Sowing the Seed (again)

This blog is withering in cyberspace along with its predecessors...

I knew this would happen. It's been over three and a half months since I last published a blog post. There have been several feeble attempts to get the ball rolling again, however I just couldn't motivate myself enough to embrace the task fully. Even now it's taken an awful lot of self-motivation to bring me to this moment i.e. sitting in bed, reluctantly typing whilst trying not to fall asleep.

I don't believe in 'not having enough time to do stuff', or 'being too busy'. If something was truly important you would make time for it, right? You wouldn't need to have to force yourself to have do something if you truly loved doing it. However my excuse for leaving my blog barren for the last three and a half months is because I have actually been employed, doing actual editorial stuff at that - lucky me! But investing your time into creative projects elsewhere means you forget to nurture your own personal ones. After trying to write engaging and coherent copy for seven hours a day, why would I then want to come home and write some more? All I want to do is get as far away from any kind of computer screen with words on it as possible. It would seem, metaphorically speaking, that I have been using my energy to water someone else's creative seeds, whilst neglecting my own. 

In my state of (f)unemployment this blog served its purpose in filling up my time, but now it's time to make time for it. 

...see you in another three and a half months?

#LFW: It's time to give fashion all the attention

That masterpiece below dear readers, is my visual interpretation of London Fashion Week. Yes, it finished over a week ago and therefore I am six centuries late writing this. But I think I just needed some time to reflect, and to question, what on earth does fashion week have to do with fashion anymore? I am not the first to say it, and nor will I be the last.

'Look at me.' Clare Green, 2013

Suzy Menkes gave some excellent insight into this matter in her blog post "The Circus of Fashion", which she wrote for The New York Sunday Times Style Magazine - "Today, the people outside fashion shows are more like peacocks than crows. They pose and preen, in their multipatterned dresses, spidery legs balanced on club-sandwich platform shoes, or in thigh-high boots under sculptured coats blooming with flat flowers." Showing up the multitude of bloggers, posers and amateur fashionistas who mill around outside of the shows, she highlights that "the fuss around the shows now seems as important as what goes on inside the carefully guarded tents."

But inside those carefully guarded tents another parade is occurring, and one which I find even more absurd than the one going on outside. This avid fascination with the celebrities who attend the shows nowadays is nonsensical to me. It seems the collections now are defined not just by the clothes on the catwalk but by who attended, whereabouts they sat and what they wore.

Front row totty Pixie Lott with her happy handbag at Sass and Bide
Image: cosmopolitan.co.uk

Catwalk collections don't materialise without any effort. A ex colleague of mine, who is studying design, landed an internship (unpaid) within a major fashion house on the design team. The stories she shared with me at work were incredible. Looking back she says "it was incredibly stressful, but that felt mostly down to lack of organisation and things changing constantly." On top of that, there seemed to be no end to the working day. "I started at around 10am, and would finish anywhere between 8:30/9pm and 2am, though it was later more often than not."

I am sure the celebrities who attend the shows have had their fair share of 15 hour days, but London Fashion Week needs to recognise more the people who have worked themselves to the bone creating the real entertainment.

The Saturdays just can't get enough at Julien MacDonald
Image: cosmopolitan.co.uk

One could argue that the media's fascination with celebrity attendees is just another new dimension to London Fashion Week, which in recent years has evolved into a vastly accessible occasion; shows streaming online, more high street brands showing collections and there's loads of opportunities for young fashion students to now get involved. My friend went onto say "loads of media coverage does go to celebrities, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing at all - certainly in the case of up and coming designers, having celebrity presence at your show can help no end with publicity which is crucial when you're starting out."

The matter at hand is a double edged sword, however fashion week is becoming renowned to be one big celebrity carnival. The pageant that goes on around the catwalk detracts much deserved attention from the real stars of the show - the design teams, designers and the clothes on the catwalk.

Suffolk: Diverting the London Traffic

Today The Guardian's G2 magazine came enveloped in an advertisement by Visit England for "Secret Suffolk: All things weird and wonderful on the beaches of eastern England." Undoubtedly the seaside towns are a highlight of this beautiful county, but it is time to look beyond. 

London's middle classes can't get enough of Suffolk, especially in the summer. Situated near the coast of eastern England its open skies, rivers and quaint villages are a far cry from the congested stress fest of the city. It's only an hour by train and about two hours by car, making it a pretty convenient breath of fresh air.

Suffolk's 'open skies' - taken whilst walking by the River Stour last summer, Holbrook

Luckily for me I have been able to spend many a glorious summer in Suffolk as my grandparents have lived in the village of Holbrook for over thirty years. Home to the Royal Hospital School, it is equidistant between Ipswich and a little town called Manningtree. Horse riding, sailing, berry picking, bike riding and picnicking were just a few of the wholesome opportunities my grandparents laid on for me while I was there.

I don't understand what took me so long, but the summer before last I truly learnt the logistics of Suffolk. My Grandma and I decided to drive to Southwold for the day, and what began as a straightforward outing, soon turned into an impossible venture. Upon arriving, there literally was not a single parking space in the entirety of the town. I had never seen anything like it. Southwold was swarming with people, mainly young middle class families, all hell bent on getting some seaside action.

According to The Guardian, Southwold's summer population "swells to about 9,000 in the summer", whilst in the winter it's about 1,500. Disappointed and slightly bemused we decided to drive a short way to Walberswick, with its long suffering crabs and sand dunes. We managed to park, and enjoyed the beach. Its lopsided beach side buildings were a change to preened over priced beach huts, where in Southwold they have been known to sell for £50,000.

From Walberswick we drove to Aldeburgh. Alongside the pebbled beach and candy coloured houses, it is also home to the Jack Wills hoodie and the Abercrombie sweatpant. My Grandma by this time, whilst "gasping for a cup of tea", was muttering furiously about the wealthy Londoner's who descend upon Suffolk in summer in their drones; a lot of which are turning limited property into holiday homes, only to be used a few weeks out of the year.

Two weeks ago, over a year since our last attempt, my Grandma and I visited Southwold again. It was early February and the sky was blue and the sun was bright. The town was calm, silent and eerily empty bar three fisherman positioned at the end of the pier, and two brave surfers bobbing in the sea. It felt better to see Southwold this way. If its winding streets could speak, I'm sure they would groan as the swarms of summer tourists descend each year, threatening to undermine its quiet, humble nature.

My Grandma putting her gloves on on Southwold Pier - taken on our Winter attempt

Suffolk has a lot to offer all year round, and it doesn't just reside by the sea. After a childhood of wonderful visits and having finally learnt the logistics, I have put together a list of some of my personal highlights to date:

1. The Butt and Oyster at Pin Mill - This tiny pub sits on the edge of River Orwell, and it's all good food, terracotta floors and open fires. If the weather is fine and you've got your wellies handy you can go wading in the little streams by the river, or go jelly fish spotting. There's a few old boats permanently moored by the water's edge, which in misty weather, look rather moody and atmospheric.

2. Pick your Own - Fruit picking is always a wholesome thing to do in the summer. Try Goslings Farm near Felixstowe. My Grandma favours the Redcurrants. She stews them with sugar and serves them with custard for pudding.

3. Shotley Marina - This is always a highlight for me. The marina is situated where the River Orwell and River Stour converge. The huge port at Felixstowe is to your left and Harwich harbour straight in front. It's interesting watching the cranes loading up the huge container ships before they head back out to sea. From here you can also catch the foot ferry to Harwich.

4. Dedham Art and Craft Centre - Dedham is a charming village, and home to this remarkable art centre. Housed in an old church its sells a diverse range of beautiful things. To name but a few, it's got photo frames, salt and pepper shakers, antique tea pots, bath bombs, vintage jewellery, cushions, sewing bits, scarves, old books, new books, art, cooking equipment and a lovely little cafe on the ground floor.

5. Alton Water - I have so many good memories here - sailing on the reservoir or biking the whole 9 miles around it. You can rent bikes and boats, or just sit and watch the water over a picnic lunch.

Enjoying Alton Water in my stripy dress, c. 1993 with my Grandparents and cousins, Pippa and Zoe,

Treasure Yourself: Power Thoughts for My Generation by Miranda Kerr (Hay House)

'I am a huge believer in the power of positive thinking. We all have unlimited potential if we accept the obstacles that cross our paths and learn from the lessons involved we can reach our full potential...In reading this book you will see I have used the metaphor of likening woman/girls to being as unique and as individual as every flower. For example, a rose although it is different to a lily is still just as stunning. Likewise, a frangipani is just as unique and beautiful in its own right as an orchid.'

I decided to read Miranda Kerr's sugary pink book of goodness after a few weeks of feeling down and out as an unemployed graduate. Admittedly what truly sold this book to me wasn't the blurb but the author, because she's beautiful, practices yoga and does an excellent job at brightening up The Daily Mail's showbiz column.

Miranda begins her book with a profound introduction to her belief that "it's so important to keep positive and say 'Yes!' to life." She suggests that if we massage our weary minds with positive affirmations, "and create good, good things will happen in your life." - if only it were that easy.

The chapters counsel you on topics such as dealing with jealousy and remembering to always be thankful. Whilst the first half of the book is dedicated to her good advice, the second half is made up of positive affirmations, one to each page. Miranda sells this as a resource where you can "keep this book close to you" and "chose a power" for whenever you need a positive boost. It's a nice idea, however each short affirmation is made up of about 30 words, which on a single page looks sparse. Consequently this section of the book looks like an attempt to fill pages.

Being one of the world's most lucrative supermodels, a mother, wife, business woman, fashion icon etc. it doesn't leave one with much time to craft a fine literary feat - and that is one thing this book is not. Also the question arises, what comes first, positivity and then great success? Or great success and then positivity? Some would argue that positive thinking comes easy when you're flawless, and worth an estimated $12 million. Miranda Kerr would argue her success is of consequence to her positive approach. 

Amid her mostly practical advice, there are a few questionable moments. One of which is when she recounts the infamous water whisperer Dr. Masaru Emoto, who "made some amazing discoveries on how saying words of love and gratitude around water, even thinking it, could change its structure into something like the form of a beautiful snowflake."

Another moment was upon finishing, the book disappointingly fizzled into an epilogue which came across as an advert for her organic skincare range, KORA. What I'd just lapped up suddenly had a feeling of insincerity, when I realised this book is just another component of brand Miranda; selling her products and reinforcing her famed perfection.

At one point she mentions, "I felt embarrassed about being a model. After all, I wasn't finding a cure for cancer, saving rain forests or working for world peace." Personally, I don't think Miranda Kerr wrote this book to satisfy the doubts she had about pursuing, to what some might think, a perceptively shallow career.

Take from this book what you will. She's a beautiful woman with good intentions, advocating positive thinking to young women in a world where negative thoughts are rife. It's an innocent attempt to share her story and key to success amongst her fans, and let's be honest, she must be doing something right.

365 Days Without Pret A Manger: January

Pret A Manger, also fondly known as 'Pret,' is the dominant urban eatery. Forget Eat. Forget POD. Forget that little Italian sandwich place on the corner. Pret is everywhere and everyone goes to Pret. It's just one of those standard London things that London people do.

But what is it about Pret which makes it so good? Here's what my friends and I thought:

- There's always hot french guys in there

- The coffee is the best 

- When I go into a Pret I feel at home and I can relax there

- I always see people I know in there

- They have tropical fruit sticks and juicy sandwiches

- You can always rely on Pret

- They have nice food mantras on the wall 

- Love the Christmas gingerbread men

- ...and their Christmas dinner sandwich

- Love the name, 'Pret A Manger,' which is french for 'ready to eat'

- They have the biggest bananas ever

On January 2nd I made a new years resolution to not buy food from, or step into a Pret A Manger, for an entire year. My decision came after I walked out of a Pret that day on my lunch break, having just spent another £3.87 on a bottle of water and a fancy biscuit. I began to reflect on the many lunch breaks I have had in my life, where I turned to Pret knowing they'll always have a club sandwich and a cup of tea waiting for me.

I then thought about all the hard earned money I must have spent, which at the time I justified with, 'well, I have been standing up for the last five hours, I deserve a treat.' The reality is, over the years, I've probably spent thousands in Pret A Manger on bloody croissants and swedish meatball wraps.

Trawling through my bank statement I can see that from the 27 occasions where I ate at Pret between November last year and January 2nd, I spent a grand total of £121.91, which works out at £40 a month. That's £480 a year...on lunch, which I could have quite easily, and cheaply, brought from home.

A month has passed and I don't miss Pret...yet. Admittedly the past three weeks I have also been unemployed, and consequently have had no lunch break to fill. At one point I did find myself unknowingly leaning on a Pret whilst explaining my resolution to a friend on the phone, only to look up and see that burgundy star looking down at me, forlorn. Sorry Pret A Manger, not even your gigantic bananas can tempt me now. 

Cover Letters: All you need to know

How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran (Ebury Press)

'The more women argue, loudly, against feminism, the more they both prove it exists and that they enjoy its hard-won privileges.

 Because for all that people have tried to abuse it and disown it, 'feminism' is still the word we need. No other word will do. And let's face it, there has been no other word, save 'Girl Power' - which makes you sound like you're into some branch of Scientology owned by Geri Halliwell. That 'Girl Power' has been the sole rival of the word 'feminism' in the last 50 years is a cause for much sorrow on nehalf of the women. After all, P. Diddy has had four different names and he's just one man.' (p. 80)

I first came face to face with Cailtin Moran in an advertorial for her newer book, Moranthology, in Stylist magazine a couple of months ago. I thought 'Er...I already know how to be a woman, because I am one...and what's with that green eye make up?'

How to be a Woman is made up of three major elements. One third rant, one third autobiography, and one third sarcasm. These elements are varied throughout sixteen chapters, which each sound like a magazine column centred around her personal life - which is just as well seeing as Caitlin Moran has been reporting since the age of sixteen. She started her journalism career at the now defunct music magazine Melody Maker, and twenty one years later is now a prolific writer who speaks to her middle class audience via The Times and occasionally Stylist, if she's got a new book coming out.

Mentally, woman to woman, you can forge an internal relationship with Moran's narrative as she goes through the many embarrassing, strange, or everyday things that happen to us women. Things like period pain, wearing high heels, and getting drunk with Lady Gaga. She manages to embellish each anecdote with an exaggerated humour, which is what I think makes this book so easy to consume, and probably so comprehensible to the 400,000 people who have invested in it. Her frank tone is contagious, and her openness leaves you feeling like, upon finishing, you've had a very long and very intimate chat with an old friend.

Having now read 'How to be a Woman,' I can see that Caitlin and I not sharing the same taste in eyeshadow is superficial and irrelevant to the fact that this is a bloody good book. Honestly, I have never felt tempted to read any feminist literature before. Perhaps this was because, in my naive mind, I associated it with not wearing a bra and growing out your body hair. And although Caitlin Moran does suggest the latter in the chapter, 'I Become Furry,' she completely succeeds in creating an accessible, funny, and inspiring feminist triumph.

The Seed is Sown

As a recent journalism graduate, one might assume that I have been tending to a well groomed, sustained, and flourishing blog throughout my degree. This assumption is wrong. Sadly I have lost count of the number of blogs I have created, and then let wither in cyberspace as my ideas stay firmly planted inside my brain.

On reflection, I believe there were three significant reasons why my blogging attempts failed:

1. Why would anyone want to read what I've got to say? A word shy journalist is an impossible oxymoron. A bit like an actress with stage fright, or a surgeon with a fear of blood.
2. Existing bloggers are irritating and smug. If you are an existing blogger reading this, please do not take offence. I am merely a touch jealous of your ability to persist with such a venture. 
3. Where's my niche? I have read many blogs about how to write a blog. They all talk about 'niches.' However, the problem these days is that most 'niches' are now no longer niches, because they have been snapped up by a blogger who got there four years before you did. 

And so, why start blogging now? 

I am stuck in the midst of graduate life, unemployed, and creatively frustrated. Pathetic reasons not to blog aside, I am joining the masses. I want to be a journalist, so it's about time I start acting like one. 

Almighty blogosphere TAKE ME!