Another broken promise


I promised in my last blog – over two months ago – that I would blog more regularly and although a two month difference is better than the previous nine month difference, I’m not sure anyone would call that regular.

So here is, for about the twentieth time, another promise to blog more, spurred on by an email from my good friend/web designer Richard (he of the previous blog post) telling me to “BLOG!”. Note the shouty capital letters. And the exclamation mark.

I should probably write about something then. The Scottish referendum? ISIS? U2’s free album?! Nah, lets talk about something you actually care about… London Fashion Week, obviously.

So this Fash Week finished a week ago and was a real bitch. Got kicked out of Joseph (all photographers, not just me), camera gave up DURING Vivienne Westwood, couldn’t get in to House of Holland after travelling across the city only to need to go back to where I came from for the next show, tube line giving up with me on it – twice, laptop forgetting what wifi is – more than twice, unseasonably warm weather making me sweat buckets (sexy, no?), every designer deciding that tiny backstage areas were best – only being able to photograph in a stairwell being a highlight, and so on…

See, a real bitch of a week.

BUT, I suppose there’s always the interesting people, the beautiful people, being recognised (yeah, I’m a little shallow, what of it?!), working for Dazed and Confused, the post-fashion week enquiries and job offers (because I’m awesome) and, as ever, the free stuff – the champagne at the Topshop show space is always a favourite, this season supplemented by mini pulled pork burgers, meringues and lollipops. The salmon sandwiches backstage at Pringle (thanks Claridges!) also deserve a mention.

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Want to see some models backstage at Hunter Originals not taking my job seriously? Sure you do…

So you get Charlie Ayers throwing shapes, Charlotte K’s reaction to a stylist messing with her socks when she actually needs to be on the catwalk, Manuela Frey flirting with me (ok, actually not), Jack Chambers giving me the eye, and Jackson Hale’s wink face,



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