essex

Maybe we could be each other’s soul mates

“Don’t laugh at me, but maybe we could be each other’s soul mates. Then we could let men be just these great, nice guys to have fun with.” Charlotte York, Sex and the City.

Lucky for me… I have my soul mate. But even better than that I am blessed enough that he will be there, for ever.

Months can go by, and a lot can change (believe me! I’m talking lovers, ex lovers, marriage, tattoos, weight, hair, and god knows what else) but there he is… My SOLE/SOUL mate.

6 years ago, god knows what month it was… I was put clubbing with a group of friends and my current boyfriend. I know exactly what I was wearing (high waisted harem black suit trousers, black Mary Jane Louboutins, low cut/low back white racer back ripped vest, and a very naughty, very see through, lace and silk bra; and of course, a chanel 2.55 – it will always be me to wear a vest that was slutty but I had picked up from a market in Vietnam, trousers from Topshop and then top the cost of my whole outfit by adding a bag and shoes!). Anyway; there I was walking along the high street of this little town that I had grown up in to go move my boyfriends car whilst he was busy buying everyone drinks… Who do I bump into? My love, my genie, Reece Morgan. Now what I haven’t mentioned is that – this club was full of nice girls dressed like hoochies! You would see a Chanel here, Kurt Geiger there, Prada there… But the main aim with these girlies was sluttiness and as you can probably tell; what I was wearing was sexy, subtle but never hoochie mumma! Maybe that’s why he chose me, only he could tell you that. The inimitable Reece. So there I am, treating the high street as a run way and I bump into an acquaintance, turns out he was heading to the same place I was drinking with his girlies. Before I knew it, 2 weeks later I was on a stone table, in a mesh body, with black lipstick, wet look black eyeshadow, slicked back jet black hair… Pouting and posing. And that was just the beginning…

Now, when I first came across Reece I just knew him to be an aspiring photographer with an amazing sense of style. It wasn’t until we had numerous Cosmos and Margaritas that I realised every element that makes him is pure fabulous. From his ever changing hair styles, ooh snap! To his huge collection of handbags from Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Chanel and Hermes. Not forgetting his irresistibly delicious personality.

Only Reece would turn up at one of my friends magazine launch parties in Mayfair and get papped on his way home, simply for looking so gorg and fabulous. As if! Crazy.

This man is there for everything whether it be a simple BBQ in the garden of my fathers ranch (me in flares and him in all black), drinks in Canary Wharf (me in 10 inch heels and him in vintage), winter cocktails in Covent Garden (me with my pink 2.55 chanel and him draping himself in fur), a burlesque show in the West End (me in all black apart from my rose gold courts and Michael Kors and him traipsing in Dior), a Cheryl Cole concert at the O2 arena (me in leather trousers and him holding a jug of Cosmo) or us trying to figure out a way to make pink fishnet mesh work in my dressing room.

But it’s not just the clothes, the memories and the designers, it’s the art – his art, my drunken ‘art’, the art of love (or trying I find it), our worshipping of art (whether it be SJP, bitching about Kim K, slamming Britney, or worshipping the queens of the red carpet and the skinny bitches behind a camera!). There is pure talent there, and not necessarily the talent that you make for yourself by having a subscription to Vogue, or trading in your mums vintage for the to-die-for-vintage, or dressing to impress… For me, he was born with it. It’s the air, the blood and all the different organs that put him together and create pure talent-full fabulousness!

Well ya know what, here’s to the men that have come and gone (and stayed!) for the both of us, the fashion faux pas (for the both of us!!) and here’s to the next 50 plus years where this (photographer, stylist, socialite, bitch, editor, realised) man will still be my soul/sole mate… Because no matter what happens I will be wearing my Louboutins as slippers and he might well be taking the trash out in his vintage Hermes.

Love you, DOLL.

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Love at last sight

As I sit here writing this blog, I am staring out the window of my family home. A 400 year old farm house surrounded by fields. The decor of the house could be described using lots of different words that still wouldn’t get across what it actually looks and feels like. People have tried… estate agents, previous owners, my mother (the last designer). Over the last 12 months the inside of the farmhouse has taken a few turns that leave me heart broken to be surrounded by, simply because I know the beauty that was once there, along with the character and quirkiness. I love this place. Even though I now live in the futuristic area of Canary Wharf in the capital of Britain. I come home, when I want and when I can, mostly when I need. This weekend i have been here for a mere 24 hours, but before I head off I walk around the whole property (which has recently been nicknamed ‘The Ranch’ after a friend had no idea what the property contained). I walk out the back door, over the gravel courtyard to where my Wendy House once was it is now a chicken hut with a duck and peacock house opposite situated in a paddock and apple orchard, and a rose arbor running between the two. I watch my Jack Russell dog run under the gates and fences and through the long grass and into the horse yard. As I watch him I see him weave through the horses legs and notice the two tabby cats sitting on the wooden fences that divide horse from horse from horse. I am standing looking out on a field covered in daisies and buttercups closed in by small forests of trees and rabbits houses. Who could feel sad? This is where I grew up. I turn and look at the secret passages and bushes that hid all of my childhood games and secrets. The tree where my wooden swing would hang from, the garden that held so many birthdays and barbeques. This select part of nature is my dogs first and only home, and you can very clearly see that in his freedom, running and roaming every inch. I can tell you where my first rabbit was buried, and her babies too. Where I was taught to ride a bike by my grandfather, father and brother. Where I got stung by bees. Where I ran away to when I hated my mother, or siblings. I know this place, I know what it has to offer – especially forgetting the buildings situated on and around. Edit upon edits have been made since we first got here 17 years ago, some I hated, some were genius… I now know how a swimming pool is made (even if it has green tiles!). I don’t need to look at the pictures around the house to remember coming home from school in my striped summer uniform to find my mum in cut off jean shorts, wellies and a sequined vest hidden in the vegetable garden planting pumpkins, lavender, ginger and horseradishes.

As I make full circle of ‘The Ranch’ I come to think… “Maybe I should tell Dad when he is sad, anxious or worried – to take a deep breath and walk very slowly around the whole of the property taking in every sight”. It doesn’t matter that it’s a sunny day with a cold breeze, this place looks amazing in the snow, covered in rain and dried out from the never-present sun.

Thinking back, I have walked out of that back door and seen a deer in the orchard, a baby foul appear over night in the paddock, 6 puppy Jack Russell’s fall over in the snow and cuddled my family in the sun.

My childhood wasn’t perfect, the relationships within my family are from from it too – and sitting here now I have very much been taught that money doesn’t buy you happiness. But if anyone ever asks, I grew up surrounded by nature and fresh air…

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