From Fat to Fit: Living The London Life.

The London Life - much like the American Dream, but less realistic.

The Dream:

Residence: A town house in Fulham (all four floors are mine)

Boyfriend: The elusive 'grounded City boy'

Animals: A pug named Spenny

Clothes: A complete Net-A-Porter wardrobe

Hobbies: Freelacing as an Asian Caitlin Moran

Hang outs: Private Member's Clubs, Liberty's and the occasional nibble at Sushi Samba.

The Reality

Residence: A blow up bed in Kate and Juliet's gorgeous flat. (The excitement when they have both been away and I was able to commandeer their beds)

Boyfriend: An unhealthy relationship with Itsu during the day and Pinot at night.

Animals: Harbouring a hideous cold and the remnants of a blazing temperature.

Clothes: At present a pair of Uggs with a hole in and a scruffy Wildfox sweatshirt - oozing sex appeal.

Hobbies: Tube perving on the hot guys, making awkward conversations with people in lifts because I can't handle the silence.

Hang Outs: Well, it's Saturday night I'm sat on the sofa surrounded by snotty tissues, Jonathan Ross and James Blake's Retrograde on repeat, writing this.

Did someone say Bridget Jones? Because I would definitely respond.

Two weeks of Vogue and this is the result. If there was ever a sign that I wasn't made for the working world this would appear to be it. However I should probably tell the truth. I have a bad habit of thinking I can do it all with absolutely no consequences, burning the candle and all that shit. In my head I can do the early mornings, look spritely on the tube, do a full's day work (in not the easiest of industries), go out for a few drinks afterwards, come back spend an hour faffing, wash my hair, dry my hair, spend 45 minutes deciding what to wear in the morning and then do this all again on 5 hours sleep. Easy. If Fat Boy Slim could make this into a song - we're onto a winner.

Well the reality has begun to sink in and I don't really like it so I think I'm going to continue living idealistically and just put this down to tube germs, I do catch the District Line after all. Two weeks down. Two to go. It is going far, far too quickly, I don't like it. I don't want to come home. I am home. Sorry BBB, I know you're missing your pal.

Vogue in a word is...ridiculous.

Day One: I work up extra early to prep and I felt literally sick to my stomach. I tried on about 8 different outfits before settling with the initial one - isn't that always the case? What a lot of hanging up to do afterwards. In hindsight I was perhaps not wise with my choice.

The 'I'm shitting it' smile. Classic.

Obviously on the first day there is a lot of hand shaking and a leather skirt with sweaty palms sliding down it...not ideal. I can't say that the first day went so smoothly there were a few hiccoughs, but if I ever want a job in fashion I definitely can't disclose them. Let's just say it takes a REALLY long time to go through 600 fashion shows with 40-80 looks per show.

Day One definitely set the pace for the rest of the week, the other interns and myself took to predicting what stress level we would reach each day. Most days we naively predicted a steady 6/10 and by 6pm we would be at a 12/10.

The following example solidifies the notion that people in fashion are crazy and ridiculous. So at 3pm I get a call from a designer in Paris saying a dress we were shooting that day needed to be in New York tomorrow - realistic then. Having spoken to the mail room I was told we had missed the cut off point and the earliest it would be there was Monday. I realyed this to Paris and was told this was not an option, greeaattt. I begged and pleaded with Fedex and they agreed to come and pick up (don't get too excited this did not go smoothly). The came and they left...without the box. Apparently you need a document declaring what exactly the dress was made from, because customs is suspicious of polyester and nylon. So a bit more begging and pleading and Fedex agree to collect again (don't get too excited this doesn't go smoothly either). The Fedex tosser decides that I take too long in the lift down to reception and doesn't fancy waiting all of 35 seconds and leaves. Another hour of begging and pleading with Fedex and by the time its 7pm all hope is lost, it's not getting to New York until Monday. First tears are shed. So I emailed Paris in the morning and told them of my Fedex dramas and that the dress had now been collected but wouldn't be there until Monday. Instantly there was a reply saying this was not ok as there would be no one be at the address on Monday and it had to be redirected to Paris. WHY, GOD WHY?! Of course when I called Fedex to recall the package they have no reference of the tracking number and it appeared the package was lost. Excellent. (The package is now in Paris and the lady is happy so I shan't bore you with any more fashion crises.)