If I’m correct then ‘29’ was the last blog I wrote, where I lamented on what a f**king hard year 2009 turned out to be, and how basically it was all the fault of the stars (in the sky as opposed to my clients – though they often add to the strain). Now 30, I can happily say the stars are no longer messing with my chi, and I’m happily ensconced in my third decade, the baby is off to secondary school following 100% in her SATS (go mama!) and I have discovered a wonderful new book and a brand new ‘inner fulfilment for outer success’ mind-set.

Me with the delectable Kelly Rowland on the red carpet at the premiere of the new Twilight movie

I could sit here and write about my escapade on a yacht last weekend and Jagermeister shots, the various movie premiers I have frequented in the last few weeks or my 3-week stint at the Mondrian in Los Angeles as a result of the ash cloud. ‘catastrophe’ However that has passed, so I’ll just stick a few photos of my golden times on the blog to fill in the gaps, and turn my attention to writing about my discovery.

Lunch looked good but I couldn't stomach sushi with my hangover from hell...

The owners of Nikki Beach and us on the aptly named 'Knot Mine' yacht!

I have a habit of being one of the last to know, however I am confident I am not actually the last, and for that reason I will share my finding of The Outliers.

My latest fave book

Sitting on a plane back from the Guinness Music Festival in Dublin with my dear friend Dazzle Dalmeda, we poured over a copy of Oprah Magazine and found her interview with Jay Z and his recommended reading list. The Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell was on my bedside table days later thanks to Hova (he didn’t buy it for me he just recommended it) and it has had a profound effect .

New York Times columnist and author extraordinaire Gladwell

The acclaimed bestselling author and New York Times columnist Gladwell, wrote the outliers in an effort to explain why some people achieve so much more than others. I’m talking the Bill Gates, and Tiger Woods of our world. Gladwell looks at everyone from rock stars to professional athletes, software billionaires to scientific geniuses, to show that the story of success is far more surprising than we could have ever imagined. The sleeve promised to “change the way you think about your own life story” and boy did it do that. As a woman who is blessed to be occasionally labelled ‘inspirational’ for shifting my own personal life story from one of mediocrity and under achievement to this blessed journey I now find myself on, I was gripped. There is nothing special about me. Reasonably smart but driven. Impulsive yet hardworking. Erratic, dramatic and several other adjectives ending in ic, Outliers left my mind open and understanding how my pillar of the community Jamaican grandparents meeting in Cuba and falling in love, then sending my dad to England to keep him away from his “undesirable Kingston” sweetheart, all played a part in why I, and not the next media student, landed a job at every media company I interned for. How my parent’s shaky and tumultuous marriage lead to me lunching with the former Prime Minister at No.10. And how my dad working seven days a week as a mini-cab driver even on Christmas day, meant that when he kicked me out post pregnancy, swimming rather than sinking was an inbuilt reaction.

I’ve always known that my daughter was a blessing, and a huge part of why I have awards on my mantel, but Outliers has made me recognise just how every single one of my obstacles was actually a blessing with the wrong label on;

“Outliers are those who have been given opportunities –and who have had the presence and strength of mind to seize them. “ Malcolm Gladwell.

In case that sounds self-congratulatory, I hasten to add that this awe-inspiring piece of writing goes on to explain that Outliers are therefore far from extraordinary, just people who have capitalised on a series of opportunities and good luck handed down by our forefathers. Down to the colour of my skin, the fact my mother was a model, my father a rebel, my job in the hairdressers, and a chance meeting with publicist supremo Connie Filippello in the salon, a counsellor who bothered to say “go back to college,” a university tutor who took a shining to me and Max Clifford needing an intern to cover a sick member of staff – all incidents which had several of them not occurred, there is nothing to suggest I wouldn’t be standing somewhere very different. This book has sparked a new desire to get to know myself better, as surely once you understand yourself a little better you are on a path of improvement.

So thanks to Malcolm, who interestingly also has a Grandmother from St. Elizabeth Jamaica, and Jigga and I guess even Oprah for doing the interview, I have decided to cast aside my focus on grand ambitions and instead shift my gaze on to being a better human being full stop. As that ever-telling gut instinct suggests, inner fulfilment ultimately can only lead to outer success.

Jessica Huie

Mons and I had fantastic fun at Universal studios

My friend Pin-up beauty and actress Nia Long and I with out children, cycling to Venice Beach

Kelly Rowland backstage before her appearance performing 'Commander' on Graham Norton's show.

Jay Z on stage in Birmingham. Bumped into Drake...and randomly Shola Ama backstage

It was Mica Paris who warned me over cocktails at E&O one evening, that the year preceding my 30th birthday was going to be “hellish” thanks to the Saturn return –news to me. According to Astrology “Time, responsibility, age, and reality, are all associated with one planet in astrology and that planet is Saturn. The transit of Saturn around the birth chart is a very reliable indicator of where we are in our maturation process because it completes a cycle every 29-and-a-half years, splitting our lives into three stages of growth: childhood, adulthood, and the elder years. With each cycle building upon what was learned in the previous one.” I should have heeded Mica’s words and mentally armed myself for possibly the most challenging year ever bar 98, when I was spotty and pregnant and could only fit into an Adidas tracksuit and one pair of elasticated jeans.

If you’re 29 then brace yourself for warrior mode right now, as there is something about approaching a new decade that will have you come over all reflective and confused, and if you’re not careful, mourning missed opportunities, overanalyzing perceived material failures.

Jessica Huie: The Entrepreneur

So here I am, 29 years old and with a pretty amazing career which has transformed my life beyond recognition. Materially I can’t complain, and if I do ever worry about cash, I only have to look at my shoe collection or Virgin air miles to see where my wonger went. We’ve come along way since the days I used to write an approximate value of each item (tomatoes £1.30) on my Sainsburys shopping list so I could be sure I had enough money to pay for it, and professionally, this year has been another amazing one with the launch of JH Public Relations leaving me reeling in pride.

Outwardly I’m good on paper, yet internally 29 forced me to stop running, take stock and finally connect with the Jessica I’ve been working too hard to take care of, or even acknowledge. Yes 29 challenged the thought processes. But then after the pain, 29 has brought me peace, contentment and a self-love which has nothing to do with the awards on my mantel, the clients on my roster, or even my butt after a serious training session at Legs, bums and tums. Of course my journey has only just begun, but now I’m here, it’s a one-way road and turning back is not an option. Ironically the ‘hell’ has brought me heaven, and to quote Conversations with God, which is one of several books which have enlightened me recently;

Conversations with God

“Know that what you do in the time of your greatest trial can be your greatest triumph. For the experience you create is a statement of who you are – and who you want to be.” And so this year I made the decision to spring clean my soul, and as I clear out the crap, the more space I create for all of the wondrous items I haven’t yet purchased. A true understanding of the power of our thoughts and the experiences they manifest, has hit home, and that knowledge has changed my life. Phew, the deep bit’s over!

Outside of my spiritual rollercoaster, I have also found time to do some work. I crammed interviews with Alexandra Burke, whose number 1 with ‘Bad Boys’ alongside Florida was no surprise. How sexy is that girl? 29 is struggling to digest the fact I have almost a decade on her, Jessica is of course totally fine with it.

Flo-rida actually chatted me up one evening outside of my house. My girlfriends and I were on our way out for dinner in Portobello and the rapper was like “Can I come with you and just hang out?” The girls looked tempted but from the back of my car a disgruntled Monet’s “Uggh, Come on Mummy” meant Flo-rida was out of luck.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Leona Lewis just days before the madman in Waterstone’s thumped her-poor thing. She exudes stardom now. Gone is the shy giggling and uncertain body language. Talented, beautiful and British, I love the quality of the music which is pouring out of the UK right now.

The Beautiful Alexandra!

I recently spent a weekend in Dublin with my mate Jodie Dalmeda, Head of Media and artist management for Virgin Unite. Estelle who’s an Ambassador for Virgin Unite, was performing at the Guinness 250th anniversary Festival as was Kelly Rowland, so we flew over for the fun. Jodie looks just like a mixed race (young) Lauren Hutton, she’s gorgeous inside and out and teaches me about Angels and bikram yoga and stuff. She’s like the Mr. Miyagi of Kensal Rise. When we did the bar and pub circuit that evening we were the toast of the Irish town and the men were just so gentlemanly and appreciative that we both left with inflated egos. Ladies, Dublin is the place if you’re in need of a little boost!

Me, Kelly Rowland, Jaren and my friend Jodie!

Saw my boy Bashy in Markus the Sadist at the Bloomsbury Theatre. A Jonzi D Production, the script, acting and casting were perfect, and while the language left me wincing in parental pain as Monet sat beside me, the show was brilliant and further evidence that Bashy is a 360 performer and one of the UK’s most talented artists. My best friend Nana got married to her sweetheart and university love Russell. They had a Ghanaian traditional ceremony at her mother’s house and it was beautiful. I have never seen Nans radiate such beauty and happiness and it was all a bit surreal. Sitting in her mother’s living room I was transported back to fifteen years ago, when we’d be hunched in front of a mirror, pasting our frazzled hair to our foreheads and prizing coloured contact lenses on to our eyeballs in preparation for ‘Telepathy’ that night. On most of those occasions our parents discovered we weren’t watching a PG movie and generally the punishments included groundation, and once nana had to weed the front yard in 80 degree heat. Watching my best mate get married was emotional, and final confirmation that we are now grown ups. She’s a wife. I am a mother and we will soon be thirty. But I’m not sweating it. 29 has taught me enough lessons to ensure that 30 will be the new 20 and next year is going to be incredible.

Nana & Russell's traditional Ghanian wedding

More on the Saturn return see http://www.skygrooves.com/articles/saturn-return.html

Until next time

Jess

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

So, my 48 hour stint in New York got off to a less than glamorous start. I arrived at my cousin Julia’s Brooklyn apartment to find she wasn’t yet home from work. I spent 45 minutes curled up on my case and examining the abuse the ankle deep snow had already subjected on my Sergio Rossi boots. She finally arrived home from her new role as Editor of Jamrock magazine, and we barely caught up before I was fast asleep on the sofa bed.

Things improved substantially the next day when alongside the ‘Above and Beyond’ team, I had a brilliant meeting with Violater (the management company headed up by Chris Lighty and famed for securing multi million pound deals for the client roster which includes Puffy, 50 Cent and Macy Gray amongst others). It was clear that Lighty partially owes his success to the stellar team of strong, focussed women who head up the company. Women rock! I’m totally grateful God made me one, a life without 3 inch heels would be a grim existence indeed.

Me with 50cent and Akon. I was handling the PR for Medfest, a music festival in Cyprus and the two stars were headlining!

An evening meeting in a hotel by the Hudson ensued, and it was on the drive home that I made the fateful decision to buy a septic cheeseburger. It could have been the burger, it could have been the Bubba Gump shrimp I ate for lunch, but the next morning I was as sick as a dog.

Me outside Bubba Gump shrimp Co!

4 vomits later and I’d managed to get blow-dried and manicured up for my meeting with Kelly Ripa’s TV production company in Manhattan. They came across some Youtube footage of a talk I gave at the British Library and my appearance on ‘You’re Fired’ they were interested in developing a TV format for me.
Right after I’d done the last handshake I collapsed into a taxi, conscious that I had not bought Monet Vanessa Hudgen’s new album as promised. But my forehead was clammy now and everything became a blur. I even thought I saw Carrie Bradshaw and Charlotte waving to me from the doorway of Saks, and then I fell asleep.

“You arrive!” whispered the kindly Indian taxi cab dude; he’d been sweet enough to stop for some water for me in transit to Newark airport. He even kept smiling while I was distressed in the back of the taxi (got to the plastic bag too late). I had thought he might waive the $90 taxi fare for the vulnerable, lone, sick traveller, but no.

By the time I got to check in, I was in tears, feeling seriously sick and highly emotional. I just wanted to be picked up and carried on to the plane, but there was no-one to carry me. 4 hours later and I was spread eagled on the floor of departures, my New York blow-dry now tousled (not in a sexy bedroom way) and unkempt. Somebody called an ambulance, and the next thing I knew they were testing my blood sugar levels in the middle of the airport and running police checks (which I took offence to and wondered if the time Julia and I were arrested for hair pulling (each other) in the middle of Notting Hill Carnival fifteen years ago, would come up.)

This sort of crazy event is not uncommon in my life, madness is standard, and in fact normality would be surreal. I was made to sign a form which basically said if I died in the air it wasn’t their fault, I obliged and was on my way home. The journey as you can imagine, was perilous. I detected a distinct lack of TLC as I clung on to consciousness from my seat, images of my life flashing before me as a series of pictures (ok that bit isn’t true) and then we landed. My request for a wheelchair was denied but I managed to hail an airport buggy which was only carrying 3 elderly people. ‘The man’ picked me up, and I spent the day hooked up to a drip in St Mary’s hospital. My blood showed a simple virus and 2 days later I was modelling a gorgeous number for the Ghana Black Stars event at Porchester Hall.

Me modelling at the Black stars event!

A brilliant feature written by Joseph Harker of Guardian online, went live this week, about the lack of diversity in greeting cards on the high-street (aside from Colorblind cards: www.colorblindcards.com) I was quoted in the article and the last time I checked 161 people had commented! Several comments had been removed which means it was probably some NF supporters. I love that Colorblind provokes debate though, who was it that said: “It’s when they stop talking about you that you have to worry.”

Here is the link:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/20/mothers-day-race

At least this week I had a breakthrough with Clintons, the chain who stock Colorblind. There has long been an issue around the visibility of my range in their stores as they jostle for shelf space with the teddy bears. For some bizarre reason the stuffed toys reign supreme. So I have agreed to insert spinners into my top stores so that the discerning customer, who wants more than fur and ribbons, can actually find them.

I’m exhausted, but it’s been a brilliantly productive week. Next week I get to be styled by Ruki Garuba (super stylist to Keyshia Cole, Kelly Rowland, and Trevor Nelson) for my ‘Start your business Magazine’ cover shoot. It means I get to file Laboutins under business expenses.Genius-everybody should start a business!

GQ’s article on Turks and Caicos Prime Minister Michael Missick struck me as a little sensational. If you’re unfamiliar with the story, PM Mike has stepped down from his position amidst scandal around alleged dodgy deals and of course the widely reported divorce from Hollywood’s Lisa Raye. (Mike has been rumoured to have an affair with BET presenter Rocsi).

Having been invited out to Turks in November by Rich Kit Internationals Vanessa Emilien, my family  and I got to hang out with the PM. Mike invited us all over to his stunning pad complete with infinity pool and jet skis. He had a DJ and he was a totally fabulous, cigar smoking, hip hop pumping PM. I actually think Gordon could benefit from hanging with Mike, might relax him a little.

Wonderful; Sun, Sea and Champagne!

Me and Monet at Mike PM's house!

We had the most wonderful week and PM Mike had a boat take us to neighbouring island Parrot Cay where Monet spotted the resident dolphin, and we even saw the James Bond premiere on the island. Whatever the facts behind the reports, Mike sure knows how to throw a party!

Jessie From The Block

xxx

Hello Everyone!

I’ve succumbed. I’ve fought the rise of cyber space for too long and have finally recognized the need to embrace life online. So here it is Jessica Huie’s blog. It’s been an amazing year. No make that a fabulous decade, but it’s been no joy ride. So I’m going to briefly take it back before whizzing into the present.

My career started as a fluke. I was a junior working in a hairdresser on Westbourne Grove, London. Disillusioned with life and lacking aspiration and purpose I’d decided that cleaning skirting boards for a horrid Greek boss called Irkan, was bearable, but only because it enabled me to buy gaudy Moschino jeans (with the label left attached) at the end of each month.

An Italian diva called Connie Filippello saved me from a fate worse than blow-dryers. As I soaked Connie whilst attempting to wash her hair, she picked up on my failings in the barnacle department. “You are too intelligent to work here daaarhling; you should come and work for me.” With just the knowledge that Connie ran “an office” I trotted off to her Holland Park establishment to start work the next Monday, figuring filing had to be mildly more glamorous than sweeping up hair.

My first day at work was the day I discovered Connie was superstar publicist to George Michael, Mariah Carey and Versace. Talk about strike it lucky! I worked hard and Connie loved me, bar an incident where she flung a file across the office. “You are not in the hairdressers now!!” incandescent with rage at my messy handwriting.

My passion for the fast pace of this glamorous, wealthy wonderful world of entertainment which I’d had an insight into, ran deep. I was in love with the media and all its facets and suddenly life seemed full of possibilities.

Then I got pregnant, up the duff at seventeen. My mother called Connie and told her, but Connie was cool “I will support you” she said and she did. I continued to work for Connie right up until I was ready to pop, making the journey to her office each day a little less sure about the future. Then on 30th October 1998, my daughter was born. I named her Monet, totally apt considering the beautiful, incredible and spiritual work of art that she is.Living on the fifteenth floor of a tower block in Ladbroke Grove (which is now famous as it’s where they filmed Kidulthood, props to Noel Clarke) was depressing. I was one of many teen mums caged in the concrete hell.

Mariah and I!!!

I was broke, ill educated (4 GCSEs to be precise) and in my dad’s words “a statistic.” But Monet’s birth changed everything. Desperately unhappy with my situation I saw a councillor and her advice of “go back to college” changed my destiny. I often wish I could meet her again just to explain the massive impact those four words had on both mine and my daughter’s destiny.

Just goes to show what happens when somebody believes in you. The rest of society and even my family and closest friends had written my whole life off at the tender age of eighteen. Yet here was a stranger who perhaps felt I may have something more to give, even with a little baby in tow. Society makes me furious sometimes. The way it writes off a generation of a sector of society. Negative self-fulfilling prophecies preside over Britain and I hate it.

This is part of the reason I’ll be leaving Britain for America in the next two years. What is life without hope and dreams? Enterprise rules in the USA. Quite ironic that the Prime Minister Gordon Brown invited me to a round table debate on enterprise in Britain at No.10 Downing street. It was surreal, Peter Jones on one side and the head honcho from Glaxo Smithkline on the other. Considering my strong feelings about the topic I’m sad to admit that nerves got the better of me on this occasion (a rarity) and I don’t think I made much sense at all. Damn it. Gordon if you are reading please invite me back, I honestly have some pertinent points to make. I would also appreciate the opportunity to pose for a pic by the No.10 front door as I forgot my camera last time. I’m sure you understand the importance of this for ones photo album.

Gordon and I

The Prime Minister presented me with my Daily Mail ‘Enterprising young Brit’ award in November 2007. It was a totally AMAZING 48 hours as I’d picked up two awards ‘Entreprenuer of the Year’ and ‘Best Business’ at the Precious awards the night before.

Me at the Daily Mail ‘Enterprising young Brit’ awards

Me at the Precious awards

The Prime Minister presented me with my Daily Mail ‘Enterprising young Brit’ award in November 2007. It was a totally AMAZING 48 hours as I’d picked up two awards ‘Entreprenuer of the Year’ and ‘Best Business’ at the Precious awards the night before.

Anyway A-levels then University. Three years of hard graft and lots of tears (both mine and baby Monet’s) ensued. I worked seven days for 1095 days straight. Three days at uni, commuting 80 miles to Harlow College (where Piers Morgan and other national newspaper editors had also studied), a day was spent at Max Clifford Associates and another at Pride Magazine. I spent my weekends harassing customers selling shoes (and matching bags they didn’t want) at Russell & Bromley.

It paid off and I’ve had a ball of private jets, superstar interviews, business trips to Monte Carlo and St Tropez. I have genuinely lived it up for the last ten years. To all the haters who wrote me off, apologies for not accommodating your haterisms, it would have been far too easy.
To the person that wrote ‘Jessica looks like Michael Jackson and is never going to get a job’ on my locker in the fourth year, unemployment is paying beautifully these days lol!!!

Now you’ve got the history lets fast forward to 2009…

I’ve just got back from Jamaica where I decided to start this blog. I was out there with best friends Nana Fosu, MD of Fosuism http://www.fosuism.com/ and Julia Huie-Martin (Cousin, partner in crime and all round honey who now lives in New York) for the Air Jamaica Jazz Festival.

Nana, Julia and I

Lionel Richie was headlining and Estelle, Robin Thicke and Maxi Priest amongst others were also performing. Only trouble is we didn’t actually see much of the performances. This is because there weren’t any available chairs in the press area of the festival.

Lionel Richie and I‘Hello, is it me you’re looking for?’ I quizzed

I am a self confessed diva. I have spent years working for free in the name of work experience, survived on 3 hours sleep forever, and missed out on the whole emergence of garage music on the club scene in the pursuit of career success (and happiness). In short I’ve paid my dues, so I reserve the right to be a diva. It wasn’t just the lack of chairs that was the issue; Nana got glass wedged in her foot which also prevented me fulfilling my journalistic duties.

We had an amazing time though; I always do in Jamaica. I was last out there in June 2008 for Caribbean Fashion week which takes place each year in Kingston. I travelled out with the crème of London’s ethnic media, Shevelle of Pride mag, Janelle of The Voice etc, and it was fabulous.

The most fabulous thing is that Claudia Pegus designer extraordinaire asked me to model, and so at the grand old age of 28 I made my catwalk debut right after Nia Long. The adrenaline rush was totally AMAZING and akin to the childhood feeling of waiting in the wings of the many theatres I danced in as a youngster.

This year’s trip was spent hanging out at the Ritz Carlton where we stayed, learning to play golf (always handy for business meetings on the golf course lol) and generally regressing to the age of about fifteen before responsibility, pressure and motherhood kicked in.

Eve was there modelling her Fetish clothing line, as was Mashonda who’d allegedly just discovered her husband Swizz Beats was cheating on her with Alicia Keys.

Me and Nia Long at Carribean Fashion week!

Me before I did my catwalk strut! It was totally out of this world. Just wished Monet had been there as she’d have been consumed with pride at her hot mumma!

Eve and I

This year’s trip was spent hanging out at the Ritz Carlton where we stayed, learning to play golf (always handy for business meetings on the golf course lol) and generally regressing to the age of about fifteen before responsibility, pressure and motherhood kicked in.

We flew out to Jamaica two days after President Obama’s Inauguration. My company JH PR was handling the media for the event which was put on by Hill Davenport and was held at The Intercontinental Hotel, Park Lane- it was manic.

We flew the gorgeous Kelly Rowland in to perform and it was a seriously exhausting three weeks in the run-up to the event. Everyone from CNN, the BBC to London Tonight covered our event, it was a resounding success. Apart from a woman that complained about me “Can you explain why there is no goodie bag at my table?” she cussed. “Bad luck?” I responded. She didn’t see the humour and filed a complaint. I was consumed with regret. Not.

The Lovely Kelly and I

I try to get away as often as possible if I’m honest. Mainly because as I explained I find Britain limiting. There’s something about the sea that awakens the ambition that Britain sometimes quells in me. So I try and recreate that feeling as often as possible. Thankfully business takes me abroad often.

I’m digressing again. So it’s practically March already, I’ll be turning 29 on the 20th March which is officially the Vernal Equinox (First day of spring.) I finally resigned from Max Clifford Associates two weeks ago. For the past year I’ve been doing two days each week in an effort to retain the old safety blanket that has kept me supported for so many years.

Whilst lazing on a sun lounger in Montego Bay two weeks ago, I realized it was time to cut the safety net once and for all. I needed to get brave and steadfastedly move into the new phase of my life with confidence. I run two companies for goodness sake, it was long overdue.

I’ll always be grateful to Max. Like Connie he gave me an opportunity that I grasped with both hands, and I still have the card he gave me nine years ago which said “You are a credit to yourself, welcome to the MCA family” after two weeks work experience when I was still at university. I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Maximus. Don’t believe the hype. He rocks!

I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Maximus!

So here I am. This year is going to be huge on every level. I’m currently investigating merging JH PR with an exciting new company, so expect to fly to New York next week for meetings. I’m bursting to shout about it from the roof-tops but will have to hold my tongue until next week’s blog. Off to get Monet school shoes now, I’m starting to enjoy this blogging lark!

Jessie From The Block
xxx