I have loads of amazing memories of that year of Lola – partying, nights out at Movida, glasses of Cristal, VIP invitations, and properly getting over Mr Venezuela. I opened myself up to a whole brand new world – the Essex life. This was me changing and I loved it – hanging out with older people, getting my confidence back and generally finding myself.
But, Lola started to run a bit dry, and I’d run out of ideas about how to promote myself. However much I wanted to delay being in the real world, it was time to get grown up and sort out my bank balance because I was skint. I was driving around in a shitty old car and I couldn’t even afford to put £5 of petrol in it. It was time to face reality: I needed a job.
My mate Lauren was also in Lola, and she used to work at Nu Bar in Loughton, so she said she might be able to get me a job. It’s shut down now, but, back then when we were talking about it, Nu Bar was THE place to go. The owner was a guy called Adam – he knew everyone in the area. All the girls who worked there were considered proper sorts. It was in the best position on Loughton High Road, and every Friday, Saturday and Sunday it wasn’t just busy, it was packed. Adam had somehow got the mix just right – football on the screens, and later, DJs coming out to play. Loads of my mates ended up there anyway at weekends, so getting a job there seemed like a no-brainer.
Lauren took me to meet Adam’s mum, who helped manage the place, and she asked me straight away, ‘Do you want a shift? Are you free Saturday?’ I thought, ‘Shit, this is it.’ So I turned up on time, got through all the jobs I was given, and more importantly for me, got loads of attention from the boys there. I’d never had that before, through all my years of theatre school, and I thought, ‘Wow, I like this.’
I got more and more shifts at Nu Bar, and, when I wasn’t working, I’d end up going in there anyway, as I got to know so many people. It became my new world.
I’d been there a few months when I started talking to a cute pot boy. Let’s call him Mr Pinocchio – that’s short for Pinocchio, as he did like to tell a few porkie pies. The good news is, he became my official rebound and helped get me over Mr Venezuela. The bad news is, he was a little shit. And little, literally, as it turned out. I was eighteen by then, and Mr Pinocchio told me he was too. He’d actually just turned seventeen, but that was just one of his many porkies to me. He used to phone me and say he was calling from work, when actually he was still in sixth-form college. He told me the reason he didn’t have a car was because he’d written it off. He had a vivid imagination, I’ll give him that.
One day, about six months into our relationship, I was lying on his bed, and I spotted a school picture with the caption ‘Leavers’ Year’ but the dates were all wrong. I looked around his room more carefully, and there seemed to be suits lying around. But then I opened the door to his wardrobe, and all I could see were school books. I was fuming and also confused! I called him upstairs and asked him about the picture. He immediately started telling me a really detailed story about how his parents had pulled him out of school, MOVED TO SPAIN and then come back, so he’d gone down a school year. You have to credit the boy, he really could think on his feet.
We went out then to walk his dogs, and, out of the blue, he asked me, ‘If I was younger than you, would you still go out with me?’ He later admitted it. Also, my brother’s girlfriend Jordan had been at his school, so the truth soon came out.
We stayed together for another six months or so, but it was never going to work. I used to write him long lists, trying to make him change – a bit more of this, a bit less of that… basically trying to turn him into Mr Venezuela. Well, that was never going to work. So, sooner or later, another relationship went to shit.
After Mr Pinocchio and I broke up, I went into work and was chatting to a boy called Tom Pearce. He’d just joined the cast of TOWIE, and we knew loads of the same people. Just as Tom was taking my number, Mr Pinocchio appeared in front of us, saying, ‘You know we’re going out.’ Tom said, ‘Really? I’m not interested if you’ve got a boyfriend.’ He walked off and I ended up having a row with Mr P. ‘You’re ruining it for me,’ I shouted at him, and that was the end of things between us.
God, these stories sound so petty now, but at the time they seemed like a big deal. When I think back about that time, Mr Pinocchio was just too young and didn’t mean no harm. He’s a sweet boy, really.
No more broken hearts for me, I decided after that, and I would say it was at that point I officially became a party girl. I loved going to work in that place, chatting to all the customers, getting great tips, knowing everyone. The blokes who came in were terrible, cocky Essex boys, but we had such a laugh. If I wasn’t on shift, I was in there, still chatting, doing shots, throwing up in the loos. I loved every minute.
Tom and I went out a few times after that, but he messed me about a bit, he wasn’t in the mood for settling down. In the meantime, Lauren had a new boyfriend who had a big group of friends, and I soon got drawn into it. For the first time in my life, I was a member of the cool gang. The girls were nice, the boys were smooth and cocky, and then I came across the smoothest, cockiest one of them all.