Now. When Dom told me to wear comfy shoes for my two-week stint, as ‘I would be doing a lot of walking’, me being…well, ‘me’ assumed the term ‘comfy’ meant ‘on trend, light grey ballerina-style flats with cute studding detail, purchased at the bargain basement bounty of £6’.

Apparently not.

What he REALLY meant to say was ‘wear 6-inch-thick padded hiking boots Nat’, as that is what I wished I’d donned this afternoon after doing a marathon of the City’s tube stations!

The pain was somewhat numbed however by a trip to the famous Portobello Road in London’s West End. I had been requested by Dom to take back a few loaned items to some ‘hot designers’ of the very same road, and so off I went.

I had never been before, and had only heard chinese whispers about the vintage haven that awaited me…

It was like stepping into Diagon Alley, only instead of magically passing through a magical wall, I felt like I had literally walked into one as my body ached from head to toe from a mixture of 3 hours on public transport and the excessive walking (for me anyway!)

I wound my way along Portobello Road, as I gazed in awe at the vintage shops and small boutiques that lined its streets. Fruit and vegetable stalls set up in the middle road formed somewhat of an obsticle (to oncoming traffic and people), as shoppers stopped to talk. There was a huge ethnic presence here compared to some other areas of London I’d already visited and it added to the area’s vibrancy.

However, on making my first delivery of expensive designer wares, I was told that the lady who owned the shop was out but that she would pass the bag onto her. I do not know if she even knew the lady but as she appeared from the flat above the shop I assumed she lived with her or was her tenant.

Either that or she was robbing the joint!

After this, I continued to wind my way up the high street to a cute little shop called ‘Jessie Western‘. A small but rammed Western-themed boutique, stocked with everything you could ever want/need to become the Milky Bar Kid (minus the chocolate.)

After making my deliveries I wound back down the road and had a gander at what treasures lined the streets outside of their very inviting shops. Dom even text me to say to have a mooch for a while before coming back..

I don’t need to be told twice.

Having cured my urge to purchase, I made my way back on myself to the office, where Dom had already got some other returns lined up. I was to go to Shoreditch High street this time.

He warned me before I left that one of the P.R offices had some weird lift that I’d need to play with in order to get to work.


It was like something out of The Twilight Zone!

Those of you who’ve been to MGM in Florida will understand me when I say it was just like The Hollywood Tower Of Terror (minus the sinister bell boy and the 199 feet drop….well I was hoping!) Thankfully, on the way up, I was joined by a member of staff who navigated the lift with all the precision of …. someone who had the knack? However, on the way down, it was a whooole other story…On my own (after waiting some 10 minutes for the thing to stop on my floor), I crept into the completely wooden (and very rickety-looking) contraption, and after 3 attempts at shutting the 1930s style gates across the front and selecting my floor, it began to descend … I had a rather unnerving vision that when the doors opened I would have been transported back to 1930, greeted by posh hotel-goers milling around a candle lit reception and a smartly-clad bell boy.

I was greeted by two cockney workmen on the ground floor.

“Alright love, after you.”

I made my way (gingerly now) back to the office where Dom informed me he’d forgotten to give me another parcel to take to Shoreditch and could I possibly ‘nip back’ and return it…so off I went again.

On arriving at ‘Child Of The Jago‘ (I don’t know. Don’t ask. All I know is they had a ‘psychedelic dummy’ hanging in the window by its neck. I’ll stick to River Island thanks.), I noticed a door next to the shop window which I assumed lead to the ‘studio’. I buzzed.

Man: “hello?”

Me: “Hi, I’m Natalie from SuperSuper. I’ve got some returns for you.”

Man: “Some what?”

Me: “Returns. For a Judy…”

Man: “Never heard of her love.”

It was then I realised that the shop window continued around the front of the building and opened into an actual shop.

Minor embarrassment over, I headed into the shop and made the exchange.

I gave the prepubescent lad the bag. I got to nurse my sore fingers.

I grabbed a well-earned Maccies on the way back to the office as I was sooo hungry I could have gnawed at my right arm.

After a decent lunch and a nice rest for my weary feet, I headed back to the office.

Luckily Dom didn’t want me to head back out again but to do some ‘research for him’.

They’d been contacted by some woman who wanted to do a photoshoot where she wanted the models to be dressed in the theme of a series of ‘real life stories’ i.e. the weird and wonderful stories you get on the front of cheap women’s magazines, like ‘I married my dog’, ‘I ate our hamster’, ‘I got married to a football mascot’ … you get the picture.

I had the task of tracking down costume hire places in London and then seeing as to whether they stocked items that the lady required to do her shoot. After cramming in as many links as i could onto an email, i sent them off to Super Steve, and made a quick exit, as it was already 1807!!

As I sat waiting for my train, I noticed a rather large number of ‘senior men’ being shadowed by rather young-looking Thai women. I sat and wondered if any of them were possibly together for the pure enjoyment of being with one another and that they’d been high school sweethearts since he was 17 and she …. wasn’t even born?! Then one couple walked past me and i spotted a rather ‘pricey-looking’ Rolex on the wrist of the man. I’m talking the kind of watch that not only incurs the remortgage of a house, but sings the time at you in japanese AND takes you back in time. Now THAT’S a watch.

Needless to say, I quickly concluded ‘nah…she’s with him for his money!’


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