Thursday 22 September 2016

UK Rhino Farming: Altruism or Exploitation?

On a wet and windy desolate day in the Pembrokeshire countryside, Jack Gradidge tends to his herd. He cleans, feeds and cares for the beasts which provide him with his livelihood. The herbivorous animals chew on leaves and lazily roam around their paddocks. This herd however is not made up of cattle, but black rhinoceros. 

In October 2015, Folly Farm introduced two critically endangered Eastern black rhinos to its Kifaru Reserve. This animal reserve is Folly Farm’s largest and is ensuring that Nkosi, five, and Manyara, 17, are treated like African royalty. There are now less than 650 Eastern black rhinos left in the wild due to widespread poaching. Yet, this flagship conservation effort is paving the way for these gentle giants to once again roam free in their homeland without fear or fences.

“The first time I met them, there were mixed emotions of apprehension, nervousness and excitement,” Jack recalls. But, having studied at Sparsholt College and undertaken work placements at both Longleat and Chester Zoo, he was more than qualified to take on the role as head rhino keeper. Since the pair’s arrival, Jack has developed a close bond with the animals and talks about them like friends. He says, “Nkosi is very childish, playful and cheeky. He loves attention. Manyara is a little more reserved and stubborn. She’s a bit like a teenager!”

A different kind of herd

If South African rhino farmer, John Hume’s advice is headed, rhino farming could soon become commonplace across British farms. He suggests that rhinos should be farmed like cattle for their horns, in the same way cows are farmed for milk or meat. These horns are in hot demand in Asian markets, as it is believed to be a status symbol, possessing healing properties able to cure maladies from hangovers to cancers. Talking to JobShadow, millionaire Hume says, “Conservation will only be successful when people stand to gain from it on socio-economic levels.” Along with lobby group, KZN Wildlife, Hume is campaigning for the legalisation of the rhino horn trade, which he believes will result in fewer rhinos being poached in the wild.

At present, John Hume’s cattle-ranch style farm near the Kruger National Park in South Africa’s North West Province is the largest in the world and is home to 1,160 rhinos. Since 1992, he has harvested their horns every 18 months, which has no detrimental effects on the animals, as it grows back like human hair. In its lifetime, a male rhino produces an average of 50-60 kilos of horn, with a female able to produce between 30-40 kilos. Hume argues that his innovative rhino breeding programme produces 10 times the average horn that one poached animal would produce. Yet, it also requires dancing with the devils of poaching.

Against rhino farming

Despite Hume’s farm aiming to conserve the rhino population, Tisha Wardlow from the Fight for Rhinos charity, argues that farming rhinos is not a sustainable option. She says that farming these animals is not economically viable due to the high costs of food, land upkeep, and veterinary and security costs.

“Rhinos are not ‘farmable’ animals. They are not herd animals like cattle – they are more solitary,” Tisha explains. As a result, when large groups of rhinos come into contact with one another, disease often becomes rife. Tisha raises the issue that nature cannot always be manipulated to the will of man, no matter how noble their intentions.


Poaching and profit

Despite marked opposition from conservation groups, some UK farmers support the idea of rhino farming in the UK. Brian Richards, a milk farmer from Carmarthenshire says, “It’s a good idea if they’re farmed properly, in proper welfare conditions.” He explains that his skills working with cattle could be transferable to rhino farming. “Some skills would need to be updated, but the principle of keeping livestock 24/7 would be similar,” Richards adds. He is confident that farmers as a whole are “very adaptable” and would only require minimal changes to their farms to succeed at this bold venture.

Taking the reins

As a result of the current farming crisis, many UK farms are leaving behind the familiar friends of old McDonald’s farm. Instead, many farmers are encouraging unconventional and exotic animals to take the reins, and are proving that diversification has only beefed up their farms’ profitability and popularity. Between 1995-2000, farm profitability dropped from £8.1 billion to £2.2 billion, which makes it no surprise that a total of 56% of the UK‘s 56,100 farms have engaged in some form of diversification. Diversified farms now make up an approximated additional income of £380m for UK farmers.

The agricultural industry is facing a period of uncertainty and angst due to the CAP reform and EU referendum. In June 2015, the Department of Food and Rural Affairs also found that farmers only receive 23.66 pence per litre of milk, when the estimated cost of production was between 30-32 pence. Tensions came to a head when farmers protested in supermarkets by leading their herds around the dairy isles to raise awareness of their plight.

Farming unlikely beasts

In order to avoid falling victim to plummeting prices and political pressures, UK farms such as Catanger Llamas in Northamptonshire decided to diversify their hobby farm into a business. Farm owner, Mary Pryse explains that she was enchanted by her one “guard llama,” and therefore invested in more flock to trek and breed them. “They had to earn their keep,” Mary laughs. This became a new commercial opportunity and a safety net for the farm. “The Foot and Mouth outbreak stopped everything in its tracks,” Mary recalls. Leisure and tourism had far more potential, so she decided to sell her conventional animals and spent time starting a website and using social media. The farm has now doubled its income due to its successful diversification gamble.

In Lincolnshire, White House Farm is the picture perfect painting of a traditional 16th century farmhouse. Yet, the farm supplies the unconventional Oslinc business, which specialises in ostrich meat. At present, the farm houses 22 breeding ostriches, which can weigh up to 150 kilos each. “They’re quite big compared to a chicken,” chuckles Brian Tomlin, director of the business. The farm decided to diversify as ostrich meat is a lucrative quality product which is high in protein, but low in fat. Tomlin says that the ostriches are “hardy animals” and well-adapted to the British weather. Despite common perceptions of ostriches’ temperamental nature, Tomlin says, “There’s no problem handling them. Their natural instinct is to run away.”



A more adventurous approach to farming is being implemented by Johnsons of Old Hurst. As well as offering the conventional farm favourites, Johnsons’ farm yard harbours an added bite. A fourth generation farmer, Andy Johnson chose to seek new opportunities in the mid-1990s when milk became an unsustainable source of income. He contemplated abandoning farming completely, before choosing to diversify. In 2006, Andy applied for a wild animal license, and became the UK’s first alligator farmer. The alligators, named Kisses and Cuddles, are versatile and are used for butchery waste disposal, entertaining visitors and are also part of the alligator conservation project.

Economics and ethics

Farmers in the UK have proved that the exotic can thrive where the ordinary once lived. Rhinos grazing in British fields might be an ingenious and progressive investment into the futures of endangered beasts, or an exploitative circus disguised as a veneer of conservation by an eccentric visionary. Either way, rhino farming has caused a stampede within the farming community. Rhino keeper, Jack sums up the volatile situation by saying, “Farming rhinos is a grey area. No one needs a rhino horn other than a rhino. But, if it meant saving the species, it’s something to consider.”

Farming might yet prove to be the perfect ally for conservation, but if this partnership is not hastened from being an infantile proposition into an ethical and manageable plan of action, the Eastern black rhinos might become casualties of brutal action from poachers and impotent inaction from the wider world. 

Sunday 7 August 2016

Themed Weddings: Fantasy Fad or the New Way to Start Forever?

So you’ve found ‘The One’, he’s popped the question and you’re on the way to happily ever after. Well, this would be true if we were still living in the 1950s. Your chap would have courted you, you’d have picked a classic lace gown, then said “I do” - simple. These days, the wedding checklist goes a lot further than something old, new, borrowed and blue, with tradition well and truly being trumped by the offbeat and unconventional.

Many modern brides and grooms are rewriting the wedding rulebook completely. Churches are now swapped for castles, first dances are replaced with flash mobs and the whimsical and magical are becoming familiar guests at the top table. With Disney and Harry Potter’s perennial appeal, does this mark the end of old-fashioned nuptials, or mark a new age where the first chapter of forever is firmly based on fiction and having fun? Three brides weigh in on the debate.

Barefoot Tinderella 

Laura Tapping, 27, Reading




I matched with Jonathan on Tinder and on our first date we made plans to visit Disney World together, which would be my 17th trip. The moment we met, I knew he was ‘The One’. Six months later we were in Florida and Jonathan asked me to marry him with a ring inside a Winnie the Pooh box. I never had to decide on a Disney themed wedding - it was always going to happen, and Jon wasn’t expecting anything less from me. Disney is in my blood. I collect Disney villains and have all the DVDs.

We didn’t get married in Florida because Jon’s family are from New Zealand, so we decided on a halfway point in Hawaii. I’d been desperate to visit Aulani, Disney’s Hawaiian resort, so it was perfect. I was the designated travel agent for our 26 guests and organised a day trip to Pearl Harbour. Our families thought the wedding was a dream and we Skyped friends at home because they wanted to be part of the magic too. Everyone had serious Hawaii blues afterwards and I felt lost without my ring binder of ideas and spreadsheets. I’m already planning our vow renewal!

We transported Cinderella carriages and castle ornaments on the 18 hour flight and luckily only had one breakage! We had glass slipper decorations, and Mickey Mouse was part of my bouquet. I even lost my shoes between the photoshoot and reception, like a real life Cinderella! The story fit so well with our theme. As part of our honeymoon we stopped off in Disneyland, California. Our goal is to visit all of the Disney theme parks across the world.


“I do” solemnly swear that I am up to no good

Cassie-Leigh Byrom, 31, Manchester




My husband and I decided we weren’t going to have a “beige wedding”. I knew I wanted to do something a little different, and when my husband suggested a Harry Potter theme, I was sold. I’d always loved the books and films and they’d played a big part in our relationship. On our second date, Lewis bought me a Harry Potter Lego man, and I knew he was the man for me. We visited Warner Bros. Studio in London and our first holiday together was to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios. Lewis even proposed in Diagon Alley.

It made sense to have a Harry Potter wedding because of the happy memories associated with it. Guests who’d never seen Harry Potter were in awe, and staff at the hotel were arguing over who would work at the wedding. It was our time rather than money we had to sacrifice as we didn’t have a wedding planner and made most of the decorations ourselves - from the wands, potions, tea lights, the Honeydukes sweet jars, and Daily Prophet newspapers to the Philosopher’s Stone.

Some of our favourite decorations were the Azkaban posters with mine and Lewis’ faces on them. We also made sure that the Harry Potter theme tune was playing when the guests walked into the reception. It really was a labour of love. We’d put our blood, sweat and tears into it. We wanted to make sure the wedding was quirky and cool, and didn’t look like an eight year old’s birthday party. I’ve been told by so many people that I should become a wedding planner! We’ll never regret having a themed wedding because it wasn't a wacky idea pulled out of thin air - it was something that meant a lot to us. We will always be proud to have celebrated the wedding of our dreams rather than someone else’s.


Sporting a traditional love affair

Emily Chapman, 21, Carmarthenshire




My fiancée and I met at a Christian sports camp. We’d both been going for years before Jack added me on Facebook. When I left camp that year my parents teased me asking if he was my boyfriend when we hugged goodbye. We’ve been in a long-distance relationship ever since. But, each year we’ve become emotionally and geographically closer. We’re now only an hour from each other rather than seven!

Last year we were on holiday in Turkey. Sitting on the balcony watching the sunset, Jack asked me to be his wife. It was wonderful. We’ve planned a white wedding, with little twists to make it more ‘us’. We’re hoping to have sport themed favours and photos.

For me, it’s important that the traditional elements remain because they’re symbolic. Personally, I think marriage is a triangle with God at the top. Themed weddings can sometimes take away from the significance of the vows. We wanted our wedding to be traditional and elegant, rather than silly. A wedding is personal though, so if someone wants Mickey Mouse or Elsa at their big day, they should go for it. I can’t wait to be married by law and God.

Wednesday 8 June 2016

A Personal Pep Talk: The End of Exams

And that's a wrap. Today could well mark the day I finish sitting exams for good. Although I've been up before the birds, I wasn't feeling up to the mark and the paper didn't go my way, I'm trying to look on the bright side, which is something I seldom do when it comes to education and the expectations I set for myself. I am most definitely my own worst critic and never seem satisfied with what I have achieved. Comparing myself to others is second nature, I always believe I could have earned that extra one or two percent and never really take the time to look at all that has gone right for me on my educational CV.
 
This might be a day for the history book of me, and despite feeling like a jetlagged Dementor and still recovering from Monica Geller stress levels, I'm going to give myself a break and look at things from the flipside for once. The months of May and June might never more be synonymous with days locked away in my bedroom with cups of tea on tap. Tans might no longer be reserved for the lucky souls unshackled by mindmaps and backache. Highlighters could once again be a beauty tool to extenuate cheekbones instead of forgotten facts. Today has got to be some kind of win.

 
Considering I've spent every year since the tender age of 14 sitting official exam after exam on Pythagoras, plant sap, the Brontes, hurricanes to the Titanic, the end of exams has been a long time coming. It really is only fair that my poor brain should be given a rest and is able to focus on the perfectly satisfying inane. I think I've earned the right to indulge in guilty pleasures, immerse myself in the addictive drama that the Kardashians so effortlessly provide, with the most strenuous mental activity on the agenda deciding between watching another episode of Billions or Quantico.
 
Exams are tough opponents, and are ones which I am hopefully done contending with. They have been familiar foes, and ones which I shall miss with the same level of affection as the extra nine pounds I put on last year or my teenage braces. Yet, I must give them some credit, because without them I'd have never got into The University of Reading, the stomping ground where I really got to find my feet and spread my wings. I was able to study History, a subject I love, I met some wonderful people and earned myself a BA. Exams helped me onto my Masters in Magazine Journalism at Cardiff University, where I can honestly say I've started to feel like a proper writer. So exams, let's make a truce and say we're frenemies. I've put up with you for a good part of a decade, but I never want to see you again.

From here on out, I'm hoping that if I must be tested, I'll  face tests of character, tenacity and skill which don't require candidate numbers or an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Victorians through to the IPSO code. I'm hoping that today is the first day where I can stop judging myself by the education system's definition of intelligence and be proud that I made it through to the other side with only dark circles and a stronger glasses prescription for battle wounds. My parents have always told me that education isn't about grades or numbers, but how you apply yourself  with the grades and numbers you have. Maybe the real test is about realising that there will always be someone better and brighter than you, but that's okay, that's how the real world works. Perhaps it's important to realise that exam results are not the end of the world and that character, tenacity and skill will be far better tools than a 70% in carving yourself a badass place in it.

Saturday 7 May 2016

Back in Bristol: History Revealed, Hiking, H&M and Quirky Hangouts

After a week away from the magazine world, I am ready to re-immerse myself into the creative universe - this time at History Revealed magazine. I really have missed Bristol, and I feel comfortable and confident working in the city again. I check into a new hotel room with three beds and a smart TV - perfect for outfitting planning and watching coverage of the Queen's 90th birthday on every major TV channel.
 

Caffe Nero coffee in hand, I head for the office, ready to meet my new team and start my second week as an editorial intern. I feel as though I've found my tribe. The week is filled with laughter, exchanging random facts and eating doughnuts at 10am. I'm given plenty to do from the get-go and plan infographics, find weird and wonderful museums to visit and write longer features as well as bitesize content. By the end of the week,  my pub quiz skill level has skyrocketed from novice to expert. I also meet back up with Cath Dean, editor of Mollie Makes, who is kind enough to provide  plenty of helpful tips for getting my foot in the door of the madness known as the magazine business.


After work, I can't resist a little splurge in H&M. If my summer is to be spent writing a dissertation, at least I can  try to look fashion-forward whilst doing it. Right?  I meet up with Megan, a childhood friend and we catch up on the infamously independent, Gloucester Road. This works for me as the bar we choose for food and cocktails is brimming with free magazines which I collect surreptitiously throughout the evening.  My drink of choice has always been Amaretto Sour, and tonight is no different. But it isn't until the waitress asks me if I'm a vegan that I realise that my favourite beverage is a mix of Disaronno, lemonade and a slight twist of egg yolk. That practically makes it a protein shake, so I order another.
 
 
Making the most of the sunshine during my visit, I also head for College Green, where I meet my school friend, Will, who takes me on a walking tour of Bristol. The area in front of Bristol Cathedral is beautiful and encourages students, families and hipsters to collide. Some people sunbathe and enjoy picnics whilst skateboarders fly over reclaimed trollies under trees with more trainers dangling from their branches than leaves.  We begin our hike up Park Street and I take in all of the wonderful independent shops and cafés and high-end designer outlets. Will goes into chief tour guide mode, pointing out historical landmarks, university buildings and all the best places to eat. If the whole engineering thing doesn't work out, there's a baseball cap and microphone waiting with his name on it. We pass Banksy's most famous piece, the Well-Hung Lover and I'm intrigued by how the artwork's non-conformist voice blends so effortlessly with the area's historic character.

 
A few blisters later, we're in Clifton. The Victorian  houses are mesmerising, vintage cars decorate the streets and magnolia tress dangle over the pavements, making me feel as if I'm walking through a  nostalgic postcard. I dream of the day when I can live in a place like this. Taking a few lefts and rights down cobbled streets filled with multi-coloured houses, fancy cocktail bars and an extortionately priced fish and chip shop, we arrive at an unassuming English pub. Not so unassuming are the prices of the alcoholic beverages. We step outside to find a place to sit, and I instantly understand why our drinks cost as much as my week's stay at my hotel. We paid for the view. This is not an unassuming English pub, it is the White Lion pub, offering the best seats in Bristol overlooking the Clifton Suspension Bridge.
 

Savouring every last sip of my pear cider, I'm enchanted by the other world I've just entered. Money walks and talks here. The boating and shooting clubs are out in force and I'm almost certain that we are the only two on the terrace who haven't been featured in Made in Chelsea, aren't distant relations of the Queen, don't have a holiday home in St Barts and know more about public transport than public school. We drink, laugh, hide from the seagulls and awkwardly pose in the prime tourist spot under the bridge. Positively merry, we hunt for carbohydrates and find Wildwood, a lovely Italian restaurant, with an even lovelier 50% off student deal. The risotto goes down a treat and my heart melts on seeing the most adorable dinner date taking place in the corner  between a grandfather and grandson. The evening ends with my head full of fun facts and fabulous views and a belly full of fantastic alcohol and food. 
 

My last day arrives far too quickly for my liking, and before I know it, it's time to leave. I really am sad to say goodbye to the History Revealed team. I was made to feel welcome, helped write plenty of fascinating features and got to indulge in being a history nerd and an aspiring journalist all at the same time. For now, it's back to the Maglab I go, but my time at Immediate has only inspired me to work twice as hard, and maybe one day I'll be able to live in Clifton, in a Victorian house, driving a vintage car on a street covered with magnolia trees. Just, maybe. 

Wednesday 27 April 2016

Schnitzel, Schwarzenegger, Schonnbrun and The Sound of Music: A Week in Wien

Ever since watching The Sound of Music as a child, I've dreamed of visiting Austria. Having spent half of my childhood idolising Liesl, being unable to go to bed without a rendition of So Long, Farewell and years of wondering what schnitzel actually looks like, it was about time I visited the country which had inspired so many fond memories and family sing-alongs.

Instead of the sloping hills of Salzburg where the famous external shots of the movie were shot, we visit the capital - the authentic birthplace of the Von Trapp's story. This was where the famed matriarch, Maria von Trapp was born and where our holiday was to begin.

Expecting an Arctic wind and to spend the majority of our trip hurricaned in the middle of our scarves, landing at 10pm to 17 degree heat was a pleasant surprise, and one which rightfully attracted a few odd looks from locals in T-shirts.
 
 
We catch a taxi to our flawlessly chic apartment which boasts the perfect morning coffee spot - a balcony overlooking the city. A childish delight sweeps over us when we discover that our neighbour has the surname Schwarzenegger. Finding the Terminator next door in Vienna is probably the Austrian equivalent of seeing a Jones sign in Cardiff Bay and hoping it refers to Sir Tom. Yet, the hope of a Hollywood ending and getting to meet the muscle man in person keeps us amused all week. 

The next morning, fuelled on caffeine and a brioche loaf sourced by my father on one of his pre-dawn adventures, we head off to explore the magnificent metropolis around us. Within minutes of leaving the metro though, we're ambushed by millions of men in tights singing off-key renditions of operatic classics trying to sell us tickets to various concerts taking place across the city. 
 
 
We surrender to one man offering an evening of ballet, opera and an orchestra performance by the Wiener Residenzorchester at Palais Aursperg, and take shelter in a patisserie to map our escape route out of the firing line of the pretend Pavorttis.
 
 
After more coffee and a taste of the Viennese signature cake, sachertorte, we head for the Museum Quarter where tourists can mingle in peace with the neighbourhood's arty folk. We enjoy the interior design hubs, book shops and bask in the springtime sunshine in the courtyard over fantastic food.

Being part of a family uneducated in contemporary artistic statements, most of our amble around the exhibits at The Museum of Modern Art consists of pulling perplexed faces and stifling laughter.
 
 
The highlight of the visit was my father being told off for standing on a piece of masking tape on the floor which purported to be a piece of art. He voluntarily escorts himself off the premises and bids us farewell with, "I clearly do not belong here." My mother, sister and I continue to look around, but our sensibilities are soon offended by the graphic displays. We do not belong here either. 

Looking around the grounds, gardens and grand rooms of Schonnbrun Palace takes me a few hundred years into the past and back to my comfort zone. I'm amazed to find that Marie Antoinette was not French at all, but a daughter of the Hapsburg empire. JFK and Khrushchev also faced off within these walls in 1961, a few months before the end of the world looked near during the Cuban Missile Crisis
 
 
Moving from historical culture to popular culture, we tour the Wiener Prater, a funfair which doubled as the film set for The Living Daylights. The amusement park was built in 1897 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Franz Joseph I of Austria's rise to power. Ironically, despite the fair only meant to be a temporary recreational space, its ferris wheel now reigns as the oldest in the world. The excitement of the day was also shaken and stirred when my family found out that they had ridden in the same carriage as James Bond.   
 
 
The Sigmund Freud Museum was a fascinating place - not only telling the well-known story of the father of psychoanalysis, but also the lesser-known narrative about the deal he made with the Nazis. His apartment and private practice, which he frequented from 1891 until he fled Vienna during the Anschluss of 1938, remains largely unchanged. Before the invasion, he was known to charge the equivalent of £2,500 an hour in today's pounds for one session. He paid the Third Reich an exorbitant amount of money to flee Austria, and surrendered his home to Nazi occupation.
 
 
The theatre awaits and we head off to the palace ready to immerse ourselves in what the country does best: music. The orchestra is superb, playing many pieces off by heart. Humour is also peppered into the pieces as the musicians interact with each other and  twirl their cellos to the delight of the crowd. My mother and sister are even more delighted that the world-class pianist looks strikingly like me. Yet, the pinnacle of my pianistic ambition ended with perfecting the Rugrats theme tune on my keyboard!

Ballerinas float onto the stage and we are enchanted by the grace, strength and agility of these athletes and the ease with which the male ballerina throws his partner around the stage. We eagerly wait for the opera singers to arrive and are spellbound by the fantastic sounds that reverberate from the chandeliers. I leave with the surprising assertion that the opera was my favourite part of the performance.  
 

Not quite having enough pennies in my purse for an opera ticket at the Vienna State Opera, where seats can sell for around 400 euros, I settle for a reasonably priced guided tour instead. We find out that no performance runs for two consecutive nights due to the singers needing to rest their voices and that it is bad luck to whistle inside because the noise resembles that of a gas leak! A debutant ball also takes place each year showcasing eligible ladies from Vienna and beyond, who waltz their way into society. 

This city embodies a kaleidoscope of cultures, with Viennese traditions integrating with Jewish enclaves. Time periods merge together as modern trams travel through imperial lands and businessmen with man buns rush to work on scooters alongside tourists on pushbikes. This is where East and West collide to create a city brimming with cakes, castles, concerts and where my camera is filled full of memories of some of my favourite things.

Tuesday 12 April 2016

Bristol, Boats, Banksy and Being Creative: A Week at Mollie Makes Magazine

Speeding across the Severn Bridge with an old friend, heading for a new adventure - my week of work experience has begun. Busted's Year 3000 is playing, the sun is shining and I am ready for all that Mollie Makes magazine has in store.
 
I'd been to Bristol before. I've attended an university open day, visited the airport and was once stationed in Cribbs Causeway when my father charged back home to secure the passports we'd left behind. But this time seemed like the first time I had really experienced Bristol in all its charm and glory. In the past, I had known it as a place to jet away from, not a city to rush to. Now, having spent a few days at its heart, I can firmly say that Bristol has a lot to offer to rival the boutiques of Paris, Amsterdam's canals and the buzz of Barcelona.

 
All checked in to my hotel room, I settle down in my home for the coming days. I hang up my clothes, read a bit of Cosmo, make myself an interestingly flavoured cup of tea and come to terms with the fact that this is a new "first" for me: I am staying alone in a hotel room. I am so used to laughing uncontrollably with my sister, preparing for a transatlantic flight to the Big Apple or to Disney's Magic Kingdom, the silence is a little disconcerting. Yet, there's something strangely satisfying in knowing that this is something new, grown-up, a first step onto both  the ladder to adulthood and a career in journalism. Nevertheless, the silence doesn't last long.

 
Will, the singing chauffer  appears in the lobby and we head off on what was meant to be an evening tour of Bristol, but turned into a crusade to find the city's best cocktails. With drenched coats, raindrop speckled glasses and frizzy hair, we end up in Turtle Bay. It is lovely to catch up with a school friend, listen to some groovy music and enjoy a few funky beverages before the hard work begins.

 
Next morning, I'm in a mad rush to make myself look presentable and find the office. I head off to grab a Starbucks coffee hoping it will help on both accounts, and find myself arriving at the office embarrassing early. Immediate Media is so close to my hotel, I'm pretty sure staff were treated to a concert of country music accompanied by a few verses of the Frozen soundtrack as I  milled over my office outfits at 8am.
 
Cath Dean, Mollie Makes' editor comes down to greet me and we shoot up to the 11th floor to the workspace with a pretty fantastic view of the city. I'm put in charge of the Pinterest account and spend the day scanning the internet for the best of the web's customised notebooks, rainy day accessories, DIY tattoos and inspiration for a royal garden party. By the time 5 o'clock comes around, I'm sure I'm next in line for the Pinterest throne.

 
 I research new trends in the interior design and craft universe, find designer/makers to be featured in upcoming issues, curate content on a few pages and generally enjoy watching magazine makers in their natural habitat. It is fascinating to be welcomed inside the magazine bubble.

Jeans and Vans are the norm, meeting areas are full of bean bags and morale boosting award ceremonies are taking place left, right and centre. In the middle of this wonderfully creative world, I have this all-consuming realisation that this is a place for people who like to draw outside the lines, who get to play around in a jungle of  escapism every day, and I am more than ready to be welcomed into the pack.

 
 
Lunch breaks and evenings are spent milling around side streets and canals. St Nicholas Market wins the prize for the most delicious frittata I have ever tasted, with the riverside succeeding in both embodying fast-paced Britishness with a laid back continental feel. It is easy to forget I'm nestled on British shores, yet am comforted when I hear familiar accents, Anglicised wit and feel the unmistakable, refreshing channel air.

I watch the rowers rush by, buy an ice-cream by the river's edge, walk along the overgrown tramlines and embark on a quest to find a Banksy. Sandwiched in the docks, I find the famous Girl with a Pierced Eardrum, and make the ultimate artistic faux pas of being unable to locate the earing (I'll give you a clue. It's the alarm box) I think I'll stick to the writing malarkey for now!

 
All in all, it was a week of learning, exploring, growing up and having a taste of a tangible dream. It started with Year 3000, but here's to hoping that 2016 is the year that I get a little closer to joining the creative tribes, where my scribbles are seen as stepping stones to success and jeans and Vans are ways of earning my magazine stripes!

Tuesday 22 March 2016

Grandparents Are a Gift

Going viral is often reserved for cat videos and awkward moments. Being terrified of cats and often finding myself the centre of the awkward moment though, I don't pay too much attention to what's currently "breaking the internet". But, this week's viral story struck a chord with me. The tweet showing a picture of a grandfather eating enchiladas alone after his grandchildren didn't turn up for dinner broke my heart. Not only was the story symbolic of a grandparent's unconditional affection for his grandchildren, but it reminded me of all of the times I must have done the same thing to my grandparents without even realising.

 
 
Grandparents are a wonderful gift, which many of us, myself included, don't fully appreciate until it is too late. I have always loved my grandparents, enjoyed days out with them building sandcastles and flying kites at the seaside in Tenby and playing endless card games in their lounge. I had my first driving lesson behind the wheel of their golf buggy, watched my grandfather get told off for carving my name into the Eiffel Tower and became the designated tour guide around my university campus in Reading. Yet, I can't help but feel that I should have appreciated them more when I was younger and spent more time with them as I got older. I suppose I thought they were these infallible creatures, unsusceptible to real world illness and troubles, and childishly believed they would always be there to  make me laugh, cheer me up, spur me on and make me see myself in the best possible light: through their eyes.

 
 
In the last six months, this childish belief system was rocked when my step-grandfather passed away and my grandfather was taken seriously ill. All of a sudden the status quo which I depended upon was no longer to be found and my childhood abruptly ended then and there. My grandmothers who had always doted on me, brought me endless cups of tea with sugar and biasedly pointed out my likeness to Kate Middleton and Katy Perry were suddenly the ones in need of comfort and care.



I am so lucky to have spent 21 years with the most incredible grandparents a girl could wish for. I will be forever grateful that every single one of my grandparents got to see me graduate from university thanks to their belief, support and love. I also know that despite  everyone no longer being able to be with me in person, or no longer being able to express it, there is no doubt that these wonderful people are my biggest fans and have enough belief in me to be the Prime Minister, an astronaut, a brilliant historian and journalist or anything else I want to be. In this difficult time I know that I have spent fantastic times with all of my grandparents, but will always wish I could have spent more.

So phone your grandparents, ask them about their day, eat 50 enchiladas if you have to! I'm already looking forward to spending some quality time with Grandma One and Two this Easter break, eating welshcakes, hearing about their childhood adventures and generally having a good giggle. This is a time of transition and moving on with memories of a lovely childhood. But, in spite of the sadness, I am blessed to still be showered with grandparents' love and there's a strange comfort in knowing that somewhere kites are flying in Tenby and my name is still carved in the heart of the Eiffel Tower.