Six weeks in a caravan.... in autumn. Insane.

Over the years I have come to realise I am a spontaneous idealist. Not my words... the official name (according to personality tests) for people who love new adventures and grow bored when life repeats itself. 

This definitely sums up my husband and I, and explains why we thought moving out of our gorgeous two bed, garden flat in north London and into a 20 foot caravan, in the middle of nowhere, would be a good idea. At the time I thought, without hesitation, "Can't wait, I'm in."

However, reality hit us, about three weeks later when we were living in the middle of a field in Hertfordshire. Three miles from any food shops and surrounded by rivers, wildlife and bone-chilling wind. In hindsight we should have chosen June and not November to embark on a new life outside.

Anyway, we've been here for  six weeks now. The change of lifestyle is huge. Something, I naively wasn't at all prepared for. I assumed it would be an adventure, which of course it is. But we are surrounded by people who seemed to have checked out of normal life. Including a 50-something Australian chap who's sleeping in a one man tent, in -2 degrees with no cooker, no food, not even a camping chair or torch. Nutter. 

The buzz of London life is a distant memory. Our caravan sits adjacent to a river so every morning I wake up, look out at 32 acres of countryside and witness the morning ritual of ducks and swans paddling and washing themselves. Also a huge gaggle of geese walking around aimlessly, following each other in a neat line, squawking, accompanied by the occasional partridge and/or pheasant. 

I miss being able to pop to our local shop at 11pm, after deciding on a whim I want a bottle of wine, a packet of Monster Munch and a Curly Wurly. There’s no food spontaneity in the countryside. Late in the caravanning world is 8pm. Late on London’s clock can be anywhere between 11pm - 3am. I miss city life after dark.

Gone is my self-indulgent, five-door London wardrobe and in turn the constant moaning of my husband Jimmy for all my clothes hoarding. All girls know it’s not hoarding… that curiously pale, denim jumpsuit WILL come back into fashion one day, won’t it?

Now my wardrobe, if you can even call it that, holds exactly 25 hangers. However, I quickly realized you can double, even triple up. I have over 50 items neatly hanging, and three shelves full of jumpers, jeans and tops. I’m happy with that. I also have six pairs of shoes (not including wellies, trainers etc), which, given the size of our new home, feels quite decadent. The rest of my beloved shoe collection is neatly laid out in my old bedroom, at my parent’s home. Sigh.

I can’t lie, I really miss London nightlife and hobnobbing at showbiz parties - taking full advantage of the free champagne, canapés and of course the goodie bags.

But I won't moan, as our caravan has all the mod cons - central heating, hot shower, DVD player, built in radio and digital TV, so I can keep up to date with Eastenders, MIC and X Factor. Bizarrely, we now get faster Wi-Fi in the middle of a meadow, than we did forking out £60 a month for BT Infinity in London. 

Little things excite me now, like being able to pop to the campsite shop in the morning and get fresh eggs and bread.  Also seeing our cat stretched out, blissfully, in the sun-soaked spot she’s found by the caravan front window.  She’s been looking longingly and eagle-eyed at all the wildlife surrounding us. So will no doubt feel crestfallen when we attach her new collar and loud bell next week. 

In the nine years I've had her she's never worn a bell, but we’re sure the campsite owners wouldn’t approve of a bird, duck and swan massacre. Although Jimmy is praying she'll catch a pheasant so he can make a pie. As if. 

Last time my mum shot, plucked and cooked a pheasant she caught fleas from it. Talk about karma.  

Goodbye London... the beautiful Big Smoke.

Eight weeks ago I quit my job as a gossip columnist on a whim to find a new, rural life away from glitz, glamour and endless champagne knees-ups. 

There’s only so many times a girl can fly to the Oscars, the Cannes Film festival and attend glossy red carpet events without getting a bit bored of it all. I know, I know, I hate myself a little bit too. But that’s the truth.

So we (my husband and I) handed in the notice on our lovely north London flat, chucked our worldly possessions into boxes, dropped them off a self-storage unit and moved into a caravan in Hertfordshire. Stick with me…

We weren’t planning to completely check out of society - to shirk council tax, a TV license, gas, water and electricity bills and, er, reality. But we were a tad confused with what we wanted in life.

As the Dalai Lama believed: “The very purpose of our life is to seek happiness.”

Without wanting to get all philosophical we were a bit lost and weren’t sure what direction our lives were moving in. We seemed to be stuck on that flipping Spaghetti Junction in Birmingham. You know the road, the one off the M6 which gets millions of drivers frustrated and puzzled every day. It leads everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Well, that pretty much sums up our lives a few weeks ago. Baffled.

After a hectic and decadent six years in London, the thought of chilling out, kicking back with nature and seeing where the wind takes us was, to put it mildly, bloody exciting.

Anyone who lives in London knows all about the rental market burn. And the frustration of handing over nearly £1500 every month. Such a payday buzz kill.

We, like many Londoners, got caught up living a life of excess. We’d eat out most nights, in local pubs, quirky bars, restaurants in town. There’s no such thing as a ‘school night’ in the Big Smoke. Every night has the potential to accidentally turn into full-blown, drunken Saturday night stupidity.

A new restaurant would pop up and we’d “just have” to try it out. After all, London has it all, and in turn you feel compelled to try it all. As quickly as possible, before something new and even more intriguing comes along.

With this level of excess deeply denting our pockets and bank balance, we decided to spend a few months, or longer (eeeek) in a caravan. With a plan to seriously try and save some cash. And hopefully, one way or another,  try and figure out what the hell we want to do with our lives.

New bar - Trader Vics in the Hilton, Park Lane

Since quitting my job as a gossip girl, I can now go to parties and relax. Which, I can't lie, is bloody fantastic and very novel.
Tonight was the VIP re-launch of Polynesian themed bar Trader Vics in Mayfair. In the basement of the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane to be exact (originally opened in 1963).

We were all given Hawaiian flower garlands on the way in and Tiki cocktails were being handed out, made by bartenders in Hawaiian shirts.

The bar/ restaurant was ram-packed, with a sprinkling of celebs too - from Made In Chelsea, X Factor (Katie Waissel), TOWIE (Lydia Bright) and The Voice. However, I didn't have to worry about work, so just relaxed, had a good gossip with my friend Sam and tried a few cocktails. Perfect.




The cocktail list was impressive and each drink was served in different holders. Either a tall vase, coconut shell or quirky mug (see above).

COCKTAIL LIST:

Mai Tai - Trader Vics own world renowned creation (we tried it, it was amazing)

London Sour - Scotch Whisky, fresh orange, lemon and a whisper of almonds.

Gun Club Punch - Duck hunter special. A mixture of rum and fruit juices (potent, but very nice)

Samoan Fog Cutter - A legend says that this drink helped Samoan fisherman see through the fog

Bahua -  Snowy concotion of rums, coconut and pineapple

Honi Honi - Bourbon with the spice of the island (my favourite of the night)

Queen Charlotte Fruit Punch - A luscious combination of fruit juices

Juice Cleanse. Day Two

DAY TWO

MORNING:
FEELING: Woke up feeling great, really energised, happy and had a good night sleep. I’m full of beans.
MOOD: Happy. Optimistic about the day ahead.
 
 

morning hot water and lemon

I started the day with hot water and lemon as instructed. Surprised I'm not craving my usual morning cup of tea, or caffeine. But I'm not, luckily.
Got a busy day ahead of me today. Need to write a 1000 word travel feature and reply to a load of emails I ignored yesterday. I also have an PR meeting this afternoon at 3.30pm, which I'm driving into the centre of London for. Driving in London is pretty horrendous, on the best of days, so hopefully I'll have the energy.

I had a really good sleep last night, totally zonked out and I woke up feeling really good and positive.

First juice of the day was... Morning Liver Bliss again.
Despite not liking it yesterday, and thinking the combination of carrot, apple, beetroot and ginger wasn't very nice, I liked it this morning.
Strange. But I'm going with it.
Also had all the pills, powders and shots I was suppose to.

I took my laptop outside into the garden to get some fresh air and do some work there. It was quite sunny, despite what the picture (below) shows.
Change of scenery, and all that.

For my second juice I had Very Berry - carrot (again), apple, celery, blueberry, blackberry and mint.
I really liked this one.
So far, I'm finding in the juice cleanse OK. I haven't been craving food and I'm feeling full most of the time. Also finding it pretty easy to concentrate on work and getting everything done I need to.


Cool Mint juice

I decided to take my third juice with me to the business meeting in town. That way I wouldn't be tempted to have coffee, or tea. Or any other snacks they had lying around. Media offices always seem to be full of cakes, sweets, doughnuts. My third juice was Cool Mint - pineapple, cucumber, mint and fennel. I also really enjoyed the taste of this one. (maybe just thankful for no more carrot!)

I did feel a bit daft pulling out a detox juice drink in front of a PR director I'd never met before. It was a good job I took it though, as there were trays of sandwiches and cakes just metres away from where we were sitting. It was a talking point if nothing else.
The meeting went really well, I had no problem concentrating or driving in the rush hour home (bloody insane London traffic).
I still don't feel hungry, so pretty pleased with how it's all going.

Dinner: Sweet Green juice

For my dinner juice I chose Sweet Green - pear, celery, broccoli and ginger. I liked the taste of this one too.

I should point out, I was now going to the toilet a lot more, watch out for that if you're a work! You'll need a toilet near by. I won't go into any more detail, it was fine, just a bit of a surprise at first. Not sure if the Colosan powder causes that or just a juice diet naturally?


I had my first negative experience around 8.30pm. I felt really tired, and a bit daunted that I had another whole day of literally, not eating anything. I was starting to dread the carrot juices!
My enthusiasm for the cleanse dropped. I wasn't hungry, but I was craving cheese on toast. And freshly, baked bread. In fact any bread. Just bread.

Luckily, my husband was working away all week, so I didn't have to cope with him cooking and eating nice looking food. But I was started to feel a bit defeated and lethargic - I needed some inspiration to keep going.
Luckily, a PR friend was doing a juice cleanse too, coincidentally, at the same time, which I found out over Twitter. We sent each other a few Tweets (well loads actually, sorry to anyone who read them and got completely bored with endless detox and juice chit-chat) to encouraged each other to keep going for the final day. It really helped.



A new drink, thank God.
Spicy Lemonade

I think doing a juice cleanse with someone else would really spur you on in those times of doom. Lauren told me she watched a motivation video on the internet, so that could be a good idea if you're flagging?
I decided to read some online posts about juice cleanses, and listened to some Ibiza chill out tunes on Spotify, both cheered me up and gave me some motivation to keep going tomorrow.
Also I had my first Spicy Lemonade (filtered water, lemon, agave, nectar) - which I'd totally forgotten about. It was nice to have something completely different, and it tasted good too.

If none of the above works, there's always the bath and face mask to look forward to before bed. Every cloud.



EVENING:
FEELING:  Today felt like a bit of a struggle incomparison to how easy yesterday was. Feeling slighted daunted that tomorrow will be worse, but trying to stay positive.
MOOD: Good (despite the above), my skin looks better and I feel slimmer.

JLS at M&M World

Sometimes I forget that men do seriously only think of one thing.They do.

I'm not a raving feminist or a man basher, in fact I think men are great I have stacks of awesome male friends, but it's true. And time and time again I'm reminded of this fact.

Whether it's men staring scarily at you on the tube, men perving at your ass as they politely (yeah sure) let you out the door first or just men sending you random, unnecessary flirty emails at work...that one confuses me? Why bother?

Anyway, men are born to cop an eyeful at every opportunity and flirt outrageously.

Peter Andre should 100% win an award or even an OBE for his contribution.

Pete can turn any conversation into sex and will give you more compliments in five minutes than there is time to utter said words.He's off the flirting Ricktar scale.

It's not personal, I've observed\ seen\ heard him do it to EVERY girl he’s around. He’s probably like it with his own mother. Which in turn doesn't really make any girl feel special and in that respect I have an smidgen of sympathy for Katie Price.

The second biggest candidates are JLS. Step forward Marvin and Aston.

I went to interview them for the opening of M&M world in Leicester Square - Boris Jonson was cutting the illusive ribbon but the lads were performing.

We only had five minutes to interview them and at least four of those minutes included them flirting outrageously. They can't help it. They're always on a full-on charm offensive. Well, at least that's one way to stop people writing bad things about you.



Chatting to the JLS backstage in their dressing room



The M&M lab where the chocolate is mixed

Check out the interview here where the lads embarrassingly admit Craig David drank them under the table..

Goss interview with JLS 

Horse riding in a tropical storm

We got out of bed, on our penultimate day, at 9.30am. Which was our first lie in all week, probably
something to do with the late night balcony antics. After breakfast in the sunshine (scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and bucks fizz), we whiled away a few hours on the beach before our horse trekking tour.

At midday we got on the coach to head for the ranch, which was up in the hills a few miles east of Montego Bay.
Our tour guide, Herbert, insisted we only used Jamaican terms during the horse riding. So made us practise saying "yeah man" "irie" and "no problem". He told us there's no such things as 'problems' in Jamaica, just 'situations'.
As we put on our horse riding helmets the heavens open and torrential rain started. The sky was black and rain\ hail was crashing down, making fast flowing streams all around within minutes.
We took off our helmets and waited for 20mins sheltering anywhere we could from the rain. However, the rain continued, with water bouncing off the pavement and bucketing down around us. Eventually we gave up and mounted our horses, soaking wet, mid rain storm.



The tropical downpour continued for the whole hour and a half ride. Our horses (Scrappy, who had a broken ear, and Danny Boy) loved the rain. And the locals (who we kept bumping into along the way) kept telling us it  was "liquid sunshine", insisting it was a "blessing from above."
We rode up hills, through the forests looking at all the different varieties of fruits and plants. Meeting a few locals who live in the forest on the way. We passed over streams and small rivers. Through mangroves, where lobsters and crabs hide out. It was pretty amazing and worth every penny.
We finished the ride by removing the saddles and riding our horses out into the sea. Them swimming (more like racing) and us hanging on by everything and anything possible.
Definitely an experience we won't forget for a while.

Even though we spent the whole day soaking wet, with rain continuing to beat down on us, it's impossible to be disheartened in Jamaica.
The locals are so happy, constantly singing and smiling like lottery winners. Their excitement for life is infectious.

We arrived back to the hotel and once again our butlers had run us a romantic bath, this time with yellow rose petals.

It's safe to say there's no way me or Jimmy want to go back to London tomorrow.

Showbiz dining with Jamie Oliver

I'm on the count down to LA for the Oscars. Just eight work days left. Sweet.
The showbiz scene in London is quiet at the moment, the calm before the storm.
January and February are notoriously derelict party-wise.
As soon as a sniff of Spring arrives the celeb boozers re-emerge and the whole showbiz scene revives for another year.
I sampled some Jamie Oliver food today for the first time.
My friend and PR Alex Wilkinson took me out for a business lunch at Barbecoa restaurant in St Pauls, owned by my favourite culinary wide boy Jamie Oliver.
Alex works for M&CSaatchi PR and organises events like the BAFTAS and Glastonbury.
He's a bloody good egg and should definitely moonlight for a Arctic Monkeys tribute band. Scruffy hair, stubble, casual-chic. You get the picture.
The food was amazing, I had sea bass, Alex had the house burger, big enough to comatose most lads for a few hours after.
Monsieur Oliver wasn't present, do these celeb owners actually visit their restaurants? I like to think so.


Jamie and American chef Adam Perry Lang doing their thang  in Barbecoa kitchen



One of the favourite's pork belly, Brambley apple and water cress salad

 I've since decided I want to go on a food eating tour and visit all the celebrity chef's gaffs. Next stop Gordon Ramsay.

Something off Sex In The City

I had a weird realisation tonight while sitting around a table with some of my favourite girlfriends.
In between gulping Rose, scoffing nachos and homemade relish (made by my friend Nikki's fiance) I suddenly realised I've got a cool job and some of the best friends in the business.
I don't often dwell on such matters, and rarely even think about how lucky I am. Until tonight.

I went for dinner at my friend Nikki's flat in north London. She's a features journalist at The Sun, she's blonde, hot, young and already found the man of her dreams.
The other two dinner guests were my best mate Sam - a former journalist who now works at a top London PR company and my wonderful friend Ellie - a showbiz journalist for leading woman's magazine New!

Firstly, Ellie has the best name is showbiz, Ellie Piovesana - try spelling that when you've had a few. She's a cool bird, she could probably drink Kate Moss under the table and has some of the best jewellery this side of Vivienne Westwood.
Sam's been my loyal sidekick for 15 years, we lived our intoxicated University years living together and probably still cause as much mayhem now as we did then. It goes without saying she's one of a kind.

Anyway, as we sat and drank and debated work, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, other journalists, the desperation in PR's voices trying to pitch something shit over the phone and men... I realised we were the current day reality of a London Sex In The City scene (without the TV cameras or huge pay check, obviously. Or superstar glow.)

Four young women, working hard, playing hard and generally not really giving a crap about life except for cherishing the things we love.
I thought as an outsider we probably looked like a cliquey bunch of media types. We really aren't - just four girls from the Midlands, working hard in the Big Smoke.) It suddenly dawned on me, this was a moment worth remembering.
I always hoped to be successful enough in life to have a great job, great friends and a great social life. Bingo.

Nikki's modern day man Simon cooked chicken fajitas and spicy rice for us girls while we sat back and nattered like fish wives. He's a good egg.
When the conversation turned to communal wanking - men, not ladies, I realised it was time to call a taxi.
And yes, lads actually do this together, with their friends, in the same room! I know, weird or what? I hope to never see any of my mates 'sex faces' let alone hear their cries of that 'final moment'.
Simon also admitted, quite proudly, that as a kid he owned a sex sock. A sock he kept under his bed for times of.... ahem... solo fun. Sorry Si.

Anyway, I'm at home now and contently full and happy. I hope we always have these girlie nights, even when we're grey and wrinkly.

Ellie, Sam, me and Nikki