So, I have spent the last week swanning around Iceland, shooting up a storm (during a storm, most days) and despite the distinct lack of wifi I did of course manage to instagram all the best bits… In fact, I don’t think I’d last two days without instagram… there should be a 12 step programme for it! Anyway, I digress… the point I want to make in this post is that although modeling truly does have lots of awesome bits, the reality of it is that it is generally unglamorous and almost always bloody hard work! My friend Siobhan recently lamented over facebook that no one really told the truth about the modeling industry and I suppose with our ever growing obsession of only showing the ‘best bits’ that she’s right on the money. I don’t feel like I purposely omit the bad bits but it is in my nature to focus on what’s good and I must admit I can’t stand it when people spend half their lives moaning about whatever it is that they are doing. So, quite naturally, you all tend to get a pretty rosy picture of my life.

In order to restore the balance somewhat I am going to share with you a pretty comical chain of events that took place on my last working day before I jetted off to Iceland… Please feel free to laugh… at me… obvs..

The Friday before Iceland I was lucky enough to be booked on a TVC… it wasn’t mega bucks but I basically had to take part in a spin class… brilliant, I thought! I’ll get paid to work out! The dream! I was feeling pretty smug in my preparedness as I packed my own bike shorts and shoes, just in case. I was dressed head to toe training gear, as per usual. Nice and early, casually making my way over to the location, I catch my foot on the floor (seriously?!) and see my life (and career) flashing before my eyes as the pavement rushes up to meet me! I somehow manage to save myself (and more importantly, my face!) by doing the most comedy windmill / running method I’ve ever had the delight of experiencing firsthand… I must have traveled a good six metres with my face about a foot away from scraping the floor before righting myself! My drinks bottle flew across the road, commuters looked on in amused horror! More amusement than horror, actually. Apparently I’m more ‘Bambi on ice’ than Gazelle… who knew?! Strike 1.

I arrive at the job, quickly rush through hair and makeup and they decide that what I’m wearing is perfect so that’s that. I don’t think too much of it… surely we won’t be spinning for that long (schoolboy error, right there.)? 3 hours later, drenched in sweat (yes, models sweat) and with saddle sores of the likes that even John Wayne wouldn’t have had to deal with, wondering if my lady bits would ever feel the same again, we step (fall) off the bikes. Side note, all serious (and even part time) cyclists know that you NEVER cycle whilst wearing undies… it’s all padded shorts and chamoix cream… this, is for a reason my friends. Trust me. Strike 2.

We then spend about 2 hours hanging about and drying out whilst the producer decides if they need us for anything else… the flies are circling at this point and I definitely don’t smell as fresh as I could, or would like.

We’re released, yay! Now, the small matter of navigating London transport whilst smelling like the English rugby team’s locker room… post match. I’m quietly sat on the tube, thinking I’ve gotten away with it when this little old lady sits down next to me, covers her nose and SPRITZES ME WITH HER PERFUME!!! Strike 3. Absolutely mortified! Ha! To be fair, I really don’t blame the old dear but it was the final straw to a pretty hilarious day. It’s a bloody good job I can laugh at myself because I was just knocking them out of the park one after another, after another…

Oh the glamorous life of a model, huh? 😉

(Shiv, I know you’ll pee your pants reading this so… you’re welcome.)

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