Jessie From The Block

Exhale; I don’t know where to start. It has been a packed few weeks. I must start to blog weekly, as cramming in the events of the past few weeks is near impossible. So, I’ll simply pluck the most poignant highs and lows and seek to entertain (or vent at the very least.)

I’ve learnt lots about myself recently thanks to my career, most importantly the fact that I won’t compromise my ethics for any amount of money. That despite having spent 7 years working for Max Clifford, I’m still sometimes as green as a pea, and that it aint personal, it’s BUSINESS.Integrity has got me this far and I’m sticking with it all the way.

So, I found myself handling PR for Samuel L Jackson’s ‘Shooting Stars in Desert Nights’ charity event, which took place at London’s Hurlingham Club. It was an experience, not helped by the tube strike. We had to send a fleet of taxis to collect the A Listers who’d flown in from Hollywood, to bring them to the bash.

The very next morning signaled my flight to Jamaica, along with a sleep deprived boyfriend and talkative daughter (still elated at the idea that she got to miss school for mummy’s business trip). It was of course business. Kelly Rowland who is currently riding high with her no.1 spot in the UK singles charts with her David Guetta collaboration ‘When Love Takes Over’ had been booked to perform at Caribbean Fashion Week, and I also had my Colorblind Cards assistant Elisha in tow, hosting a stall at the event.

The plan was to spend the first few days in Kingston working (at a yardie pace) before relocating to Ocho Rios for a break of the most relaxed kind with my loved ones. It started well, Kelly did her thing and delighted the islanders on stage. Then we dragged her to the local club where she attempted to get into the spirit, before her early morning flight which meant professionalism prevailed (hers not mine.) So that left me, my man, Nia Long and her friend, who were in town for Fashion week. Nia had heard of a house party going on up in the hills somewhere, so Hennessey in hand we made an exit (not driving of course) to relocate.

Nia, Me and Kelly!

As we neared the house party after much laughter and 30 mins on the road, it began to strike us that there weren’t many ladies at this gig. Undeterred and excited by the tracks which were pumping from the system, we jumped out and prepared to get our groove on- Jamaican style. A word in Nia’s ear by the host and she announced “Guys this is a gay party but I’m totally fine with it!” Of course I was fine too, and started making my way in, as I listened to the sounds of Neyo in the background. Alas it wasn’t to be. Never have I seen such a look of fear crossed with vulnerability crossed with confusion on my man’s face, we left and I went to sleep laughing and woke up in even more intense stitches- classic. The next day I got to express my inner twelve year old once again on the catwalk while Monet shouted “GO MUMMY” as I strutted.

In Kingston the sun seemed determined to hide behind a cloud. But it was all good as after accompanying the stunning Brit model (and star of the new M&S campaign) Natalie Suliman to a photoshoot at Strawberry Hill hotel) my family and I made the 2.5 hour road journey to Ocho Rios. Excited by the website images of our suite which backed on to the beach, visions of infinity pools to die for, the smell of jerk chicken wafting through the air and the chilled exclusive vibe, (not ganja induced.) For a traveler unused to the hilly roads of Jamaica the journey may have seemed treacherous but we knew the wonders in store for us so took it with a smile and coconut water.

And then we arrived.

Out of respect for the General manager and for the tourist trade in Jamaica I wont name and shame. And I totally get that if hot dogs and an all-inclusive vibe is your thing, this place may have seemed inviting. But faced with swarms of American tourists clad in plastic ‘All Inclusive’ armbands dancing to ‘One Love’ as they queued for another burger and beer on ‘the house’, my stomach churned in horror. We were lead to our room by an over zealous member of staff quoting more clichés than can be found in that ‘How to speak Jamaican’ handbook and I was like “cut the crap I’m from St. Elizabeth” The door opened and I recoiled in horror. This was NOT the room on the website. Hell this was not the hotel on the website.

A musty smell of tourists gone by, and a TV that would have been state of the art last century took pride of place. A plastic white plate screamed ‘welcome home’ in an unrecognizable pink paste on the dresser. I tried the balcony, now having palpitations at the thought of being stuck here for the duration of our trip. I turned right, Americans in the plastic bands smiled ‘one love’ seeming to taunt me in my desperation, I looked left, dreadlocked hats and Shaggy impersonators everywhere (ok that bit’s an exaggeration).

And then the diva came out. “Don’t even unpack!” I screamed at my man, who was sweetly whispering “its ok baby,” while my daughter, nose in the air, arms crossed in defiance, was firmly on mummy’s side. I made a call to my Jamaican tourist board contact and chastised him at his choice of hotel. He said sit tight and apologized that he hadn’t personally seen this hotel. Just when I was at the point of combusting and driving my family half way back across the island to a more suitable place to rest our head (see Round Hill or Ritz Carlton in Montego Bay for cornmeal porridge to die for) the phone rings and its Nia, Hollywood actress and drop dead gorgeous mumma by day, anti 3 star hotel squad by night. It was too much; I collapsed in tears at our circumstance as my perplexed boyfriend and amused offspring looked on in entertainment. Nia hooked us up and ten minutes later we were in a taxi on our way to Royal Plantation where at Nia’s request, the owner had waived the ‘No Kids’ rule and invited us to stay in a villa complete with private pool and Jason the Butler!

We arrived and my new pal Shawn bid us a cliché free welcome before ushering us through my new favourite Jamaican hotel. Not an all-inclusive band in sight, just heaven on earth and the only fellow co habitors were the peacocks in our lush garden that kept Anthony Hopkins company when he last stayed there. Just like that, in a quarter of an hour, our holiday was back on track. After making full use of the pool by moonlight we breakfasted with Nia and pal before taking to the mystic mountain for bobsled fun. The rest of our stay was simply wonderful. We dined with the General manager Peter. Peter also introduced us to his amazing art collection which included several pieces by my famous Jamaican cousin Albert Huie, and asked for our help in putting on a Celebrity weekend in September (yup damn, I’m just gonna have to go back again). So many beautiful memories.

Me, Nia and my lovely family!

I think I fell in love all over again, with Jamaica, with my man, and spent some quality time with my little girl. I came home Nia Long’s new International Publicist, a darker shade of brown and a kitchen stocked with Appleton’s finest.

Jamaica Land we love yes indeed!

Jessie From The Block

xxx