Olivia is a London-based TV / Radio Presenter and lifestyle Influencer. Her career began serving in the British Army, before moving into journalism to write beauty & stye pages for Marie Claire. A love of performing in-front of the camera landed Olivia her first hosting role for Entertainment Wise, and she has since filmed for channels including Sky Sports, E4, ITV and Sky Travel. Since launching her namesake blog, Olivia has partnered with a series of brands and is a leading influencer within beauty, fashion, fitness and travel. Olivia’s passion is running and skiing, having successfully competed at both whilst in the Army. Her dream is to host an adventure travel or sports show, and is passionate about blurring the divide between fashion and fitness. Olivia empowers her followers with a very real honesty and genuine insight into her journey, always championing on the belief that we can both look great AND smash it at the gym.
I've been attending London Fashion Week since my first internship at Marie Claire magazine. I've been offered numerous nuggets of advice along the way, and ignored about 90% of them, only to realise they were right after all. So here's my two cents: what I've learnt through 14 seasons of Fashion Week. Do what you will with it...
I recently returned from a trip to Canada. I'd been planning it a while - when your friend decides to relocate to the other side of the Atlantic, booking a flight immediately is essential. As is - for me, at least - completely falling in love with the place, and threatening on a weekly basis to follow her on a more permanent basis.
It's got to the point that my excuse cycle has actually come full circle and I've run out of plausible reasons not to leave my house (or bed, for that matter). I have no more pets that urgently need to see a vet, and I can't drive so car-related issues are a non-starter. And everyone knows that phantom relative deaths are next level bad ju-ju.
So my point: gluten-free doesn't mean taste, sustenance or fun-free. Especially if you like tequila as much as I do (some vodka is made from wheat, some from potato - it's a gamble I'm unwilling to take).
Mother's Day is one of those annual events that sends me into crisis mode. First comes the uncertainty - a bit like when the clocks go back (which way is it this time, and is that the good way or the bad way? Does anyone really ever know?)
When I was at school, I did a GCSE in climbing. I'm not really sure why. I'd like to think it was for the love of the sport (is it a sport? Is it ok to ask?) but frankly I'm not a huge fan of heights and I've never looked good in a harness.
This season, we are all 'shrobing'. Which has absolutely nothing to do with the sort of lighting that epileptics should avoid and absolutely everything to do with how you wear your coat. Which is to say, how you don't wear your coat. Because you don't really wear it at all.
There's so much choice that there is literally no point in committing anymore. And that leaves classes full of people who really want to be there. I mean, you're unlikely to pay £20 for an hour class to then mess around or not push yourself.
Let's be honest now - 2016 wasn't our year. And as the realisation dawned on me this morning that I'd left my Olympus Pen on the train (sob), I wondered if I should write off this one, too. But that seems a bit hasty. Seeing as how it's only February..
Clearly, you watched the NFL last night. Because just about everybody did. I was at Dinerama in Shoreditch for the Budweiser SuperBowl party and it was so mega. When I was younger, I remember my dad and uncle staying up to watch the SuperBowl but could honestly never understand it. Now I get it - NFL is awesome.
We've arrived!!!! Landed at Marrakech airport around 4pm (via a nutritious lunch of porridge and red wine on the plane, oops. Did you know BA doesn't do in-flight meals anymore? Porridge was the only healthy wheat-free (but not gluten-free, boo hiss) option they had) and cruised through about seven security checks to the luggage reclaim.
My name's Olivia and I suck at Dry January. I mean, the whole thing started badly circa January 3rd when I forgot I should have been dry so had to delay my start. And the panic-binge of cheap red wine on BA to No1 Bootcamp in Marrakech should really have been a sign of things to come. Things being a decidedly (at least) damp January. And come being precisely now.
I'm writing this on the way back from Bali. Back! Boo hoo. Worth noting, however, that I am on a totally connected flight. So technically I could actually upload this post from the air. Which would be very cool. But unlikely - I have around three movies on my watch-list before we land.
I've tried various ways to cajole and bully my way into better shape and health over the years, and - though I used to cringe whenever my mother used the word - balance is key. Variety is the spice of life. Everything in moderation. You get the gist.
In the past, I've stoically avoided the whole dry January thing. This is partly because I don't think I really drink enough to warrant the challenge. But I suppose there'll also be an element of worrying that I might fail. Which - even as I type this - I realise is ridiculous.
At what point does it become passé to keep wishing every friend, relative and stranger we meet a Happy New Year? Now that we are back at work? When the Christmas Tree comes down? (on which note, which one exactly IS the 12th night?) Seriously - it's something I'd really like to know.
04/01/2017 14:31 GMT
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