Clarabella Speaks.

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves" - Shakespeare

Saturday, 27 April 2013

Clarabella Speaks: Pimp my Intern.

Guess who's back, back it's not Shady it's me, and I'm writing to you from my NEW FLAT with BALCONY and FRENCH FLATMATES. Guess I finally got that flat with the rooftop view of Paris I always wanted! I was planning to still be asleep at this time but alas my body clock no longer understands the concept of a lie-in so what better way to pass the time than writing my first blog in over 3 weeks. Those 3 weeks have been ajetreadisimas and so I have not been doing a good job of documenting my daily outfits which really is a shame because my outfits this week were totally fabulous but I guess now I can re-wear them without fear of judgement. The following is my last photo in my old studio *sob sob the memories*, which reminds me, now that I no longer live in a studio I'm gonna have to think of a new name for studio style. Will add that to the blog to-do list which also includes work out a way to get rid of camera-face (harder than you'd think).

So what have I been doing over the past 3 weeks you may wonder. Well being pimped out for one thing.  Before you choke on your tea (if you're British and reading this chances are there is a cup of tea near by you, don't deny it) let me explain. We had some important clients (it already sounds bad), it was their last night out and it was decided that some girls were needed. When I say girls I mean me and the other intern. So at first we were all excited because we got a night out on the company in a fancy club, then we asked what our dress code was and the response was "sexy". Joderrrr. I don't think I have ever dressed sexy in my life, I can barely even say the work without cringing so that was going to be fun. I eventually settled on a black dress and and heels, with BARE LEGS, which consequently led to the worst metro journey of my life. It was raining outside, so there I was walking through the streets alone in bare legs with a scarf over my head as an umbrella, looking like an absolute twat, and then when I got onto the metro I was greeted by the judgemental stares of anyone over the age of 40. I had to sit down and cover my legs with my scarf out of sheer embarrassment. I'm telling you, I have a newfound respect for street walkers. Thankfully that was the worst part of the night and our biggest problem after that was having to take a shot of Hennessy XO whilst balancing our champagne in the other hand, which, might I add, was topped up constantly by a leather kilt-wearing barman. Marc Jacobs may be a fan of such an outfit, but it will never be okay.

Other than that slightly interesting acontecimiento, I HAVE GOT A NEW PASSPORT. It is however Irish, and I'm still not sure how I feel about my new found Irish nationality but then again it does mean I am not doomed to live out the rest of my days in France, nor pay any more visits to the British Consulate (touch wood) so I am not going to complain, nor bring it with me on a run. That lesson has been well and truly learnt, although most people would probably say that it shouldn't really have to be.

Further excitement includes cockroach-spotting in the office, almost having my precious Marc Jacobs bag sprayed with insect repellant (worse than a cockroach attack), more homeless appearances on the metro, deciding to walk 3 miles to Spanish then getting lost and arriving 30 minutes late, an exploding bottle of shower gel in my gym bag, and semi-cooked porridge that ended up more around the bowl than in it. C'est la vie as the French would say, and there's no point crying over spilt milk (ha).


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