The first magazine I ever truly loved was Just Seventeen. I loved it so much, in fact, that 'being a writer for Just Seventeen' ousted 'being a circus acrobat' and even 'owning a sweet shop' for top what-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up spot. The day former Just Seventeener Marina Gask agreed to be my Facebook friend still goes down as one of the best days of my life. She probably thinks I'm a freakish stalker. She's right.
And of course I DID go on to become a magazine writer, a job I still relish (I temporarily became a circus acrobat too, but that's another story for another blog post). But there is one major downside to what is otherwise a wonderful job: magazines stop being fun.
While my non-media mates will relax with a coffee and the latest glossy, for me, reading magazines has become something I HAVE to do, so I can target feature pitches/keep up with the trends/obsess over various columnists' witty turns of phrase. It's not restful, and it doesn't help me to switch off.
But there is one exception: Grazia. For some reason, Grazia is the only magazine I can still buy off the shelf and read like a reader, not a writer. And this despite the fact that, when I worked for more! magazine, Grazia was in the same building and I always saw the Grazia girls looking chic and elegant, while I wore some ill-advised Fame-throwback combo of leggings, denim hotpants and lurid trainers.
So I'm not going to lie: the fact that The Pink House was treated to a four-page feature in Grazia this month was pretty exciting. At some point I probably will shut up about it, but for now, please indulge me as I post a selection of Susie Lowe's fabulous photos of my home, from the shoot she did for Grazia. Did I mention The Pink House was in Grazia...?