Today is a new month. Not just any month; the month
of May; the month when we can officially ditch winter coats and
spring into a new style season, where we can skip to beer gardens
and fire up the BBQ. Summer is a'comin'. So, what better time
to finally start the blog I've been meaning to start for the past two
months?
To be fair, it's been a busy two months. I left London where I was born, raised and, spare a spot of travelling and stint at
University in Liverpool, have spent my spent my 28 years of life. I moved
to New York with two and a half suitcases, a wad of dollars and total
uncertainty about where I'd live or what would happen.
Having left my job as Entertainment Editor at Grazia just
before Christmas and with a new-found sense of freelancing freedom, I figured
there was no better place to kick off my freelancing career than in the city
that never sleeps. Unfortunately, after a delayed flight and four hours cueing
through customs, sleep was exactly what I needed. My two and half suitcases and
I fell into a taxi and crammed our way into what can only be described as a dormitory at the achingly cool but
painfully small Bowery House (theboweryhouse.com/).
I'd recommend it if you're travelling on a shoestring budget and don't mind
having no room to actually place your shoes.
Fast forward eight weeks and I'm living in a three-bedroom
apartment on the Lower East Side, on the cusp of China Town, with the Brooklyn Bridge, Soho and East
Village just a short walk away. My apartment may be small (where in
Manhattan isn't?) but I can hang my clothes up, have a desk to write from and a
stunning rooftop with a pinch-yourself Skyline of lower Manhattan to drink and
sunbathe from. What more could a girl possibly want?
Work-wise, in these past eight weeks I've interviewed
Gerard Butler, Angela Bassett, Penn Badgley, Zac Efron and Julianne Moore.
Injury-wise, I’ve had 11 stitches in my little finger
from falling off the step ladder in my room (more of that later), a burn on my
wrist from over-zealous stir-frying, bruise on my forehead from banging my head
against the wall in my sleep, a scar on my ankle from an evil disposable razor
at the gym, scar on my leg from another time I
fell off the step-ladder and did I mention I tripped down the stairs yesterday
and sprained my ankle? The good thing about having a boyfriend who's a physiotherapist
is an instant diagnosis is just a phone call away.
Ahh yes, the boyfriend. Whilst having a gorgeous man back
in the UK is testing at times and infuriating at others, at least I can now add
'Long Distance Relationships' to my dating CV. It can go next to ‘failed
attempt at commitment’ and ‘how to date a man-baby.’ Again, more of all that
later.
I've rambled on far longer than is appropriate for a
first blog entry, but if you're at all interested in my celebrity
stalking, emergency room incidents and long-distance-dating, plus general life
in New York and the occasional pretty photo, please do keep reading.
Until then, happy May 1st.
Scarlett x
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