By Special Request…

Oh in the midst of all the imaginary snow and jingle bells, I suspect you are going to hate me today… I know I am supposed to be providing you with all kinds of inspiration for a scrumptious Christmas week, but here’s the thing: you can’t enjoy the fun stuff if you haven’t made sure…

There was a letter on the Editors page of The Daily Mail yesterday, that went like this: “Fifties Housewives led much more stress free lives than todays modern career women. My sister and I were forties babies, growing up on a council estate, where we had weekly visits by a window cleaner, a bin man…

Look! The most hideous computer desk in the history of computer desks.  I said I wouldn’t and I did. Shame on me. In the past two days I have hauled seventeen bin bags full of junk out of this house. Seventeen bin bags full of stuff and nonsense  I had previously convinced myself I couldn’t…

So it’s over. Like I said it would be. And I’m in bit’s. He came last night with perfume and promises of tomorrows. I made quiche (brie and bacon- perhaps I’ll write up the recipe one day) and we walked hand in hand, stopping to kiss under lampposts and giggle at houses drowning in Christmas…

Knitting is a bore but Elizabeth nods and smiles and clicks to herself, as if it were more than just useful. She goes happily about the task, moving in and out of it without haste, perfecting tension, cabling, ribs. She looks forward to the sewing up, but not too much, knowing how to mesh the…

I think it’s scandalous. I really do.  In fact I’m starting to think I’m going to have to hire someone to be my informant of all things scrumptious, because it becomes clearer by the day that I am so ensconced in my own little Brocante bubble that entire worlds of things to die for spring…