Cost per wear: about 2p over the 30 years....
On the verge of summer 1993. I'm living - somewhat improbably - in Devonshire Mews West, London W1. (Opposite Babs Windsor no less - who I will later meet while working at Enders - a total diamond). My rent? A mere £30 a week. I'm attending Westminster Uni where I'm training to become a broadcast journalist. The course is amazing; being a poor student in London less so. Yet somehow, I've bought Vogue magazine, where there is a spread on Michael Hutchence and Helena Christensen, at his house in France - where they shoot each other with water guns and play table tennis. It all looks idyllic. He was of course a huge crush of mine (and I'd be lucky enough to score free tickets on the day of his Town and Country club gig in Leeds later that summer - to see INXS) and Helena epitomised the cool girl that I would never, ever, be. In the captions to the article (pic below) it said that she shopped at Portobello market and so inspired, off I went, with the hope of finding a vintage white dress, to wear that summer.
I found the one above for a mere £20 and loved it. Wearing it was the first time anyone looked at me in the street or complimented me. It was the summer that felt ripe with possibility - my 20s lay ahead... No longer an awkward teen, but, I dared to hope, becoming a woman... Filled with hopes and ambition and energy and doubt and fear and all the things we are aged 20.
Almost 30 years have passed since that summer and I'm days away from turning 50. I cannot believe that fact is true, even as type. In many ways I am still that 20 year old - less ambitious, less doubt, less fear but hopefully still with that energy. It would be remiss of me not to reflect on all that has happened - but I am completely grateful that all of it did - because it got me to here. Without sounding like some awful hashtag or trite life phrase hung in a kitchen - I have never been happier - or rather, been as content. Shit that mattered doesn't matter so much. Fitting in, being accepted, being valued for things that ultimately are not who I am. For any 20 year old I have no advice - how can I - I'm not in their shoes - except one thing: run at life. Enjoy every fucking second because in a heartbeat it can be taken from you.
The 20 year old that I was: I thought all my problems would be gone in an instant if only I could become a TV presenter - perhaps with a side order of fame. Well, I did manage to be a presenter for about ten years and THANK GOD I was never famous. If there is one thing to ruin someone with a fragile sense of self - that would have been it. The presenting was wildly fun - not like having a real job whatsoever (a dating show where I took teens on dates to Paris first class Eurostar/ interviewing Leo DiCaprio and Will Smith/attending Julian McDonald fashion shows with the Spice Girls or handing them a stolen pirate VHS tape of their Spiceworld movie with News Bunny at Heathrow on a rainy Halloween night 1997/Paris Fashion week/live studio audience at 11pm at night to keep me on my toes/backstage at V festival - or was it Reading - pretending to be in Robbie Williams' band). But there was a price to be paid for it, as when I had my son, trying to combine work and motherhood became the holy grail - and in fact why I began this here blog.
So what did I learn? Well nothing beats a cup of tea with a digestive biscuit and butter, that is for sure... (And yes with butter. Try it. You'll thank me later). The thing is, I'm still learning - I hope I always will be, so I'm not sure that I have any secret inside knowledge to life - no more than anyone else who is lucky enough to live to 50 doesn't have... Perhaps my best discovery is that life isn't all about those winning goals, the big celebration moments - but in fact all the little incidental bits in between: the first cuppa of a day, red wine by a fire, a wet rainy walk with a dog who is still delighted to be out there in the elements, a great hug, a comfy cinema seat and a hot coffee, clean PJs, a perfect old fashioned, laughing until you cry with oldest buddies. I try to find one of those moments in every day.
Funnily enough, I hoked out all my painstakingly kept diaries (from age 8-28) for something I am writing at the moment and was amazed at what I read. Those that had wronged me, I realised were just finding their way too; a first love affair was anything other than the blissful romantic ideal that I had remembered - and was in fact one long lesson in what not to do... As an aside, for every boy that had to endure one of my many, many letters (god, it seemed all I did was write frigging letters) I apologise. All those emotions of mine just had to get on paper... They still do. The other thing I've realised, is that there is no term of love for friendships - and yet, they are the great unsung relationships of our lives. I've been a good, if challenging friend - as my own hang ups meant I need/needed to feel prioritised and valued, perhaps in a way that others don't. I think I've finally realised that people not calling me back immediately - isn't a sign that I don't matter. Yes, it took me a degree in counselling and 50 years to get there...
A friend came to visit last September having not seen me for quite a few years and she said I was calmer than she had ever known me. Thank god eh? I feel very lucky that I met my husband and had my children - even all the young kid years where I was working full time at Enders, writing 13 Babble articles a month and on my knees. The key to life I feel is balance - colouring in that old life wheel and realising that you've got each bit covered and none compromising the other. I work from home, I get to write every day, I get to counsel teens and give back something that would have benefitted me enormously when I was that teen. I get to jump in cold water and be fully in nature and that keeps me sane. Another dear friend asked me: 'you make your own Xmas wreaths and get in cold swampy lakes for fun - who the fuck are you?' As that is a picture far removed from my hedonistic 24 year old swinging from the Met bar days... I don't miss that girl. I was looking for things to fulfil me that I was never going to find there, no matter the glitter, no matter the excitement, no matter the glamour.
I still get excited by the thought of a cocktail. (Preferably at a hotel bar). By a gathering. By parties. I still think anything is possible, no matter my age. I don't have regrets (except not going to see U2 that summer of '93 with my school buddies in a limo), because every mistake I hope - in time - I have learnt from. You learn nothing from successes bar one thing: that hard work is what it takes to get there. I've had several careers and instead of seeing that as some kind of failure - I see that now as a success. I wanted so desperately to become that TV presenter and I got there: replete with chauffeur driven cars to work, makeup and wardrobe and studio lights. It was fun, as long as presenting can be for women (until the work dries up). I'm happier where I am now. I'm saddened by cancel culture and the way I am more afraid in this era of insane correctness, to speak out than I was in the 90s... We are all too quick to judge and if we could all just listen that bit more or try and understand others - realising that division is pointless, we'd all be in a better place. The other day I drove into my local garage, and a guy was crossing deliberately slowly so I just drove on in. He shouted abuse at me and ignoring him, I parked up, got petrol and duly paid. I looked out to see that he had walked back and was in fact photographing my license plate. I went after him and he shouted that the Highway code had changed and that he had right of way. He was apoplectic with rage, gunning to fight, so I took a breath and replied: 'thank you so much for telling me, I'm truly sorry, I had no idea. I am grateful you took the time to tell me.' Well he had no clue what to do with that. He stood stock still, stunned. I was being sincere too. He was utterly thrown. Try it - back down, agree, understand, see their side - and wham, life isn't the row everyone expects or perhaps wants.
So what for my future? Who knows... What I have also realised is how little of anything, we control - much as we would want to. Money might make life easier and buy better health care (sadly) - but it doesn't keep us safe. I hope I make it to 60. I hope I'm still curious about people, still getting in lakes and that my dog is somehow alive forever... My 50th will be spent getting in the sea, cake of some sort, a wonderful seafood meal in The Rockstore in Cornwall and er... visiting the biggest Witches and Magic museum in the world. I may get a tarot reading to see what is in store, but in truth, I don't want to know... May it be as glorious, as fun and as loving as the past 30 years have been.
Maybe, I'll still be wearing my Portobello market dress...
