Tag Archives: Marie Claire

Vintage Robinson part two: Romance

 Lucy Robinson, fearless adventurer

I explained here why I’m not able to write my Life I Love blog at the moment. (TEMPORARILY!) So to continue where I left off yesterday, here is blog two from my life in Argentina all those years ago… http://lucy-robinson.co.uk/romance-four-options/

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Breakups: the end of the world…?

 © Eva Bell Photography

 Morning friends. Today I’m on Woman’s Hour talking about breakups. Is it possible to stay friends with your ex’s friends? Or indeed their family? Come over to the show and tell us what you think. In honour of the programme I’m re-posting a blog I wrote in December 2009 about my own awful breakup. Does this ring any bells? Or was I just insane….?   WRITTEN DECEMBER 2009 for MARIECLAIRE.CO.UK Lucy Robinson: A Soul MOT in 365 Days A year ago today I caught a bus to Brick Lane. My mission was to buy some vintage shoes to complete a … Continue reading

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My big fat SECOND NOVEL

 A Pssionate Love Af#4FF1234

It’s January 2013. Which means – finally – my SECOND NOVEL IS GOING TO BE PUBLISHED. This fact makes me want to – in no particular order – 1. Perform cartwheels down my hallway while roaring loudly (I won’t: I have the gymnastic capabilities of an overweight polar bear and my throat is a bit hurty.) 2. Set fire to my computer in a complex ceremony that is designed to imply ancient writerly practices but is instead just an attempt to avoid having to read any reviews of any sort 3. Buy a lot of cheese, which is something I … Continue reading

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NEW YORK DAY TWELVE: MASSIVE BEDS AND MAD GIRLS

 Lucy Robinson - COPYRIGHT EVA BELL PHOTOGRAPHY

Ahhhhh. That’s nice. After five days in pitch black, cold, crapness, we are in a BIG WARM BED and it’s lush. Anyway. Here’s day twelve. (Thanks, by the way, for sticking with me, my friends. I got an email through yesterday with the statistics for my website for the last month and was like, say WHAT? You are reading my blog. I love that. Thanks very, very much.) The Man is a documentary film maker. Word got out that he was in New York during Hurricane Sandy. He was called by about a million TV companies all wanting him to … Continue reading

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“Please wear smart business dress,” they said. Oh God.

Back in May 2010 I announced – with gay abandon – that I was leaving behind my old career to become a Bohemian Writer instead. I would move to Buenos Aires where I would drift around in bare feet; wearing an assortment of headscarves, eating alternative foods such as silken tofu and giving up consumer crap like make up and fashion. I’d do art and culture and politics. Oh yes I would! It didn’t really happen. I did go to Buenos Aires but there was nothing bohemian or chilled about the way I wrote my first novel. I was manic and I wore Topshop. I drank too much tea and the closest … Continue reading

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My own personal bushtucker

“Go on!” Alicia urged. Her face was alight with pleasure. I looked at the rubbery three-pronged piece of horror in my hand and felt my stomach convulse. Alicia’s eight year old daughter, who was munching casually on a bag of fried grasshoppers at the time, roared with laughter as she caught sight of my anguished face. The object in my hand was a chicken’s foot. And it was not how I imagine chicken’s feet to be. If I imagined the fateful day when a smiling toothless lady offered me a specially-prepared chicken’s foot to munch on, I would be in a … Continue reading

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My bottom

I rather fancied that I had hit rock bottom when I wrote my last blog. My manky old travellers’ knickers had been stolen, my only ‘nice’ skirt had a rusty mark on it that looked like a geometrically-drawn poo and my cheap Argentine cardigan had par-melted into my cup of tea. I then posted an update letting you know that my watch had been stolen, the replacement had fallen apart, I’d lost yet more clothes and a child had projectile vomited on me. Surely I had hit travellers’ rock bottom! No. I now have a new bottom. Disclaimer: if you’re squeamish, … Continue reading

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Homage to Marge

My dear friend Marge has left. I am therefore dedicating this blog to her and the magnificent times we had together – an ‘homarge’, if you will. Our time together began with a reminder of the hypnotic effect that Marge has on men. In the space of the four hours between the time that we cancelled our road trip and arrived in a nearby town to do some last-minute hiking, she had somehow secured the affections of an unfeasibly good looking gentleman. When I say unfeasibly good looking I really mean unfeasibly. He had the body of an adonis and the face … Continue reading

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El Bosque de Robinson

Marge and I hired some bikes to do a 22km up-and-down mountains cycle ride which has been named – somewhat dishonestly, I should add – ‘the little circuit.’ The man asked if either of us were proficient cyclists. “No,” Marge replied. (That was probably fairly obvious; she had turned up for a five hour cycle in a tight cream-coloured miniskirt.) “Yes,” I shouted self-importantly. “I cycle everywhere in London.” I bounced around in my shorts and plimsolls to prove the point. The man looked unconvinced and handed me a bike. “Tell me if the saddle is the right height,” he said. I … Continue reading

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Lies

Every time I log into my email I am offered a selection of feckin diabolical articles courtesy of the email provider’s homepage. A recent offering that had me swearing into my herbal tea was “ten most horrible beach bodies.” Seriously? Do people actually write things like this for a living?  (Um… actually, I will break off there.  This blog is hardly Proust.) The thing that upsets me most is that my email providers have obviously decided that I am a complete bell-end who is interested only in this kind of stupid guff. Why don’t they offer me articles on international … Continue reading

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