Tattoos, Flights, Fat Cats, New Flats and a Hazardous 4 Bird Roast : the last three months...

 

It's been a while since my last blog post, and when I look to evaluate the past three months, yet again its flown by, and yet again a lot has happened...

In my last post the weather was sunny, my hair was blonde, and I was complaining about dry sandwiches at The Savoy. The weather is now windily pr-empting winter, my hair is dark, and The Savoy were kind enough to offer myself complimentary champagne and nibbles in the American Bar to make up for the dry sandwiches. Oh the power of a blog (thank you social media!).

Since then I've moved from South to East. First 'temporarily' into my boyfriends bedroom in Bethnal Green. Cue four weeks later, and the novelty of living out of bin bags (which was never really there to start with) had run very, very, dry. Now I don't know how many of you have ever searched for somewhere to live in London, but let me tell you, when your on a budget and don't want to sign a years lease it is hellish, and a rat race. We'd turn up to flat-viewings to be told they were already taken, in fact many a time we'd get a call en-route to the viewing to be told not to bother coming, it had gone.  And if the room is actually still available when one does turn up, you turn into some kind of puppet, desperately trying to interview successfully against your fifteen other competitors who are viewing that night : "No we don't smoke, drink, tidy is my middle name, and whats that you LOVE birdwatching....oh what a coincidence, me too!!"

After a month of viewings each evening (I joke not) we had no social life, a huge bill on the oyster travel cards, and a pretty good knack for grabbing reduced sandwiches en-route to each house. Our outlooks were bleak, our mealtimes were bleaker. And then out of nowhere, through sheer luck and persistence we found ourselves the perfect place. Our own flat in a Victorian house, split over two floors with our own garden, a smeg fridge and a temporary cat. Located in Dalston, with ten minutes walk to Broadway Market we could not be more happy. The cat, however, could be. Terribly grumpy, and awfully fat, Charlie only shows love when he wants food. And since his owner emailed concerned he might not be able to fit through the flap soon, limiting his food means he loves me even less now.

I love having my own place, my own space, and even my own garden. I feel awfully grown up. The only downside is when the chocolate digestives have gone in two days straight, and your partner says he hasn't touched one you have to own up the the fact that your 'flatmates' arent robbing them, and face the harsh reality it was all just you.

And even more perfect about the new flat - we have it up till the 10th January. And seen as I'm off to Los Angeles to live and work from the 6th January for three months - well it could not be more ideal. Yes, I booked my flights, and now my daydreams are full of sunshine, super-size diet sodas (yes I said soda - getting down with the lingo already), rollerblading in bikinis, and The Ellen Show. And of course, a bit of work in Hollywood thrown in here and there.

Work has been good to me in the last few months, and I've started working respected roles on commercials. And recently two Christmas Food Commercials, which can't help but put one (however early) in the mood for Christmas. The most harrowing part of the whole experience was when I tucked into a sample Four Bird Roast mid-pre production meeting and realized I had taken on half a toothpick. Or better put, it had taken me on. I saw my professional demeanor going down the drain before my eyes, not to mention my own life. Gluttony was never a good look.

Last week I got new ink at Frith Street Tattoo parlour. Words designed by my talented friend Cressida on my arm, LIVE/LOVE (www.cressidaomahony.com) and the Cross of Lorraine on my finger in respect of my much loved french grandmother.

I've become obsessed with a fedora hat, as it hides a multitude of sins, whilst making one feel like their channeling a 2nd rate version of Kate Moss at Glastonbury. It has, however, become a challenge as of late with this windy weather, and I'm either debating sellotape, or just leaving at home. Probably just leave at home - I don't have time for eyeliner in the mornings, let alone sticking my hat to my hair.

Apart from those main points, I've floated around happily for the last months in haunts of London with friends and wine, seen my first Opera, found a love of olives, lost my third phone this year and fourth bankcard, and been to a premier of a film I worked on. It's been a while since the last blog post, but once L.A. rolls around in January I'm determined to be much more blog savvy and wow you all with epic tales of super-size portions and Brad Pitt sightings.

That's enough from me now, as I have a Halloween rave this weekend and have grand ideas of dressing as a giant Moth (think Silence of the Lambs). However, since last years Bat Outfit with an umbrella strapped to myself was a fiasco in the wind of Wellington, I've got to be more practical with this one. After all, dancing for hours with some giant wings spells disaster, not to mention the need for a lot of deodorant. I'll figure it out (...end up being a vampire).

Happy Halloween!

Emily x

Accountants, business cards and turning 26. The start of grown up me?

 Time has flown all too fast since my last post. Apologies but any spare time I've had recently has been stolen by whiskey drinking, perusing Harrods and listening to the Beatles.

I'm still hopelessly in love with the city. The recent evening sunshine has made me fall even deeper. Why would you choose to do anything other then wander by the Thames in the warm evening, drink fizzy wine out of plastic cups and point out all the landmarks? I've become an angry tuber. Mainly because I'm always running late and I need the damn tourists to move out my way. My list of lost belongings is turning into book, and I've been mugged once again. I throw myself into things, and have thrown myself into the fast pace here. Late nights, early mornings, too much art and not enough sleep.

I took the great leap of faith to quit my job and go Freelance about two months ago. I've been lucky enough through lovely people and hard work to find enough work to keep me going, and keep me believing that I'm doing the right thing. And even more amazingly the projects and roles that I've been taking on are very exciting. Tomorrow I start freelancing two days each week at a Production Company - earning the exact same money over those two days which I made in a whole week at my last job. Financially I can now also justify to myself that I have made the right decision.

I turned 26 last week, got myself some business cards, and got myself an accountant. It all sounds terribly grown-up. I'm really not. I also watched a good friend of mine get married last month. Weddings, babies and buying houses couldn't be further from my grasp right now. I'm still trying to navigate the tube and sign up to speed-dating. Both of which are hopelessly lost causes.

I'm writing this in a cafe in Central London whilst waiting for a meeting, to open an email off a friend stating we have a few weeks to get down to supermodel proportions for an Arabian themed birthday party. Another lost cause - the cafe I'm in has the best chocolate tart I've ever eaten. Times two. My dentist is going to have a holiday on me soon.

Life's been crazy good and crazy bad recently but being in London at the start of summer is the most exciting feeling in the world. There is a festival every weekend, an exhibition everyday, and a rooftop bar on every corner. And the promise of future tattoos...

Emily x

Ye of little faith...

So the last month has found my heart racing, my nights sleepless, all over relentless thoughts about a very large package. But not that kind of package. A package that involves excitement, enjoyment, and hours of undressing. Once again, not that kind of package. 

15kg of clothes, shoes, hats, headbands, scarves, and even the obligatory Polaroid camera has for the last three months been floating somewhere around the Atlantic since it's departure in a sellotaped laundry bag from Melbourne in January. And since I accidentally lost (threw out) it's tracking receipt I have been haunted by images of extremely well- dressed Pirates in hand-made floral headbands and sparkly hot-pants. If they resemble Jack Sparrow I could have maybe forgiven them for their assumed thievery, but unfortunately I think Johnny Depp is rather an unfair benchmark for the modern day sea-men (jeez the innuendos are just coming in this post...) (Oh touché. Again!) 

I need to apologize to Australian Post who I wake up most mornings cursing, and the lady on the phone at the Liverpool Post Office who I relentlessly wailed too. I have not been so happy since I found out I didn't fail my degree, and that Wispa bars were being remade. 

After all - 'one thing lost, another found' - Maybe this is karma's way of totaling out the entire make-up bag I drunkenly lost on the tube last week. (To wake up and discover this catastrophe when I had to go in for the first time to a production company I desperately wanted to impress. Ladies a tip : buying whatever products your local Sainsbury's stocks at 7.30am in the morning before running onto the tube does not impress). Some might say that was just me being hopelessly (and drunkenly) idiotic, but I'd like to think it was meant to happen in order for me to get my clothes. 
As after all how could I get by without these :

oh and these:

oh and let's not forget this sparkly dress and bag that were oh so nearly goners...

 

Obviously the weather will have to perk up before these little numbers can get cracked out. I would like to say we can expect that soon, but seen as we're into April and we've been battling snowstorms today I'm just going to hold back on any predictions on that front.

Wardrobe, come to mama. 

Emily x

'BITCH IM FROM THE SW12' : A load of air from the Big Smoke

So as per life has taken over, and my blog has suffered terribly as a result. Sorry blog. But it's the Easter weekend, I have a few days to myself (albeit to nurse hangovers) so what better way to make myself feel better then to write about my life?

So I moved down to London mid-January amidst the snow. And here I am end of March still amidst the snow. As yes, England has not warmed up, and this elusive spring is still looking very elusive. I don't need to hear about how "it was 25 degrees this time last year", all I am very aware of (whilst I place layer over layer to leave the house) is how it most certainly is not right now. The only part of my body which is cheering this freezing weather is my lungs. I have cut back ridiculous amounts on cigarettes as when weighing up whether to turn into a block of ice for a hit of smoke, I choose not.

Since moving to London I've moved house, moved jobs, and lost numerous valuable items. I've fallen asleep on tubes, fallen down tube stairs, made some amazing new friends and caught up with amazing old friends. I've learnt to never trust my navigation skills (ending up in Guildford instead of Picadilly Circus can do that to you), but to always walk with purpose: even if your getting on the tube going north when you should be going south. (It just makes you feel more clued up). (Even though your obviously not). I've had a huge shock at the price of things here in regards to my meager wage, and whilst trying to live the high-life have been surviving off free Nutella sandwiches at work. Everyday. For about 6 weeks. I've been drunk in more bars then I can remember names, yet still haven't scratched the surface of London's nightlife.

All in all I LOVE IT. I love it! I can't express the natural high I still get when I get out at Piccadilly station each morning to be surrounded by grand buildings, theaters, statue's and London's iconic red buses. Maybe its because I was away for so long, but I cant help but feel proudly British for our wonderful, vibrant, buzzing capital. I love the accents, the cheek, the banter and I have wholeheartedly fallen for this city and been swallowed up by it. My itchy feet are itching a lot less now I'm living in the Big Smoke.

I'm living South of the river in the most beautiful house in Balham. Resigning myself to the fact that I would probably be searching for a place to live for weeks, view numerous pokey rat infested flats, and end up living with a strange old Latvian man in a damp room, luckily my experience could not have been more different. I put up an ad, had a response, went to view the house and BANG love at first sight. With the house and housemate. Trying not to be too rash (I'm always far too rash) I thought I can't get the first house I viewed, but left the property with myself and Lisa (my housemate) gushing "I shouldn't say this but I really want to live with you". So after working out ze old finances I did. No rats or strange old foreign men in sight, my new house comprises of myself and three other lovely creatives. Working in PR, Fashion and Film we all just clicked. We also all like dancing. A lot.

 Job-wise I moved from my original role at SpliceTV to Rushes Post-Production house. Whilst getting on thoroughly well with everyone at both Splice and Rushes, I have had to come to the conclusion that Post just isn't for me. I much prefer being part of the initial creation and organization of a project, rather then the tweaking of the end result. Being a hater of someone that sits and moans about a situation rather then changing it, I have decided to shortly leave the world of Post and go freelance. I've met some lovely people in Production down here so it should all work out. Hell I've been living off Nutella sandwiches for the last month, so living like this for a bit longer can't hurt too much.

And that's that. The shortest summary I could make of my last two months down here. I don't intend to leave it two months till the next post, and I don't intend to write quite so much in the next post. More pictures, less writing. On some frivolous fanciable subject hopefully. (Or as my mother would describe : "the internet thing you do with bad grammar where you post pictures like no-body ever had the idea to turn a pair of jeans into shorts before?").

Happy Easter everyone!

Emily x

Unpacking and packing : the big smoke

So I'm home. On English ground. Or snow to be precise.

Not quite have I managed to get over my jet-lag nor sort out niggly bank stuff then I'm off. Not that I'm complaining of course...I'm absolutely over the moon to have a job in this current climate - let alone in London, and let alone in the area which I want to work in. I was getting ready to settle into months of sending cv's, signing onto the dole and re-runs of Coronation Street...yet a week on and no sooner then my suitcase has touched the cupboard then it's out again.

The Big Smoke calls and a job at Splice TV in Shoreditch. A great company, and one that I'm very excited to be a part of! (And no friends I can't introduce you to Jamie Oliver sorry!)

I'm staying with my '2nd parents' (my lovely godmother and husband) until I find myself a place. It's like the childhood I never had- home baked bread every morning, home made jam, home-made cakes for my lunch (which they insist on making)...and a cat. Lucky me!

It was always going to be tough to acclimatise, lets face it; basking in 30 degree heat for months to come home to minus temperatures would prove shocking to anyone. But I've been dealing with it the best I can - hot-boxing myself in my room with two fan heaters diagonally pointing. It's quite ingenious and if I close my eyes I can almost pretend I'm back on St Kilda beach. Although there is the constant threat of my mother coming in, walking into a wall of heat and screaming about the electricity bill. (Which has happened several times).

I'm so excited about the upcoming times in London Town, and being reunited with friends whom I have dearly missed down there.

London is calling... And I can't wait!

Emily x