Friday - good things come to those who wait

My timing has been incredible. Unplanned, unintentional, but incredible. I came to Cosmpolitan at the start of London fashion week. And the timing gets better: for the first two days Sairey, the fashion editor and Laura, who was the lovely intern who became the lovely full-time intern, are away on a photoshoot. Therefore yesterday before she left Sairey gave Robyn and I her tickets for the fashion shows on Friday and Saturday, saying we could split them between us. I couldn't believe my luck. I would actually be watching a live fashion show, the fashion shows I follow religiously on style.com and the Vogue website. I would actually be going to London Fashion week and not just looking at photos on my computer screen and dreaming about it.

Thursday night after the Reiss party I stayed up late organising my tickets, working out how I would get to and in between shows and, of course (and with much deliberation), deciding what I would wear.

I also had to work out how I would get to Heathrow airport by 6:30 in the morning. In all the Cosmo fuelled excitement I had almost forgotten that Friday the 17th of September was the date my sister returned from Africa after 11 weeks, and that I had long ago decided to surprise her by meeting her at the airport, regardless of the unsociable hour. Looking up the journey the night before I realised it would take me longer than I thought, meaning a 5am start. Ouch.

After a measly 5 hours sleep my alarm clock was sounding and I was getting up and dressed. (I had a shower and washed my hair the night before, figuring a cold shower at 5 in the morning would probably finish me off. Did I mention that I have a cold? I've been feeling ill all week but am determined not to get worse as the walk to my local doctor's surgery scares me. Yes I am a wimp. But I just really really really don't want to get stabbed. That's all.) It was still dark when I left my flat and got on the bus to the station. On the long tube journey to Heathrow, terminal 4, it was an effort to keep myself awake, but also an effort to sleep as I had nothing to lean against. All in all it was a horrible journey, not helped by the fact I knew it was still dark outside. But when I got to the airport, I didn't care. I met my mum and we stood together waiting for Alex to come through arrivals. When I saw her pushing her trolley laden with rucksacks, and had the first hug from her in 11 weeks, I nearly cried.

Mum, Alex and I had breakfast together and exchanged stories of our adventures - Alex's in the Ugandan jungle and mine in the concrete jungle. It was so nice to be sat with my family that when the time came for them to leave and mum took Alex away from me I couldn't help but feel shaken and teary. But it was back on the tube and back to Cosmo. I thought I would have to take the morning off but I managed to get to Heathrow, have breakfast, and get back to the office all before 9:30.

It was then time to work, and to discover the downside of this apparent 'incredible timing'.

The fashion department is unbelievably busy at the moment. Manic, even. The returns mountain seemed to be getting bigger and bigger rather than going down, the team had photos to edit and copy to write before the weekend and the stress levels were sky high.

I got to work, bagging up clothes all day. We were so busy that I missed all of the fashion shows I had tickets for during the day. At lunch I was so tired I was close to tears, and grabbed some food from Boots, grateful to be out of the office if only for 5 minutes, before returning to my desk and work. People think fashion is glamorous, but most of the time it really isn't. Most of the time it is about normal people working insanely hard, not because of glamour and parties but because they are passionate about what they do.

Perhaps it was the tiredness but I couldn't help but feel disheartened. As I sat there I suddenly felt as though I would be bagging up clothes for the rest of my life. I could see my life stretching before me in a cupboard on my knees sorting and bagging and being paid nothing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ungrateful. I know I am so lucky to be here, I love the people and the environment (I wouldn't have been so eager to come back for the third time if I didn't), and I know that this - running errands, ironing clothes and sorting returns is what everyone has to do. Everyone has to start at the bottom before they can work their way up. But it suddenly hit me: what if I don't work my way up? I could intern at a hundred different magazines but not neccessarily get any closer to getting a job. Because this industry is hard, it can be unfair, you could work forever and never get that one break, and that's just the way it is. At one point I was kneeling on the floor surrounded by bags and bags of clothes I knew I had to organise, desperate for sleep and coughing away, and for a brief moment I thought to myself, why am I doing this?

My question was answered that evening. I may have missed all of the shows in the day, and everyone else on the fashion team might have missed lots too, but in the evening I got to go to Somerset House for PPQ's spring/summer 2011 catwalk show.

I loved everything about it and was beaming from start to finish. After queuing for 45 minutes in the beautiful courtyard at Somerset House we all filed in, taking our seats around the brightly lit catwalk. Before the show started photographers huddled on the runway, their cameras flashing as they took photographs of the front row. The room was alive with excitement and voices. At one end of the catwalk was a wall of photographers, and more cameras than I have seen in my life. Then the lights went down, there was quiet, and the show, my first fashion week show, began.

When the first model stepped out onto the catwalk, I felt it happen. I had passed the point of no return. I realised that despite the hard work, disappointments and sheer slog it may involve, this is just what I have to do.

The show itself was amazing; a riot of colour and quirky shapes, including frill hems and cute boxy hats.

I was particularly pleased to see so much pink on the runway, flashes of hot pop pink that made for a collection that was fun, flirty and fizzing with vibrancy.

And there were those specs again that I so loved at the Fearne Cotton show. Having bad eyesight, it seems, is now something to rejoice in.

I loved the mix of colours here: the cerise pink dress, bright blue belt and the beautiful firey red of the model's hair.

Seeing the models strutting down the runway, listening to the booming music and watching the front row editors scribbling in their notebooks (and dreaming of one day being among them) I was in heaven.

The catwalk scenes in the Devil Wears Prada and The September Issue (my two favourite films) are always my favourites. I watch the fashion show scenes and think to myself: yes. This is it. And watching a live fashion show was even better. It left me invigorated, dizzy and absolutely determined to spend my life working in this dynamic industry and to be on that front row scribbling in my notebook.

My stomach did a giddy flip as the models filled the runway and the room filled with applause.

So to answer my own question: why am I doing this? ...

This is why.

As we left Somerset House we were handed wrist bands for the PPQ after party, known within the industry to be one of London Fashion Week's best after parties. I was suddenly torn between two minds. All afternoon I had been feeling giddy and ill, and was so tired that I had decided to give the party a miss and go home instead. But once I had the wristband in my hand...

A short taxi ride later and I was walking into Westminster's Park Plaza, my heels (because you HAVE to wear heels to fashion week) tapping across the marble floor. The party was taking place in the basement which was filled with oh-so-fashionable people gathered around tables where tea lights glowed in the dim light. In one huge room there was a dance floor and instruments set up for the mystery band that would be playing later that night. Robyn and I walked around sipping our drinks and people watching, as happy and excited as small children (as the grins on our faces show in this photo Natasha took of us).

Despite the excitement, I couldn't hide the fact I was exhausted. Bouts of giddiness kept coming and despite wanting to stay late to celeb spot and hear the band (there were rumours flying around of the XX or Mark Ronson. In the end it was the XX and I would have loved to hear them) I decided to be sensible and get to bed. I had tickets for more shows on Saturday and didn't want to be too tired to enjoy them. And fingers crossed there will be plenty more fashion show after parties to come in the future...

Libby

Fearne Cotton for Very

I may not have been able to take photographs at the Fearne Cotton fashion show, but that doesn't mean the paparazzi weren't. As I sat there I was nearly blinded by camera flashes as the paps snapped Alesha Dixon front row. At one point she turned around to us, saying "I'm SO sorry". Don't you worry Alesha.

The next day in the office Natasha was looking through the paparazzi photographs online and got very excited when she spotted herself (she's between Alesha Dixon and Louise Court). Next it was my turn to get over-excited when she pointed out one with me in it too. Can you spot me? :)

As we left we were handed USB sticks containing stills from the show. Looking through them I found my favourite dress, the sheer maxi dress above.

I love this photo, I always love seeing a smiley model and that bow and those glasses are just fab.

And here is Fearne. Now do you understand why I felt so jealous?

Libby

Thursday

Firstly, let me apologise for the lack of photographs in this post. I shall explain why later.

Although I have been loving living in London and exploring Bethnal Green, my course doesn't actually start for 2 weeks. Most of the people living here in Cordwainer's Court are studying an art foundation course which started a week ago, and are already into the full swing of lectures, projects and work. I must admit I was slightly jealous - as much as I love mooching around London I came here ultimately to become a fashion journalist. Just as I was beginning to find myself at a loose end, however, magic struck.

I was checking up on facebook on Wednesday night (as you do) when one particular status stopped me in my tracks. It was one of the fashion assistants at Cosmo saying they were in desperate need of an intern for two weeks, starting tomorrow. I couldn't believe my luck - just a few days ago I was walking down Carnaby Street wishing myself back in the Cosmo offices, and now that wish might just come true... I knew I couldn't do a full two weeks, but as I had a bit of time before my course starts I thought I'd reply anyway and see if they needed my help. I was met by an enthusiastic "Yes PLEASE" and "can you start tomorrow?".

And so it came to be that on Thursday morning I was getting ready to go back to Cosmopolitan. Now this is where the lack of photos comes in... The boiler in our flat has officially died. Since I have been here I have had one luke warm shower, the rest have been icy. Stepping into a cold shower first thing in the morning officially feels like death. On Thursday morning I just about managed to wash my hair under the freezing trickle of water, but I just couldn't bring myself to face the pain of washing my whole body. That's when I remembered that there was a shower at the Cosmo offices... The thought of a hot shower in my lunch break, however much like a tramp it might make me seem, was so tempting that when it came to packing my bag and I realised I could either fit my camera OR my towel and shower gel, the shower won and the camera stayed. When later events of the day unfolded, however, I kicked myself for not bring the camera.

Anyway, back to my third first day at Cosmo towers...

As usual I over-estimated my journey time and arrived nearly an hour early. To kill time I made a pilgrimage to Hanover Square, and Vogue House. As city-slickers walked hurriedly passed me and cars drew up outside the doors I stood looking up at the 'Vogue' sign, reminding myself why I'm here and what I want. Perhaps it makes me crazy that standing outside a building can make me so emotional, but this isn't just any building. When I look at Vogue House I see everything I am working for, and everything I am willing to work even harder to achieve. With the image of Vogue House still strongly in my mind, I turned and headed back to Carnaby Street.

Walking through the office doors felt reassuringly familiar, and when the receptionist asked if I knew where I was going I told her not to worry, I've been here before. I arrived on the fourth floor and headed to the fashion department, where I was met by smiling faces. It was so nice to be back and to see everyone again. After hugs and hellos, and meeting Robyn, the intern here at the moment, it was into the fashion cupboard and to work.

Stepping into the cupboard was a little overwhelming, due to the fact that 'climb' into the cupboard would be a more apt description. The team are currently working on their Christmas gift guide, as well as several fashion shoots for the December issue, therefore the cupboard was piled high with not just clothes, bags and shoes, but cushions, candles and a whole array of homeware. The 'returns' pile (the things that are finished with and need to be sorted, bagged up and sent back) was not a pile, but a mountain. Even worse, many of the things were unlabelled so the thought of finding out where they came from and sending them back to their rightful owners made my head ache. I didn't really know where to start but figured starting at the beginning is often a good place, so grabbed the first few bags.

I proceeded to spend the day sorting clothes, and packing and labelling bags. Another of my tasks was to iron the editor of Cosmo's dress for an event that night. Ironing is not my forté to say the least, but there I was with an iron in the fashion cupboard of Cosmopolitan. Luckily I didn't burn the dress.

Lunchtime came and went (I sat and ate my homemade sweet potato soup then DID have my hot shower - it felt like heaven) and then it was 5:30 and time to go home, but the returns mountain didn't seem any smaller.

I was consoled however, when Natasha, one of the fashion assistants, asked me if I was busy this evening or whether I wanted to come to a fashion show for Fearne Cotton's new range for Very. Hmm... go home and sit in my flat eating yet more soup (I managed to make about a gallon of the stuff) or go to a fashion show... Difficult decision...

Unfortunately I wasn't really dressed for a fashion show - I remembered how tiring working at Cosmo is so had worn my trusty flat pumps - but Natasha kindly leant me a pair of heels, I whacked on some red lippy and figured that would have to do.

What an evening. When we arrived at the building we were met by a buzzing crowd of well-dressed fashionistas and gorgeous waiters handing around pink bellinis with rose petals floating on the surface. (Finally seeing some muscly heterosexual males, and even better, males who were serving me alcohol, did I must admit, make my day. I go to fashion college. You get the idea...) I stuck with Robyn and we milled around until she unexpectedly spotted a friend of hers who we bee-lined for through the crowd. Coincidentally this side of the room was also where Craig David was hanging out. Robyn's friend plucked up the courage to ask for a photo with him and he came over and chatted to us and I was overcome with how friendly and nice he was.

Next it was time for the fashion show to start so we all headed for the catwalk. I was sat behind Louise Court (editor of Cosmopolitan) and Alesha Dixon and opposite Reggie Yates (who I think I have actually fallen in love with purely for his smile). As the lights went down and the show started I could feel my blood racing - other than the staged shows at London Fashion Weekend this was my first proper fashion show. I was in my element.

When it came to the clothes themselves, I was pleasantly surprised. Very is a brand I would never usually think to shop from, but I spotted several things I really liked, including a sheer maxi dress with a patterned fabric showing through underneath. However my favourite part of the show was actually the specs the models were wearing, and their hair and make up. They didn't look quite real, the mounds of soft hair bobbing as they walked.

When the show was over Fearne Cotton came onto the catwalk to make a speech and to thank everyone for coming. I never used to be her biggest fan finding her slightly irritating, but I now take back my preconceptions of her; she actually seemed a genuine, lovely person. And, depressingly, absolutely stunning. She was wearing a floor-skimming soft blue dress with a low back, and her light brown hair fell in soft waves around her face. So jealous.

After the show Robyn and I headed to the Reiss flagship store for a fashion week party, whilst Natasha and her friends went to a different do that they couldn't get us tickets for. With Robyn by my side I didn't mind turning up alone, and being met with champagne on the door certainly helped the mood. Inside people milled around the shop with drinks, all arty, fabulously dressed people. Although we didn't know anyone I had a good evening. I spent most of the time people watching and imagining myself as part of this world in 5 or 10 years time.

Then it was back home, and eventually I was in my bed at Bethnal Green, happy as can be.

Libby

Day 3 at Bethnal Green

Just down the road from where I am living sit a row of the prettiest cars in the world. I can picture myself behind the wheel of a baby pink version, or perhaps a sophisticated mocha colour, or even minty green... hmmm decisions decisions...

Yesterday my oyster card got its first outing as a group of us hit Oxford Street. First stop, Topshop (of course).

I love the flagship store, but would never shop for clothes there; rails of clothes stretch into what seems to be a never-ending distance, and the crowds of fashion hungry shoppers can make for a somewhat stressful shopping experience. Instead, I love exploring the ground floor accessories department. I love the huge walls of bags and scarves, and the hosiery department always sparks an unnaturally strong desire for thick wooly tights, over the knee socks and packs and packs of black opaques. When it comes to jewellery the concessions are my favourites, from Butler & Wilson type bling from 'Mikey' to delicate and pretty brand 'Orelia'.

After hitting Oxford Street we headed to an incense scented café on Carnaby Street where we drank coffee on comfy leather sofas and chatted well into the afternoon. Being back on Carnaby Street felt like coming home. The Cosmopolitan offices are based just around the corner, and as I sat with my new friends I couldn't help but think about the time I spent at Cosmo last summer and then again last November. It felt strange to walk down the street again but not be going to work there. I miss it.

Also on Carnaby Street is Liberty, one of my favourite shops (and places) in the world. I didn't think it was possible to fall deeper in love with this beautiful landmark. That was until I saw the photograph covering its back wall.

Today has been an unusually active day for me, and I have loved it. Yesterday morning my flatmate and I went for a wander and stumbled across a tiny patch of calm amongst the busy streets: Regent's Canal, banked by trees and littered with boats, which led on to the leafy Victoria Park.

Whilst in London I am keen to stay fit and healthy, to avoid a diet purely consisting on tinned food and bread and to get out and about and active too. Thankfully it seems I'm not the only one. Exercise is far less fun on your own, so this morning I set off for a jog with 2 other girls, Beth and Lucy, from my halls. We walked and chatted our way to Victoria Park, then did two laps, enough to leave me close to collapsing. Perhaps it was a bad idea to go jogging with a regular runner and a dancer...

Despite the stitch and unattractive scarlet face I felt energised, so much so that Lucy and I then headed down to Londonfields lido for a swim and to join up as members.

The lido itself is just around the corner from our halls, and boasts a huge pool and brand new changing facilities. Membership is as cheap as chips and the pool was lovely. With a grey, drizzly sky above and a cool wind blowing I braced myself for arctic temperatures, but I was pleasantly surprised. The water turned out to be far warmer than the shower I had yesterday morning. (Joy of joys our hot water wasn't working so it was an ice cold shower for me yesterday. Today, however, I spoke to the halls manager and came home to the fabulous surprise of hot water. Stepping into a shower you expect to be freezing to be greeted instead by warmth = BEST SHOWER OF MY LIFE.) I loved the swim and will definitely be back soon.

When I told people I would be living in Hackney I was met by anything from the slightly concerned, to worried to downright shocked. Perhaps my bedroom does look over a graveyard (complete with open tomb beneath my window), perhaps our bin area outside is home to several tramps and perhaps I wouldn't dream of going into the small park opposite our building, but it's certainly not all bad.

Ever the over-enthusiastic new student I have already signed up at the local library, which although being 'rubbish' according to the Londoners that live in my halls, is 5 times bigger than my local library back home and in my eyes, fabulous. They even have books in different languages. Wow. The streets around here are heaving with little shops where you can buy any kind of fruit and veg you could ever need for a fraction of the cost you would pay at a supermarket. The lido is just around the corner, Victoria Park is beautiful, and you know what... it just feels like home. And I've only been here 3 days...

Libby

London Home

I'm here! After an early start, a long journey and endless trips from the car up to the flat and back again, I am all moved in and feel right at home. I LOVE IT HERE. The flat is so much nicer than I expected, the room bigger and my flatmates feel like old friends already.

This being me, as soon as I arrived and had unpacked my considerable amount of clothes (which DO fit in my wardrobe and drawers!! :) ) I had to set to work Libbyifying the room. Firstly, I attacked the looming empty pinboard. A few magazine pages, a handful of pins, a string of fairy lights and 'hey presto' you've got yourself a colourful wall a la Libby.

Whilst I unpacked my mum made a trip to Columbia Road flower market and came back with a bunch of flowers. Unfortunately I don't have any vases, but a waterglass makes a suitable alternative and I now have one bunch on my desk and another on our kitchen table.

We all seem to have arrived prepared to feed an army and our kitchen is now overflowing with cooking supplies, including my bright pink ones. Oh well, at least we'll be all set in the event of an unlikely world kitchen supply shortage.

My fashion books look right at home on their new bookshelf, and I've made use of the bunting my sister gave me as part of my 'university survival kit'. Above my bed I have strung my teacup and cupcake bunting given to me by my godmother. Ah people know me well.

And I may be 18 and too old for soft toys, but home just wouldn't be home without old friends...

Last night saying goodbye to friends was traumatic to say the least, but despite my tears I reassured them I would be fine in the morning. And I was right. As soon as I arrived in London looking out the car window reminded me what this was all about. Yes. This is where I want to be.

I'll miss my friends and family so much, but right now I am just one happy bunny. I love London, I love my flat, I love my flatmates. This is London Home.

Libby

Moving in cakes

Never one to miss a baking opportunity I spent this afternoon making 'moving in cakes' for my flatmates. I also took the chance to raid the kitchen for additional baking supplies (a heart shaped cutter, a bag of icing sugar and a some paisley print cupcake cases) to add to my ever growing set of equipment. With all this kit perhaps I should consider selling cupcakes on the side to subsidise my university education...

Daniel, Amelia and Angel, my soon to be flatmates... I hope you like cakes :)

The car is loaded (my step dad did an admirable job of fitting my rather large pile of boxes and bags into the boot), the cakes are iced... I'm off.

Libby

London Town - Summer 2010 and leaving home

"I heart my life"
:)

Blog writing, I'm afraid, has become secondary to packing recently. Because yes, that's right, the time has finally come. I am moving to London on Sunday. My room is piled high with suitcases, boxes and bags. My walls are stripped of posters (knowing I will have a pinboard in my room, I have packed enough photographs and magazine pages to completely cover it on arrival. Because after all, a blank pinboard is a sin, not to mention depressing), and my wardrobe is disconcertingly bare. I have started to worry that I won’t manage to fit all my clothes in my university wardrobe, but no doubt I will manage. After all, I wouldn’t be a true fashion journalism student if I didn’t love clothes now, would I?

It is strange to think that the day I have been waiting for since April (when I found out I had a place at the London College of Fashion), is finally about to arrive. Excited doesn’t really cover it.

For the last few months I have had a countdown chart on my wardrobe door; crossing off each day brings London and my new life nearer and nearer. Looking at my chart today, a mass of black crosses and with only 2 white spaces left, I feel an overwhelming combination of excitement and nerves. Actually, I take that back. Perhaps I do have a few nerves, the sort of anticipation that it would be unnatural not to feel when leaving home and setting of, alone, on a new adventure. But mostly I just feel extremely, fantastically, close-to-explodingly, happy.

Because on Sunday I will be living in London.

Ryantown, home to my favourite artist and one of my favourite places in the world, will be just down the road...

As will Columbia Road's heavenly flower market, full of smiles, colour and fragrances to make your heart soar. I will be starting to study something I am passionate about, in a city I am in love with. Doesn't get much better than that.

Nonetheless, I have had a fantastic summer that I'm sure I will remember for a very long time. Packing up all my things into a few boxes, I can't help but think about the memories I'm packing up to take with me too. Summer 2010 has been a very special one... Here's why...

- The last day of school, the end of 13 years of education, and a perfect opportunity to get dressed up with friends, this time as the incarnation of our childhood ambitions. When else in my life am I likely to see Spiderman, Marilyn Monroe, an astronaut, a Russian communist, Barbie and a ballerina walking down the road?

- Reading in the sunshine with my friends. This summer's reading list included: 'The Devil Wears Prada' (in french), 'Enduring Love' by Ian McEwan, 'Lord of the Flies' (I had never got round to reading it before), 'Small Island' by Andrea Leavy, 'Madame Bovary' by Gustave Flaubert (and coming to the conclusion that Emma Bovary was a self-obsessed old madam who should have thought herself lucky to have a Charles) and 'The Gospel According to Coco Chanel' by Karen Karbo. Eclectic indeed.

- My dad's wedding; the sunniest day of the year spent drinking champagne, grinning from ear to ear and floating around in a floor-length purple dress with my sister.

- Best friends and party dresses

- Feeling generally very HAPPY

- Days spent exploring the countryside with my mum (here at a country fete in Hatch, complete with cake, tea, cords, straw boaters and bric-a-brac).

- A week in Devon with my friends. It probably goes without saying that as we were camping it of course rained for most of the week, but it was still fun and, when the clouds ceased their downpour for a brief moment, beautiful.

- Picnics in fields that were made complete by lovely company, lemonade, homemade cakes and rolling hills topped with trees.

- A week in Ile de Ré with my french family (not related by blood, but then who said family was all about biology?) meant sun, sand, sea, cycling and lots and lots of laughing.

- Italy with my best friend: walking up cobbled streets in inappropriate footwear, the endless excitement of shouted "ciao bella"s, and of course, a lot of ice cream.

- And falling in love with Rome...

Now, with the summer at its end and autumn setting in, I feel rested, relaxed, and immensely grateful for such a good summer. Saying goodbye to my friends tomorrow will no doubt be hard and tear-filled. I will miss having my family around me. I will miss my double bed and my cosy room. But I'm ready to go now. Because, in the end, London wins.

Libby