Living The London Life: Part 2

The last time I documented living the London life I was a struggling impoverished intern…6 months later I am a struggling, impoverished intern (who on occasion gets paid). A lot has happened over the past 6 months I have been back to Vogue to do the international shows, I have interned at Vogue India, I have interned at Harper's Bazaar and I am currently back at Vogue HQ writing this and dropping quinoa all over my desk (and getting paid to do it…woohoo, living the dream). 

As far as living the ultimate, brit-cool, Nick Grimshawesque London life - I think I am still falling very, very short. Harry Styles is not my bessie (and completely off topic neither is Emma Stone and we would be such good bessies), I don't eat at Berner's Tavern every night and I don't have a membership to any private member's clubs.

Up your game BBB

Current Residence: Hounslow West. Which I fondly refer to as the ghetto, with in fact very little fondness. Despite being only 8 miles away from Chiswick it's like being in a different country, I have come to the conclusion that it's not quite the place for me.

You might think that I am being a snob (which I am) but there are also a number of pointers which have lead me to this conclusion: 

1. A bus driver spat in my face -which kind of backfired due to the glass in between us and verbally abused me when I asked to get off the bus at a designated bus stop. Obviously being a total whimp I burst into tears and called Baz. 

2. A drunk man got on the bus, shouted at some already pretty angry looking kids, the kids then decided to kick the bus door down and the three year old sitting next to me threw himself into my lap, pulled my hair and cried. All the while the lovely drunk was screaming in my ear 'Hounslow is my land.' (Dude, totally not standing in your way…it's yours.) 

3. After lunch at Pierre Koffman's restaurant a day of perusing Harrods for my birthday, I came back to Hounslow to find that the area around the tube cordoned off due to a stabbing. 

4. There is no Starbucks in sight and my addiction to skinny caramel coffee frappuccinos is not waning.

5. It takes me an hour and a half to get into work. AN A HOUR A HALF EACH WAY - That totals at least 4 episodes of Suits that could have been watched. And whilst I sleep most of the time, whether it be standing or sitting (I have mastered both), by the time I get to Green Park to change my contacts have gotten so dry I look like I am winking at every passer by whilst I try and re-jiggle my sight.

And if that doesn't quantify a reason to not live so far away, the the result of the Tube strikes definitely cements my decision to move closer to the city. My attempt to get into work was a joke. I walked to the station (a good 20 minute Billie paced plod) and got on a bus to Hammersmith - promising. The bus then took 2 hours to travel all of 4 miles, during which I had a man sat next to me who constantly poked me and woke me from my tube strike induced sleep to ask me how far away from Oxford Circus we were. This is just a glimpse as to how irritating he was... 

Suddenly the bus driver decides he doesn't want to go any further and makes everyone get off on the Gunnersbry flyover, helpful. We all peter off and luckily another bus follows...which reads 'Out Of Service'. As does the next bus...as does next bus. Pretty pissed off by this point (due to hunger setting in), I marched to Gunnersbry station to see that the station was closed. Out of options I decided to play my damsel (Princess Fiona) in distress card and called my aunty to come and rescue me (unfortunately all good looking knights on handsome steads were trapped at Finsbury Park.) So I made myself comfortable in a B and Q car park, after being kicked out for just sitting on the garden furniture. 

An hour later still no sign of my saviour, and hunger is on the prowl. As are the builders who keep staring at the random girl dolled up perched on a curb - classsayyy. Girls if you are ever in need of an ego boost, head to your local handyman shop, whilst you will be offered 'nuts and bolts' of a different variety its definitely a lol. (Just not for 2 hours). 

I have found that London has changed me, I have become a bit meaner. If there is me and another person standing in front of a newly vacant seat on the tube I now take it without any guilty feeling of not offering it to the other person. I only do this if I have been on the tube longer, I am not that callous. Before I would always give it up out of politeness, but then I soon realised no one was doing that for me - it's dog eat dog on the Piccadilly line. I even shouted at someone the other day for standing in the middle of the steps at Oxford Circus tube station (I mean really). However my attempts at being a cold hearted London hustler were thwarted when I turned around to throw him a stink and he was completely and utterly gorgeous, so instead of following through with the stink eye I was overcome with a pathetical girly giggle. Way to stand your ground Bills. 

I guess it's not all bad though. I get gorgeous home cooking every night, a hilarious Aunt and Uncle and I'm in bed and watching Suits by 10pm. Regretting giving up Law if they all look like Harvey by 10.07pm.

So whilst the residence isn't quite living up to the London life is there is light to the end of perpetual strugglings (I really need to ease up on the dramatics, but I simply can't). Come September not only will I be a permanent London tosser I will be a Chiswick resident (again). Hallelujah praise the independent shop, organic veg, too many patisseries on one street gods - mama's coming home. 

Prepare for a house warming party of crudités, champagne and a huge selection of cheese. It's going to be hugely (un)civilsed - especially when the replacement pringles, cava and babybells come out to play. 

Gotta dash - curry's ready. 

Fatty BB xxx