My first job was working in a chemist owned by a family friend. I only mention it, as that Saturday job was the reason, aged 13, I could buy the magazines that would influence the rest of my life. Having dropped out of art school due to partying too hard, I moved to London at the age of 20 with absolutely nothing - no money, no contacts, no friends, and nowhere to live. I shared a bed with a random woman who’d advertised a rented room in South Woodford. Her son came home from the army early, so she insisted I share her bloody bed. Can you imagine!? I soon found a job working on the shop floor of Harvey Nichols, and I worked at a pub at night. 

Until applying for a senior role at Harrods in 2019, I’d never had a CV. I met contacts - stylists, PRs, photographers - on the dance floors of the best nightclubs! It was the 90s, a different time when it didn’t matter which school you attended or who you were related to. If you worked hard and were polite, you could make it. One night, I met a woman on the dancefloor who hired me to work for Red or Dead. From there, I went to run the press offices of Paul Smith, Armani and Prada until, aged 30, I eventually found my dream job at ELLE magazine. It was here that I could be my true creative self, and eventually, the editor gave me a column that ran on the back page for almost a decade. Mademoiselle Confessions of an ELLE Girl was such a laugh to write. 

 In 2011, when I had my two kids back to back in my late 30s, I began working freelance for newspapers, brands and magazines. I still do. 

I have always loved London, but a couple of years ago, I began to feel a little alone here. The chasm between rich and poor is ever-widening, and I haven’t precisely chosen a well-paid profession. That said, I plan to grow my art career, and being a single parent and having to keep one of the teenagers in Fifa points (lol) keeps me driven and focused. 

This feeling of loneliness may stem from personal growth. Midlife can be a touchy time for women, what with hormonal shifts, ageing parents, outrageous teens, divorce, etc, but it is also a time of reinvention and reflection. And with that comes growth and sometimes a desire to meet new people.

Margate is way less sanitised than London. Down there, no one gives a fuck about which tiles you have and whether your latest kitchen refurb was done by (insert name of hottest and most expensive designer). A town filled with artists and foodies, Margate possesses an energy of excitement which London now lacks. I realised last week that I am absolutely bonkers trying to live between the two places whilst the kids are still at school. I may have jumped the gun a little by buying a place in Margate. I could blame my impulsiveness and ADHD, or, if I’m being frank, I could simply admit what I can afford to buy in London is so bloody depressing I’d rather rent.

Hairbrush, paper diary, Carmex, car keys, studio keys, house keys, dog-poop bags, black eyeliner, phone, Fruit Pastilles.

(Stacey has the Holly in Black.)

Mean what you say and say what you mean.