It’s a strange feeling to contend with when somebody who you look up to passes away. As anybody who follows fashion in the lightest sense will know, one of the Fashion Greats of all time has been found dead. Alexander McQueen to be exact. It came as a huge shock to get a newsflash over Sky revealing the awful news. Thoughts are definitely with his family at this sad time.

Can’t say there’s much else to write about today. This post is solely for the McQueen.

Since I have been away in London for a week and had a shocking Internet reception, I had to sadly abandon all hope of keeping a daily diary of events. Shocking I know. Even more shocking are the events that have happened during my time here…

As a student, I’m used to living away from home, but nothing could prepare me for moving over to a big scary city and staying in a place well known for prostitutes. It all makes sense now though; The flashing car headlights on the sidewalk, the odd one liners delivered from random men, the following stares..they thought I was on the game! Me! In my warm winter scarf, gloves, coat and boots! Come on men of London, assess the situation before engaging in pervy talk!

On one such occasion, I found myself stranded in N7 after a photoshoot with The Drums. Was forced to stand out in the pouring rain frantically dialing taxi numbers and eventually having to settle for a 25 minute wait. One big burly black guy drove past me twice, pulled up, and walked up to me. He scarily leered for what seemed like years whilst I stood eyeballing him in fear…eventually he asked: ‘Where did yo get dat ring frum?’ *points at huge rock on my finger*
Erm…Really?! Seriously?! He made a swift exit anyway, maybe that’s code for ‘is you up for some sex…man’…terrifying.