Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-48865534421224359312013-01-25T09:17:00.000-08:002013-01-25T09:19:24.302-08:00Inspiration FridayI love Mondays. I really do. I wake up most Monday mornings feeling refreshed, my armour polished and ready for tackling the world.<br />
<br />
Fridays should be about home time and celebration, but by the time it gets to Friday I tend to be feeling somewhat drained. Give me a pile of pillows and a pair of pyjamas rather than a pub and a pint.<br />
<br />
Friday, I am in need of inspiration. With this in mind I have decided to try and dedicate some time on a Friday to blogging about something that has inspired me. Because why wait until Monday to feel ready to tackle the world? <br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" mozallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="http://embed.ted.com/talks/sheryl_sandberg_why_we_have_too_few_women_leaders.html" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="560"></iframe>
My aim in life is to one day give a TED talk. The speakers always talk with such conviction and knowledge, and I always find them incredibly inspiring. None so inspiring as this talk with Sheryl Sandberg of Facebook.<br />
<br />
If you are a woman, I urge you to watch it. If you are not a woman, you should definitely still watch it.<br />
<br />
Some key quotes from Sheryl Sandberg:<br />
<br />
<b>"Women systematically underestimate their own abilities."</b><br />
<br />
I know what that feels like. Anyone who knows me well will know I am not an arrogant person, yet I am plagued by the fear of being perceived as arrogant. Self-depreciation is a habit as pervasive as thumb-sucking among children. And I would argue that it is a largely female habit.<br />
<br />
But I don't want to be someone who hides behind their thumb. I want to be someone who is not afraid to own their accomplishments and to speak proudly and confidently about them. <br />
<br />
<b>"Women do not negotiate for themselves in the workforce. 57% of men negotiate their starting salary. Only 7% of women do."</b><br />
<br />
I discussed this with a male friend who said that when it came to his starting salary, he thought of what salary he wanted then doubled it and asked for that. The company didn't bat an eyelid. <b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>"I want my daughter to not just be successful but to be liked for her accomplishments." </b><br />
<br />
A big problem comes from women themselves. Women are often suspicious of successful women. In fact not even just suspicious - they can just not like them. I think we all have a responsibility to one another, a responsibility that starts at congratulating our friends on their achievements rather than being envious of their success.<br />
<br />
<b>Things that would never have happened to a man...</b><br />
<br />
A friend of mine is starting out in the film industry. A senior male colleague recently asked her what her career aims were. When she told him he said that he thought she was naive. She told him all the places she had worked and gained glowing recommendations. "You've been around haven't you?" was his response. Never would have happened to a man.<br />
<br />
Another friend has recently got a job at a television company. When she got the job there was only one condition, "just don't go and get pregnant." Somehow I can't imagine the boss saying "now don't go and get your girlfriend pregant."<br />
<br />
Things like this happen every day. But it doesn't have to be like that if we don't stand for it.<br />
<br />
Sheryl Sandberg: thank you, I feel empowered.<br />
<br />
<i>Libby </i><br />
<br />
P.S and yes, you can wear pink and enjoy baking and still be a strong and independent young woman.<br />
<br />
<br />Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-53259787393803933192013-01-22T15:21:00.001-08:002013-01-22T15:21:20.030-08:00Life and Libby<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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What Libby Did</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
(The things I've been up to during my blogging absence)<br />
<br />
1) Stirring up trouble, campaigning hard and reading my name in Private Eye. </div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8405923483/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_4231 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4231" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8466/8405923483_1b44b14ea5.jpg" width="374" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in Private Eye, 11th January<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8407065826/" title="IMG_4154 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4154" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8351/8407065826_5903c7c75a.jpg" width="374" /> </a></div>
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2) Drinking many cups of coffee and eating many slices of cake. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8405969865/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_4236 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4236" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8492/8405969865_be95ea2d54.jpg" width="374" /> </a></div>
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3) Walking along the Southbank in the cold on my way to meetings at Somerset House. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8407061966/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_4253 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4253" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8234/8407061966_779b73d3bf.jpg" width="374" /> </a></div>
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4) Wearing running shoes with my dress in the snow. Sod fashion, I'd rather have ugly feet than a broken neck from wearing dolly shoes on sheet ice. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8407064216/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMG_4250 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4250" height="374" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8355/8407064216_b8f3af7ecb.jpg" width="500" /> </a></div>
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5) Admiring the view from my flat window. </div>
<br />
6) Filming interviews about unpaid internships...<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OpdGPuHFgto?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
7) And watching one of them broadcasted on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=KxVW3F3cdkI" target="_blank">Al Jazeera online</a> (and finding out that they reach 250 million people).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8406007149/" title="Picture 35 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Picture 35" height="385" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8513/8406007149_dce34f1a05.jpg" width="500" /> </a><br />
<br />
8) Writing short stories<br />
9) Wearing two pairs of tights at once<br />
10) Smiling<br />
<br />
<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-4701219131630209412013-01-09T09:51:00.003-08:002013-01-09T09:51:32.866-08:00This is my first week working at Intern Aware
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why I joined Intern Aware </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As soon as I decided that
I wanted to be a journalist I realised two things. One: I would need to be in
London. Two: I would need to work for free. I knew that internships would be
essential for my CV, I knew these would mainly take place in London, and I knew
I would probably not be paid for my time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I began my internship
story at 16. Using the money I had saved from my part-time job, I travelled to
London and stayed with friends of friends whose homes I couch surfed between. I
realise I was very fortunate – not everyone is so lucky and there is no way I
could have afforded to stay in London otherwise or to pay the fare for the two
hour commute from my hometown. At the weekends I got the train back to Dorset
so I could keep up my Saturday job, heading back again on Sundays. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I applied to
university there was only one place for me: London. I saw the student loan that
would come with studying there as my only way of affording to live there and to
do more internships (because one apparently is not enough – I was being told
that in order to stand out I would have to do more and more of these
placements). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am now in my final year of
university. When I graduate I will need a full-time job, and it goes without
saying that in order to pay my bills and afford to eat, it will have to be
paid. Yet I am astounded by the amount of unpaid roles I see advertised in my
industry, and by the assumption that if you really want to succeed, you should
be prepared to work for free. It has been an eye opening experience. I have
always worked hard, first at school, then on my internships and finally at
university. I believed that hard work was the key to success, but I have come
to see that in the current system wealth, in fact, is often the most important
factor on your CV. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some of my placements I
would count as work experience, and for these I wouldn’t expect to be paid.
Especially when I was 16 and just starting out, these placements were my way to
observe what goes on behind the doors of a newspaper or magazine. But on a lot
of my placements I was doing real work that contributed to a profit making
company, work that a paid employee would have to do if the interns weren’t
there. The more interns I speak to (because nearly all of my friends and peers
have done unpaid internships), the more stories I hear of unpaid interns
keeping industries running. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Internships have been my
gateway into a world I would have had absolutely no access to otherwise. A
country girl from Dorset doesn’t get to interview Rupert Everett and attend
London Fashion Week by staying at home where the job opportunities are close to
zero. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I decided to join Intern
Aware’s campaign to try and give young people the experiences I have had
regardless of their background, and in the hope that in the future hard-working
graduates will not be asked to work for free. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i>Libby </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.internaware.org/2013/01/07/why-im-campaigning-for-fair-internships/" target="_blank"><i>http://www.internaware.org/2013/01/07/why-im-campaigning-for-fair-internships/ </i></a></span></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-36043032588497931842012-12-23T04:17:00.002-08:002012-12-23T04:17:38.640-08:00All I Want for Christmas is a Job that Pays
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Father Christmas,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I wake up on Christmas morning I will not be looking
for any packages under the tree. All I want for Christmas is a job that pays. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I value my future more than any gift tied up with paper and
ribbon. But is it wrong that I want to feel valued too? I have been good this
year. I have worked hard; both at university and on the internships I have done
in the hope that they will get me ahead in my career. But I have never been
paid for my time, I am tired, and I cannot afford to work for free anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am told that if I want a successful career internships are
the passport into the land of the employed. My CV should be full of them, they
say. I am also told that I should not expect to be paid, even after I graduate.
Does that mean I should not expect to eat or pay my rent either? Because
without a wage how can I afford to live?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only Christmas present I want this year is the knowledge
that 2013 will bring me closer to my future, and that I will not be held back
by my inability to work for free. I want to have the same opportunities as
those with wealth to support them and send them on their way. I want to apply
for a job where the criteria will be my skills, not the number of places I have
interned, or effectively the number of months I have managed to scrape by on
zero income. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to see real graduate jobs instead of six-month
‘internships’ that I could never afford to do. I want to see the government
support young people like me by enforcing the National Minimum Wage laws they
created that say workers, interns included, are entitled to a wage. In the vast
majority of cases unpaid internships are illegal yet they are as abundant as glitter
at Christmas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I understand that times are tough and jobs are scarce, but
the current system of unpaid internships set only the rich up to succeed. Does
that mean I deserve to fail? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It may sound like I am asking for a lot but it doesn’t
really require Christmas magic for my wish to come true. All it needs is the
government and employers to accept their moral responsibility and the law. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Could 2013 be the year that my dream becomes a reality? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yours hopefully,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Unpaid Intern</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S I sincerely hope your workers are paid a decent wage. Because
we interns are like elves; they may not be as glamorous as Santa Claus, but
Christmas would fall apart without them. </div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-31189710589510664672012-12-20T08:35:00.001-08:002012-12-20T08:35:54.788-08:00Coming home for Christmas<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8291776296/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="mittens by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="mittens" height="429" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8363/8291776296_debe93c0fe.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sky is the colour of wet tarmac as the train sighs and
pulls out of Waterloo. The towers of Battersea power station pierce the low fog
that rolls as silently as a shadow across the city. A jigsaw of terraced houses
and a web of streets flash past the window, then the train shrugs off the final
suburbs and bursts into countryside. A forever of fields and sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sitting on the 11:20 train from London in a Christmas
jumper with reindeers leaping across my chest and snowflakes falling from my
shoulders. It is the 20<sup>th</sup> of December, five days until Christmas. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My suitcases are heavy with presents and jumpers. A roll of
gold wrapping paper pokes out of the corner of one bag. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been a long term. When I started the first week of my
final year at university I was still shaky with the memories of glandular
fever. I realised it had been nearly six months since I was last in class and
working at my full capacity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
September was only four months ago but so much has happened.
Perhaps most notably I have gone from being an unpaid intern to becoming a campaigner for
fairer internships. In January I will start a new job at Intern Aware, the
campaign I have been involved with for the past few months. My work so far has
taken me to the Houses of Parliament and seen my name in the Huffington Post,
the Guardian, the Independent and the Observer. I have met some incredibly
interesting people and feel fulfilled doing something I believe in. The more people
I talk to and the more campaign work I do the stronger I feel about this issue:
it is not fair that young people are excluded from jobs just because they
cannot afford to work for free. I am looking forward to an exciting 2013:
joining Intern Aware in January and graduating in the summer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But for now I am heading to the Dorset countryside and to
the small town where my family will be waiting for me behind a wreath bedecked
front door. As I sit on the train I can nearly smell the pine of the Christmas
tree and feel the warmth of the Aga. I think of my mum, my sister and my
step-dad and my heart glows like a street full of Christmas lights. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I may be looking forward to 2013 and getting my teeth stuck
into a new job and my final university project, but now it is time to pause.
Christmas is family time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am coming home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<i>Libby</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-4277803082951625922012-12-04T14:53:00.000-08:002012-12-04T14:54:15.115-08:00Why I wear colour<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8245947166/" title="7 day colours transparent low by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="7 day colours transparent low" height="191" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8338/8245947166_2ec5c4f606.jpg" width="500" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8244878899/" title="pink and red weeks by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="pink and red weeks" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8069/8244878899_f0af5b2bf6.jpg" width="423" /></a>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">First there were the
Minnie Mouse leggings. I was four (one, two, three, four sticky fingers counted
and held up proudly to show my age). They were my first experience of fashion,
and my first experience of love. A shouty shade of pink, they clashed with the
orange curtains that parted around my chubby face. I paired them with an acid
green t-shirt, accessorized with a half moon grin. I would like to think that
my taste has developed since then (I got a haircut and ditched the Disney), but
some things will never change. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My name is Libby and I
am a colour addict. My wardrobe looks like a Skittle shower. It is colour
co-ordinated like a rainbow with only two or three black items acting as a full
stop at the very end of the rail. I hardly ever wear them. Dressing in colour
is an important part of who I am and bright shades are like the anti-shadow
that follows me wherever I go. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I cannot imagine my life
without colour, and I cannot imagine my life without Sally. Sally is my mum’s
name and the name of the nanny who helped look after me ever since I was two.
Both women have been huge influences in my life and have painted it many
different shades. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">When I think of my childhood
and my mum I think of a soft pink jumper she wore when I was little, a jumper
that felt like falling asleep it was so gentle to the touch. I think of the
powder green stalks of her favourite flower (tulips), her forget-me not blue
Aga and her marshmallow pink fridge. All of these things and all of these
colours sum up how I felt about her as a little girl: she was my safety. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Nanny Sally is the most
colourful person I know. Red was and still is her signature, but if it is not
red it is purple, or fuchsia pink, all accessorised with vibrant handmade
jewellery and a personality as warm as the colours she wears. Nanny Sally’s
love of colour extends into her home, where cereal is eaten out of rainbow
stripe bowls and cupboards are painted turquoise and apple green. I didn’t know
this was allowed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My memories are punctuated
by colour, like bright map tacs pinned into the collage of my life. A
toothpaste green gingham dress marks my early school years. I saw in the
millennium with dark green beads and a velvet skirt that felt soft and
comforting to the touch. Bright tie-dye and a suede coat the colour of squashed
blackcurrants signalled the transition into my early teens. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">As I grew up my
relationship with my mum changed: she wasn’t just the pink parent who fed me
Calpol and put my school uniform on the radiator each morning, she was a poster
for the kind of woman I wanted to grow into. And she was red. I would watch her
put on her red lipstick or hug her through her thick red coat when she came
back from work, and I would think to myself, “I won’t be a grown up until I can
wear red.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">As I got older I also
became more conscious of the clothes I wore. Now the first thing I think about
when I wake up is what I’m going to wear. It is important to me, not because I want
to look like a walking magazine (or think that I ever could) but because the
clothes I wear have a huge effect on how I feel. Colour is a big part of this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Last year I spent two
weeks in two colours: one week dressed head to toe in pink and another dressed
head to toe in red. I was interested in how colours affect my mood and the way
people treat me, but most of all it was the one thing that fashion should be: fun.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">People often tell me
that I must be confident to wear such bright colours. Most mornings when I wake
up I don’t feel sunshine yellow or confident cobalt. In fact I often want
nothing more than to hide behind a mask of grey and black. But that is exactly
why I wear colour. If I’m feeling blue I’ll put on blue tights instead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I have always worn
colourful clothes, but my wardrobe is definitely the brightest it has ever
been. Earlier this year I became unwell. I spent six months in a glandular
fever cloud. Most days I felt as though I had been on a treadmill for weeks and
my body had turned to jelly. But I wasn’t just drained of energy; I felt like a
deflated balloon with all the personality squeezed out of me. I spent several
months in my pyjamas and developed a relationship with my duvet that was
nothing short of possessive. When I eventually managed to escape the clinging
arms of my bed I wanted to wear all the shadows of my mood. But instead I
dressed like a sunbeam. Like a sunflower draws energy from the sun, I drew
energy from the bright colours that I forced myself to wear. I still do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The clothes you wear are
the first things that people see of you. I want mine to smile hello. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Colour is my coffee in
the morning and the person I want to be. But it is also my story. And although
it may not be earth-shattering or twinkling with the sparks of fireworks, I
think my story is more colourful than a little black dress. Isn’t yours? </span></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-81593373957856450202012-12-02T14:55:00.000-08:002012-12-02T14:55:10.200-08:00Busy Libby<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8238593563/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Picture 7 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="Picture 7" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8487/8238593563_17eed1dd82.jpg" width="465" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.libbypage.info/">www.libbypage.info</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8239663034/" title="The Observer by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="The Observer" height="500" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8482/8239663034_0a6cd97542.jpg" width="400" />
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I’ve been busy. So busy that this blog has become neglected and when I clicked onto my website today I realised it was not up to date with all the things I have been doing. So I have given it a bit of a <a href="http://www.libbypage.info/Libby_Page/Home.html" target="_blank">makeover</a> (although it's always a work in progress).</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have been putting all my time and energy into my final project for university, which is a film I am making about unpaid internships in the fashion industry. Along the way I have met and interviewed some interesting people, attended protests, given official evidence at a government hearing and been interviewed myself, like for <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/money/2012/dec/01/interns-rebel-against-unpaid-placements" target="_blank">today's article in the Observer</a> about the class divide created by unpaid internships. To read more about what I have been up to, have a look at the blog I have been keeping: <a href="http://itpaystopay.wordpress.com/">http://itpaystopay.wordpress.com/</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you have two minutes (well two minutes and 57 seconds to be precise) have a look at the short film I have made, a film that involved hours spent playing with Playmobil, Barbies and Lego as I made my own stop motion animation...</div>
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Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-80163672877304083192012-12-02T06:57:00.001-08:002012-12-02T06:57:47.494-08:00My box room<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8237118545/" title="IMG_9466 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_9466" height="333" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8490/8237118545_dbe6ab6b9d.jpg" width="500" /></a>
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My bedroom this year is essentially a box. But that doesn’t
mean it has to be a boring box. In the few months that I have lived here I have
made it my own, and made it home. </div>
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Home, wherever it may be, is my sanctuary. With winter
closing in and squeezing us in an icy embrace there is nothing like coming in
from the cold and into the fairylight glow of my bedroom. I shed my coat and scarf and shed the stresses of the day as I flop into a heap of cushions and blankets on my bed. I turn on my music and lie on my back looking up at my wall of photographs: photographs that make me smile and that are just as much a reflection of who I am as the colourful clothes that I wear.<br />
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It may just be a small box but my room is proof that you can do a lot with not much. A good motto for life I think. <br />
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<i>Libby</i></div>
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-36967945132291922892012-11-18T12:08:00.002-08:002012-11-18T12:08:34.673-08:00Stop and smell the flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>"They seemed to be hardly Railway children at all in those days, and
as the days went on each had an uneasy feeling about this which
Phyllis expressed one day. </i><br />
<i>
"I wonder if the Railway misses us," she said, plaintively. "We
never go to see it now."
</i><br />
<i>
"It seems ungrateful," said Bobbie; "we loved it so when we hadn't
anyone else to play with..." </i><br />
The Railway Children, E Nesbit <br />
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When I first moved to London I chose my student accommodation based on its proximity to Columbia Road Flower Market. It is one of my favourite places and in my first year I found myself there most Sunday mornings, smelling the flowers and listening to the stallholders calling out the prices of snapdragons and tulips. <br />
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If I'm honest though, one of the reasons I would go there was because I didn't have much else to do on a Sunday, or anyone to do it with. Leaving home for the first time was lonely. But instead of feeling lonely in my room I went out and explored. The flowers and coffee shops and markets were my company. <br />
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That was two years ago: I now feel lucky to have made lovely friends and to have a busy balance of seeing them and working on my final university project. But this morning I woke up and realised that it has been nearly a year since I visited Columbia Road. <br />
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Final year is hectic so technically I should probably have spent today working on my dissertation, but after spending a stressful Saturday at university I decided that flowers would be good for my soul. <br />
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I headed to Columbia Road with my camera and enjoyed a day of perfect loneliness. I ate cake alone and smiled at strangers and bought myself roses - because everyone deserves roses every now and then. It is lovely to have other people to make me happy (and even to buy roses for me) but it is also nice to spend days like these by myself, taking joy in the smell of the flowers. Friends make me very happy but it is good to remind myself that I can make me very happy too. <br />
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(Cake and roses help.) <br />
<br />
<i>Libby</i><br />
Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-81547988791988701942012-11-13T01:11:00.001-08:002012-11-13T01:11:05.889-08:00Dreaming of Paris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I dreamt of Paris. Here are some photos I took last time I was there visiting my best friend Juliette...<br />
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<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-87134968393095985012012-10-31T16:17:00.001-07:002012-10-31T16:19:33.913-07:00Happy HalloweenTonight is the only night of the year when it is OK for children to mug their neighbours for sweets and when you can pass a werewolf in the street and not bat an eyelid. The pumpkins are glowing and the fireworks are fizzing: Happy Halloween.<br />
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Instead of joining the festivities I am sat at my 'desk' (in other words the kitchen table that I have claimed for my own in my shared flat) surrounded by piles of notes, elbow deep in research for my university final major project. You think ghosts and goblins are scary? This is scary.<br />
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At the moment thinking about my final project feels like standing at the bottom of a mountain in a pair of flipflops. But even scarier than the thought of how I will climb over all this work is the thought of what I will do when it is over. After three years of study I will have come to the end of what has at times felt like a trek, but really it has just been the warm-up lap before a marathon.<br />
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When I graduate I need to get a job, but the more I hear about graduate unemployment the more this prospect terrifies me. Especially when I talk to more and more young graduates who are working for free or who have had to give up on their dreams (and careers that they have trained for) because they can't afford to not to get paid for their time. This is why I am continuing to investigate and campaign against unpaid internships: because I know the thought of graduating and finding a job sends shivers up the spines of most young people, and because I don't think it is fair that wealth should be the real USP that you need to get ahead. <br />
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I am going to a fancy dress Halloween party on Friday and had been struggling with costume ideas. I now know what I'm going to go as. An unemployed graduate.<br />
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<i>Libby </i><br />
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<br />Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-25026889898439596422012-10-30T13:08:00.002-07:002012-10-30T13:08:18.159-07:00Autumn and the early bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139340007/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="street copy by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="street copy" height="298" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8193/8139340007_3a6669e652.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I am not a night owl. It is not even 8pm and I am already feeling sleepy. It probably goes without saying then that I am not my most productive in the evening. I am well into the first term of my final year at uni and weighed down with work. But instead of staying up all night I have taken to getting up early instead.<br />
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However stressed I may have felt the night before, I (nearly) always leap (or sometimes roll) out of bed feeling like the world is a wonderful place. I love sitting in my kitchen with my notes and my books, enjoying a proper breakfast whilst I watch the sun rising - it feels like I am being let in on a secret. Even if it is raining morning rain seems far more poetic than the gloom of night time rain. Or at least it does to me.<br />
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This year is largely about independent study so without a timetable telling me when to work I am making my own schedule. Today I decided to fit in a break of fresh air and headed out to Clapham Common with my camera to kick through the leaves and get away from the web of post-it notes and papers that has ensnared my bedroom. <br />
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I woke up to sunshine but after a day of work and more work the evening gloom is starting to descend again. But it's ok. There's always tomorrow. <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139219086/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="sky puddle by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="sky puddle" height="266" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8329/8139219086_86946e0855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139190227/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="leaves by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="leaves" height="266" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8330/8139190227_9332036982.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139190843/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="leaf by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="leaf" height="266" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8043/8139190843_4dfa578612.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139189113/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="shoe1 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="shoe1" height="266" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8465/8139189113_f6f8f4a787.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139188653/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="shoe2 by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="shoe2" height="266" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8326/8139188653_b51b80dda0.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/89134880@N07/8139220498/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="nightingale lane by LibbyPagePink, on Flickr"><img alt="nightingale lane" height="283" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8470/8139220498_aabce2efee.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Reasons to love autumn:</div>
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Painted orange trees</div>
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Leaves that say shhhh when you kick them </div>
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Hot chocolate</div>
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Sequin wellies</div>
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Puddles that you can see your face in</div>
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Afternoon light that looks like maple syrup</div>
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<i>Libby</i></div>
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Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-6721872149446241552012-10-24T13:09:00.004-07:002012-10-24T13:10:54.174-07:00Why I am not watching The Work Experience<style>
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</style><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">It is very rare that I get angry. But my blood is boiling.
Last night I saw an advert for The Work Experience on E4, a mock sitcom that
follows the experiences of two interns in a fashion PR agency. Unbeknown to the
interns the PR agency is a set-up and the tasks they are asked to perform
(exposing an illegal sweatshop and collecting a celebrity’s sperm sample being
two examples) are not real tasks. I find the whole concept for the programme,
which launches tonight, not just tasteless, but offensive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Work Experience may be a ‘mockumentary’, but this is
real. I am a final year fashion journalism student and have done seven work
experience placements, ranging from national newspapers and magazines to a
local paper in London. I feel grateful for the experiences I have had and for
the insight they have given me into the industry I want to work in, but there
have been moments when my eagerness has been tested. I am still searching to
find exactly what I learnt from delivering personal dry cleaning, doing
personal ironing or steaming clothes for nine hours without a break. But
despite the errands I have been asked to undertake on work experience I feel
lucky: my experiences are nothing compared to the horror stories that I have
heard from my peers. You do the job because you want a job, and the reality is
that there isn’t much you wouldn’t do. The real rub comes when you remember
that you are not even being paid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Exploitation of young people in the fashion industry is
endemic, yet it is an issue that remains largely unchallenged. Who wants to be
the ‘work experience’ (as we are referred to) who complained? I certainly
didn’t think that it would be me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">That was until I remembered that journalism is about having
a voice. Instead of investigating a real issue within its own industry The Work
Experience makes a cheap joke out of a serious situation. And the only reason
it gets away with it is that the group of people it represents have no way of
retaliating – they have no voice. But I am ‘the work experience’, and I am not
laughing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the end of the programme, and after the degrading tasks
the interns perform, the set-up is revealed and the lucky pair are offered a
month’s work experience placement at a real fashion PR agency. At least the
placement is paid, but it makes me wonder what lengths I am expected to go to
as a young person trying to make a career for myself. Everyone has to start
from the bottom, but where does experience end and exploitation begin?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Libby </i></span></div>
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Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-55427214255448801252012-10-24T12:53:00.001-07:002012-10-24T13:00:31.368-07:00Are you defined by your degree?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“So then,
what do you study?” is a question that I have come to dread. I may be having an
interesting conversation with the person I have just met, but as soon as I
answer ‘fashion journalism’ the cloud descends. The cloud is a shadow that
passes inadvertently across the face of the person I am talking to and that
fogs their perception of me. I see myself reflected in their eyes and watch as
my IQ drops. </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Of
course, not everyone reacts this way, but I have become so used to the negative
reactions (“Why would you want to do that?” is rarely a question. Give me a
chance to tell you!) that I have started making excuses for myself before I
even begin. </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">“I study
journalism,” is how I usually start, perhaps followed by a sheepish,
“specialising in fashion.” </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
raised eyebrows that follow are the telling sign. As soon as I add fashion I
become an airhead. </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I study
fashion journalism because I find it interesting. Most of all I find people
interesting, and despite the inaccessibility (and often absurdity) of catwalks
and couture, fashion is one of the greatest unifiers. You might say you are not
interested in clothes, but you still wear them. I am interested in the business
of fashion: it is a huge industry that affects so many people and generates huge
amounts of wealth (and equally destruction). I am interested in the history of
fashion, its social context and how it acts as a barometer of the times. I am
interested in the psychology of clothes, and how what we wear affects how we
feel and how people treat us.</span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Although
I enjoy talking about and sharing what I do, sometimes I wish I didn’t have to
justify myself. The sheepishness with which I talk about my course is so at
odds with the way I talk about other things when I meet someone for the first
time that it is not a true reflection of who I am: I am a confident,
independent woman and I love meeting new people. But that is the point: I may
feel the need to define my course, but it doesn’t define me. And it certainly
doesn’t make me the stereotype that I know so many people see when I tell them
what I do.</span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Today I
well and truly let down the fashionista stereotype by tucking into a 12 inch
pizza for my lunch. I may study fashion, but I would rather spend my money on
pizza than shoes. There are so many sides to me that have nothing to do with my
degree and that are at odds with perceptions of a fashion student. I study
fashion journalism but I like books and burgers and baking, and I have more
opinions than I have handbags. </span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Libby </span></i><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></div>
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Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3883828604980467703.post-30262400752435827782012-10-19T08:50:00.001-07:002012-10-19T08:59:29.685-07:00Don't let the bastards grind you down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes life can make you feel like a paper doll that has been thrown in the washing machine on an an intense-clean cycle. You spin round and round and slosh up and down until you eventually turn to pulp.<br />
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Here are a few reasons why recently I have been feeling particularly like mushed up and soggy paper: <br />
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1) Fresher's flu. And I'm not even a fresher.<br />
2) Dissertation angst. <br />
3) Final university project angst.<br />
4) I graduate next year.<br />
5) What am I going to do with my life?<br />
6) Am I ever going to get a job?<br />
7) Am I ever going to get a job that isn't working in Macdonald's?<br />
8) I wrote an article about unpaid internships and people keep telling me how brave I am.<br />
9) This makes me slightly worried.<br />
10) Rain.<br />
11) The Great British Bake Off has finished.<br />
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Don't let the bastards grind you down. That was my inspiration for this outfit. Life may feel like a giant washing machine at times, but you just have to dry yourself off, stick yourself back together and remember what you believe in. And I believe in pink, I believe in smiling and I believe in not just waiting for the storm to pass, but learning how to dance in the rain. <br />
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(And I believe in cake). <br />
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<i>Libby</i>Libby Pagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08723600500631711013noreply@blogger.com2