7 Aug 2024

June/July Journal | Twenty Things I've Loved Lately

Devon

 1. Eating al fresco again, one of my favourite things about summer. 

2. Speaking of which, this simple lemon pasta hits the spot on a hot day. 


3. Douglas is Cancelled, an excellent bit of telly. It starts off being a bit of a so-so comedy and then the third episode hits you like a freight train and you don’t laugh once. And then all rounded up into an excellent finale where you reexamine every word and moment. Just brilliant. 


4. Also, the latest series of Trying; I could spend hours with these characters. 


5. Fantasising about candles to buy in the Autumn; the Overose ones are very pricey but also by far some of the best candles I’ve come across. Obviously, it’s the ones that smell like baked goods that have me in a chokehold. 


6. I am really buzzing for the Wicked film coming out in the Autumn, not going to lie. 


7. The Tory government got voted out and I’m not even going to pretend I wasn’t thrilled. 


8. I finally got on the Bridgerton trend and it has been an excellent binge watch. I’m just about to dive into series 3… no spoilers please! 


9. My sister got married, and it was the loveliest, loveliest day. 


10. My baking brain has been consumed by planning and practicing the wedding cake for months now, so it has been nice to open it up to other ideas again. May have been a little overzealous in treating myself to some new cookbooks as a ‘reward’. 


11. Alfie finally said ‘mummy’ for the first time and I really can’t see it ever getting old. 


12. Also, Alfie getting really into cuddly toys and now having to go to sleep with several, including a bear that is practically the same size as him. It is very cute, if a little disconcerting when he comes into our bed during the night with an entire menagerie.


13. Oh little ones running in and out of paddling pools is so wholesome.  


14. A week by the sea in Devon, where the weather was so kind to us. 


15. Nothing can quite beat warm scones with jam and cream (IN THAT ORDER) whilst sat by the sea on a British holiday. 


16. This year has been a bit weird and overwhelming in many ways and I feel like I haven’t had much opportunity to see friends so trying to pepper the calendar with plans over the next few months. 


17. An end-of-summer glamping trip in the diary, booked on a bit of whim. 


18. Eating delicious tapas sat by the river. 


19. The ‘favourites’ feed on Instagram. It cuts out a lot of the noise and can make social media feel like a much calmer, nicer place. Also setting strict time restrictions on social media usage in general (restricted by a pin code that only my husband knows) is very good for me. 


20. My The Simple Things magazine subscription. It’s like a little moment of calm and joy arriving in the post every month.


State of affairs in the UK right now feels pretty grim. Hope you're doing okay dear reader x

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31 Jul 2024

I did a 3.5-hour train journey with my toddler, and it restored my faith in strangers

Toddler train journey

I have this belief that most people are fundamentally nice, but sometimes, world events can seriously test this belief. It’s so easy to look at the news and think ‘this is a shitshow’. But I had to do a 3-and-a-half-hour train journey alone with my toddler recently, which included multiple trains, and honestly, it restored my faith in humans. 

The basics: we were going on holiday to Devon, with an overnight stopover in Bath. Then my husband had to go away for work the day before we were supposed to be travelling and so we found ourselves in a situation where Alfie and I needed to get to Bath via train. I was not exactly thrilled about this. A 1hr15 train into London, the tube to Paddington, and then a 1hr40 train to Bristol. On my own. With an incredibly active toddler. Er, no, I’m good thanks. But I had to get my big girl pants on because there wasn’t really another option, and I did want to go on holiday. 

My biggest concern in these scenarios is that you’re in a confined space surrounded by other people who most likely do not want to be disturbed by a small child. If I was on an empty train I wouldn’t be fussed, it’s keeping them quiet and entertained and, most challenging, restrained to a seat that’s the problem. I was dreading it. But honestly, I just ended up having a series of nice encounters with strangers and it warmed the cockles. 

Let's go 

So, all our luggage is with Gary and I need to be able to fold down the buggy at a moment’s notice so I have had to contain everything I need to a small rucksack and cross body bag (god bless the Mary Poppins-style Uniqlo bags. If you know, you know. And if you don’t, get in the know. They’re fifteen quid and game changing.) It keeps me hands free. Alfie is in the buggy but if I need to put the buggy down, I can fold it up and have it on a strap on one shoulder and Alfie on the opposite hip.
 
The journey starts well because my parents are going into Cambridge, so they join us for the first 15 minutes, and the carriage is pretty empty so I don’t even need to fold up the buggy, I just tuck it into the bike/wheelchair section and keep an eye out in case anyone needs the area. Alfie is so excited to be on a ‘choo choo’ and to keep seeing ‘choo choos’ out the window that he doesn’t seem that bothered when his grandparents get off, nor when a lot more people get on at Cambridge. He does keep exclaiming ‘choo choo’ quite loudly but the older woman across the aisle smiles at him every time he does so, and the commuter who sits at the table opposite us in his suit seems to take an immediate liking to Alfie. “Oooo how exciting, so many trains. And when you get into London there will be buses and cars, you’re going to have a great time!” I could hug him. I don’t, obviously, but he was so what we needed. 

I do have to endure Alfie standing on my lap and draping himself across my face so he can intently examine every other person in the carriage over the back of my seat (whether they want him to or not) but to my delight, being on a train and people watching is essentially enough to pass the first train journey. Just as the novelty is wearing off, I whip out some snacks and he munches on them whilst making uncomfortable eye contact with a girl sat across the aisle. “There’s a model train set in Kings Cross station,” our friend at the table tells me, and gives me specific instructions on where to find it. I know we won’t have time to go see it which breaks my heart a bit cos he is being so damn nice, but I make a mental note for the future. And then just as we are pulling into London, he asks if I want him to take a picture of Alfie and I on my phone. Honestly, what a babe.  

I carry the buggy with Alfie in it off the train at Kings Cross, ask a member of staff where the nearest lift to the tube is which turns out to be right next to the platform and I suddenly have a feeling like this might all go quite well. London’s underground system is not step-free friendly, but I can’t fault the directions to the lifts at Kings Cross (you need different lifts for different tube lines) and we are down on the right platform after two lift rides and a bit of walking with no trouble. I get on the tube with the buggy still up because it is only going down if absolutely necessary as far as I’m concerned, and the tube isn’t busy enough to warrant it. I’m standing obviously, but Alfie is getting a little nervous and wants to hold my hand. Immediately the guy on the end seat jumps up and insists I take it so I can be on the same level as Alfie. Another guy opposite grins every time Alfie says ‘choo choo’ or asks if it’s our stop. 

We get to Paddington and there’s a paper sign taped to the lift door saying it’s out of order, and so I’m left facing a not insignificant number of stairs. Ah. It was going so well. 

“I can come back down and help you?” a woman asks me. She’s wearing airline clothes, has two suitcases of her own and is wearing heels that I’d break my ankle in. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Let me just take my cases up.”

She gets halfway up the stairs and then another woman realises what she’s doing and offers to stand with her luggage whilst she helps. By this point, a dad with a buggy has appeared next to me and asks if I want to do one buggy at a time between us. But airline lady is back down and says she’ll come back for him as well. Well, this is wholesome. I thank her about a hundred times when we get to the top of the stairs. And then Alfie and I are in the middle of Paddington station which is heaving. But I take the fact that the water refill station is right at the top of the stairs as another good sign, refill our bottles and then make my way to the Millie’s cookies stand. This is a day for treats. I let Alfie pick the cookie he wants which may be an error because that boy ain’t gonna forget if someone mentions chocolate. Getting onto the platform is entertaining because it is so busy, but I hold my nerve and don’t actually put the buggy down until we’re outside our train carriage. Something that will surprise no one – train aisles are not big enough to walk down with a buggy on your shoulder and a toddler on your hip so that’s fun, and then I have to kick a guy out of our reserved seats which he does not look impressed by. Kids under 4 travel for free on trains but if you want to actually have a seat for them, you have to buy a ticket, so I was having those seats. He sits opposite us instead and frowns at his laptop and I have to resist the urge to tell him he might just wanna move away from us altogether because I really don’t think we’re going to be his vibe.  

Watching the trains outside only kills about 10 minutes this time but this is the moment for the contents of my bag. We do some colouring, but Alfie’s restless so I deem it’s time to crack open lunch and iPad. To my surprise, he sits quite happily with his Tupperware of pasta pesto and Zog on the iPad (very quietly). Okay he does roar at the top of his voice when the dragons roar (if you’re not a parent, this probably means very little to you – he was shouting ROAAAARRRR in the middle of a quiet train carriage is all you need to know) but hey, could have been worse. Laptop guy understandably does not look thrilled by dragon impressions. 

I chance my luck and put on Stick Man after Zog has finished and offer him his cookie. ‘HOCOLATE!’ Alfie shouts with glee, and I notice laptop guy smile despite himself. Ha. Knew we’d crack him. 

More colouring, a Thomas the Tank Engine magazine and some books pass more time once the cookie has been demolished and we’ve established there isn’t anymore (a hairy moment). But then with about half an hour to go, he gets really restless and I can’t really blame him. He starts jumping up and down in his chair in a way that is guaranteed to annoy everyone around him. But I manage to get him to sit on my lap by letting him watch videos on my phone. Of himself. He gets a lot of joy watching himself dance at my sister’s wedding, but the winner is a video of him helping his dad scrub our dirty picnic blanket. “WET” he proudly proclaims as he watches himself scrub some mud, and we watch it several more times. Whatever works for you kid. 

As we’re pulling into Bristol, a guy asks if he can carry something for me. I say I think I’ll be fine and then realise I’m being daft, and he carries the buggy off for me whilst I carry Alfie. All the lifts at Bristol are working, two people smile at Alfie and ask if he’s having fun, one in a broad Bristol accent, the other in a broad Welsh accent. 

And then we’ve arrived! We’ve stayed on to Bristol so we can catch up with one of my oldest friends who is waiting for us on the other side of the ticket barrier. We walk to one of Bristol’s city farms; I’d hoped Alfie might nap but Bristol has far too many buses to miss so I give up on that idea. Bristol city farm is so good and free. There’s a café, big sand pit full of tractors and diggers and loads of animals to look at. We see goats, pigs, sheep, cows, rabbits and ducks. Alfie had a great time. 

(Side note, my step-dad thought it would be funny to teach Alfie that rabbits roar. You know, like the dragons. So, if you ever see a small child roaring at bunny rabbits, he’s mine.) 

My friend Dan is great with kids and manages to make walking back and forth along the same wall around the duck pond somehow hilarious. There is a tantrum when I have to change Alfie’s nappy but I’m so damn relieved he didn’t do a poo on the train journey that I don’t even care. After a very nice few hours, we are back at Bristol station for the final train journey. Of course, Alfie fell asleep on the walk back. The train is a small, local one and is busy and I really should put the buggy down but waking up a toddler who has only been asleep for ten minutes would be horrific for everyone in the vicinity, so I squeeze on with the buggy. I manage to get on at the same spot as a guy with a bike, so we block the whole area and it is not ideal. A man gets on behind me and I say sorry. 

“Don’t you apologise,” he says, smiling at a sleeping Alfie. 

It’s only 15 minutes back to Bath and when we pull in, the same man offers to help carry the buggy off the train. 

“Don’t want to wake him up do we?” he says, cheerfully and I have to resist the urge to hug him as well because I am very tired by this point, and he really is the cherry on top of all these nice people. 
 

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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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