Is it ever OK to keep secrets


‘I wonder which is preferable – to walk around all your life swollen up with your own secrets until you burst from the pressure of them, or to have them sucked out of you, every paragraph, every sentence, every word of them, so at the end you’re depleted of all that was once as precious to you as hoarded gold, as close to you as your skin – everything that made you cringe and wish to conceal, everything that belonged to you alone – and must spend the rest of your days like an empty sack flapping in the wind, an empty sack branded with a with a bright fluorescent label so that everyone will know what sort of secrets used to be inside you?’ – The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood.

So, last week I did a spot of guest blogging for the lovely Megan Gilbride and her astounding beauty blog, Wonderful You. It’s one thing writing up your own crazy thoughts and publishing them on your public profile for everyone to judge, but there’s something even more unnerving about handing them over to someone else.

‘One of the secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others.’ Lewis Carol

As a writer, I’m used to ‘adjusting’ my writing, so that others can relate more easily to what I have to say. As a normal (ok semi-normal) person, I’m used to ‘adjusting’ my thoughts when talking to other people. I often wonder how many people actually say what’s on their mind. If there’s one thing the last couple of years have taught me, it’s that there are incredibly few people you can be 100% yourself around. Probably the same number of people you could confidently tell a secret to and know that they a) wouldn’t judge you for it, and b) wouldn’t tell a soul. Not even their cat.

A few months ago, I did a guest post for a very good friend of mine, The London Ladybird. In it I described my reasoning for believing that ignorance is never bliss when it comes to cheating on a partner. I still believe that anyone who feels forced to lie to their partner probably shouldn’t be with them, but I’m starting to understand why people feel compelled to keep secrets from one another. We all do it, every single day. We tell people they look good when they don’t, we force a smile at the most irritating person we know, and we scratch our bums in private. That’s what makes the world go round. And that’s why the people we can tell our darkest secrets to are so rare.

If you ask me, it’s perfectly ok to keep things to yourself. It’s standard behaviour in fact. It’s what makes people interesting and it’s what spares people’s feelings. The only problem I have with keeping secrets is when you’re forced to withhold information from the one person or very few people on this planet you’re closest with. We’re not designed to keep things buried inside. That’s why we write, paint, draw, sing, dance, take up kick boxing, rugby, football, tennis, and feel the need to plaster our emotions over Facebook, Twitter and Blogs.

Feeling unable to tell someone close to you something can lead to two of the hardest questions you might ever have to ask yourself:

1) Have you done something so fundamentally ‘wrong’ that you fear nobody will understand?

2) Have you simply grown apart from them?

“Her biggest and only secret was that she enjoyed people licking her face…”

If it’s the former, and you’re keeping something to yourself because you don’t think anyone could forgive it, then, unless you can handle being completely alone in the world, it’s time to take a step back and reassess your situation. If it’s the latter, gather the strength to admit to yourself that perhaps the reason you feel unable to say anything is because you’ve lost the ability to be yourself around that person – which is ok by the way. Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. There is someone out there you can be yourself around, someone you can trust, and if you waste time being something you’re not, you’ll never find them. Just make sure you’re completely and utterly convinced that question 1 has been dealt with first, before you break away.

There is nothing wrong with having secrets, as long as they serve to define a friendship, rather than to create distance. Too much information about yourself, inside your own mind, can be dangerous. However, unleashing the precious information you’ve stored inside yourself to the wrong person can be damaging. Don’t be afraid to face and share the truth. Only, don’t be afraid to protect it for the right reasons.

Check out my guest blog for Wonderful You here

and The London Ladybird here


What does it mean to feel unsatisfied with what you’ve been given?


This is a tricky one for obvious reasons – the topics I could span across are infinite. I’m going to continue down a relatively vague path by referring to what we’re given in terms of the things we encounter on a daily basis that come to form the familiarity of our own lives. In other words, what does it mean to feel unsatisfied with the life we appear to have been dealt?

I don’t mean to come across as solemn, bitter, or ungrateful here. I am, and always have been, very lucky in life. However, it dawned on me a long time ago that whereas I appreciate how lucky I am, I rarely feel fulfilled. I know I’m not alone here. Anyone can see, judging by the mass consumerism that has plagued our country and many others, that utter fulfillment is a fairly alien sensation for most. Having said that, on a personal level, I’m not your average consumer. I’m not particularly interested in the latest technologies, I have a strong disliking for most television programs and I’m outraged that companies continue to create new cars when we have already have more than enough to go around. Oh, and I’m becoming increasingly tempted by vegetarianism.

“Opportunity doesn’t always arrive gift wrapped’ – but she thought she’d give it a bloody good try’

What I’m struggling to grasp is how I can possibly let waves of dissatisfaction start to drag me under when I have absolutely nothing to worry about, not really, in the entire world. Yes, I’m yet to land my dream job, and yes I’d like to be a 32DD, but in the grand scheme of things, I have everything I need. Or do I? I’m beginning to think that this is where the problem might lie. The reason I seem to have an un-fillable hole is probably because my life is, in many ways, being led for me. The fact that there are no major stresses, no days without food or clean water, no major illnesses mean that the quality of my life goes not only without saying, but also without being noticed.

My main issue is that there are too many superficial things flying around to distract us from what’s important. I’ve developed an overwhelming urge to detach myself from all the comforts in my life that I believe I’ve come to take for granted, and similarly, all of the things that I’ve come to believe I can’t live without (and most certainly can), like Facebook, The Internet even. I don’t want to separate myself from civilization or anything like that. More, I’d like to remind myself that I really haven’t got it that bad. At all. Ever.

I saw a slum for the first time in my life last week. It came out of nowhere as I was gazing out of the window of a 4×4 in Cape Verde. My initial reaction was heartbreak, which followed swiftly by a sense of guilt, as I slowly twiddled the arm of my new Ray Bans, which in turn followed by the most shocking of emotions – jealousy. I felt jealous. The women queuing for water beneath an array of suspended plastic pots were all laughing, as were the children than ran about their bare feet. I was a little disturbed by my reaction, and ironically, and reassuringly, encountered a similar one reading Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaram shortly after. The truth of the matter was that the people I saw probably appreciate every single thing they own and every experience they share. I know I’m being incredibly naïve to believe that the less you have the happier you might hope to be, but I can’t help but wonder if that is sometimes the case.

“Whilst working out what she did and didn’t need, her top was the first thing to go…”

I’ve often been known to say that if I died tomorrow, I’d be happy with the life that I’ve lived. More than happy, I’d be satisfied. I know deep down how incredibly blessed I am to have been given the life that I have, and I’ve strived to make the most of it. It’s frustrating to feel a lack of satisfaction in the face of the present and yet rarely in the face of the past. Whilst it’s obvious that I should attempt to appreciate what I have in order to gain absolute satisfaction from my too Western lifestyle, and my future for that matter, I know that it would be easier said than done. So, instead, I endeavor to convert my rogue, unwelcome feelings of dissatisfaction into feelings of motivation and drive, to convert restlessness into doing something useful that might appeal to others feeling the same. Like writing this blog, for example.

As you know by now, I like to combine the idea of fate with the concept that you have to make things happen for yourself beyond a certain point. Which is why I have decided that rather than pick faults with Western civilization, I really need to experience the alternative first. Call me a walking cliché, but clichés tend to exist for one reason only – they resonate what we might deem universal truths. Whether I learn to appreciate my life for what it is, or actually gain the authority to scrutinize it, at least I’ll be distracted from the feeling that something seems to be missing. Somehow I don’t think it’s the release of the iPhone 5.

Just to add, everyone should read Shantaram. Thank you Emily.

Is it ever OK to dwell on the past?


As you already know, I’m a bit of a sucker for the whole ‘your past defines your future’ philosophy.  It’s all connected, which leaves very little room for regrets and ‘what ifs’. Strictly speaking, your past happened the way it did because it had to make way for the life you lead now and the future that awaits you. Or did it?

The truth is, it’s easy for someone like me to stand up and say ‘I don’t believe in regrets.’ The only thing remotely life changing that I could possibly regret would come from breaking up with someone. Even still, no matter how much I might think losing that person was the worst thing that ever happened, I already know that in the exact same number of ways, it was probably the best thing too. They didn’t get abducted. You’re both happy. The world continues as it was.

“With a memory like an elephant, she found it increasingly difficult to work out where she belonged.”

The reason I’m asking whether it’s OK to dwell on the past isn’t because I’m debating whether it’s acceptable to sit and mope over an ex, a family feud, or a fall out with a childhood friend. These are all factors in your life you can attempt to change if you really want to. And if your attempt fails, at least you know you tried. You can move on with peace of mind. No, the reason I’m asking this is because, for the first time in my life, someone incredibly close to me passed away. I went to a funeral for the first time. I mourned the life of someone for the first time. I know this seems like an incredibly morbid topic for a silly little blog, but I’d much rather sit and think about this, and get you thinking, than bang on about what I had for dinner last night.

The truth is that the past isn’t really the past until it becomes something completely unchangeable; something you can no longer reach or carve out for yourself. Anything else is just a factor in your life that you may or may not choose to do something about. So, what do you do when the unchangeable has an intensive hold over you? In my opinion, dwell on it. Dwell on it until you’ve used up every last drop of thought and feeling associated with it, and then stop dwelling on it. Your past doesn’t just define your future, it is the reason you are doing exactly what you are at this very second, thinking those exact thoughts. It would be wrong to block it out entirely. It sounds obvious, but always use what’s happened to you to your advantage, and to the advantage of everyone around you.

“She couldn’t help but feel like a huge weight had been lifted.. after she’d thrown the railway carriage into the air…”

I think we all know that the past can be a precarious place to dwell. You’re likely to tread by many holes that you’ll be tempted to fill up with your own imagination, giving nostalgia a chance to take over and make you believe that there’s no better place for you. At the same time though, dwelling in the past can be a healing process; a chance to briefly reencounter things just to remind yourself that they happened and why. A chance to look over your life and either smile or want to make it better… Oh God, I’m starting to sound like Michael Jackson in ‘Heal the World’.

Anyway, I actually took a little plunge into my own past very recently. I paid a visit to my University birthplace for a few days. My primary reason was to visit some of the best people I know at the end of their fourth and final year in Exeter. However, I will admit to being simultaneously intrigued by the idea of reliving my student ways (which I did). I’m pleased to say that I came out the other side no longer craving to be a student. I had a feeling of completion. It was fun, but I’m in the next phase of my life now. The stupid thing is that I actually felt like that when I graduated last year, but nostalgia had started to gnaw away at me and convince me otherwise. I guess sometimes coming face to face with the past is the best method of moving on. And the best part? The feeling that even though I no longer wish to live on beans on toast and Tesco Value Vodka, the friends I made remain a huge part of my life.

I guess that’s the motto to apply to the broader picture: leave the crappy parts behind, and take the good stuff with you. Don’t get confused between the two, and if you’re unsure, take a dive backwards and remind yourself, whether it be to a physical destination, or amongst your deepest darkest thoughts. Don’t be afraid to mourn the past. Only, don’t be afraid to leave it behind.

Do I wear too much makeup?


I’m aware that this question might not appeal to my male readers. However, I’m interested to know what you think. I’m not necessarily asking whether you think I, Corin Leigh Jackson, stick too much slap on my face, rather, what is your opinion of girls that do? How much is too much? And would you really be saying that if you saw us without it?

I’m not going to bang on about how girls that rely on makeup must be insecure of their looks, or hiding behind some sort mask. I rarely go a day without makeup and I’m perfectly happy with my face. Makeup is designed to enhance the way you look, and I’m far too accustomed to the enhanced version of myself to stop now. Also, if I ever venture out makeup-free, I’m met with flurries of ‘Are you ok’, ‘You look really tired/stressed/ill/hungover’. I feel perfectly fine, if not a little embarrassed. Not only have got used to, and prefer, the made up version of myself, so has everyone else. It’s at that point that you feel the pressure to continue looking your ‘normal’ self, to avoid embarrassment. The main thing is however, people still recognise me. I look the same, just a little paler, with blonde eyelashes, and practically no eyebrows.

“It was all going so well until she poked herself in the eye.”

The first problem arises when you get to the point that make up doesn’t enhance your looks, it takes them over. In basic terms, if you look 100% like a different person with no makeup on, then you’re probably wearing too much. Having said that, if you feel good, people actually think you look good, and you don’t mind spending your savings in Boots, then I don’t see what the problem is. It’s a lot of effort and early mornings spent just to please other people, or fit in to the conventionally attractive category, but if it works for you then please continue.

I’m not trying to sound overly critical, but I’ve often wondered how many hours I’ve spent painting my face in front of a mirror. I’ve come to the decision that I don’t want to know, but it’s a lot. It dawned on me at Uni that because the majority of boys spend under five minutes in the shower, can probably get away with not doing their hair, and fling on the first thing they find, they probably have around an hour, maybe even two, extra, every single day. That’s fourteen hours a week, which equates to more contact hours than I had at Uni per week. I know right. By the time most girls have got themselves ready for a night out (which is fairly regular occurrence at Uni), their male housemates could have completed an assignment.

I spoke to my housemate about this conundrum, to which he replied ‘yeah but you don’t have to wear makeup do you, it’s your choice.’ Fair point. However, when you’re adamant that the way you look speaks volumes about the sort of person you are, it’s difficult to step out of the house looking like a tramp. Not only that, it makes me feel crap about myself. I’d avoid eye contact with everyone, and would probably wear a balaclava if I could. The main reason being, people have certain expectations of you, of the way you look. Genuinely rocking up without giving a shit is only for the natural beauties of the world, and there are far less than you know. Being an Exeter graduate, I’ve come across my fair share of wannabe natural beauties. Unfortunately for them, it’s all too obvious that they’ve spent a lot of time trying to look that way. I’m sorry, but your hair doesn’t actually do that while you’re asleep.

“Goodbye fine lines and wrinkles, hello mental institute..”

There is no way of measuring the amount of makeup you should or shouldn’t be wearing. If you feel like yourself, only more confident, outgoing and susceptible to compliments, then you’ve probably got it just right. If you’re not bothered about makeup and feel like that anyway then hats off to you. Just remember, everyone deserves a day off, you don’t have to look perfect all the time. It’s important to laugh at yourself. Don’t let yourself get to the point where you won’t go out the house because you’ve run out of bronzer. It really doesn’t matter. And boys, cut us some slack. You say we’d all look better without it, but believe me, most of us wouldn’t, and that’s ok.

What’s wrong with being a party animal?


"At least if she threw up directly into the bottle they wouldn't make her drink anymore.."

A little while ago, one of those annoyingly accurate Facebook groups popped up: ‘Everyone has that one friend that will always say yes to a night out’. I, unfortunately, am that friend. I don’t know why, but from a young age I have loved nothing more than the idea of getting dressed up and dancing the night away between intermissions of tequila. The unfortunate part of this scenario isn’t that I enjoy a good dance with my friends. It’s that I can’t drink for shit.

I tell a lie. I can drink. I can drink quite a lot for someone my size. What I mean is, alcohol doesn’t always agree with me, with my personality. I don’t generally settle down with a glass of wine in the evening. I’d choose a cup of tea and chocolate hobnob every time. What does this tell me? I don’t drink for myself. Therefore, I must drink for the benefit of others. In some ways this makes me a sociable drinker, which is fine. In other ways, my drinking habits borderline the ‘binge’ variety, which is not fine. I would blame University, but I was excited about hitting the clubs with my friends from my very first school disco. So I can’t.

My problem is that I never know when I’ve had enough. I want to make sure I’m having the best night ever, every single time. Which is plain ridiculous. I have recently been informed of the terrible contraction of FOMO disease – Fear Of Missing Out. I’ve been told it’s quite common.. Rather than FOMO though, I think I have something far more traditional – the need to have a few hours off from my own thoughts. Which is all well and good if you have a good night, maintain your dignity, and can remember it all in the morning.

Memory, that’s a good place to start. What’s wrong with being a party animal? For starters, it is not ok to not remember something you’ve done. It doesn’t mean that it wasn’t really you doing it. Rather, it means that your subconscious had a chance to take over. As Freud tried to tell us, the subconscious is repressed for a reason. The subconscious is dangerous, anti-social, animalistic and guilt-free. Above all, your subconscious can trick you into feeling things that you actually don’t. Which is not only embarrassing, it’s unfair. It can be fun to unleash it in small doses, but not to the extent that it takes control.

There’s nothing worse than waking up phoneless, without a clue how you got home, if you got home, with entrance stamps all over your face and ketchup all down your favourite dress. The list continues to grow as you gradually make it from your bed to the stairs: your camera has been trodden on, you’re only wearing one earring, you left your jacket in the cloakroom, you’ve slept through your alarm and missed work/your lecture, you find receipts for £50 bar tabs that you don’t remember, you’ve left a voicemail to your housemate telling them that you love them (you don’t), the kitchen is a state, there are people asleep in the living room and you have no idea who they are, you’ve got the shakes and you changed your Facebook status at 4:48am to ‘I lobe my girls more than life. FML. lol’. Some idiot has commented that you’re a ‘twat’ and informed you that you ‘vommed in the taxi home’ so now the whole world knows what a disgrace you are.

"Who needs clothes when you've got Sailor Jerry?"

Do you know what the worst part is? This night, this catastrophe of a night is so damn funny. For some unexplainable reason, once you’ve cleared up the mess, solved all of the relevant mysteries and relocated your phone, you’ve laughed so much about the night before that you can’t wait to do it all over again! It is for this exact reason that The Hangover is such a brilliant film. It captures the ridiculousness of society and us party animals in all our glory. You cringe all the way through the film and by the time it’s over all you want to do is go out. Madness.

In all seriousness though, the average party animal seems to possess the kind of quality that comes with the need to please people, entertain people, make people laugh. So here’s some advice from one party animal to another: Lose the whole ‘animal’ part. Go out, have fun, do silly things, but do not lose control or sight of who you are when you’re sober. And most importantly, go out because you want to, not because everyone else wants you to. Know your limits and be responsible, otherwise one day it will all stop being so funny, and you’ll ruin something far more important.

Cocktail anyone?

Are we right to believe in fate?

'She couldn't help but wonder what was next...'

"She couldn't help but wonder what was next... and that she probably should have put some suncream on"

I confess to being one of the most sentimental people I know. I hoard, I cling onto nostalgic memories, I whip my camera out at any given moment, I’m useless at letting go, getting over, I don’t throw anything away, and above all, I hate change. As strange as it sounds, my one saving grace is that I’m a firm believer that we have limited control over our futures. If I didn’t believe in fate, I would be helplessly stuck in the past.

The combination of my sentimentality and my belief in fate has produced a prolonged ‘live for the moment’ kind of attitude. However, I’ve come to learn that such an attitude is not only a huge cliché it’s also a tad dangerous. If I struggle with letting go of the past and I feel that the future is taken care of, I’m at risk of hanging around the limbo that is ‘the present’, for far too long. Obviously, the present quickly becomes the past, and soon, the future and its promises become obliterated to the point of no return. Ok, so I’m being a bit dramatic, but as someone who is attempting to venture into the world post-graduation, it’s all good practice to start taking things seriously.

Like most things, the need for balance is key. Here’s where the whole head and heart issue comes into play. As a sentimental person, I am a ‘follow your heart’ kind of person. As a believer of fate, I am a ‘follow that feeling’ kind of person. In other words, I never follow my head. Which is strange for somebody who thinks so much about everything, I know. I’ve got quite a nice brain. I need to remember to use it more effectively sometimes. The thing about fate is that it should be a product of our decisions, not the thing that influences them. I guess believing in fate but not living by it, remembering the past from a distance, and thinking before acting, all combine to make me some sort of, well, adult.

There is a great sense of irresponsibility that comes with believing in fate, like the whole ‘what’s meant to be will be’ philosophy. Better to think of it as ‘what’s meant to be will be, but only if I make it happen’. As much as being irresponsible and careless is fun, there comes a point where it all has to stop. There’s a fine line between being careless and carefree. One encapsulates selfishness, and the other leaves room for optimism, the inclusion of others, and most importantly, escapism. I’ve always been one to define such a gap, freedom is important in every sense. However, being carefree shouldn’t be a lifestyle, it should be an occasional pastime. After all, isn’t that why we all enjoy a drink (or seven) in the pub so much? Your brain deserves a little break from time to time, but only when you’ve earned it.

I’m always going to be sentimental. I’ll probably still own everything I do now when I’m 80. Including the shoeboxes full of old Valentine’s cards, theatre tickets, compilation albums and photographs. I’m always going to believe in fate. Maybe not as much as when I was younger, but certainly to the extent that some of the things that are due to happen to me are completely beyond my control. I guess what I’m trying to say is that as much as some things happen to let other things happen, it’s up to you to be the driving force behind it all. The idea of fate makes the future less daunting, and gives the past more reason. Don’t waste time trying to make sense of it all, for nonsense is the beauty of life.

Get out there and make things happen for yourself, just remember to use your head a little bit whilst you do so.

Is fashion a waste of time?


As someone whose writing comfort zone rotates around lifestyle pieces and art reviews, I decided it was high time to branch out. Last week, I took the plunge into the world of fashion journalism. Thanks to the brilliant Who’s Jack magazine, I had the opportunity to report from London Fashion Week – which was an eye-opener to say the least.

Don’t get me wrong; I love clothes. About 80% of my income goes on clothes, and the other 20% on vodka and shampoo. I’m not what you would call a trendsetter though. I make an effort, I have a good eye, and I know what suits me, but I don’t have that impulsive need to trade in my year-old winter coat for a brand new one because it’s ‘so last year’. I’m far too sentimental to be a fashionista.

Designer Carlotta Actis Barone skipped down the runway after the success of her show.

I’m also more of a ‘guys’ girl’ when it comes to clothes. For some reason, when getting ready to go out, my natural reaction has always been to dress a little bit provocatively. It isn’t until I see my younger sister standing next to me in photos that I realise it’s possible to look better having your shirt buttoned to your neck and 40 denier black tights on. I’m pleased to say that as I’ve got older my dress sense has improved dramatically. I have my mum, my sister and my ex-housemate Olivia to thank for that, as well as my own tendency towards progression.

So, here’s a question I’ve often asked myself: Is fashion a complete waste of time? Obviously the concept of ‘fashion’ can be broken down, the two main components being 1) clothes and styling that make you look good and/or original and 2) clothes and styling that have recently been exhibited on a catwalk/celebrity and thus cause the pursuer to appear ‘fashionable’. I for one would satisfy the first component but not the second, and if I feel that I look good, does it matter that I’m not ‘on trend’? The answer is no, to me it doesn’t matter that I’m not wearing the latest trends all the time. What matters is looking and feeling good about the clothes you’re in. If everyone wore the latest trends all the time, or followed the same designer, clothes would lose the ability to emit any sign of a personality underneath.

Having said that, during my time at London Fashion Week, I surprised myself with how important I suddenly found every new design I saw. I became fascinated and awestruck, developing an enhanced respect for the ability to create designs that people would then be desperate to recreate. Fashion really is a form of art. The designers are all incredibly talented and deserve all of the recognition they get. To be honest, if I could afford it, I would probably become a lot more proactive as a follower of fashion. Much like if I could afford to deck my house out with original prints and photographs by my favourite artists then I would. With the position I’m in, I have no choice but to make do with displaying my own photography on the walls and wearing the same sort of clothes on a regular basis. I guess saying that fashion is really important is like saying that money is really important. Which in many ways it is, and in many ways it isn’t.

"All she wanted to do was pin the dresses to the wall so she could stare at them all day"

Maybe the real question should be, does fashion have the ability to make you happy? One of the girls I was working with, who happened to be a friend of mine from University, reluctantly wore pastel shades on the first day, because they’re meant to be big this summer. She looked good, but she looked even better the following day when she decided to wear shades that suited her complexion, and fabrics more suitable for this time of year.

In my opinion, you can look good without taking fashion too seriously. But we mustn’t forget that fashion designers have the divine right to be taken as seriously as an acclaimed artist. Fashion is about taste after all, and someone who’s able to appeal to the tastes of many, has talent.  To ignore fashion altogether would be like ignoring the cultural and historical influences on society.

For the record, every single person I spoke with during London Fashion Week was friendly, informative, willing to help, and so outwardly happy to be a part of it. I have never seen such a diverse collection of people all congregate for one cause, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t remotely superficial or shallow.

I believe that it’s important to take pride in the way you look; it says a lot about the sort of person you are. However, you don’t have to blow your wages following the latest trends in order to do so. High fashion has an important role regardless. It generates economic growth and creates bonds with other countries and cultures. It also serves to give Britain a greater sense of identity. Fashion, like art or music, could never and will never be a waste of time. Fashion both fuels and is a product of culture, and without culture we’d all be going backwards. Fashion tells us about history, about the present and about ourselves, whether we choose to follow it or not.

Check out my London Fashion Week show reports here