24 Jul 2024

Musings On 2.5 Years Of Motherhood

Motherhood

The end of June saw Alfie turn 2 and half years old. Mad to think we will have a 3-year-old come Christmas. I started jotting down a few random thoughts on things I have learned in the last two and a half years in the notes app on my phone, not with any intention of sharing. But then it grew and spilled out and I thought, ah sod it, let’s share. 

Stay-at-home parenting (which is done predominantly by mums) should be recognised as work. Unpaid work admittedly but that, in my opinion, is all the more reason to recognise it. Full time stay-at-home parents are friggin’ superheroes. I am a stay-at-home mum two days a week and it is by far the hardest job I have ever had. All jobs are different, I fully recognise that, but my working days are a peaceful delight in comparison to my solo parenting days. I get a lunch break, don’t have to concentrate on keeping someone alive and my boss doesn’t insist on coming to the bathroom with me and handing me toilet paper whilst shouting “BYE WEE!”.  

Plenty of people warned me that I may struggle with a different body shape post-birth. Absolutely no one warned me how, 2.5 years after giving birth, I’d look in the mirror and see stupid tufts of hair sticking out the top of my head and want to scream. Post-partum hair regrowth is SO ANNOYING. 

I have never felt as low and empty as I did when in the depths of sleep deprivation. It is no joke. That hollow-eyed, milk-soaked time was a wild ride. 

Emotional parenting advice is always relevant no matter when someone had their baby. Practical parenting advice from someone who had their children more than five years ago is probably going to be outdated. 

Parenting is hard but people will find different stages hard. I know plenty of people who thought the baby stage was great and then wondered what the hell happened when a toddler delinquent was unleased on their household. I personally would take a toddler any day of the week. I get more sleep, don’t have him hanging off my boobs and can leave him with other people. I mean, sure, he is a dictator. But a very funny one. Essentially, no experience is the same. You cannot judge what someone struggles with and what someone doesn’t because your experiences are so different. Babies are the same in that they are babies. Otherwise, their personalities, sleep habits and eating preferences vary just as much as adults. 

Solidarity to the other parents whose child will only nap in their buggy. I see you walking up and down the streets, praying they’ll drop off soon so you can leg it home and collapse on the sofa for just a moment. 

A supportive, kind NCT group is worth their weight in gold. There is no way I would have survived the first year if I hadn’t been able to go for coffee with a lovely bunch of women who never judged. 

I loathe to lean into stereotypes, but in my experience, parents of boys spend a lot more time running. And their house décor is now vehicle-toy-chic. Please encourage them to sit down and do not bring round another sodding toy tractor for the love of god. 

The powers that be only putting baby changing facilities in women’s toilets is so irritating and says everything we need to know about where they think the responsibility of parenting lies. 

Friendships do change when you have a child and it can be hard to get your head round. You have so much less time, have to balance so much to make it work and your daily lives are dictated by meals, naps and bedtimes. You’re also bloody knackered by 8pm. If friends don’t live nearby, the level of planning involved can feel on the same level as invading another country. All of which can be further complicated by the fact that your life just suddenly feels so different to those of your childfree friends and trying to explain why suggested plans won’t work around the ridiculous palaver that is having a young child can make you feel like you’re being a royal pain in the arse. It’s not impossible to maintain friendships but it’s bloody hard work and not being able to see my friends on the regular is my least favourite thing about parenting. 

It is almost guaranteed that at some point, an old lady will tell you to appreciate every moment. Usually in a supermarket. Usually when you are in no mood to be told to appreciate every moment. 

If you see a parent in the street shouting/looking at their phone/looking incredibly fed up or just generally not being this 100%-perfect-100%-of-the-time parent we are all expected to be, please, PLEASE challenge your own automatic judgements. You are witnessing a split second in that person’s 24-hour day. You have no idea what that day is looking like, no idea what they are trying to juggle, no idea what pressure they are under. You have no right to judge them. Also, if they’re parenting a toddler, they are probably a great parent and their child is probably being an unreasonable arsehole.
  
There is a trend online right now that aims to shame parents who don’t have their child’s car seat facing backwards until the child is about 6. I cannot emphasise enough how much this trend infuriates me. I don’t care what anyone’s choice is, but I cannot stand the act of shaming other parents and I am willing to bet a significant amount of money that these smug people have never experienced their toddler screaming in distress for three hours straight or vomiting everywhere due to travel sickness. And to suggest that the parents who have experienced this and made the decision to face their child forward after the legal requirement has ended, care less about their child’s safety than other parents is just not okay.   

Everyone is a perfect parent before they actually have children. We would all do well to remember that.
 
Toddlers are the funniest, most unreasonable, wholesome, infuriating creatures I have ever come across. 

Sometimes you have to accept where your thresholds are, even if they are different to how you imagined they’d be. I really thought we would travel so much more with Alfie but 2.5 years in, the idea of locking ourselves in a metal tube in the sky with him still feels about as tempting as sleeping with one of his dirty nappies under my pillow. 

If you want a good relationship with someone’s child, be it a friend or family member (I don’t suggest approaching random children in the street and trying to be friends), you have to make the effort. It is highly unlikely that a parent is going to turn you down if you ask to come spend time with their child. But it is not their job to make it happen and they likely won’t want to feel like they are pushing their child upon you. Don’t be overly hesitant, you’re not intruding. 

Another online trend I’ve noticed recently – posting a list of ‘parenting non-negotiables’. I recently saw one that included a ‘non-negotiable’ that their child is asleep by 7pm so they have an evening. Same mate, same. Trouble is, my toddler’s ‘non-negotiable’ is that that he goes to sleep at 9pm. No prizes for guessing who is currently winning that argument. If my child has taught me one thing it is that assuming you have control over their sleep patterns is a guaranteed path into madness. A baby or toddler does not understand nor has nature programmed them to sleep through the night or go to bed at a time that suits you. Just because someone else’s child does, does not mean you are doing something wrong. You. Are. Not. Doing. Anything. Wrong. This is the hill I am very much prepared to die on. 

It does not matter if you aren’t good at crafts, curdle inside when they start singing at parent groups, don’t make courgette muffins for your child or want to scream when you enter the playground for the eighteenth time that week. This has no reflection on whether you are raising your child well or not. 

There are just some things you can’t truly understand until you have experienced it, until you have been knee-deep in the mustard-coloured-poo-covered trenches. And that’s okay.

It is impossible to have a tidy house if you have kids and I refuse to believe otherwise. 

It can feel counter-intuitive and society will make you feel like a bad parent, but in order to be good parents, it is VITAL that you have time to yourself and time together as a couple (if you have the means, which I recognise some do not). It is cliché, but you really cannot pour from an empty cup. Your child needs happy, loving parents. You cannot be that if you don’t have some time to yourself or invest any time into your relationship. Take that time, schedule that time; do both unapologetically. 

There is no better sound than a small human proper belly laughing. 

My child refuses to eat fruit and vegetables. Just in case you need reassurance that it’s not just you. 

Having old friends who just happen to have a baby at the same time as you has absolutely no downsides. I’m not saying try and time your pregnancies together but it is so great to know that someone you have been friends with for yonks is right there in it with you.

Dads will be praised for taking care of their child’s basic needs like they have just run a marathon. It is not an achievement for a man to look after his own child and it would be nice if we could up our standards of men. 

Young children love repetition and the joy of the small. They really are just as happy running around the park or watching aeroplanes in the sky as they would be on an expensive day out/holiday. Don’t put unnecessary pressure on yourself for the sake of ‘making memories’. 

If you have a spare second at any point in your day, write down a nice moment that happened, or something funny your child said, or a memory that you don’t want to forget. You’ll be surprised how each day has at least one special moment. And you will forget them amongst the chaos. All the hard work and tantrums and exhaustion are much easier to remember. You don’t wanna forget how long and perfect their eyelashes were or when they came up you and gave you a toothy, slobbery kiss completely unprompted. 

It’s just a phase, it’s just a phase, it’s just a phase. 

Wise words from my mum: if you are good parent 80% of the time and a shit parent 20% of the time, you are a good parent. No one is perfect. Chances are you’re a good parent 95% of the time and shit parent 5% of the time. Cut yourself some slack. 

The days are long, but the years are short has never been a truer sentence. 


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30 Jun 2024

An Anniversary Weekend at The Pig



A statement I find hard to believe is true: it’s been five years since we got married. Ooof and what a five years. Honeymoon trip around America, buying a house, moving to a new area (those three all within the same five week period) pandemic, lockdowns, pregnancy, becoming parents to a sleepless child; I’m not sure there’s been much time for ‘wedded bliss’ or normality. But, hey, we have made it through still wanting to be married to each other and we were going to celebrate that. Just us two. AWAY FROM THE OFFSPRING. 

Forty-eight hours just us, temporarily living our absolute best lives at the luxurious Pig hotel, down in Kent. It was perfect. 

The Pig hotels have been on my bucket list for a long time now. If you’re unfamiliar, they are a small collection of hotels dotted about the country with an emphasis on local, homegrown food, comfort and indulgence. They are not cheap but damn, you get what you pay for. 

We headed to the Kent hotel, just outside of Canterbury, purely because it was the closest to us. I would have loved to have gone to the Dorset one which is basically on the beach, but this was the longest we had ever left Alfie so we a) wanted to make the most of the time and b) not be a four-hour drive away, just in case. (Ironically, we got stuck in hideous traffic on the way down and it took us four hours anyway but that obviously was not part of the plan.) 

An old school country manor house, beautifully decorated with woods and velvets and rich, moody colours, and full of lots of nooks and crannies. Absolutely nothing about it felt like a hotel. More like a collection of very cosy snugs where you could properly relax. Imagine a very rich person had invited you to come stay for the weekend and was a really extravagant host who would have been mortified if you were even momentarily peckish. The staff gave you the impression that you were joining them for the weekend; they seemed relaxed and chatty and yet never missed a detail. I’m always interested with how things work behind the scenes and found it fascinating to experience a team working so cohesively. Just little things like being wished happy anniversary casually by more than one person, as though they know you, and the realisation of the organisation that must go behind such small details to make you feel like you’re having a truly special experience. 

We stayed in one of their comfy luxe rooms with standalone bath, sage green panelled walls and beautiful countryside views. The team had also provided a card wishing us happy anniversary, freshly baked cookies and a beautiful wooden decoration with a ‘G & K’ carved into it. Such a lovely touch.

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent

We’d arrived two hours later than planned, so had a very quick freshen up and then headed to the bar area which, at a guess, I’d have said was the drawing room once upon a time. There was an open fire, squashy sofas and mismatched chairs. I cannot emphasise enough how little it felt like you were in a bar or hotel, and more like you were in someone’s home. Gary had a local beer, I had a local wine and I kept squealing at how nice it all was. You know I did not play any of this cool. 


We had dinner reservations in the restaurant and, of course, the food was what I was most excited about. The restaurant was airier than the rest of the house, with large glass windows overlooking the gardens and grounds, and an open kitchen where you could see the chefs doing their thing in a way that felt homely. The connection to the kitchen garden seeped through in every aspect, from the shelves lined with huge jars of pickled goods, to the plant pots on the tables with real food growing in them (we had a brussels sprout plant). There was lots of greenery, wooden crates serving as furniture decor and a number of giant squashes in one corner. 

The Pig famously promises that at least 80% of the menu will be from within a 25 mile radius, meaning the menu can change daily. There’s even a map on the back of the menu, showing all their local suppliers and how far away they are. Even the small amount who were over 25 miles away were often only just; 27 miles for example. I also liked how the coasters and napkin rings were made out of old menus so even though new menus were being printed all the time, they were finding ways to re-use the paper. 

We began with a few ‘bits’ – wild garlic & pea houmous and honey & mustard chipolatas. Served alongside fresh sourdough, sprinkled with herb oil and smoked salt. A part of me could have just kept eating that sourdough and smoked salt, not going to lie. Starters were chargrilled ‘0 mile’ mushrooms with watercress and pickled rhubarb for Gary and boltardy beetroot with goat’s cheese and pumpkin seeds for me. Gary had the Tamworth pork loin for main, and I had the Broxhall Farm beef rump with peppercorn sauce. Not one single bite disappointed. Everything was delicious. I had been eyeing up the rice pudding for dessert (I can’t not order rice pudding if it's on the menu) but they had sadly run out by the time we got round the ordering. Gary joked to the waiter how I’d been looking forward to it all meal and within three minutes one of the managers came over and promised to reserve one for me tomorrow. How bloody lovely this place was. So, dessert was the strawberry blancmange with strawberries and oat crumble, and Gary went for the lemon balm choc ice with rhubarb. And, hey, that blancmange was exquisite. 

Afterwards, we rolled to bed and lay down to digest for the night before coming back for more.
  

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent


Guys. *Lies down dramatically*. The breakfast table. I have never had a hotel breakfast as nice as this. Two huge tables, full to the brim of delights. Freshly baked sourdough, fresh, sugary cinnamon cruffins from a local bakery, The Pig’s own harvested honey, poached apricots, chunky fruit and nut granola (my personal highlight, can’t stop thinking about it), freshly baked carrot & poppy seed muffins and fig & walnut energy bars, gooseberry compote, earl grey prunes, yoghurts – both diary & vegan, aallll the preserves, hams, cheeses, an egg boiling station… and that’s what I can remember. It was breakfast heaven. 

When my belly resembled that of Winnie the Pooh, I headed off to The Potting Shed for my spa treatment. Cosy wooden rooms (fully heated), out in the gardens where you can lie on a heated massage table and try not to fall asleep. I had the ‘Upper Body Unwind’, which involved a back exfoliation, back, arm and hand massage followed by a facial and scalp massage. Dreamy. When I returned with a shiny face and oily hair, I found Gary in a comfy corner, fresh coffee beside him, reading the paper and looking like a man who was actually relaxed. 

Heaven forbid we should actually get hungry, so after a quick hop in the waterfall shower to de-oil myself, we decided to have lunch in the garden restaurant where you can sit in the heart of the walled kitchen garden and munch on flatbreads made on the wood-fired oven. Something special to be sat eating a mozzarella and spring onion flatbread and be sat right next to the spot where the spring onions were still in the ground that morning. We had a gentle explore of the garden; it was so interesting to see all the food they were growing. Amazing how much more interested in gardening I become when it’s all about food. 

And then, quite frankly, we spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. Shoes were off, someone brought me a hot chocolate and I had a whole two uninterrupted hours to read my book. The only reason I got up was because it was time, of course, for complimentary cake hour. Remember when going on holiday used to involve happy hour at the bar? I can absolutely confirm that this is much better. Honestly, I bloody love being in my thirties. 

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent


After languishing in the large bath in our room (me) and lying on the bed listening to a podcast (Gary), we leisurely had another drink in the bar before going for dinner round two. We were very full the night before so decided to just stick with the ‘bits’ for starters this time. Three courses instead of four, gotta think of the waistline you know…. 


The menu had changed since the night before with additions such as ‘Folkstone market lion of Monkfish’ and I loved the idea that someone had popped to the market that morning. We want back in for the wild garlic & pea houmous along with crispy chard stalks (seen growing in the garden that afternoon) and hock eggs. I think I could have quite happily had a whole meal of these little plates; they were all so good and it felt like a great way of trying as much of the produce as possible. For main, Gary went for the monkfish and I had the hand rolled ricotta ravioli with sage butter. I got my rice pudding for dessert (served with homemade jam), and Gary tried the chocolate mousse, piled high in a lovely-looking moussey heap on a china plate. 

After-dinner drinks was, not going to lie, a cup of tea in the bar and then it was back to bed with my book. 

Sadly, parenting duties called in the morning so after indulging in the breakfast table again, sneakily taking a photo of the granola recipe in The Pig’s book (family members note – Christmas present idea for Kate), one last look around the kitchen garden and buying a jar of The Pig’s own honey, we were heading back home to our baby. Within a couple of hours, we were back changing nappies, playing with tractors and dealing with tantrums. I had missed him, but it was nice to escape reality, just for a little bit. Now, someone help me persuade Gary that we absolutely can afford to make this an annual trip… 

The Pig, Kent

The Pig, Kent
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23 Jun 2024

One Minute Book Reviews: Spring Reads

Spring books

It's that time again. Spring passed in a rain-filled haze but hey, there were some good books. Let's delve in. 

Slug by Hollie McNish 

Not sure why it’s taken me so long to read this as I love Hollie McNish but it was definitely worth the wait. A gorgeous mix of poetry, essays and short stories all loosely based on the things we have been told to hate. I think everything Hollie says is just spot on, and so funny. I loved this. 5/5

Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead

An expansive novel that weaves together the lives of a 1950s vanished female aviator and a modern-day Hollywood starlet. This novel is a journey. We follow Marian’s entire life, and that of her twin brother Jamie, in incredible amounts of detail (several chapters are devoted to the story of her parents, before she’s even born). From her wild child days growing up in prohibition America to the glamour of wartime London, Marian is consumed by flight. Having become one of the most fearless flyers of her time, she sets out to be the first person to circumnavigate the globe from pole to pole. Half a century later, troubled actress Hadley Baxter is offered to play Marian in a film about her life which will lead her down a path of unexpected discovery. I can’t possibly unpick everything about this book in such a short review, but I found it extraordinary. I can see why it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. I’ll be honest, there were times where I flagged. It is long and extremely detailed. But by the end, I was so in awe of it, it couldn’t be anything other than five stars. 5/5

Lobster by Hollie McNish 

The companion piece to Slug, another brilliant collection of poems and essays around the theme of things we have been taught to hate and need to learn to love again. I gotta say, if you don’t consider yourself a poetry person, do check out Hollie McNish. I’m not big on poetry but her stuff is very readable and very funny/heartwarming. 4/5 

You Are Here by David Nicholls

A lovely, gentle story, beautifully written with such spot-on details. Marnie is stuck working alone in her London flat, often feeling like life is passing her by. Michael is reeling from his wife’s departure, taking himself on long walks across the moors and becoming increasingly reclusive. When a mutual friend and the English weather conspire to bring them together, they suddenly find themselves alone on an epic walk across the country. It could have been very formulaic, but this is David Nicholls so it’s brilliant. The witty, sharp dialogue is a particular highlight, as is the setting of the wild and bleak British countryside. 5/5

Funny Story by Emily Henry 

When Daphne’s fiancé leaves her for his childhood best friend just weeks before their wedding, she accidentally ends up rooming with the only person who could understand her situation: her ex-fiancé’s new fiancé’s ex-boyfriend. They are total opposites but united in their shared grief and after one tequila-fuelled evening, they form a plan which may or may not involve posting deliberately misleading photos of their adventures together. But their new ‘relationship’ is just an act of course…

This was my second Emily Henry novel and I’m learning that they are a lot of fun. Loveable characters, excellent banter, gorgeous summer rom-com settings. Basically, the perfect fun read. 4/5

The Lifeline by Libby Page

This novel can be read as a standalone story, but is technically a follow-up to the The Lido, Libby Page’s first novel which I really enjoyed. We re-join Kate five years later, now living in Somerset with a new baby and struggling with new motherhood. Living in the same town is Pheobe, a community mental health nurse, recently dumped and struggling with the demanding pressures of her job. They both discover their local wild swimming group and it kickstarts a journey to recovery for both of them. Libby Page’s novels are described as ‘hot buttered tea-and-toast’ fiction and I pick them up when that’s what I’m in the mood for. Even so, there was something about this one that felt a little too ‘twee’ for me, but it was gently enjoyable nonetheless. In particular, I thought the descriptions of early motherhood were written with the honesty only someone who has been through it could have and I think it could be very reassuring for a lot of people. 3/5 

The Mars House by Natasha Pulley

Within the first three pages of this book, the entire city of London floods and I thought, buckle up lads, this is gonna be a good’un. January Stirling is a climate refugee, shipped to Tharsis, the terraformed colony on Mars, after his city finally gives way to rising water levels. He goes from being a principle of the Royal Ballet to a second-class factory worker, unable to gain citizenship. As an ‘Earthstronger’, a person whose body is not adjusted to the lower gravity, he poses a physical threat to those born on, or naturalised to, Mars. When Aubrey Gale, a controversial politician who believes all Earthstrongers should be forced to naturalise – a process that is disabling and sometimes deadly – chooses January for an on-the-spot press interview at a factory visit, it lands January in prison and Aubrey in the middle of a media storm ahead of the election. A made-for-the-press arranged marriage is proposed as a solution to January’s citizenship and Gale’s political success, kickstarting a story about politics, refugees, old mysteries and love across class divisions. Something I thought was done particularly well was that the character of Aubrey, and all those born on Mars, are gender neutral and it’s totally irrelevant to how well you can visualise (and fall in love with) the characters. It was a lesson in challenging your own subconscious bias and I liked it. I also loved how the (slightly terrifying) environment, politics and technology of the future felt very plausible. The plot was a little loose so perhaps not everyone’s cup of tea, but I loved the world building and the gentle love story and would have happily meandered along in that world for another 400 pages. 4.5/5

Happy reading folks x 

 

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13 Jun 2024

May Journal | Surviving or Thriving

May journal

 I had this moment in May, where I thought that I might actually be ‘thriving’ (as the Instagram kids say) instead of just ‘surviving’ for the first time in, ooo, about four years. 

A lot of the time, parenting a small child can feel like simply surviving. I never feel on top of anything; my standards for what is generally acceptable are a lot lower these days. Is my child alive? Excellent, we’re not doing too bad here lads; is the approach I am going for. 

(Except I’m not, not really. That’s what I tell myself but I really would like my child to also be in beautifully clean matching outfits from independent brands, playing with wooden toys, eating kale etc. But he’s actually wearing a second-hand Next t-shirt with marks on it, playing with his plastic tractor, shovelling pasta in his mouth and physically recoiling from me should I happen to put a vegetable in his vicinity. Hence why I’m going for the low standards approach.) 

But in that moment, the sun was shining, I felt positive about work for the first time in ages – the dramas finally over – Alfie was being very cute, I was actually being a half decent, super patient mother and I thought, hey look at us! 

Naturally, that afternoon, Alfie came down with the chicken pox. It was like the universe was saying, nah ah hun, don’t go getting too big for your boots. My thriving moment was gone and we were juggling childcare, spot counting and waterboarding the poor kid with Piriton for the best part of a week. 

But then, miraculously, he was better in time for our five-year wedding anniversary and we were able to go away childfree for 48 hours and live our best life in a luxury hotel. 

Feels like I’m getting whiplash as we ricochet between the highs and lows over here.* 


Moments 

The glorious sunny weather at the beginning of the month, blue skies and the smell of suncream. Was that the extent of summer or…? 

Sat down by the trainline watching the ‘choo choos’, tractors and ‘hows’ (Alfie’s word for cows). 

Alfie insisting on watering the garden every day. 

The roses in our garden bursting into bloom. 

Fresh asparagus on the table, growing in my garden half an hour previously.

Baking with Alfie. 

A London wedding, complete with London bus, doughnut tower, quizzes and really nice people. 

Out early on a Saturday morning, eating pastries on a bench by the cathedral. 

It’s peony season people! 

My sister’s birthday meal. 

Wedding cake baking practicing. 

Re-watching our wedding speeches for the first time in five years. 

A double rainbow.


*A caveat that this is obviously all tongue in cheek and I know we are so very lucky. I found this to be a useful article about charities having an impact on the ground in Gaza if you’re looking to donate somewhere meaningful.


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23 May 2024

Three Low-Key London Hen Do Ideas

London hen do

Basically, for the last few months, a job interview and a hen do have been taking up most of my headspace. I don’t have much else to talk about. And I assume you’re not that bothered about hearing about my interview prep? 

My sister is getting married in the near future, and when she asked me to organise her hen do, the brief was essentially – one afternoon/evening, central London, low key, not too expensive. My final plan was: three activities in the afternoon and then dinner & drinks in the evening. 

We had a mix of people, and I am loathe to force people out of their comfort zones or push too much organised ‘fun’ because I have been there, done that and did not enjoy the t-shirt. (Just to give you an idea of how low my tolerance is, my blood runs cold when someone suggests we play a board game, much to the exasperation of some of my friends.) So, making sure my sister had the best time and appealing to everyone else as much as possible were my main priorities. Here’s what we got up to:

Afternoon Tea @ Brigit’s Bakery, Covent Garden 

I gotta say, I had medium expectations for Brigit’s Bakery and found myself happily surprised. My main reason for settling on this spot for afternoon tea was it was the only place I found that ticked all my criteria: central location, decent vegan options and a private space that did not cost a fortune (it actually didn’t cost anything extra in fact, we just had to pay a 50% deposit up front). I was a little worried it was going to be too touristy – one of their main attractions is that they do afternoon tea tours on London buses – but their main bakery only really hints at this. Our private space was tucked away downstairs, simple but cosy, and allowed us to have our own area so I could decorate the table with funny photos of my sister (she did not thank me for this) and play a couple of bridal-themed quizzes (I was not expecting the levels of competitiveness that emerged!) without disturbing anyone else. 

Also, I was pretty impressed with the food itself. I have had a lot of overpriced and disappointing afternoon teas in recent years; the amount of places that serve you two dry sandwiches, two boring cakes and then, weirdly, about five scones and then charge you half your monthly wage for the privilege…  but anyway, that’s a rant for another day. The point is, this wasn’t like that at all. It was tasty and interesting and actually had some variety. I liked that there was more savoury options than the usual cucumber sandwich, including a salmon pretzel roll, mini quiche and a feta & red pepper muffin. Sweets included a Biscoff choux, chocolate & pistachio tart and lemon sable. Also, the scone came out as a separate course and was the perfect little size after eating all the above. It was just all really good. 


London hen do

London hen do

London hen do

London hen do

London hen do


Candle Making Workshop @ Yougi, Shoreditch 

This was just too cute, and I would highly recommend as an easy crafty group activity that can appeal to anyone, even if they are not a crafty person. Obviously, my main motivation behind this was because my sister really likes candles, but I also felt it would be a relatively easy win because I predicted most people in the group would probably be more than happy to go home with a new candle. The space was very zen; it smelt amazing, the host was friendly and informative and we were all served little cups of peppermint tea on arrival. 

It turns out making candles is surprisingly easy? It was fun smelling all the aromatherapy oils and seeing the difference in everyone’s sense of smell. We each got to mix the wax with our chosen oils and pour our own candles, and then take them home with us. It was a cute and relaxing activity and worked for everyone – even if it wasn’t someone’s natural first choice, everyone could take part easily. 


Electric Shuffleboard @ London Bridge 

So I had never done electric shuffleboard before and, quite frankly, couldn’t really tell you what it involved even as I booked it but my sister had mentioned really enjoying it in the past and it looked like a game that everyone could enjoy without it being high pressured. I was right; even I can get on board with electric shuffleboard. It’s low-key, you can play it whilst still holding a glass of prosecco and discussing Baby Reindeer, and it easily gets people bonding and having a laugh. I would definitely go back. 


Our evening was dinner, drinks at a rooftop bar, a game of bride or groom (including masks of their faces which sufficiently freaked my sister out) and then I left where they went onto next up to the more youthful members of the party because I was happily tucked up in my Premier Inn hotel room by 11pm obvs. Oh how times have changed (hangovers with a toddler are just not worth it and every parent knows it). 


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15 May 2024

April Journal | Hen Dos & Interviews

April journal


Hen dos and interviews is a pretty accurate summary of the last month. The last four months, really. It’s a long story that I’m not going to bore you with - I’ve known that there was an interview looming on the horizon since January, the outcome of which would decide whether I either received a promotion or lost my job. Extreme ends of the scale no? I also had my sister’s hen do – which I was organising – on the horizon. Obviously, a hen do is very much the opposite of an interview but there’s no denying that organising one has its stresses. So, of course, of course, interview & hen ended up being the same week. I actually found out the outcome of the interview the day before the hen, so let’s be grateful it was a positive one because I’m not sure bride’s-sister-lost-her-job-yesterday would have been the best of hen do themes. 

I expected to be on some kind of high at the end of that weekend – promotion at work, successfully-organised hen do, no longer having to lie awake at night wondering how we would pay the mortgage should I lose my job etc. But, in truth, I just felt very, very tired (probably not helped by the 4am wake-up’s Alfie had been treating us to). For the last couple of weeks, I have still woken up with a heavy feeling of stress sitting in my belly and have repeatedly had to catch myself and remember that there is no need for it anymore. I can only assume that after four months of worrying, it was going to take longer than one day for my body to catch up with my brain. 

(Either that or it was purely a result of watching Baby Reindeer which was far more stressful an experience than preparing for an interview and planning a hen do combined, quite frankly. Have you watched it? Can we discuss?) 

Anyway, I’m getting there now. Perhaps not on a high, but the ball of stress that has been residing in my belly is dissipating. The sun has finally appeared, we have booked a summer holiday and everything is feeling just that little bit brighter. Here’s hoping it continues. 


Moments 

A night out in Cambridge for Gary’s birthday. 

Blossom on the trees, giving the illusion Spring had arrived, even if the temperature suggested otherwise. 

Alfie coming home from nursery with his fringe in a ponytail because he was absolutely not missing out on playing hairdressers. 

Alfie ‘counting’: his fingers, his cars, before he throws himself backwards on the bed. He only knows about three numbers but that ain’t stopping him. 

Alfie calling vehicles by their ‘sounds’ – trains are ‘choo choos’, cars are ‘ne-naws’ and planes are ‘neeeeaows’. The exception being lorry’s – ‘loddys’ and buses – ‘ba’. Toddler languages are so bloody cute, I will be devastated when choo choos one day just become ‘trains’. 

The annual family party, 20+ of us including several little ones, an excitable dog and a hell of a lot of easter chocolate. 

Going into London to meet my friend’s new baby (me broody? Dunno what you mean…) and having a good catch-up at a very tasty newly-opened waffle place – would recommend. 

Bright pink jumpsuits (‘you look like a children’s TV presenter’ – my mum). 

Asking my sister’s fiancé if he had any funny photos of her and the sheer number of priceless gems he sent through. 

The Shard lit up on a foggy night.  

The view when walking across London Bridge. 

Not losing my job! 

A pay rise!
 

Hen do!


Further reading


Come with us to a glass house on Camber Sands.  



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1 May 2024

Come With Us To A Glass House On Camber Sands

 Sea Gem, Camber Sands

I am about to reveal my age here, but have you ever watched Extraordinary Escapes with Sandi Toskvig? If not, and you also have a penchant for property programmes, I would highly recommend. It’s basically women (often older women which is really refreshing to see) going on mini breaks in really incredible houses. It’s wholesome and heartwarming, and the houses are always drool-worthy. 

All of this to say: we went and stayed in one of the houses and I think it has ruined all future holidays for me because I doubt I will ever have the budget required for such good accommodation. 

Sea Gem in Camber is literally on the beach. And what a beach. The house is mostly made of glass with the most spectacular views from nearly every room. I believe the architect designed it to feel a bit like you’re on a ship and when the tide was in, I really felt this. Stood back from the windows, the view would be pure sea and it was easy to convince yourself you were floating out in the water. 

Sea Gem, Camber Sands

Sea Gem, Camber Sands


When the tide was out, the beach stretched out for miles and miles. It was wild and expansive and gave you the sensation of being a long way from civilisation; I found it very soothing. It helped me switch off which is something I have struggled to do on holiday since becoming a parent. It was a reminder that nature and landscape can make a real difference in feeling whether you have ‘got away’ or not. Of course, being away with a toddler is still hard work; you still gotta change nappies and battle through nap times and have limited periods to sit down but, this was the first time I felt like Alfie was having a holiday as well and that was really lovely. He loved the beach and could have quite happily spent all day kicking a football around or throwing stones into the water. By the end of the week, he tottered off in his wellies onto the beach by himself if you didn’t keep an eye on him. And he loved having all the space the house had to offer – in particularly, the giant sofa which made a great running ground for his tractor selection. On our last day, we literally had to drag him away from the house kicking and screaming because he did not understand why we could no longer go in. I think in his little toddler brain, he just thought that’s where we lived now. 

Sadly, that wasn’t the case, but for one week I was very content to sit in bed with sea views, to have an enormous, nearly-empty beach as our garden/playground, to roast marshmallows in the firepit, to watch glorious sunsets, to lie in bed at night and listen to the wind whipping around the house, and imagine the tide creeping up to the window (not far off to be honest!). I even went for a run along that huge, empty beach, despite a problematic ankle, because it was too tempting not to. I’m pretty sure if that was on my doorstep, I’d run all the time. It was also just really nice to spend an extended period of time with my family, people we normally can only see for short weekends. To watch them spend day-to-day quality time with Alfie. (Although I think everyone would have happily spared the sight of him continually dipping garlic bread into his water whilst trying to eat.)  

I’ll be honest, Camber itself did not come across as a particularly inviting or friendly place (shout out to the pub that had a very passive aggressive sign on its door saying that children under five were not welcome, ‘no not even in the garden’) but we were there for the house and the beach, and if we did want to head out, Rye was only five miles down the road with its cobbled streets, old buildings and cute independent businesses (all of which were much more welcoming to Alfie). 

Sea Gem, Camber Sands

Sea Gem, Camber Sands

Sea Gem, Camber Sands


Here’s what I like to do when exploring a new place (admittedly a certain kind of place): find a bakery, find a bookshop, find a chocolate shop and find a decent brunch spot. Rye ticked all of those boxes and it ticked them well. I think the bookshop is technically owned by Waterstones but it very much gave off independent vibes, and the chocolate shop had a very impressive range of flavours (I came away with one bar of roasted hazelnut and one of grey sea salt)

We had brunch at The Whitehouse three times (would recommend their pancakes or their fancy bacon roll) and inevitably fell into their bakery on the way out (the enormous banana muffins were so good). Would also highly recommend The Fig, although the menu was less child-friendly (unless your child eats vegetables, in which case, please tell me your secrets). Their veggie tacos were worth the visit though. Rye also turned out to be the location of the first ever Knoop, so it felt rude not to grab one of their delicious hot chocolates. There was likely a lot more history to the place, but I’ve accepted that trying to do anything cultured with a two-year-old is the definition of madness. Accept you can’t go in the castle and take him to eat pancakes. Everyone will be happier. 

It was March so the weather was changable but it really didn’t matter. Contrary to popular opinion, I think a beach is actually better when the weather is a bit mixed and there is no way the views in that house could be anything short of spectacular, regardless of whether it rained or shined. 

All in all, a lovely holiday. If someone could lend me the money to stay in places like this all the time, that'd be great. 
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24 Apr 2024

March Journal | How Is It Easter Already?

March Journal

You know you have really good intentions at the start of the year and then you blink and it’s the end of March and you’re buying a ‘hoppy easter’ bunny basket from Oxfam (99p, what a win!), wondering where the first three months went? That’s basically how I feel right now. 

I got some news at work mid-January that is dominating everything right now and it’s really stressful, but also just really annoying. I make an active point to keep work at work, but this is flowing into my home life, flowing into my plans, flowing into my mood. I want to be able to not think about it when I log off and I can’t. It feels like, until it’s resolved, we’re living in a bit of a limbo and it’s giving me an odd sensation that 2024 hasn’t really got going yet. I have a feeling I’ll get to New Year’s Eve and be like ‘huh weren’t we only here six months ago?’ 

Still, despite not quite understanding how it can already have been and gone, Easter weekend is one of my favourites of the year. It’s like a much more chilled, sunnier, chocolatier version of Christmas. An air of celebration in the air but without any pressure. It is acceptable to do absolutely nothing and absolutely everything, and I really enjoy it. We went to the first ‘Foodie Friday’, the monthly street food fair that happens in our town throughout Spring and Summer, had a roast with my parents, did an easter egg hunt with Alfie (hence the 99p Oxfam purchase), enjoyed the sunshine, had drinks with our neighbours and ate plenty of chocolate. 

It reminded me to keep focusing on the good stuff and that it’s okay to enjoy them even when something stressful is hovering over you like an irritating black cloud. April is a rammed month, with both good and stressful things, but, in the moment, I’m going to try and not let the stressful stuff dominate over the good memories to be had. 


Moments 

Meeting at Wimpole for a catch up with our friends and their baby. Alfie loving the pigs and tractors.
 

Alfie’s sheer joy over the travelator in Sainsbury’s. Toddlers really do make you see the joy in the mundane. 

The kindness of transport drivers when they see a little boy excitedly watching; this month, a train driver has waved furiously and beeped the horn as Alfie stood on the side of the tracks, a bus driver has let Alfie sit in the driver’s seat and a market trader has let Alfie sit in and ‘drive’ a tractor. 

A family holiday in the most spectacular house in Camber Sands. 

The excitement Alfie has when he sees a ‘traaaactor’, ‘loddy’ (lorry), ‘tweet tweet’ and ‘chuuuurch’ – mainly because he can say the words. 

Being woken up in the morning by Alfie pulling my eyes open. It’s annoying, but also pretty adorable to open your eyes and see his big brown eyes and messy bed hair approximately half a cm from my face. 

Glorious magnolia trees. 

A free afternoon tea. 

After discovering the existence of chocolate digestives, Alfie can now say ‘tuit’ very determinedly. Still can’t say ‘mum’, but sure, whatever. 

Easter chocolate; just the best. 

Doing an easter hunt with Alfie and him really getting into it. 

The loveliness of easter weekend (see above). 


Further reading 



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9 Mar 2024

One Minute Book Reviews: Winter Reads

One minute book reviews

By chance, I’m writing this on World Book Day. My son is at nursery today; he doesn’t normally go on Thursdays, so I only realised I needed a Where’s Wally costume yesterday afternoon and as a result, my first attempt at the whole WBD costume shenanigans, which I’m learning is apparently a Big Deal in the parenting world, was not a success. Unless you count a black and white striped top and a grey bobble hat (both of which he wears all the time) as a success… Where’s Wally: The Emo Years? No? Ah well, there’s always next year. 

Shall we talk about some books? 

Good Material by Dolly Alderton
 

We started the year with a good’un. A relationship break-up told from the male perspective: failing comedian Andy can’t understand why his ex-girlfriend Jen stopped loving him and why everyone around him seems to have grown up when he wasn’t looking. Completely adrift, he clings to the idea of solving the puzzle of his broken relationship. Really enjoyed this, it made me both chuckle and tear-up. Felt it perfectly captured both heartbreak and that time in your thirties where it feels like there’s a dramatic shift into adulthood, and friendships can seem much harder to maintain, but the male perspective was a fresher take on the themes. 4.5/5

Sourdough by Robin Sloan 

A quirky little novel about Lois, a software engineer stuck in the daily grind, the only highlight of her day the sourdough sandwich she orders every night from two brothers running a hole-in-the-wall eatery. When the two brothers have to leave San Francisco due to visa issues, they leave their sourdough starter to their favourite customer and Lois must keep it alive and thus, her sourdough baking journey begins. This was a charming read, but I enjoyed the first half a lot more than the second. It went off on a slightly odd, fantastical tangent which I wasn’t entirely convinced by. 3/5

We Had To Remove This Post by Hanna Bervoets

A novella about a woman working as a content moderator for a social media platform. Her job involves reviewing offensive videos and pictures, rants and conspiracy theories, and deciding what needs to be removed. She spends all day viewing the very worst of humanity, but she’s made new friends and found a girlfriend amongst her colleagues so it’s not affecting her that bad. Or is it? I liked the premise of this and felt like it achieved the unsettling, low-level disturbing feeling the writer was probably aiming for, but the ending was so abrupt (almost like the author had simply just stopped writing) and unsatisfying that I was left feeling like I’d only read half the story. 3/5

All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

I am ashamed to say I have had this book sat on my bookshelf for years, it has moved between three different homes, and I can’t believe this unread treasure was there all this time. The intertwining stories of a blind French girl and orphaned German boy trying to survive the devastation of World War II. When war breaks out, Marie-Laure and her father flee Paris to Saint-Malo where they accidentally become a part of the resistance. Meanwhile, Werner’s talent for building and fixing radios is enlisted to help bring down the resistance. Ultimately a story about all the ways that people, against all odds, try to be good to one another. The writing was beautiful, and I loved every detail. Honestly, I thought this was an absolute masterpiece of a novel. 5/5

Piglet by Lottie Hazell 

A word of warning: the food descriptions in this book are mouthwatering, so please do read with snacks to hand. Piglet (an unfortunate childhood nickname) has curated the perfect life for herself with her job as a cookbook editor, her upper-middle class fiancé, Kit, and her house in Oxford. But then Kit confesses to a betrayal thirteen days before their wedding. Torn between the life she has always wanted and the ravenous feeling that she is not getting what she deserves, Piglet and her perfect life begin to unravel. Told almost entirely through exquisitely described cooking scenes or excruciatingly detailed vignettes (the wedding dress scene, oh my god), the story examines class differences, a woman’s sometimes complicated relationship with food and the lies we tell ourselves. A very impressive debut. 4/5

The Food Almanac Volume II by Miranda York

From various writers and artists, a lovely collection of stories, recipes and illustrations for each month in the kitchen. A great gift should you have a foodie in your life (or for yourself if you’re the foodie). I enjoyed this just as much as Volume I and am hoping for a third. 4/5

Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano 

Dear Edward is one of my favourite books of recent years so I was keen to pick up the author’s latest novel. Seemingly inspired by Little Woman, it tells the story of the four Padavano sisters growing up in Chicago in the 1970/80s. Julia, the eldest sister, marries William Waters, a rising basketball star, and has their lives perfectly planned out. But when William has a breakdown that Julia cannot understand, it is her sister Sylvie that becomes his confidant, and the ensuing betrayal will tear the sisters apart and affect generations to come. The author does characterisation so well; they were all believably flawed and human, and you can’t help but love and root for them. A beautiful family-saga. 5/5

Happy reading folks x 


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29 Feb 2024

February.

February

Alfie’s first haircut. I am still not over how much older he looks. 

A trip up north. After a weekend staying with cats, Alfie now shouts ‘TAT’ and ‘MEOW’ every time he sees a cat, or a picture of a cat. 

Driving down the motorway and seeing a family in the car next to us all laughing. 

32 years around the sun. 

A Thai massage. Not what I ordered but exactly what I needed. 

Sushi lunch date. 

Making my favourite Guinness cake because if you can’t bake your favourite cake on your birthday, when can you?

Pancake day! 

Nine years together. 

A woman with a neon pink umbrella on the greyest, wettest weather day. 

The first hints of spring; magnolia buds, white blossom, daffodils.

A lunch date with my gal, the best kind of catch up where it’s like no time has passed. 

Lighter evenings. 

New babies joining the gang. 

Baking with my boy for the first time. 

Alife’s first babyccino. The milk moustache was spectacular. 

Alfie calling birds ‘tweets tweets’. 


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16 Feb 2024

Twelve Months Of Stories: On Motherhood, Writing, Being Selfish

12 months of stories

“I obviously have to tell you that this will affect your salary, pension…” she said with a sympathetic smile, and I nodded resignedly. I’m sat in our spare room on a video call with my line manager whilst on maternity leave. My mum is downstairs with my baby whilst I request to no longer work full time. I have mixed feelings. I have no doubt that I want to be a big part of the village that is going to be caring for my son during the working week, but the financial sacrifice was a hard one to swallow. If I went back to work full time, our monthly childcare bill would have been nearly my entire take-home pay, if I went back to work part time, I lost half my wage & pension but gained the same amount in a monthly childcare bill and if I didn’t go back at all, we had no childcare bill but only one household income. Oh, and needless to say, my husband earns more money than I do so we could not afford for him to drop his hours, despite him being willing to do so. 

We discussed it endlessly, went around the houses, had a lot of back-and-forth etc etc, before eventually settling on me working three days a week. It was a precarious balancing act of what we could afford, what availability the nursery had and what was our actual preference (in that order). We arranged three days of childcare and then I finally sat down with work to put my request in. We registered our child at nursery before he was even born and still didn’t get the days we wanted so at this stage, I assumed getting approval from work would be the easy bit.  

And then I was told that I could come back part time, but it had to be two and a half days a week. For reasons I won’t bore you with, this made sense from the perspective of my employer and the way my job works but I hadn’t accounted for it, and I felt the pre-emptive blow of having even less money than we’d planned for. I was too busy thinking about the money that it took me a while to realise that this would mean I would have one afternoon a week where I was neither working nor looking after my son.  

Funny how sometimes life just presents you with opportunities. At first, I claimed I would absolutely use that afternoon to be the best “housewife”; I was going to get on top of the washing, do the food shop, keep the house tidy… (sorry husband!) But then I realised that, if I was willing to be selfish, I could use that one afternoon a week to write. Something I love, something that I have needed to do since I was a child in order to feel most like myself, something that I’d had such little opportunity to do since my son was born. 

That first week, slipping into my favourite café with my laptop, completely alone, I was both exhilarated at doing something just for myself and overwhelmed with guilt. Was I a bad mother for doing something so luxurious whilst my son was at nursery? I wasn’t earning money (although I was paying the nursery fees regardless), I was technically available to be looking after him. Should I not be doing something more… useful? Probably pretty typical thoughts of a mother under the expectations of a 2023 society. So, here’s what I learnt (because I didn’t cave to those thoughts and spent 99% of Wednesday afternoons sat in a café writing during 2023): that one afternoon a week was the single best thing I could have done for my mental health and my ability to be a loving and calm parent. I am in such a better place than I was this time year and I massively credit that with having just a small slice of time to pour into my favourite creative outlet and the thing that keeps me feeling grounded. I learnt that regardless of what you do, the society we live is always going to push mother’s to be 100% self-sacrificing so you may as well do the thing that keeps you sane. Because a sane and happy mother is far better for a child than a mother who can’t breathe because she’s trying to keep up with unrealistic and exhausting expectations. No one is a bad parent for taking time for themselves. In fact, they are often much better parents as a result. And I can’t emphasise this enough: if you pay for childcare and do something other than working your day job, that does not – in any way shape or form – make you some kind of neglectful parent. Chances are, you’re paying for that time regardless (we pay 52 weeks of the year regardless of holidays, what time we pick him up, bank holidays, illness, whether we’re working or not working). Bloody hell, if you’re paying for your child to be in nursery when they’re ill or old Charlie is having his coronation, you may as well pay for it to have some time for yourself. I know I am lucky, I ended up with this time by accident and it makes no difference to our finances whether I use it for myself or pick up my son from nursery early. But I also refuse to feel any sense of guilt for that luck. My only wish is that my husband could have the same thing. 

I set myself a challenge: one short story a month for the year, post the messy, first draft online to hold yourself accountable. I hadn’t written that much in years (covid, pregnancy, newborn baby) and the idea of sharing early drafts is terrifying for any writer, let alone putting it on the internet. But I did it. It was a real lesson in what you can do when you only have a tiny amount of time once a week. I could not procrastinate, because that time wouldn’t come round for another seven days. I wrote quickly, and furiously and messily. My favourite café learnt my name and order and asked me how I was. I met other writers and discovered a local writer’s group. I remembered why I love the act of making up stories, writing down words so much. I remembered that Kate, pre-motherhood Kate, was still there and had a lot of shit she still wanted to do. She’d just been a bit tired and all-consumed by this brown-eyed, blonde-haired whirlwind that had landed into her life one Christmas Eve. 

I don’t know how long this option will be available to me, but I intend to cling onto it with both hands for as long as it is. Thank you to everyone who has read and been so kind about my messy first drafts (and if you want to catch up on them, you can do so here). I haven’t quite yet worked out what my Substack page will be in 2024 but I do know I am going to keep posting, so you can probably expect more stories and more food writing as a starting point. I’d love for you to join me. 


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31 Jan 2024

January.

January

That fresh new year feeling, new possibilities.  

Sushi lunch for mum’s birthday. 

Baking two birthday cakes. 

Easing into the year. 

Lots of freshly baked bread. 

Pale winter light. 

Candles that smell like baked goods. 

Toddler birthday parties.

Brilliant British television. 

Finalising and booking my sister’s hen do. 

Tabby McTat on repeat. 

Catching up with my auntie. 

Book vouchers burning a hole in my pocket. 

Dinner in London with an old friend. 

The loveliest afternoon at a National Trust place with old friends and our babies. 

Catching up with family friends. 

Flowers from my sister after a rubbish week at work. 

A lunch date in Cambridge; pizza and bookshop browsing.

Cosy, gentle, slow after the busyness of December.

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