All posts filed under: Life

18 June

It began in January. An idea that bubbled up on a murky weekday evening and refused to go away. Dom and I were driving through town, talking about hot Italian summers and the trappings of a 9-5 job, when we came to it. “Why don’t we just leave it all? Move abroad, write for a living”, I half joked. Dom was silent for a while. “Ok.” Then we went into the supermarket and schemed, with trepidation at first, like two people planning what they’d buy with a winning lottery ticket. We’d get a van, we told ourselves. Then we’d spend the summer in Europe – oh, could we get a dog? – yes, alright. We’d spend half our time writing, the other half eating, travelling, living. Over the next few weeks, the idea morphed, and as it did it became a real thing. Instead of the van we decided to rent an apartment for the winter in Sicily. And in the spring we’d travel to Japan, Canada, New Zealand. All the places we’d wanted to Read More

December 21

In the days since we last spoke I’ve taken my last trip to London for the year. I’ve also eaten all the mince pies and decided that in the New Year I will be a svelte fitness queen. I’ve written my Christmas cards while listening to carols from King’s. I’ve come down with a wretched cold. I haven’t done my tax return yet. I’ve driven – or rather Dom’s driven – to Cheshire, and we’ve wandered through the dark cloisters of Chester cathedral. I’ve explored the city walls, heavy with fog, silent except for the rush of the weir. I’ve waited, with family, for a 9pm table reservation at the Chef’s Table. A tiny restaurant, tucked away in the old alleys of Chester – enough room for 24. The food unbelievably good. Marinated quail, served with clementine, chicory and spiced nuts. Then a Christmas dinner of duck – duck breast, duck stuffing, duck sausages. And yes, I’ve put down my knife and fork every so often and sighed. And all that, (minus the tax return, and the cold), is Read More

December 13

We live in a three-bedroom house, Dom and I. But honestly, two people have no need for that many rooms. It’s a perk, having an ironing room and a big study, but it’s not essential. Especially not when you’re living in rural Northamptonshire, with far fewer risks of house parties and zero chance of friends popping round for a cuppa. But still, we have a three bedroomed house with its own downstairs loo. We’ve filled our home with mismatching furniture, cushions and fairy lights and it is, to all intents and purposes, as cosy as could be. But there is one thing missing – I’ve only realised it now – and that thing is people. On Friday we welcomed eight friends through our door. They came bearing gifts of wine, sticky toffee pudding and mountains of bedding. We stayed up until the wee hours, eating cheese and drinking champagne. Then when it was finally time to go to bed, two couples slept in the living room beside the twinkling Christmas tree. Our house wasn’t so Read More