Post Note: And when you get to the night-time bits in Leicester Square try to imagine me, awkwardly crouched on the floor like a frog, with a headset, trying desperately  to stop the boom mic (massive furry microphone)  from appearing in shot whilst grazing my knobbly knees repeatedly.

The pitch? Take a look. All the words are my own. Voiceover by Hannah Lowe.  Editing by Nick Lee and Jack Woodcraft.

It’s taken six months for some thief to steal my bicycle wheels. I’m told that’s good going when you live in London.  Only now am I pausing to reflect on my time spent here and I want to share some of these experiences with you. So where to begin? The start? No, my memory recall isn’t linear. I’ll start with securing my first major creative pitch. It came about in March, whilst working for the social enterprise, Latimer Creative Media. We decided to set up a new youth marketing company called, Latimer Digital.  After researching A LOT of viral marketing campaigns, (Old Spice, Old Spice, Old Spice) and pinpointing what makes young people buy into products, (Jack Wills, Jack Wills, Jack Wills) I pitched a viral marketing idea to Paul Smith, the fashion brand, for their new fragrance, Optimistic. Our small but determined creative team created (in a nutshell) a Facebook campaign, where you upload happy pictures and get people to ‘like’ them. The top 50 ‘likes’ were invited to an exclusive Paul Smith party. Here’s a video filmed by our team on the night. Try and spot me about 25 seconds in.

Miss Prissle

Joe and I at the Derby Ukraine Association

The best thing about working in radio? For me, it’s meeting people from all walks of life and hearing their stories. Here’s a taste of some of the people I met whilst working for BBC Local Radio.

Oh…and the unexpected. Take a listen to the track below.

In a village not so far from London but just so far enough that no one has ever really heard of it, lives a witch called Puella.  All the children and adults are terrified of Puella. Not because of her witchy black hair, or her witchy crooked nose, or her witchy pointed chin but because she has the longest pointy nails you have ever seen.

Puella’s fingernails are far longer than yours or mine. They are longer than those horribly heavy maths textbooks you have to take to school. In fact, they are as long as a swimming pool.

Puella’s nails grow and grow and grow and grow!

Each one of Puella’s nails looks like a thick strand of curly, greasy hair and people in the town are getting very angry about them.

“Get those claws out of my lug hole!” Mr Brumble, the bus driver will shout, as she pokes him in the ear.

“Stop puncturing the netballs with your pincers!” Miss Fitleg will bark, shaking her head in despair.

“Move your talons out of the way!” Tom, her school enemy will heckle, as Puella prods his nose.

Recently, Puella’s started rolling her nails up, so it looks like she has Swiss Rolls for hands. But it hasn’t sorted out her biggest problem. Food. It’s forever getting caught in her nails. Stuck in them at the moment are:

1)      Last week’s remains of a tuna and prawn sandwich.

2)      Worm infested soil from an afternoon of digging.

3)      A shovel full of cat hair.

4)      A handful of bogeys.

5)      A small ball of earwax.

And as I am sure you can imagine, with all that rotten food, Puella really, really smells. She smells like a blocked toilet. She smells like a dirty dishwasher. In fact, she smells of poo. Yes, it is very hard for someone with fingernails as long as swimming pools to wipe their bum.

Puella smells so badly of poo that Mr Carroplum the greengrocers and Mrs Newstamp at the newsagents have put a sign in their shop windows saying: NO BAD SMELLING WITCHES ALLOWED.

Poor Puella. She really is a lovely witch.  She has good reasons for not cutting her nails. And good reasons for smelling. Except I am the only human who knows why.

Last Sunday, I went to Shepperton Studios with my friend, Ellie Goulding. She was performing her cover of Elton John’s, “Your Song” for Dancing On Ice 2011.

I can recall two summers ago, lounging in my Herefordshire garden, watching her strum away on a battered guitar to a song she’d written titled, Wish I Stayed. This song later became a track on her number one album, Lights.

Two years later, I was hearing the scrape of Torvill and Dean’s skates hitting ice, as they circled around Ellie. She was sitting on a swing, encircled with tiny bulbs. A smoke machine billowed beneath her manicured feet and above her I caught glimpses of a camera man filming the activity from a crane.

After her performance to an audience of ten million plus we sipped white wine and chewed on canapés in the Green Room. I met Kerry Katona, who told me she couldn’t believe the voters kept her in the contest, “coz it’s my first public appearance since my troubles and all that.”

I exchanged, hello, how you doings with former Fleet Street journalist, Richard Madeley and his wife Judy.  When I caught sight of judge, Emma Bunton I imagined what would happen if I glided up to her and sang, Zigazigah. “I was always Baby Spice at primary school,” I would have said.

Of course, it wasn’t always celebrities, sequins and no-crust quarter sandwiches for Ellie. When she decided to move from Hereford to London there wasn’t a record contract waiting for her at Paddington.  But after lots of hard graft and clever networking it came good for her.

When I decided to move to London my family warned, don’t expect the streets to be paved with gold. Be realistic, my friends advised. Everybody’s starry eyed, Ellie sang.

Two months after moving to London I’m working as a sub-editor at Latimer Creative Media as well as pulling pints in a proper London pub. I have a far busier social life than back in Hereford and I’ve exchanged bike rides on bumpy country lanes for the super cycle highway on Clapham Road. Yes, my chances of becoming a farmer’s wife have narrowed but I know Hereford is only a train ride home. Of course, London will never be the Holy Grail without my old dog, Jackie. I picture her now, saggy teats, yawning in her tartan basket beside the fridge. But as I discovered cycling past the Kings Road this morning, there’s always professional dog walking.

My new setting

After leaving the Cardiff Journalism School in June, I started working as a  reporter for the BBC.

During my journalism training at CJS I specialised in agriculture and rural living in Wales. As you will see from my earlier blog posts, I went on a journey of discovery. Some of the stand-out moments for me include, touching a Red Kite, following the Llangeinor hunt in a Landrover (both a first!) and spending time at Lakeside Farm Park  with Eira Edwards.

Even after leaving Wales, I still managed to have a bit of “The Good Life”. BBC Hereford and Worcester, BBC Radio Gloucestershire and BBC Radio Derby all cover rural areas. So, during the Summer I reported on  the start of the apple season in Gloucestershire at Hilter Farm and ventured into the Derbyshire Dales to meet the singing sensations and Channel Five’s, Don’t Stop Believing winners, Dale Diva.

 In complete contrast I’ve met women who’ve fled domestic violence and overcome eating disorders. I’ve become a wasp catcher for the day and reported from the Brazil versus Ukraine friendly at Pride Park.

Most of all, I’ve enjoyed meeting people from all walks of life and helping them tell their stories, like the Irish community in Derby.

Of course, no one day is the same and you’ve got to react well to change. For example, my producer at BBC Radio Derby, Daryl Jackson sent me to a Derby City Council cemetery to report on the flower bins being removed but whilst I was there I came across a woman who’d fallen into a hole as she was cleaning her husband’s grave. This became my story of the day.

So, what’s new? Nine days ago, I moved to London with my CJS pal and business journalist , Elizabeth Anderson.  In truth, I was getting a little lonely living with my parents in Herefordshire and was eager for new opportunities. After a month of relentless interviews and applications I’m pleased to say I’ll be joining the social enterprise, Latimer Creative in January.

For now, I’ve been exploring my Lambeth surroundings like the Saturday Oval Farmers Market  at the end of our road.  

And I ‘ve also discovered the quirky City Farms in the smoke. Here I am at Mudchute City Farm which you can get to on the DLR.  

It’s quite  spectacular looking out across a farm-yard and seeing the Canary Wharf skyline. This is my London.

Mudchute City Farm