Gone with the wind

Clearly alarm clocks were invented with the intention to tick people off. Or maybe just Mediterranean’s such as myself, for whom the act of sleeping must not be disturbed by exasperating noises.

It really baffles me as to why workplaces are so stringent about their office hours. We all operate in a different manner. Some people are better adaptable to an early morning culture, whereas others quite simply aren’t. As long as the work gets done and the clients are happy, I see no reason as to why employees should be castigated for not adhering to the stipulated working hours.

It just so happens that I have the day off. So the fact that I forgot to deactivate my alarm clock is pretty galling.

By this point, devouring some scrumptious breakfast whilst reading the paper became implicit.

This was also a great opportunity to wear my new J. Crew skirt (found here), matched with a white Zara shirt, a Barbour coat and Karen Millen shoes.

Voilà. Preppy meets English countryside look. A bit of an oxymoron, but I love it nonetheless.

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I must take this opportunity to thank my previous boss’ pompous behaviour for this classic, timeless skirt.

A 5-foot-5 inch man, with a tweed suit and an ego the size of Russia, he used to carry his water around in a decanter. Yes, a decanter.

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Unsurprisingly, he used to beckon me to fill his decanter up.

I dutifully obeyed for a week.

And another…

And shamefully a couple more after that.

Until one Thursday morning I said, BASTA.

He proceeded to threaten my position in the company.

I proceeded to Regent Street, bought this skirt …

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and thought to myself, “after all, tomorrow is another day.”

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Les nuances de beige

Ah it’s Valentines Day! On this gloriously romantic day, I’ve decided to celebrate the fact that I’m young, single and in love with life. I’d further like to celebrate the fact that it’s almost spring. Although given that I live in London, it may just skip to autumn.

Anyhow, for now I’m going to stick on my Massimo Dutti cream pleated skirt and seek out an ice cream parlour. I think I may opt for vanilla… Bonne journée.

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Home is where the heart lies

Someone once told me that there’s an element of nostalgia involved in packing. As you neatly fold your clothes into the corners of your suitcase, it gives you time to reflect on the moments that you shared with the people you are about to bid farewell to. It’s funny how we take those moments for granted, not realising that they shaped part of the memory book of our lives.

Six years ago I packed my fuxia luggage and left the beautiful island of Cyprus for Manchester, where as Charles Dickens said, each person is a bee in a vast hive.

Six years later, the same suitcase lies in the blue painted room, but the girl packing it isn’t the same. She is almost unrecognisable. A stranger to many in her old surroundings.

Yet despite all the changes, one thing remains the same. My unequivocal love for my family and my home.

Goodbye Cyprus.

Good morning London. You too are an undisputed beauty.

“Oh, London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air;

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And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;

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And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;

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But when it comes to living, there is no place like home.”