We’ve found a village; tiny, windswept, balanced precariously on the downward slope of a Yorkshire valley. Nearly every house is ancient, with beautiful views, stone walls & wood burning stoves. There are two pubs, no shops, a tiny school and roe deer that roam free & turn up in your back garden in the
A little tug of war inside of me: I love simplicity and clean bright spaces, but I also love STUFF. Especially NEW STUFF and stuff that makes life easier and stuff that reminds me of nice things or people or places. So it’s a balancing act, requiring frequent purges & an occasionally ruthless heart.
Because it’s green there To have a fire & a garden & a stone kitchen floor So the chickens can roam free So Orla can go to a small village school & get an adorable Yorkshire accent Because it snows there instead of raining Because it rains there instead of being grey To see the
After much trial & error & a bit of invention, I think I’ve perfected it. My recipe is based on this one here, but with a few important changes. Ingredients: 10 tbsp salted butter, melted 1 cup caster sugar 1/2 cup dark brown sugar 1 tbsp good quality vanilla essence or almond extract 3
Sundays are for escaping the city & breathing fresh, green air. But first there is breakfast – lazy, always with plural cups of tea, all three of us at the table & The Archers omnibus in the background. Sometimes I make pancakes & we can’t eat them fast enough, so we take turns standing at
It’s not that I’m anti-pink per se… I guess I just don’t want O to grow up thinking it’s her only option. & besides, we already have a lot of pink. Everyone buys pink when you have a baby girl, & though I’d always planned to dress her in white & grey & brown
I have become a bit besotted with biscotti of late. In the hospital, on Boxing Day (a long story), I bought a crappy Americano & dunked a cellophane-wrapped biscotti, & it tasted like the best thing I’d ever eaten. Now I’m obsessed, trying to recreate it. How much almond to include? Vanilla or orange peel?
Goodbye 2013, with a quiet NYE; no champagne, no spangly dresses. Instead, the lights from the tree, a glass of something stronger, a sleeping infant in the darkness upstairs. 2014 will be better. We promised ourselves this last year, too, but now, a year wiser, I see that we did nothing to make that