(if you don’t see the image sliders here, give it a moment to load 🙂 ) Living room. I feel like the images speak for themselves here – less is more, white makes spaces bigger and brighter, burgundy… doesn’t really. The handrail by the stairs at the back needs to go next, and the awful ceiling
No, not a handy guide for the new orange leader of the free world – though Lord knows he could probably use it. One of the most common questions I get about my interiors, other than ‘where is your bed from?’ (It was custom-built in the house before we bought it, I’m afraid. I just
I’m pretty sure I’ve peaked. Given how shitty 2016 has been for the majority of folks, it seems wise to get this post down now while the positives still hold some glitter. I’m guaranteed an awful 2017 by the law of averages, I reckon. As I mentioned a few weeks back, 2016 has been kind
This is the post that google did not deliver. I searched for it over and over again : stores like COS, minimalist fashion online – but only ever seemed to hit the same three or four results. First up: when I say minimalist here I’m referring to the style and aesthetic, rather than the lifestyle
Europe, I love you. I love Venice in October when the sun is low over the cold lagoon. I love the fantasyof living over Shakespeare Co, earning my keep by selling dusty old books in the morning light of the Marais. I’ve been to the States and loved it, but Europe is something magical, and it’s
Europe, I love you. I love Venice in October when the sun is low over the cold lagoon. I love the fantasyof living over Shakespeare Co, earning my keep by selling dusty old books in the morning light of the Marais. I’ve been to the States and loved it, but Europe is something magical, and it’s
Pink is the colour of my little girl’s happiness; Pink is the colour of her princess dress. Pink is the colour of the ’95 champagne that’s chilling in my fridge. As a mum to a 3-year-old girl, I fight a constant, quiet battle to keep the level of pink in our lives to a sensible
Did I mention I’ve been sick? I’VE BEEN SICK, YOU GUYS, and it was really, really bad. Orla had it first – ten long days of fever and sleeplessness that ended in a visit to the doctors and a bottle of sticky sweet orange antibiotic syrup. Just as she began to emerge from it, I
I’m sat, typing away, when the cafe door bangs open and a stocky man with a booming voice strides in. He’s shouting at me. ‘Who are you in my cafe?’ He has wide set eyes and his hands are balled into fists. He must be over 6 foot tall. I think about how scary this