Trinny in Jozi

Posts Tagged ‘magazines

Friendly conversation XXXIX

leave a comment »

T: Haha, you should´ve taken Paris Hilton Out to Lunch.
A: Actually, I´m quite glad we´ve managed to keep her out of our magazine.
B: The only Paris Hilton that will ever appear in our magazine is the hotel in France.

Written by Trinny

July 5, 2009 at 17.09

Same words, different context I

with 4 comments

One of the strange things in which I take delight is how the same words and phrases can have completely different meanings depending on context.  I´m not really talking about obvious homonyms like “left” (opposite of right) and “left” (past tense of leave). More about finding examples in my own life, and making a connection for absurdity´s sake. 

For example: DPS.

When I was at varsity, if you got all your DPs (duly perfomed certificates) it meant you were allowed the privilege of writing exams.

When I first worked on magazines, I learnt that DPS stood for a double page spread

And when I taught in Liechtenstein, we used DPS to refer to one of the set texts: Dead Poet´s Society. (The book, not the film, although if I´d had any say in the syllabus I wouldn´t have chosen either.) Very glad that
I´m back in the world of double page spreads these days!

From our in-house newsletter

with 13 comments

Trinny at the officeBig up to the third floor´s latest South African signing, Theresa Mallinson. Trinny joined in early January, arriving from a company in Liechtenstein (That´s right, Liechtenstein). The wordsmith brings her superb subbing skills to the business side of our magazine empire. Interesting factoid: bookworm Mallinson will read 10 novels in a one-week beach holiday.

Written by Trinny

February 6, 2009 at 12.15

The morning after the night before, and the rest of the day after the morning

leave a comment »

I managed to get barely an hour´s sleep, only to be woken by Kate´s panicked voice: “Trinks, you´ve pressed snooze twice already. Your bus leaves in half an hour. You need to get up!”

I staggered out of bed. I really needed a shower. I also needed to finish packing. Admittedly, I had half-packed the day before, which, at the time, I thought was a supremely cunning plan. Alas, it turned out to be only 50 per cent of a cunning plan.

I stumbled round the room, randomly chucking items in my suitcase. One of these items was my new laptop. Somehow it didn´t occur to me that a) there are computers in the UK, and b) their plugs are different. As well as the laptop and attendant paraphenalia, I blithely packed my camera charger, my phone charger, and my iPod charger. Overall, I must have lugged at least 5kg of incompatible technological equipment across the sea for no good reason.

And this was before I even began on the clothes. I was at a loss without Moral Squeeze to restrain me, and packing, as you may have guessed, has never been my forte.

“Should I take the long black dress or the little black dress?” I asked Kate indecisively. She patiently advised the latter, while I stumbled around some more. “Where is my eyeliner? I simply cannot go to London without my eyeliner,” I declared. (Nevermind the fact I rarely use eyeliner, since I am unable to apply it without looking like some kind of racoon, despite having previously worked at a fashion and beauty magazine).

“Trinks, I think you are still drunk. And in the throws of an extended Bridget Jones moment!” said Kate, barely surpressing her laughter. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed, conveniently forgetting that some years ago I had attended a fancy-dress party (theme: the fictional character you most resemble) as none other than Ms Jones. Call it part of my mispent youth.

Back to the dilemma of the moment. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed. “I am a strong independent women. Without issues. And with sexy underwear. Not at all like Bridget!” I sounded pathetic, and strangely unconvincing, even to myself. But, despite histrionics, we were in fact (almost) ready to hit the road. I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and my Silk Cuts and we made a dash the bus stop.

My day didn´t get better. Without Kate around to jolly me out of my hangover, I was stuck in travelling hell. In brief, my itinerary looked like this:

1. Bus from Vaduz to Sargans
2. Train from Sargans to Basel
3. Bus from Basel to EuroAirport*
4. Flight from EuroAirport to London Luton**
5. Bus from Luton to Victoria***
6. Train from Victoria to New Malden
7. Walk from New Malden station to Elm Road
8. Collapse into bed****

* The EuroAirport is cool. One airport, three countries. Believe it, because it´s true! I also ate some very expensive food there, which made me feel slightly more human (although still primarily alien).
** Note to self, and other travellers. It is a much more pleasant experience getting felt up by svelte Swiss security staff than their British counterparts.
*** There is a reason that flights to Luton are cheap. Because it isn´t even in the middle of nowhere. It´s like, far out on the edge of nowhere, when “somewhere” is on the opposing edge.
**** That would have been nice. But I had plans for the evening. Plans that had been booked and prepaid on the Interweb.