It's been a while, hasn't it? I blinked a little too much into the sun and now it is September, New York Fashion Week came and went and I still refuse to transfer into fall. Mainly because that would mean that I would have to get working on my various deadlines (for those who haven't been counting along with me for the last three years, I am graduating fashion school this fall - man, I can still remember those exhausted, ice-cream-craving Gilmore-Girls-binging winter nights in freshman year when I literally had no work to do except showing up and feeling sorry for myself), but also because I love summer and feel like I haven't spent enough time outside showing off all the pairs of sandals I keep buying (four pairs of shoes in a month, a personal record I think).

I have a thing for dots at the moment, is what I'm trying to say

But alas, in a series of coincidences I have already aquired tons of fall-appropriate clothes, so that's something to look forward to! And my Gosh have I been living sustainability or what: I dug up smart jacket-and-pencil-skirt-sets and oversized cardigans from my mom (she has a magical closet, seeing how I seem to have only just discovered a whole decade of power-dressing in there that I never laid eyes on before), got gifted a series of leather skirts and Parisian silk as a hand-me-down from a whirlwind socialite who went a bit overboard with her shopping recently and I got beautiful, dark bordeaux-colored pumps a size too big for me so they don't kill my heels (each summer I forget to tape my feet before walking around the city for hours in tight strappy sandals and each summer I am astonished how many blisters you can get on top of each other). And if that wasn't enough to make all my fellow materialists go mmh with label-lust, please sit down for the approaching:

Prom-dress-shopping! 'tis a little early for me to fully indulge in that, considering that I should whip up some sort of creative wisdom to be graded on before I think about getting a certificate. But my oldest friend is shipping off to nine months in Cambridge in a week, and we had to get her equipped with some fancy European cocktail gowns. The one we found the other day has an absolute charming 20s vibe to it, and it is such a specific color that we had to lounge it around with us to hunt down some shoes, and it just so happened that we found a match so perfect that the employees cheered for us with tears in their eyes. One of them threw in an anectode about a well-known TV presenter whom he had "literally just sold a pair to", as if we needed any more convincing. Ah, the high of handing out your credit card in exchange for something so pretty. I've never felt this good after working out, certainly. Well, at least not due to the physical activity.

By the way, I dared to try something out of some random online mag article recently. The tip went a little like "to get close to him, just pretend to brush something of his face and lean in, then let your fingers linger a bit". Those writers surely never tried this while being excited about that person. Because if they had, they would know that you'd be too scared to actually touch his face - like, who does that, it's so unsanitary - and instead opt for his neck, and hesitate to get out the sentence, and then you don't linger smoothly with your hand on his shoulder but kinda draw circles with the tip of your finger, and when you say "you've got something there" he steps aside and says "no I don't", 'causing you to fall over (because you were leaning in like the stupid article told you to do) and very non-seductively grabbing onto his arm to keep from collapsing onto his feet. And then you realize that he is probably self-conscious about the little fuzz that he has on his neck and which he thinks is what you meant, not getting that you straight-up lied in order to awkwardly touch him. So you drop the plan and proceed to drum onto his (very hard, I should mention) stomach, and honestly I wouldn't vow on that being a turn-on, but then again what do I know, I tried brushing away fuzz. The moral of the story is, if you're in gym clothes, don't try to pull any moves, because it is very hard to get your message across if it is not a hundred percent obvious to the guy already.

Now go out and get some sun before we're snowed in again!

Love,

Rosy Smith

....One of my bestest friends turns 19 today (a week ago, cause I was organized once and pre-wrote this)! So yesterday (you get it), she had her big birthday bash and it was absolutely everything a good party has to be:

There weren't enough glasses. This morning, the living room resembled a "don't step into the water" prank scene. People kept losing track of their glasses and getting new ones for every new drink and when I wanted some water by the end of the night my choice of cup consisted of some beer mug and something that looked like a tiny vase.

There was some emotional roller coaster trips. "It's my party and I cry if I want to" would have been a great gift for the lovely Birthday Girl who started to fear mortality about half an hour before her actual birthday (aren't we all a pack of drama queens. But I love her for that). 30 seconds before midnight, she went into the kitchen to get herself a drink and wouldn't listen when we told her to get herself back into our reach so we ended up trailing after her and congratulating her at the sink. Thankfully after that, she wasn't so sad anymore, because....

There was some unexpected kissing. I'm not entirely sure, but as far as I can reconstruct this night-changing event, it took place in the kitchen as well (everything important happens in the kitchen). Birthday gal was taken by surprise, but my (unqualified as usual) advice to deal with it would be: If it's fun, and he's nice (I think he is - I had my five minutes of unsolicited crushing already over with), is there really a problem? I don't think so. After we all reassured her that there was absolutely nothing to reconsider, we all sat outside, him bringing her a cup of coffee (aww) and holding her hand while she thoughtfully gazed into distance; it was very much like a scene from a music video, especially me trying to catch his attention to telepathically ask him about his intentions by meaningfully staring at him whenever she wasn't looking. Suddenly she stood up, let her hand linger in his while she did that and went on inside, facing him through the glass door. He got up immediately to follow her, which is when I realized that her getting up was meant as a sign for him to do that. I honestly thought he was just being clingy. Oh, well. I got all the insight after most people left, and us girls had locked ourselves in, yes, the kitchen: She had asked him what exactly he wanted from her and he cleverly responded "I only want you"(awww) and they'd kissed some more and he wants to see her again on Wednesday (tomorrow, as I'm writing this). That sounds good, doesn't it? I'm truly excited. He better continue doing so well or I'll be very cross with him and you know that I can be a lot more unflattering with my descriptions than I just was. But don't be disheartened, for that I'm quite fond of him as of now for making my friend smile so much that night....

Things broke. Some girl had made a special candy flavored Schnapps which the Birthday Girl accidentally dropped (on the kitchen floor, obviously). She felt so bad about it, but I took a tiny sip of it before it happened and in all kindness I have to say that it was absolutely disgusting. And the floor got unbelievably sticky. But at the same time, it was slick - so one time, when I leaned on the counter, I wanted to relieve my feet by leaning back onto my heels (to make use of the stickiness), and I slipped so badly I almost broke my back/neck/arms. Someone caught me, thankfully. Jeez.

There was dancing on tables. I didn't join in, but at some point two guys took the honors and did some weird choreography to a song that went a bit like "tadamm ta daaa tadamm dum dum tadaa", with a lot of snipping. Two grown men in dress shirts. Hitting the ceiling with their heads and snipping. I just....I don't know what to make of that, really.

There was climbing on roofs. No one actually got up there, but it sure was fun to watch them try. Oh, one of the guys who made an attempt is an IT student who fits the type, with glasses and a red tee (I once mentioned him as nice guy. He really is, just to clarify). "Look", I said to my loveliest friend, "that one's got some good abs". "Really?", she said, her eyes wide with astonishment. She clearly didn't believe me, but I know that for a fact as I've been to the beach with him a couple of weeks ago. "He does! Do you think I could ask him to lift his shirt for a second?" She shook her head. "I don't think so", she said reluctantly. I wish I'd have done it anyways, because it would've been fun to set the two of them up. Just kidding, N! I'm proud of the fact that I haven't become one of those absolutely unnerving people who need to see everyone around them in a relationship just because....

....I got to go home with the one I really wanted to see at this very occasion a year ago.   

Stay sparkly.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....in a conversation with my mom about applying for internships, my mind took an interesting turn to face this important question: When planning a wedding, does one determine the seating arrangments before or after getting everyone's RSVPs (I always forget what that means. It's French, 'cause apparently it was decided that invitation confirmations weren't cool enough and therefore needed some je ne sais quoi to them, and says répondez s'il vous plaît)?
If one does it before knowing who will actually attend (though I heard recently it's bad luck to cancel on a wedding. Or was it just bad manners? I'll have to check on that), the danger of either having to rearrange at the last minute or, even worse, having half-empty tables (in that case, I feel like that's the appropriate answer to the half-full/half-empty discussion). However, if one does it afterwards, you'll definitely have to have time left in the last quarter of your probably already busy planning process to make up some kind of decent seating arrangement and curse everyone who decides to show up anyways/forbid them to stay for dinner, because no way are you touching that seating chart on your freaking wedding day. You probably burned it already, anyways.

So, yeah, I'd really like to know what's the way to go here.
And no, I'm nowhere near getting married, as I already ensured my mom when I blurted this out at dinner.

Love,

Rosy Smith 

I think it's not vain of me to say that I have pretty nice lashes. See, I do have dark hair and brown/green eyes (is that hazel or not? I deem that expression to be very confusing), so dark lashes just suit my type. That being sad, I remember how all of my friends who started out with make-up a few years ago began by using some concealer (or rather, these sticks to smear over red pimples to make them look like skin-colored pimples instead), lightly tinted lipbalm and, you'll guess, mascara. I went in on the pimple sticks, but I didn't really feel the need to darken my lashes, so I didn't. I was more intruiged by putting on lots and lots of pink and soon enough red lipgloss. Black lashes I had, but lips can't be red enough, can they?

Of course I own mascara. I'm not one to withstand material wealth. I'm on my third one (you may gather I don't exactly observe expiration dates); I've had a very cheap one for Halloween, a KIKO one afterwards 'cause I heard they were good, and right now I'm the proud possessor of the Roller Lash Mascara by Benefit. Proud, because it really does make my lashes look lovely, if I do say so myself. But, ugh, I just hate the fuss neccessary to take it off at night! To come home late, go to the bathroom and rub around on my eyes with some remover pads for what feels like hours, and yet it never fully vanishes and I get all paranoid about my lashes breaking at the tips or falling out for good and I either don't rest until there's not a particle of mascara left and my eyes are all red and irritated or I resignate and wake up the next day looking like I'm still in full make-up, with black-rimmed eyes like a groupie on the day after. It can be a good look at times, but I live in deathly fear of wrinkles. I shudder at the thought of them at this very moment.

Moreover, no matter what quality, as the day goes by I always freak out over lashes sticking together or itching or anything like that and I just want it off me. I'm not able to rub my eyes without having half of my face in a black mark on my hand afterwards and I don't always remember not to. So charming.

I also have this horrible fear of waking up one day and refusing to leave the house without mascara on. I know people whom I honestly wouldn't recognize without it and that's scary, don't you think? For once, it's a shame that people get so dependent and insecure, and secondly, who has the patience to apply mascara every single time they step in front of their door? It's so stressful. And probably gets expensive, going through so much product. I guess it's the same with cigarettes. The amount of times I've heard "of course I could live without it"....

Actually, no, no one ever says that. You don't joke about mascara.

Love,

Rosy Smith

My loveliest friend discovered "I'm Black" by Lena and I'm so infused right now, I'd like to go dance on some tables. Since I guess it's not the right time of the day for that, seems I have to take you back to the weekends instead....

....There's been a lot of 18th birthdays recently and they've alle been very different. No.1on last Saturday has been a guy from my Lit class back in school - I like him, but we're not close or anything. Dressed in a purple-greyish lace number and heeled boots, my friend and I arrived about half an hour late as you do when you hate to be first, just to find that this thought  had also crossed other people's minds and it still felt as if it hadn't really started yet. The location is known in our neighbourhood and therefore not particulary exciting either, but they had a pizza truck - isn't that awesome - and at least one knew where to get a drink.
The most fun part of the evening was to see mildly drunk people literally dance like nobody's watching, which is the only excuse for their, let's say, outgoing style. Too bad that there were people watching- now you all know....One of the enthusiastic dancers has been a former aquaintance of my loveliest friend, who was relieved that she hadn't been present that night when I imitated his moves for her later. She probably would have either had an hysterical laughing flash or plainly left in devastation. He seemed so normal, but don't they all?
Anyways, the party was just so oblivious....it breezed by in a cluster of former classmates we realized we really didn't need to see again and mostly bad tunes. The pizza was good, though. Around half past twelve, we decided we had enough and went home to watch Beloved Jane with Anne Hathaway, wondering why we don't know any gentleman, and getting sad on account of poor Jane who didn't go through with running away with the love of her life (mind-blowingly depressing).

Flash forward to this Friday I'd been waiting for in eager anticipation this whole week: One of my loveliest friends turned 18 and had a little come together that night. I had undergone a solo shopping trip to get her a good present - I'm the worst when it comes to choosing presents. I always need to go "somewhere", looking for inspiration, since I want them to be special and meaningful. Usually, I end up buying a bunch of random things I need to explain in the birthday card in order for everyone to get the sense of them. This time, it actually worked out quite well and I was curious if she'd like it (she did. Phew.). I was there early (ha! If I'm not totally late, I arrive way to soon, just so it's inconvenient anyhow) and tried my best to help instead of standing around uselessly in my party outfit. I was doing the latter, though, when somebody I'd also been waiting for in eager anticipation arrived. He asks how I am, I say "goood" in my most unnatural voice (I wasn't prepared for more than hello) and well....it felt nice to have him around but in a room full of people, though you don't get into meaningful conversations, especially if you're both surrounded by different groups. Maybe he glanced my way a couple times, maybe he didn't mean to, maybe he lights up when we run into each other, maybe he doesn't - that's the  problem with friendly guys, they never go around moody and blow you off or ignore you, they are nice and polite to everybody so you can't tell if they give a damn more about you than about others. Maybe that's the actual reason why girls are so drawn to bad boys, because with them being rude to everybody, at least you know what it means when they're suddenly attentive to you. Deciding not to think too hard about that, I really, really enjoyed myself. I met friends from school I actually do miss having around, the music was lovely (a mixtape for the birthday girl featuring some titles which had a thirties dancing vibe to them- I adored it) and the inner circle sat talking until three in the morning, which is always a sign of a good party.

The next day, my loveliest friend and I made our way to see another birthday girl - and we drove. See, we both have a destructive attitude towards driving and it's always very fun when we are driving together, full of swearing at all the other cars which are unneccessarily annoying. We arrived alive and well, though, and had cupcakes and hot dogs at our friend's house. It was a sweet evening, one of these where you can sit at one table for five hours straight and not notice.

Now it's Sunday and I'm gonna try and capture the feeling of enjoying myself and keep it with me when I'm off to school again. Until I go out for the next time....Cause there's always some fun.

Love,

Rosy Smith

 

Right now, I'm a little confused, since I know I had second thoughts today but I can't quite place them....See, on the way back home I had a nice talk with one of my classmates and she got me all excited about tomorrow (I can't wait to show you why!), so in this particular moment I'm feeling optimistic- but is it just this one thing I'm looking forward to?

I'm the worst at decisions sometimes, as you've probably figured out by now, since I'm complaining the whole time even though I've already gotten signed up for classes and everything. But I think it's understandable: I would simply hate for this to be wrong for me, especially since I've been telling people that this is what I want for ages....which is something you shouldn't do if you're anything like me; it'll only make it so much harder to admit you're having doubts, or you don't want this at all, because you'll feel bad about yourself for being so flighty. Also, I'm not sure the fact that everybody keeps telling me that this "suits me so well" and "will be so great" doesn't partly lead to me wondering so much if that's really the case.

Anyways, I didn't really see any handsome guys (who aren't gay) around yet either! Of course that's not playing into all of this, but I'm just saying. Whatever, I'll see somebody else very soon, so shush my beating heart....

Oh, let me tell you about our last class today, in which we went into the city and then to a small, fancy gallery with contemporary popart. It was a bit too contemporary and poparty for my taste (I just can't find the joy in a canvas full of  color streaks and little newspaper sniplets) and there was some kind of weird sexual vibe to the whole exhibition which supposedly wasn't supposed to be there (would you appreciate the repetition here. Rhetorical devices for the win), but all in all, it's a cool idea, very different and cultural and all that.

I won't be able to post the last installment tomorrow, but it'll definitely appear later- it's got something to do with the thing I got all excited about, so you should be too!

Love,

Rosy Smith

In a beige pencil skirt and suiting black top, the whole world looks brighter already. Even if the brightness might also be coming from the sunrise that's going on outside the train windows (why so early? why?). I tend to zone out on train rides, so I'm always scared I won't catch my stop, though that would be kinda interesting for once, but this also means I don't quite remember the rides respectively. They were long, I guess.

Today, we did something called team training - sounds like trust games and solving imaginary scenarios together (should be good at that), which it also included, but we were lucky to be granted a two hour break during which we were supposed to "capture our impressions": My group went out to eat at a cute Italian restaurant, which we considered bonding time and therefore valuable for the project.

I think I'm in a much better mood today, partly because I felt well-dressed and groomed and partly because I talked to the others a lot more and discovered on the bus ride that they were all pretty nice to talk to.

Don't you just feel so much better when you love your outfit? And why should one ever have to go out without loving their outfit? That reminds me, I'll have to think of one for tomorrow, when it comes to a sneakpeak of journalism (finally! That's what I signed up for!).

And don't yell at me for not putting up aaany pictures yet, because I'm still very tired (I was stuck at the station for half an hour because of people on the rails, and I felt very bad about myself for being very annoyed, because one should rather be wondering how anybody could feel the need to put themselves on the rails) and I just might cry.

Other than that, I'll keep my contenance as any lady should and be looking forward to the weekend- sleep! soon! - which is going to be fabulous.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I ended up choosing a second day outfit last night without actually looking at my clothes, which is something you really shouldn't do if you want to feel comfortable in them. I, for instance, ended up with pants which traveled up my ankle boots all the time which made me CRAZY, but we're learning here. I'll definitely wear a skirt tomorrow.

On the train, Why Can't I by Liz Phair came on on my Ipod, and that's my ultimate Scotland soundtrack from last September, so I obviously wished I was going to Scotland instead, but that's a normal reaction to vacation music, isn't it? Anyways, it's very uplifting and inspiring. It inspired me to check out the guy opposite from me, who was cute in his way of blondish curls, grey hoodie, black jacket, faded jeans and these glasses with the patterned frames - I hate that this makes you think of side parts and greasy hair since in that case, believe me, I wouldn't call it cute in a way (or at all).
The song also inspired me to jot down a few things regarding my mental state yesterday night:

Get a grip!

• Choose clothes for whole week on weekends
• Take a book on the train
• And a freaking hair tie
• Blow out your hair no matter what.

The schoolday in itself was not that much listening today- in fact, this time we weren't told that much at all, we were flipping through magazines and drawing bad portraits of each other, and if you say it that way, it sounds easy breezy, which it probably was, but it took six hours and about a three hour train journey so I guess I'm reasonably exhausted and deserved that Pizza Hut I shamelessly treated myself to at the train station, eating very unladylike and glamourously getting crumbles all over my blindfoldedly chosen outfit, not giving a damn.

Stay with me, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock at an unholy hour wasn't exactly the most charming start of the day, but I got up eventually and tried to ignore the fact that it was still dark outside (isn't that the worst about early mornings?) and I definitely shouldn't be up already. Traffic was bad but at least I didn't have to wait that long for my train - always look at the bright side of life and all that!

The sign in the station said my bus was leaving just about now, so I actually made a run for it - in heeled boots, everyone - and I actually catched it! I felt like such a city girl; that impression may have been ruined by the fact I was breathing like a woman in labor for about half of the ride from unusal exhaustion.

I was pretty early, which I hate to be, but I sorta confidentially walked into the lecture hall in which the new students were to be held up in all day long for, well, lecturing I guess. Just so that you can imagine, the whole school is brickstone on the outside and loft-atmosphere on the inside, with high ceilings, white floors, big industrial lights and kinda uncomfortable chairs. It's nice and probably hard to get lost in (but that's never for sure).

There was sparkling wine for a welcome toast - if that's not one of the coolest welcomes to school you've ever gotten - which, however, didn't exactly help to concentrate on the lectures, but anyways. Topics ranged from "Fashion theory" (sounds interesting) to "The role of textile engineering in product managment" (sounds boring if anything). I believe I would feel much less worn out now if the different topics would have been presented only to the study groups who actually needed them respectively, so that we wouldn't have had to sit in there checking out each others shoes for eight hours straight, but hey, maybe that's been a lesson in itself. I survived, didn't I? And now that this part is over, tomorrow might me devilishly interesting and fascinating - I certainly hope so.

Do I sound very flat? Please bear with me, lovelies - I'm in desperate need of some real food (no time for more than prezels) and TV and I'll be right as rain and annoyingly cheery again tomorrow!

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Tomorrow I'll start fashion school and I still have to

• put together a decent outfit
• use that gorgeous body scrub
• blow-out my hair so that I can curl it tomorrow
• lay out my make-up (in case I'll be running late, because otherwise I'd have to skip on that and I'm not going to do so on the 1# day)
• throw things in my bag that make me feel prepared, such as cereal bars
• and then I'll go lie down and binge-watch Gilmore Girls to distract myself. 

It's hard to say goodbye to the days when all I ever had to do was grooming myself and doing something fun, starting at about 12 o'clock and sleeping ten hours a day, but we saw that coming, didn't we? And I'm sure (or at least being told so by all of my friends and telling myself, so that I feel better) that:

• my train won't be late
• the others will be a bunch of sweet, interesting people (as long as they're sweet they don't even have to be that interesting but of course that's always a bonus) 
• my hair won't get all frizzy on the way there. 

For as long as I can remember, I've been doing a lot of things at once -  or at least, I tried. I wrote To-Do lists in class so I wouldn't miss a hundred assignments as well as forgetting to practice the piano while still not buying a birthday present for my friend. Trust me, all of this could happen, since even though I make notes all of the time, they're usually all over the place on pieces of paper I find 5 years later, in books I never open again, on the back of my hand where they fade away....Knowing myself, I often made these lists so that I had everything in one place. Hence my longing for a filofax (see here). I also multitask in that I try to read while doing my make-up, do my homework while participating in class, text while blow-drying, etc. I like to know I can get it aaaall done in a particular time and day, that everything is somehow going to fit in, no matter how late I am, or how much time it supposedly takes. It might mean I'm a control-freak. But it might as well simply mean I'm late a lot.

This Thursday for instance, I was getting ready to attend a musical show with my dad and was putting on blusher when he called for us to go - I hadn't had dinner yet and my mom insisted I ate some before the show. However, I refused to do so since I hadn't even come to eye shadow and we were running late already (see?), so she made me take food with me to eat in the car, which is something I've done so many times before (hence the introduction): Picture me sitting in a car, all dolled up, with my curls clipped back and getting crumbles all over my dress. Such glamour!
Having gone through with that, the critical part is on: Applying my lipstick,

Lovelies, you might remember that my choice of color is usually some kind of red. On Thursday, it was the Manhattan All In One Lipstick in 660 Bite My Lip .


So I waited until we were driving a straight line, whipped out my brush and started to outline my lips, keeping a tight grip on the brush and hoping there wouldn't be a sharp stop because then, I just might stab myself in the throat and I guess that wouldn't have looked so pretty. I discovered that when you firmly place the brush against your lips, you can just go with the flow (of driving) and somehow, your lips get filled in - it's like with one of these magic pens that draw circles by themselves. Also, you should really use the rearview mirror instead of the one in the sunshade, because if you have to look up you won't be able to keep your arm as still and are more likely to mess up. I am proud to say that I got a decent result withour looking like I put on warpaint in form of red streaks all over my face. However, I did kinda ruin my tights when my dad asked for his phone and I dropped the lipstick and it fell into the space between my hemline and my legs. But hey, good score, don't you think so?

I feel like applying lipstick in a moving vehicle should be considered a professional skill - actually, to me, it is a perfect verbalism of a the modern-day independent woman who has a lot going on but manages it all with a beaming, slightly breathless, lipstick smile.

And, you know, is late a lot.

Love,

Rosy Smith

So, I found once again that it’s almost impossible to remain groomed and fresh after a transatlantic flight- like I always wondered how people could get out of a plane, after 12 hours traveling in a uncomfortable chair, dry air and only a terrifyingly tiny bathroom to use, and look like they just took a hot bath, blew out their hair and visited their personal stylist? I travel in leggings, a sweatshirt and Converse, pull my hair up and let it down again approx. ten times so they electrify like I just had an accident invoving a pluck socket and I get absolutely no sleep–usually I go straight to sleep once we arrive at the hotel. This time though we arrived at seven am and refused to waste the whole day, meaning I didn’t make the best first impression with my appearance.But the London girls sure did on me! They had casual circular skirts out of jean and leather paired with flat, low boots or sassy flats and blouses which was a cool mix of being flirty and feminine and dressing it down.
I also have to mention the accent! I’m so fascinated how different one and the same language can sound, and I’m so intrigued by how classy everything seems once you say it in British(overall, London has a very classy atmosphere), I’m almost tempted to get myself that accent. 

So far, so lovely. Talk again soon!

Oh my, I miss that city. Not because I don't absolutly adore NYC - I just love to go places, especially those who have such a distinct atmosphere to them. When I think of London, I think of Fish&Chips with my parents on a bench in the sun, of that park with people spread out over blankets during their lunch break in the middle of traffic, of our lovely hotel near the Tower Bridge tube station, of Picadilly at night in light shirt dresses and strolling through the streets trying to look British (probably failing that). Reading this, you might think that my impressions are both touristic cliches as well as impressions you get in any city, but I dare you to visit more than one and you'll see, they each make you feel completely different - even though all big cities make me feel fabulous. 

Love,

Rosy Smith