33 going on 13

This weekend, back in Oxford, mum gave me a box of stuff to sort through. In it, I found old diaries and sketchbooks, my sticker collection from when I was 8, (the scratch and sniff maple pancake stickers still smell after 25 years) loveletters from when I was 17 that I can't bring myself to read, but cannot throw away, mixtapes from the 80s, and VHS tapes of pop videos I'd forgotten I'd even modelled in.

Diary entry, tues 6th March, 1987...
Mums gone weird. She says that music is a sin and that its her fault
that we weren't brought up how she is.

The rest of the journal entries consist of precise breakdowns of what time I did things-caught the bus at 1.15pm, called at 12.40pm, how much things cost-bought a great poster of a cat for £2.30-what I watched on TV-Dallas, Top of the Pops, Eastenders-and of course, my favorite subject, boys, and the analysis of their every movement.
On the first page, I've listed among some of my 13 year old 'likes', as
Boys, male models, lime and lager, airports, cream cheese, the sun,
Ice skating and GAMBLING!
On my list of adolescent dislikes, I included root beer, liver, spotted
material (?), impolite boys, and most bus drivers.
Hahaha.

A life less ordinary

I left New York earlier than planned, I rushed back to a life waiting for me, that I never knew I had.
I am back in London, and the fullness I am experiencing is quite profound.
In 5 days; assisted for 4 days, finally got a haircut, John Mayer concert (John, you were as good as I knew you'd be), drinks on portobello road, birthday dinner, shopping (a beautiful cream wool trench coat), spontaneous frappaccinos.

This week was hugely fulfilling for me. I helped out on a beauty workshop taught by Louise Constad, who, can I just say, is one of the most impressive women I've ever met. Her 5 foot 1 frame, wearing fierce high heeled shoes, took up the whole room with her energy. A force to be reckoned with, she cursed like a sailor in the most immaculate public school accent, thrilling us with her celebrity makeup tales. I could honestly have sat at her feet and listened to her for days.
She gave me a bottle of Moet to thank me. I'm saving it for my first cover.

My nails have been painted the color of dried blood. Now that they are chipping, I like them even more.
Tomorrow, I am assisting on my first commercial! And the next day, I have my first beauty editorial.
I love this life.

Lizards and Lovebugs-part II

After 2 days in Orlando, I am no longer batting away the copulating insects that have chosen the pool as their location for love, and my body as a resting point. Still, ew.

Everything in New York is a spectacle of sorts. It is Sunday. Waiting at the bustop for the 17, a woman in full church regalia approaches me with a Jesus leaflet.
Boarding the bus, a young obese 'street evangelist' is sweating and preaching in the aisle, his loud voice cutting through the turned up music coming through my headphones. Fire and brimstone, hell and the 'sinnerman'. A few senior church ladies nod their heads and i turn up my volume.

Lies and Leaving-part I

Sometimes, what you think of as home, is just somewhere you used to live.
Sometimes, just when you think you have something all out of your system, you feel it again, the memories in every fiber of your being, just waiting for the right trigger.
Sometimes, leaving a situation is not only the fastest way out, but also the best way.
Sometimes, all that matters is how you feel in that very moment, and how you can feel better.
Sometimes, you have to go away to really, come back home.
The best thing I was told. You seem so much calmer, at ease with
yourself, comfortable in your own skin.
The worst? He still loves you.