Who Am I Again?


Last week I had quite a long and friendly email from a travel PR offering me a holiday in half-term on a Greek island with a private chef. I read it twice. I allowed myself about 45 seconds of day-dreaming that this was actually going to happen.

I thought how pleased my family would be. Then I sent him an email: Sounds completely idyllic, I said, but I’m not a travel journalist, as I’m sure you know (a-ha-ha), so was there any title in particular you were hoping I might be able to pitch this to?


One of the things that writing this column has made me do is really think about the communications I get on a daily basis from PRs. Whereas before I might not even have replied to this person who’d clearly got something massively wrong, now I wanted an explanation: Hello – just checking you saw the above?

This was not from a desire to rub salt in the wound but I was looking for an explanation. Am I mistakenly on a list of travel journalists? Had this person seen my name in How To Spend It or something similar and assumed I must always spend my Octobers wafting about in beautiful villas with private chefs and writing about it for some title or other?

Sadly, I’m no wiser. Eventually I received a rather fudgy reply to explain that, alas, the Greek island day dream opportunity had now vanished in a puff of fantasy smoke (quelle surprise) and of course they knew I was a very good fashion journalist and not a travel journalist etcetera etcetera. Of course they did. And maybe we could do something with a different client and maybe a more fashion-y angle next year? To which I say: sure thing.

Hit me up at half-term, baby.