Ha, you know you wish you were Carrie Bradshaw too. But here’s how it went:

This time 10 years ago I took my first journalism job in Shanghai. I went to China with the idea of doing a follow up on the Dying Rooms. It was unsuccessful – the orphanage had been moved to an Island off mainland China and it was heavily guarded. My computers got shut down and I had to check in with the police for a while. KO.

These days I edit content about Victoria Beckham’s style choices and Lady Gaga flashing her butt cheeks. I often wonder how I got here.

I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason but also that we choose our paths based on circumstances at the time of decision making. Back in the Big Smoke I was offered two highly incongruous jobs on the same day – one in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and one at a dance organization.

I sometimes wonder if in a parallel life, I’m now some kind of diplomat wearing power suits and dealing with foreign policy. But those days at The Place hold a very special place in my heart, and I’m glad I chose to be immersed within such a creative world.

And again, the day the I was offered my role at Sky I was also offered the position of Editor of an art magazine based in Chelsea, right around the corner from Christie’s and which also housed a newsroom for a yachting mag. In another universe, am I working with painters and art dealers and going to gallery openings every night?

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On this day last year:


12 November this year:

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Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

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This time last year I was off work and loving it. After a particularly hair-raising overnight stay at the Royal Free, I was advised complete bed rest. So, I took up knitting and watching daytime TV and was so overloaded with some kind of pregnancy chillax hormone that I positively basked in it. I knitted all day, and watched movies in the evening. Except I don’t think I ever saw the end of a film as I fell asleep every night at 8.30pm. Bliss.

This week, I’ve been back at work. And I have really enjoyed it. OK, so I might shed a little terry as I head off every morning, but getting back into the office and being invited to the Harry Potter Premiere, the Xmas launch at Harvey Nics and an on-set visit and interview with Will Young has all been quite fun. I know in the early days of Babydom I thought I’d never want to return to this, but to do it 3 days a week will be orright, I rex.

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This time last year I used to sing “hips so wide” to the tune of Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. I couldn’t sleep due to the unbearable weight making my sternum feel like it was going to crack – really annoying as all everyone kept saying was “ooooh, make sure you get your sleep in now!” with knowing winks, that I totally didn’t get at the time. I was kicked pretty hard (no wonder The Midge was walking at 10 months, what with all the womb-house karate practice), and a tiny little upside down bottom pushing up into my diaphragm meant I had to crawl around on all fours after dinner, to create space.

Today, the two of us spent the afternoon dancing around to Russian Folk music in Russell Square for the Bloomsbury festival. We ate vegetable fritters together, made funny faces at strangers and laughed at nothing.

Tonight before bed, she held out those arms that last year were just bony little elbows poking my insides, put them around my neck and gave me a big hug.

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By Katie Colombus

We’ve just got back from our first holiday as a family of three in Skye.

This time last year The Kiwi and I were on our way home from our Babymoon in Cornwall.

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This time last year I was 31 weeks pregnant and undergoing vigorous hospital checks for pre-eclampsia. I was practically part of the furniture at the Royal Free’s maternity day assesment unit.

Today, I have a healthy baby who is almost one year old, has five teeth, has taken her first steps and will only eat from a fork.

Mental.

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This weekend last year there was NOTHING in my diary.

Lo and behold, on Friday night, I went out… of my flat… with friends, to an actual, social event.

There were real life people there! I drank a beer! Take that, me of last year. In your face. (My face… erm…)

Anyways, contrary to the boring mc-snoringness of my ’09 empty moleskine page (at 31 weeks pregnant, I probably spent the evening like a beached whale on the sofa watching the tellybox) , I put my heels on and got me down to the Good Mixer for The Millstain’s birthday.

Well if you’re going to go out, you might as well do it in one of the filthiest places in the Big Smoke.

But I am happy to report that it didn’t smell like vomit quite as much as it used to. Also, seems I’m not the only one that’s changed. Amy Winehouse’s new boobs are really quite nice in the flesh.

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By Katie Colombus

OK so I’m veering somewhat from the 1 year ago rule, but thought this was worth adding. We recently attended the 75th anniversary celebrations at the De La Warr Pavilion in the whirling metropolis of Bexhill, home to Nanny Babs and Big Tel the Merciful.

They re-created an iconic picture that was printed in the Daily Mirror in 1936:

And guess who had a starring role? Check out the Mini Moon-Pig and her Nanny in the modern day version:

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By Katie Colombus

Last year, a bad day mainly revolved around not hitting a million unique users on the Sky Showbiz website, or not having enough news content (how rude of Britney to not have another meltdown! How boring of Posh to stay with her husband! How outrageous of Paris to not get off her face and puke in a gutter!).

A bad day these days begins with a 5.30am wake up call – a wail, not a chirrup – and entering Il Babbino’s room to find it reeking like an open sewer.

It is tripping over The Kiwi’s bike in pursuit of a fresh nappy, getting KR’s babushka door stop covered in bike grease and smashing a new picture frame in the fall.

It is giving KR porridge that ends up in her hair, up her nose and on the walls.

On a bad day, I give her some bum-airing time, where she wafts around sans nappy, immediately poos on the floor, tries to put her hands in it, and then busts out of her Bumbo when I’m trying to damage control the scene.

Or having 99% success in face-catching a standy-uppy, but failing in the 1% when she headbuts the floor.

And yet for all the hard stuff there is SO MUCH good. Stuff that is hard to write about without sounding like a smug w@nker – stuff that would give The Kiwi more ammo when he says maternity leave is like a year-long holiday.

My bad days these days seem better than my good days in the olden days.

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