I called to mind the Leonard Cohen lyric – not that I know the song well, just this famous line – when I saw a few brave little primula growing in a gap between two paving slabs. It’s not at all in a suitable place – self-seeded near the garden gate, so every time the gate opens, the poor primula gets squashed.
Growing through the cracks
When I first saw them flowering, I thought I’d try to ease them out somehow and replant elsewhere, but I’m not sure how to lever them out without breaking the roots. Primula are quite hardy, but this is such a tiny crack, and I don’t have a tool designed to get into it. (I can imagine such a thing exists, but probably more for gouging out weeds that you don’t actually want to keep).
Even in an unpromising spot, I am glad to see primula spreading – they might be seedlings from the batch of plants I got from the local florist in lockdown, when they delivered a box to the doorstep, something that gave a boost to those sad, but sunny, early lockdown days. There were two heathers, and both are still thriving, to my surprise – I’ve never had luck with heather before.
Newly planted heather and primula in 2020
One of my heuchera nearby is thriving – not a lockdown plant, it was bought the summer before at Chelsea. One smaller one is struggling along, and my beloved London Pride finally seems to be spreading of its own accord, along with fleabane, which needs no encouragement to spread.
This corner by the gate has always been a happy spot – with my beautiful white rose bush above, things planted under it seem to flourish, even though they get swamped with wild strawberry and ivy. Now when I see the established heather and the spreading primula, I get flashbacks to the spring of 2020, the sadness, worry and strangeness mixed up with the glorious sunshine.
London Pride, heuchera, heather and primula all still thriving.
It now feels like that spring was a consolation, to ease the pain of what we were enduring, and whilst we have the relief of covid receding, it seems we don’t get to have the blessing of a warm sunny spring, either. There’s only been one day this year that felt like proper, sunshine on your back, t-shirt weather, and that was, fortunately for us, Easter Saturday.
We went to Richmond Park, and walked a route we’d never done before (as far as I remember), which gave us the views across the London skyline, and to Heathrow and Windsor. There are so few weekends like this now, with the children busy wanting to see friends, and of course homework, so a day where we can walk in the sunshine and just enjoy doing nothing, is fleetingly rare.
Looking west from Richmond, Easter Saturday
And the youngest child – still young enough to care about these things – pointed out we hadn’t been to the country or a farm or visited a National Trust place for ages. She is half right – we haven’t, although we did fit in 2 castles at half term in Sussex/Kent, she’s forgotten that – but apart from being busy, the weather has been just too awful for it. We have the bank holiday weekend coming, and I have a yearning to see peak bluebell woods again, but if the weather does get warmer, I suppose everyone in SE England will feel the same, and the woods will be heaving.
Going back to the cracks, and remembering that beautiful spring of 2020, I look back and realise I’ll maybe never be done processing what happened, it seems far off in some ways (the children were so young!) but feels like a flash of time gone by in others. But I’ll never lose the sense of gratitude – every time I sit in a cafe, go to the library or cinema, get on a train – I don’t take it for granted. That’s the bit I hope I never lose sight of.
Front garden is in peak green season
That’s where the light gets in, when the flowers come up again even though it’s cold and grey, the children go to parties again, the long-deferred events can take place, the trips to the theatre and to see family that you longed for in 2020, and you realise that, even with your own flaws and cracks, you can still move, and grow. The cracks don’t close, but here you are, still, and here is your garden in springtime, growing green, despite the cold.
There was supposed to be a February post, as my intention to try and keep this blog on an even keel was to write every month, but the universe very much got in the way.
March has been swamped with many unexpected things, little downtime, and I feel like I’m only just surfacing now.
Dungeness: shingle and lighthouse
Everything that’s happened since made our half term seem even more distant, as it had been a nostalgic trip for me to the remote parts of Kent which are a core part of my memory box of early childhood – perhaps even more precious than my own village, because that was freighted with the downsides of school life and home life, squabbles and bullies and boredom, whereas the Kent marshes was a place I only have happy memories of.
We stayed near Romney Marsh and Dungeness, perhaps not everyone’s idea of a childhood idyll – famous for its shingle, nuclear power station and Derek Jarman’s cottage and garden. Why should such a seemingly bleak place have such a powerful hold over me?
On the most basic level, it was the ‘little train’ which I remembered most fondly – if anyone mentioned Romney, I would be bound to exclaim ‘oh I loved the little train!’ – and I have a strong memory of seeing the train approach across the bare expanse of shingle, a very different setting for a narrow gauge railway from the typical Railway Children valleys or a Welsh slate mine mountainside.
View from our Air BnB balcony
The memories rolled in very fast as we drove off the Weald down onto the flat expanse of the marsh, with a heavy pall of rain and cloud over us – even in those unpromising conditions I immediately knew I was back in a place I had a very deep affection for.
We’d stopped to buy food in the town where my grandfather used to live, and found it had barely changed – but I didn’t want to drive past his house, just as I hadn’t wanted to see the house my dad grew up in when we’d gone near there a few years ago, or my own childhood home. The idea of seeing the actual houses in new hands would bring on melancholy, but returning to other places we used to visit, the days out which were full of excitement and fun, brings only joy.
The first full day of our stay, the rain continued to roll in off the channel, and I went out and ran in it anyway – thrilling to run down an empty road with shingle on one side and houses on the other. Actually, pretty miserable, truth be told, but I am convinced if I keep trying, I will find my runners high running out by the sea somewhere.
Looking back up the beach near New Romney
The reward for a run in the rain was to go in the hot tub – this was the trade-off for the kids for coming to such an unforgiving part of the country, our Air BnB came with extremely well-appointed home comforts, balcony looking out over sand dunes to the sea, and a hot tub, tucked into the garden so that it couldn’t be overlooked.
If it had been in Cornwall, I dread to think what it would all have cost. As it turned out, the girls loved it, and both have said they want to go back ‘some time when the weather is better’ – they were happy enough to run around on the beach, even when it was raining.
Anyway, it was deeply relaxing to get straight out of sweaty running clothes and into the hot water. I would, ideally, have jumped in the sea first, but a few things put me off – the risk of sewage dumped there, the very far-out tide meaning I’d have had to walk for miles to get any deeper than my ankles, and mainly that the hot tub came with strict instructions not to get sand in it – we’d have to pay extra for cleaning if we’d got it dirty.
Cottage names from Rye
We went on to Rye – another beloved childhood place, and can’t be only so for me; Rye has not been ‘new’ for centuries, so people must surely have been recalling it fondly forever. Of course it’s not totally the same – where I remember antique warehouses piled high with junk, now it’s full of carefully curated vintage shops, and places to get expensive brunch.
Mermaid Street, Rye
But the little cottages climbing the cobbled hills were just the same, and even more surprising, the Rye Town Model still existed – made of polystyrene in the 70s, when polystyrene was not so ubiquitous, by a dedicated couple who constructed it over many years. How strange to think it was relatively new when I saw it in the 80s, and how many years have passed, and still, there it is, a little updated for modern times (more lighting effects and video screens to show the local history), but otherwise, the same. The tale of Rye is still the history I was told in the 80s – nothing of note has happened there since! – and my children have seen more or less exactly what I saw.
Rye town model
The second day, we had some sunshine – the first day with a hint of what might be spring – and so this was when we explored Dungeness properly. Here we had just the shingle for miles, and the tiny wooden cottages, the lighthouse, the power station – a place out of time entirely, whereas Rye is firmly set in some chocolate-box costume drama literary mystery world. In between Rye and Dungeness were military camps and holiday camps, and Camber Sands, all of them foreign to me.
The beloved little train
We never stayed in a holiday camp, and not only because my family weren’t the holiday camp type (clearly, we weren’t), but mainly because every time we stayed near the sea, it was to visit friends or relatives – Kent, South Wales, Suffolk, North Wales. All the places I love most in my bones, all of them near water, all with memories of people I loved: no wonder I am drawn back to these places.
When I think of the other landscapes which have struck me as most beautiful or fascinating or wild and unspoilt – the Peak District, Wiltshire for its ancient history, the Chilterns or the Malvern hills – I can picture them and remember how impressive they were – but, but – if the sea isn’t there somewhere, just over the horizon, it’s not a place I feel I can belong in.
Power station and light house
Finally, we waited for the little train, and yes, when it appeared across the shingle I cried out ‘it looks just like I remembered it!’ – and in that moment, it was all perfect. We can’t recover our childhood, and perhaps it’s best we can’t, but occasionally you can get a glimpse of a world that’s not so different from the one you knew, and you can feel happy about it.
I have already written about the awkward corners of the house and the bits that don’t quite work as well as they should, but it’s more of a challenge when it’s a whole room.
Our living room has always been the most tricky space in the house (except maybe spare room, I’m looking at YOU), but we have muddled along with it because it didn’t need anything urgent doing to it, once we had dealt with the basics. It was the first room we had replastered, so once the woodchip paper had gone out and bookshelves gone in, it looked presentable enough, and there was somewhere for the books to go, so why did we need to make any other changes in a rush?
Long and narrow and nothing matches!
The problem with that laissez-faire attitude is that every time you make a small tweak, something else then doesn’t quite work. We had new curtains made pretty early on, to replace horrible shiny sickly yellow-brown ones, but due to my complete inability to make decisions about patterns and colours, I ended up with more brown curtains, which I’ve never really liked. They ended up being chosen to fit the brown leather sofas we had at the time, and for a while there the room did sort-of match.
Lots of brown and beige circa 2013
Then, we got new sofas, and again I was not satisfied with the choice – we went with dark grey to minimise visible stains, but it didn’t really match the brown curtains. And on a whim we bought a dark blue armchair which doesn’t match either. I bought a blue rug in hopes it would tie the room together, (in the style of the Dude) but moths attacked that, so we had to replace it.
Grey armchair. Comfy, but looks like a big grey lump
So now we are stuck with a bunch of furniture that doesn’t match, (and same goes for the other furniture – TV stand, side tables and my beloved wooden trunk all made of different shades of wood).
Add to that, the room itself is awkward: most 1920s-30s houses have a square living room, but ours is long and narrow, so the moment you put a sofa in there, it feels like a corridor. The bay window is square rather than round, which adds to the boxy feel of the room, and there are walls sticking out in odd places, which also makes the room feel smaller.
Awkward corner (the porch takes a chunk out of the corner of the room)
If it was a small square room, perhaps with a fireplace as a focal point, it would hopefully feel cosy at night when you pull the curtains at night, but our room just feels like a cluttered corridor with furniture that doesn’t quite fit. So it led to a discussion about whether this year – 10 years + since we had it originally renovated – we should give the whole room a do-over.
If we started from the ground up, the floor is definitely the worst part of the room, and the bit we never dealt with before. The laminate floor was good enough, but not great – and now all the beading is loose and it’s seen better days. I’d like to replace it with more laminate, but the Mr thinks carpet would make the room more cosy. But how on earth would I choose a carpet to match a room where the curtains, armchair and sofa don’t match each other? So should we replace the curtains…or the sofas? They are still pretty new! Oh it’s SO HARD to decide. So you muddle along and don’t make any big changes.
Broken beading. Has been like this for 10 years!
What the Mr wouid like, apart from carpet, is a corner sofa to put his feet up, but I think the weird shape of the room would not enable this. So we went to see if we could buy a footstool to go with his armchair – surprise surprise, although there IS a footstool matching the sofa we bought, they (John Lewis) no longer make it in the same colour, so we had to choose a match that we hope will be close. It hasn’t arrived yet, but when it’s in the room, we’ll probably have a grey footstool that doesn’t quite go with the existing grey sofa and armchair, along with the non-matching rug, wooden furniture, curtains and blue armchair.
Our other debate was over what else could make the room feel bigger – one possible answer is to switch the door around so it opens against the wall instead of into the room. At the old house I simply took the door out altogether so there was just a doorway, and it did make the room feel bigger, but here I think building control would have something to say about that.
The door intrudes so heavily into the room.
Switching a door around also means we’d have to have a new doorframe, and the light switch would be behind the door. We never switch the Big Light on anyway, but a lightswitch behind a door is always going to be a pain – so we’d have to get the switch moved too, that would be a rewiring job, and we may as well replaster the room while we’re at it. That’s a lot of work – is it worth it? I’d like to replace the old plywood door with a solid wood door anyway, so it would be a chance to tackle that at the same time. One less challenging solution would be to replace our (quite rickety) side tables with smaller ones, which would allow a bit more space for the bigger furniture.
Side table plus mess of cables. Would quite like to sweep all this away!
So the challenge remains, do we do some of these things, or all of them? What’s the solution? Will we have done nothing at all in the next 12 months? Answers on a postcard!
The yearly wreath round-up just sneaks under the wire of the old year, and good job too as I spotted a few last minute entries on a walk today. It’s been wet, windy and grey for what seems like forever, so a bright new wreath on a colourful door is always a lift to the spirits.
I have certainly noticed wreaths remaining big and bright this year, but what really stood out was the wreath designed to suit the door colour, so this has been my guiding principle for grouping them (until I ran out of interesting colours to choose from).
Pink doors
First of all, the pink door. Pale frosty tones work so well on a pink door, but I also love the bottom right wreath which is red on a salmony pink, almost orange door.
Next up, the smoky blue/green door. Very versatile as all these different wreaths work so well with it, but I particularly like the fir cone wreath with dark blue ribbon.
Smoky blue doors
These doors don’t really have a connection, but the wreaths are all silvery to some degree, and I thought made a nice set together. Hard pressed to choose a favourite, but together as a group they are really striking.
Silvery wreaths
Into more random territory now, these wreaths all feature natural materials and/or bows, but the giant red ribbon one on the yellow door is really in a league of its own. As is the bling ring with stag deer hanger above: you can’t miss that one on a dark night. The bottom right wreath with wicker ornaments attached is really special – reminds me of the wicker decorations which hung on our tree when I was a child. Top right was perhaps my favourite non-standard shape wreath this year, the big jute bow is framed by a metal star, which is almost invisible.
Deer, bows and wicker
These four have no real connection either, but all have something a bit quirky or unusual. Love the backdrop of the bottle green door top left, (though the wreath is a fairly standard one) and the pastel pom pom wreath against a black door (I think this may be my favourite ever pom pom wreath to date.) The feathery (possibly pampas grass?) wreath on a white door was hard to photograph as it blew around a lot in the wind, but looked a lot better in real life. Finally the bottom right wreath with big orange ribbon is beautifully framed by the yellow leaves above – what a combo!
Unusual and quirky mixture
These four were all just brilliant in their own way. Top left was so colourful and clearly hand-made with paper additions and a few bows, so easy to do but so cheerful! Top right makes wonderful use of a yellow door – spectacular colour and the massive wreath just jumps out at you. Again I feel disappointed by how dull our door is in comparison. Bottom left is a nice little wreath but with the dried orange shapes and glowing bronze fox head knocker above, it really stands out despite being so petite. The bottom right wreath just sings against the teal blue door (a favourite colour, I couldn’t resist this one).
Home-made, yellow door, fox, teal door
Now we are into the bling zone. Last year I remember huge wreaths covered in baubles and candy canes, these two are on those scales, but one of them also had the accompanying giant baubles hanging from an evergreen tree and the even more giant baubles attached to the house. This was one of the first photos of the year I took, they didn’t hold back on decorating the house early!
Bling zone, giant baubles included
Finally, the last minute arrivals. We have three partially bare willow wreaths – and yet all 3 completely different from each other. The silvery one with purple ribbon is gorgeous, what can’t be made better with a splash of purple velvet? The last wreath which fits in nowhere is plain tinsel, with a few decorations wired on, and on the gate rather than the door, where it really caught my eye. A little more rough and ready than the bling ones, but its very humbleness made me love it more.
The final contenders
By contrast, this year I’ve also seen several doors being entirely dressed: I’ve seen this on Instagram but now it’s creeping into our local streets too. Tends to be the same houses which go big for Halloween, I do admire the effort they put in to make these festivals special for the rest of us!
Full door bling
That’s another blogging year wrapped up, and I’m glad to have not missed a month this time round, especially given there were no big household projects to write about this time. Next year…who knows? Plenty has been discussed, but no plans made yet. Wishing for a peaceful 2024, most especially in the places which badly need it.
In my efforts to declutter (yes, back on that again, but this isn’t a blog entirely about decluttering, honest), I have tried to think about what new stuff I let into the house as well as what I let go.
Little Christmas treat, an Emma Bridgewater tin from M&S
I am still fully capable of spotting ‘useful’ or ‘must have’ things, buying them and then never finding a use for them, or even forgetting I have them. My shelves in the living room which used to be empty, except for books of course, seem to gather more clutter every year. I made a commitment to buy no more Emma Bridgewater mugs, but fortunately M&S are selling bulbs in a EB designed festive tin which ticks that box on a budget.
Collecting in a purposeful way, though, is what I’ve tried to clamp down on. I love beautiful vintage china, but I don’t need 10 coffee pots. I have a cupboard of Wedgwood plates that come out on Christmas Day and never get used again. What is the solution for collecting, if you have no space for more stuff, but you still want that little dopamine hit that comes from finding the perfect thing for your collection?
I may have gone a bit far with fridge magnets. They don’t take up excess space if they sit on a fridge, I told myself – they aren’t in the way of anything else. They hold memories of travels. They hold up useful notes and artwork. Some were even made by the kids. They are good stocking filler size, so some have been bought for Christmas over the years.
The fridge magnet chaos
Now, though, there are too many. Some I don’t even like, but they were gifts bought by others so I can’t get rid. Some I don’t like and I bought them myself! Some I really am fond of, and even date back to my student days (the blue sleeping cat is probably the oldest).
I do tidy up the fridge from time to time, but at some point I’ll have to be ruthless and say ‘no more magnets’. One child has a magnetic noticeboard in her room now, and I imagine eventually her sister will too – so that will be a chance to shuffle more magnets off the fridge. But if I was really determined, I should actually dump the ones I don’t like, surely?
The second accumulation which I can blame myself for is house plants. Buying a plant is never a bad idea. People giving me plants are even more welcome. Plants on the half price shelf, freebies given away by neighbours, or plants which sprout babies of their own accord, gifting me bonus new plants, are the most welcome of all.
All the plants currently on the big windowsill
Plants need receptacles, though, and this sent me on a hunt for affordable plant pots. Every time I’ve acquired a plant that doesn’t come with its own pot, or established a new cutting, I’ve had to search out a suitable home. Any time I see a nice pot in a charity shop, I snap it up – and sometimes it goes in a cupboard and I forget about it. Any boxes of ‘help yourself’ stuff out on people’s garden walls, I search for anything that can hold a plant – I found 3 tiny ones which were particularly good for holding small cuttings, and the fact they were free was even better.
Jade plant grown from a single leaf in water
I have a snake plant which has thrived, and sprouted 4 babies, but they are firmly attached to the main one, and can’t just be pulled away and plonked in water like a spider plant can. It looks so impressive – and grew with no effort on my part! – that I feel I ought to take advantage of this bounty and get some new plants from it – I just don’t dare actually split the plant.
In theory, some of the cuttings were meant to be given away as gifts, but when push comes to shove, will I be able to part with favourites? A new plant that I have literally grown myself from one leaf left to root in water – that’s not just nurture, that’s pure magic! How can I let that go?
Christmas cactus was a freebie from Olio & will flower in time for Christmas!
Longer term, if I can grow enough cuttings for next year’s summer fair, hopefully the collection will continue to spread to others rather than build up endlessly on my windowsills and shelves. But all that does is clear space for more plants to come in…
The best way of all to collect without amassing piles of stuff is photos (ok they take up digital space, but still….) – I am one of those people who does look at old photos, and the introduction of Instagram Highlights was a great way of saving memories that are easily accessible (rather than Facebook photo albums which are now buried deep in the app).
I have two favourite Highlights – one is for the snow day photos since the snow in lockdown. I remember when I first made the highlight, I thought ‘I bet it never snows again now but at least we’ve got a record of it’ and since then we’ve had several really good snow days! The thing is, snow is a pain in real life, after the first magical moments of watching it fall, so the photos of it at its prettiest are by far the best memories, not the moments where you’re trudging through slush.
The Narnia photo
My favourite snow photo is from the woods on our common, where there was snow lying on the branches of trees and it looked just like Narnia. Of course in reality the path was sludgy and messed up by then, and I had to wait ages for dog walkers in the distance to disperse – it wasn’t like I had that moment all to myself. But I can present the photo as if it was me as Lucy pushing through the fur coats and stepping into Narnia, and that preserves the illusion.
The other photo Highlight which has become a labour of love is collecting Notes to Strangers – I forget when I saw them online, or when I first saw a Note in real life, but once I started photographing them, suddenly they were everywhere. I had good luck in Balham where I was volunteering, which had lots of Notes, and the authorities aren’t terribly focused on clearing them up. Brixton was the real heartland of Notes – where the artist Andy was based at the time – but the council there seem to remove them more quickly. Then I found several around Streatham, many of which have missed detection and removal for a long time. The real pleasure is finding one in a slightly hidden place, and the rush of joy that comes from feeling it was put there just for you to find.
Favourite Notes spotted in the wild
After Andy began travelling more, Notes became a global project – I had to really play detective in London and look out for old Notes from bus windows and on journeys into town – who knows where one might be hidden? The dopamine hit of finding a Note is the satisfaction of discovering a hidden gem, but also making a memory which is not going to add to the clutter in your home.
The messages don’t always hit home with me – some are poignant and meaningful, some I think ‘nah, that’s not really me’ – but I love the idea of using ugly public objects like nasty phone routing boxes and putting something positive out there. Something that gives a little lift to your day. And having all the photos together in a collection gives me a sense of purpose – something I’ve gathered, without creating extra clutter and waste, and which has brought me nothing but contentment. It’s a treasure hunt, a personal art gallery and a collection of mantras all in one.
Notes at home, and a favourite plant spot too
(Of course there is some real clutter generated at this point, as I do have 2 real Notes of my own on the wall, but pictures don’t count if they’re taking up blank wall space, right? And we got them onto a high up wall which was calling out for something cheerful and uplifting, so the Notes go perfectly there. I must resist the lure to buy more, though, if Andy ever starts selling again…)
It’s the time of year when two evergreen questions come up: people want to know where to go pumpkin picking, and where to book for Santa’s Grotto, and that’s when I play the parental version of the ‘I have never never’ game.
Supermarket pumpkins
– I have never taken my children to a pumpkin patch.
– I have never taken my children to a Santa’s grotto, unless you count the one at Winter Wonderland which was included as part of a preschool trip.
– I have never taken my children to Lapland, real or fake varieties. They have never petted a sad reindeer tied up in a pen.
– I have never taken my children to Disneyland.
– I have never taken my kids to Centerparcs (the eldest did go, aged only 2, she’s forgotten it, and was too young for most of it anyway.)
– I have never taken my kids on a real camping holiday. (2 nights with Eurocamp ain’t it)
– I have never taken them on a farmstay holiday, the kind where kids go and feed the chickens every day and do other farm jobs (I did plan this for summer 2020, but covid 19 had other ideas – the smallholding we stayed on that summer had a dog, cat, and chickens, and the girls got to meet & hold ducklings from the farm next door, that’s the closest we got).
I always question, are they missing out? Are there magical experiences they deserve to have?
As with everyone, I am sure our parenting choices are shaped by how we were raised ourselves – we adopt the things we remember fondly, we shed the stuff we didn’t enjoy. But with things which were never on our radar in the first place, how do we begin to decide if they are worth bothering with?
The pumpkin patch is the one which puzzles me most. Does anyone really think the pumpkins actually grow in fields? Do they know they’re paying to lug around barrows of pumpkins that were bought in supermarkets?
Our pumpkins come from Sainsbury’s not a field, but they still look good!
I have no objection to Halloween traditions being taken up here – after all, it’s something Britain and Ireland exported to America in the first place, they turbo-charged it and sent it back to us, great. But the photo opportunities of kids beaming on piles of pumpkins – if they’re growing for real in America, and people go to pick them in the places they grow, there’s a real life experience which doesn’t apply here (of course I’m sure half the pumpkin patches in the US are fake too – but they could be real). The extra degree of fake just makes me cringe – so it remains an experience my kids have never had.
The Christmas grotto is more a case of not in the right place at the right time. We’d gone to Christmas markets where you had to prebook the Santa, so we missed the boat, and our local Christmas market had a Santa – a real Father Christmas with a proper beard – but he mingled with the crowd rather than holding court, and no gifts were handed out.
I’d heard about the garden centre and department store Santas which sounded like conveyor belts; not appealing – and when we got to school age, we found that the school didn’t do a grotto at their Christmas fair, which was the only place I’d ever properly ‘met’ the big man in red when I was a child.
It was in our first year at primary school that we discovered Standen House, which has been our go-to Christmas place ever since – we’ve never paid for the grotto there, but the whole house is so magical, who needs any more? (Is it enough? Will it be much longer for them? The experience of seeing it through a child’s eyes for the first time is something you can’t recapture – the first visit there is still the one I remember most fondly).
Doing the Christmas trail at Standen without the grotto
The Christmas-in-London experience is something we can add to every year – the Trafalgar Square tree is the one constant, but it’s always a question of what else to do. ‘Seeing the lights’ seems underwhelming, Harrods I would never want to set foot in, Fortnum and Masons is lovely (and the girls love it there too), but hellish busy near Christmas. Ice skating at Somerset House I think we’d be confident enough to tackle this year, but perhaps we’ve already missed the chance for booking it.
Christmas at the Albert Hall
Last year we saw a Christmas concert at the Albert Hall, and loved it so much we are going again – and, for real Christmas magic, we are also seeing A Christmas Carol at the Old Vic. That’s a real dream come true moment for me.
The world of Disney, theme parks, Centerparcs – this comes back to the stuff we didn’t do when I was a child. Theme parks and Disney just weren’t in my universe – other people went there, I knew our family wouldn’t. We got taken to the beach and funfair on the pier, which to my parents must have been considered adequate fun: so I didn’t go to a theme park until it was on a school trip.
It leaves me baffled as to how to approach this – Disney is always presented as this magical experience a child must have, but neither of mine have got hooked on it (not since the Frozen years) and I kind of feel the kids who should go to Disney are the ones who really, really love it – just vague interest isn’t really enough to propel me to Florida. They’ve got alligators there, man, and alligators can kill you! No cartoon mouse is worth that risk.
Legoland carousel
The Mr, on the other hand, has little interest in Disney films and doesn’t really do rides – but he went to conferences there for years, so his memories of Disney as a place are a huge chunk of his life, something he’d like the girls to see one day. And I guess Epcot sounds good.
We can tick off theme parks, as we’ve done Legoland, and one child has been to Chessington- I’m sure more trips will follow. Winter Wonderland has become an annual trip, but as the girls outgrow the kiddy rides but don’t want to go on bigger ones, we are a bit stuck. I always make a point of taking them to fairgrounds as I went to them so rarely as a child, but now we end up on the dodgems as those are the only thing we all like!
The camping and hostels vs luxury holidays is a long running debate in my mind, as discussed in previous blogs, my childhood holidays were a mixture of wooden huts, youth hostels and campsites – I barely stayed in a hotel until I was 20 – but now we are just not equipped to rough it. Is it the fear of being cut off from technology or the dread of losing too much sleep on a camp bed? I can’t believe anyone sensible would choose a bad nights sleep just to give their children a ‘magical’ experience. Of course I know you can buy luxury camping gear now, but I’m still wary of ruining a holiday through lack of sleep. And as a vegetarian, the whole burning meat outdoors vibe doesn’t do much for me.
Our recent half term and Easter breaks have included Airbnbs that were decidedly mixed – even the most well-appointed and pricy accommodation can still have weird and basic beds. This autumn we had 2 nights in York, in a stunning house a stones throw from York Minster – the sort of place I would never have dreamed of as a child, nor indeed would it have existed as a place to stay back then.
York by night
The real luxury was knowing we could go into the town for dinner and only be 10 minutes walk from home. We weren’t being shepherded around in a tour group or having to trek back to a hostel or Travelodge 40 minutes outside the town walls. Obviously York is exceptional in being so small, but it still felt very special being able to step into our own private comfortable space and shut out the tourist crowds at the drop of a hat. That was definitely a highlight for me as an adult, but will the girls remember it the same way as they remember the hotel pools we’ve swum in or the place they bought a particular favourite souvenir? What they will remember most will probably be something else entirely different – but I hope it’s something good.
I have been following a LOT of renovation accounts on instagram. It’s a very ambiguous obsession, as I love seeing other people’s plans come to fruition, and I REALLY love a good floor plan, but often I find myself preferring the ‘before’ shot to the ‘after’.
Sometimes it’s that the current trends don’t really chime with my taste – the greys and peaches, mustard yellows and pastels which seem to be very popular just aren’t very ‘me’, and more often, it’s the sense of something being over-finished. I can’t bear the sight of a traditional house being so transformed that you can’t see the bones of how it originally looked.
Back in 2021: I insisted on newel posts to match the ones which were already there.
Of course, this is what had already happened to our house before we moved in, except for the staircase, which gives just a glimpse of what it might once have looked like. If a house has had all the character stripped from it, then I don’t blame people for treating it like a blank canvas – but if you’ve got some original features, any at all, it seems a shame not to try and keep them.
And in a perverse kind of way, I do rather like the odd 1970s feature, a pine ceiling or textured glass window, but I can see why other people would want to dispense with them, (especially if they’re of a certain vintage but not original to the house) – they might be admirable at a distance but not so easy to live with (and might well breach building control these days).
On the other hand, what I do like on Instagram is seeing how people manage to add better storage – I dream of pantries, utility rooms and boot rooms. It’s not as if our household does any very muddy sports, and we don’t have a dog, but every time I admire someone else’s grand utility room, I still yearn for something a bit better than our ‘space’.
The chaos of the utility ‘room’
I can’t even call it a utility room – it doesn’t have a sink, for starters – and it’s only got room for one person to stand in, but when it’s all you’ve got, you have to try and make it work for you. It’s more or less just a back porch, or a lobby, but we usually call it ‘the washing machine room’.
The shelf space above the washing machine started out as a place for smaller gardening items, bird food, and the laundry products, but since guinea pigs joined the family, some of their stuff has ended up there too. Since then, I give it a proper clear-out every so often, but it never lasts very long – the piles of stuff build up again and again. No point having better organised storage, either – I’ve tried having tubs and boxes to store things in, but other stuff piles up on top of those, and the underneath things never get used at all.
My one good solution to the lack of space is ‘if in doubt, add a hook’ – we had put up some proper hooks for the more heavy-duty garden tools, but then I discovered command tag hooks, and I haven’t looked back since.
Garden storage
During the first lockdown, (I suppose when I wanted to exert a bit more control over domestic matters, when so much else was out of our control), I decided command hooks were the solution to the under-stairs area. This is our bonus storage space, and it’s even more of an annoyance to me than the utility lobby. I was always frustrated by the broom and mop clattering over – a few hooks later, no more brooms falling over and getting in the way when I try to reach for something else.
How command hooks saved my sanity during lockdown. This is the bit which actually looks tidy.
Even now, 3 years on, when I look down the little corridor towards the back door, I feel grateful for 2020 me for bothering to do a quick fix, rather than it turning into one of those jobs you think of doing but never get round to.
If only the same could be true of the rest of the under-stairs space. It just doesn’t work, but I don’t see a way of making it better. I know lots of people box them in and turn it into pull-out drawers and cupboards, but our adjacent corridor is too narrow – if you pulled out a drawer or opened a cupboard door, no one would be able to get by, and besides, the door to the downstairs loo is in the way.
The real chaos under the stairs
Secondly, if it was all boxed in with shelves and cupboard doors, the gas and electric meters would be inaccessible. So, it remains hopelessly messy. All the various footballs we’ve acquired over the years. All the bags for life. Cables. Old shoes. Clothes airers. All these things have to live somewhere, but no matter how much I tidy, clear out and sort, it remains dark and cluttered. Is there a better solution? Probably, but short of adding more hooks, I’m all out of ideas.
More endless piles of mess
Anyway, in the spirit of shining a light on the scruffy unloved corners, here’s to all the bits of our houses that get on our nerves, and don’t work as well as they should. They deserve their moment in the sun, too.
Summer is nearly over – and this year it has felt particularly foreshortened, partly because what seems to be a seasonal shift (thanks, climate change) which has given late August an early autumn tinge, and also because the social media cycle already wants it to be autumn. I’m seeing nothing but pumpkin spice latte and Halloween vibes, and I am not ready for it. I want August still to be August. I want late summer to linger into September, not the other way round. Clearly the planet has other ideas, and I can’t help that, but all the humans gearing up for Halloween give me no joy.
Hot air balloons over our valley
At least for us, it did feel like summer, whilst we were on holiday – we dodged the European heatwaves by going to the Alps, but it still felt like a break from the dreary UK weather. Having done the all-inclusive hotel last year, we wanted to return to having a holiday in our usual style, but the more self-catering we’ve done, the more we’ve learnt the dos and don’ts.
⁃ We must have a pool. If we aren’t by the sea, swimming is still a prerequisite (the girls would prefer a pool by choice, I’d always choose the sea or a lake, but a pool will do).
⁃ We must have a king size double bed or larger (snoring). Spare beds that I can crash out on if it’s a bad night and I need to escape the snoring are also useful (hello, perimenopause).
⁃ We must have a sitting room that looks vaguely comfortable (I rejected an otherwise lovely-looking gite when I realised the sitting room had creaky-looking wooden arm chairs and no sofa. At least 2 other past holiday cottages have been ruined by deeply uncomfortable sofas).
⁃ It must be not completely in the middle of nowhere with miles to drive to the nearest shop, or down a tiny dead end lane with a major road thundering by at the end of the lane, or a threatening guard dog at the farm next door.
That makes for a long list of essentials – but past experience tells me it isn’t at all uncommon to have holiday cottages with small beds and sagging mattresses, bad sofas and poor facilities all round. The beds especially drive me to distraction: I want to email the owners anonymously and ask ‘would you sleep on a mattress this bad? Do you think this is good enough for your friends and family to stay in?’ Perhaps some people can put up with it. Perhaps I’m the Princess and the Pea.
Some stuff you just have to put up with – there will never be enough sockets in the bedroom, and it will be your side of the bed that doesn’t have one. There will always be something key missing from the kitchen – this time, we couldn’t find ice cube trays, but it’s not like the time in the Lake District where they didn’t even give us washing-up liquid or tea bags.
We did strike lucky with our chalet in France, apart from the lack of ice and a couple of other things which threw a little chaos into the mix – by the end of the first evening we already knew it was a winner.
The wonderful view
We arrived after a full day travelling across France on train, picking up a hire car in Geneva – I had started my period and felt less than 100%, so was desperate to get to the house and relax. The kids were desperate to explore and swim. We needed to do a food shop.
I didn’t want to spend ages being shown every detail and gadget when I needed to sit and switch off for a bit, but the home owner was lovely and I think sensed when it was time for her to go – after all, it wasn’t a holiday let we were in, it was their real holiday home, with family photos, trinkets and books, and two cats we had to keep an eye on. (She explained their other home was a flat in Geneva, so the cats stayed at the house).
We were told the cats would mostly ignore us but they immediately took to us and, whilst still retaining some cat aloofness when they wanted to, pretty much took us on as part of the family. That was an immediate winner for the girls.
Lizzy, the old lady cat
As we settled in to the house, what I appreciated compared to last years’ hotel was the space, inside and out – in Greece we had 2 adjoining bedrooms, but the only place to sit was on the bed. To be on your own for a while, (bearing in mind there was nowhere to walk to except a little way down the lane, or the beach), the choices were the gym, or take yourself to a lounger away from everyone else.
Here, we had sitting room space upstairs AND down, and multiple spaces to sit outside – the chalet had a large outside terrace that wrapped around 2 sides, and a balcony upstairs. We could all get away from each other when we needed to, and the outside space was really special.
So many holiday lets have those spindly wobbly metal cafe chairs which no one ever sits on – here we had a proper table with solid chairs, (where we ate most meals if it wasn’t raining), deckchairs, and an outdoor sofa, and more alternative seating round the corner and on the balcony, so you could move around to keep in the shade.
Terrace of dreams and pool
Main priority for the children was the pool – when I first saw it, my heart sank at how small it was, but I hadn’t taken into account yet the jaw dropping view across the valley from the pool, the good range of floats which created extra pool fun, and the fact I could easily sit on the terrace with them swimming safely in full view.
The pool didn’t need to be huge for them to get a lot of fun out of it, and I could sit with my feet up feeling extremely relieved (and yes, smug) to have got to the point where grown-ups actually do get to relax on holiday.
Our first evening turned into drama when a massive thunderstorm rolled into the valley below – we watched the clouds building up, wondering if it would pass us by or come directly on top of us – as the view disappeared entirely in cloud, we soon had the answer.
Storm rolling in
We rushed around closing up the windows and shutters, whilst it rained and hailed and thundered all around us. This was all a bit overwhelming for the smallest member of the family, but very thrilling for the rest of us.
Of course a week of rain and thunder wouldn’t have been satisfactory, but fortunately it didn’t turn out that way. There was more rain, but it never outstayed its welcome, and nothing as dramatic as that first night. It was nice enough to swim practically every day, and on the cloudier days we took the chance to go for alpine or woodland walks without being in blistering heat (the main downside was the ‘alpine panoramas’ we should have been admiring, disappearing into the cloud).
On sunny days, we did proper tourist stuff – Chamonix, Geneva, Lake Annecy for swimming and boat trips – and it was glorious. After last years’ experience of being mainly hotel-bound, to have a variety of places to visit was pleasing – and unlike some previous holiday homes, this was on the edge of a village, admittedly a quiet one, but enough hum of neighbours coming and going that it didn’t feel completely isolated, and the constant ringing of cowbells making me feel I was in ‘Heidi’.
Trad chalet in the village
The clear evenings were the best – the sun set off to the side rather than across the valley, but as it went down, hot air balloons would rise and drift towards us – once, right over our heads. Then the moon would rise and you could stand on the balcony watching lights come on across the valley. We’ve stayed in some nice places over the years, but this one really was special.
So we had comfortable beds and sofas, enough rooms to get away from each other, lovely outside space with pool, a good supermarket and nice small town a short drive away, amazing views, not isolated down a lonely lane or a cut-off hotel, well-stocked kitchen (except for those ice cube trays!) – what then, in the way of tiny flaws, can be deemed enough to be a proper pain in the bum, as opposed to interesting ‘quirks’?
The main challenge we had during the stay was flies. The moment a door was open, flies were in. (If only they were like vampires and had to wait to be invited in). Sitting on the sofa in the morning sun having breakfast was lovely, but if I was in my nightie, a fly would be landing on my bare legs non-stop. Meals indoors were constantly disrupted. Food had to be covered all the time. It just got to be really annoying, and there was no anti-fly spray stuff in the house that we could find, so we ended up having to buy it ourselves. This, I would class as a proper pain. Flies are bastards.
The second challenge was the upside down layout – two bedrooms and a kitchen/living room downstairs, another bedroom and sitting room upstairs. Neither girl wanted to sleep upstairs alone. Neither wanted to share a double bed. Nor did they want to go downstairs to sleep whilst we were upstairs in the sitting room (where the TV was – there wasn’t one downstairs).
Upstairs sitting room had proper ski hut vibes
This resulted in a nightly exercise a bit like the puzzle with the fox, chicken and bag of grain working out who was going to go downstairs with whom, and who was going to sleep upstairs alone. This wasn’t a deal breaker, but it was frustrating that we couldn’t just all get on and sleep in a bed to our own liking – and it wasn’t this time because the beds were uncomfortable, but because of fussy children.
The final thing which annoyed me but which was definitely just a quirk was the lighting. Downstairs, all the bulbs were hopelessly dim. Even with all the lamps switched on in the downstairs space (and there were many, many lamps of various sizes), it was still gloomy. If you wanted to read in bed, you needed your phone torch on too.
The bedroom of many dangling bulbs
Upstairs, the lights were brighter, but even more quirky – dangling bare bulbs directly above a bed, trailing cables everywhere, lamps of all shapes and sizes, sculptural and curvy and angular and squat. I can only imagine that collecting quirky lamps was a family hobby.
It was certainly less annoying than the flies, but if I was creating a holiday let, I’d make sure there were proper reading lamps by the beds, and at the very least, the lights in the living space would be adequate. That’s my manifesto!
We have reached the final week. The day I dreaded and yet knew could not be avoided. Every year since the covid era, we reach this point in the summer and I think ‘at least we still have 2 years to go’, ‘at least we still have one year left’ – and now, no more. No more walks to school together, no more smiling at your friends as they come out of the gate, no more friendly chat with mums I’ve known for 7 years. It really is coming to an end.
I am nervous – a little – for you, maybe it will creep up on me more when we get closer to September, as I know secondary school was not my happiest time and I long for you to be spared the worst of it. But then I remember you aren’t me – you are your own self, and I think far less anxious and more resilient than I was at the same age.
You have a confidence in yourself I could never have dreamed of, and I know schools have far better skills for managing bullying than in my day – not least the fact you’ve got a massive choice of lunch clubs and after school activity to help you avoid anyone you don’t want to mix with, and find your tribe. You won’t have to hide in the library like I used to, I hope.
Now I’m going to indulge in a little nostalgia trip of some of our memorable moments. As I said to your teacher on the terrible day in March 2020, the day we had to pick you up from school, not knowing when you’d go back, ‘there has never been a girl who has loved school as much as you do’.
First day
Reception – the start of primary school. I remember this day so well. You look so tiny in this photo and still quite like a toddler (with a giant lollipop head and tiny body). That year was just a joy – you adored your first teacher and TA, and you made your ‘best friend’. Going into 2017, we had some hard times – illness and burglary and stress of all kinds, and you broke your arm, but still took part in sports day with a cast on your arm and smile on your face.
Snow day
Year 1 – the year I remember most for the big snow. Nearly all the other schools had shut already and ours was doggedly open on World Book Day when we got the call at midday to collect everyone from school. We came home and played in the back garden, snuggled under blankets and made cupcakes with chocolate icing and marshmallows on top (with hot chocolate to match). I’ll always remember that as a happy happy day.
Joined Brownies in Y2
Year 2 – this was your happiest year at school, thanks to a teacher who was one of those bright shining stars, like Miss Honey from Matilda. You all worshipped the ground she walked on, and we adored her too for being such an inspiring mentor for our kids. Quite a hard act to follow. This year you joined Brownies, and we became a guinea pig family!
Lockdown birthday in 2020
Year 3 – heading into the most difficult year, before Covid even began, we’d already had the unthinkable happen when your class were on a school trip to Tower Bridge whilst the Fishmongers Hall terror attack was unfolding nearby. Getting you home safe that day was such a relief, and in a way it was a bit of a dry run for all the challenging months ahead. I also hold tight to some of the happy memories we made that year before the hard times started, the memorable birthday parties including discos and cycling in the park followed by pizza, and a trip to an adventure playground, followed by pizza.
Once we were into the covid era, aside from the zoom calls and the strange, hard times, I remember our daily walks, stopping to look at caterpillars and flowers in front gardens, say hello to cats, or wave to friends at a distance. How I looked forward to those walks, and getting out of the house. How I loved observing the world around us, with both of you, even if it was only a footprint of a few local streets.
On your next birthday – just out of 2021 lockdown
Year 4: I remember the happy day you got to go back in September, and what a glorious golden autumn it was – though also the challenge of settling back in with your friends again after 5 months apart and the distress of hearing you say ‘they’ve all changed so much, it’s like they are different people now’. But you had a good, reliable teacher in Sept 2020 who steered you through the strange new world we found ourselves in.
In Paris, Oct 2021
Year 5: this felt like the year things began to return to normal, after the early winter lockdown. We had trips to see family after a year apart, and then the thrilling visit to Paris in October which felt like a wonderful adventure after so long trapped in the UK. We all ended the year stuck at home with Covid, but thankful to be together and over the worst of it quickly.
School felt much more normal too – sports day returned, and school trips, and being able to visit friends houses again. It felt like friendships were back on an even keel, after a few blips, but I’ll always feel sad that the covid ‘break’ seemed to put an end to large parties and gatherings – no one was going to discos or back garden birthday parties in your year (or at least if they were, we didn’t get invited) – but on the plus side, you always seemed to have friends and be happy mixing with the everyone, you weren’t left out in the cold. And the class was always such a nice group, you couldn’t have asked for a nicer bunch of kids. I will miss them so much!
At PGL, in Y6
Year 6 – we were so happy you got your Y4 teacher back for the final year, a safe pair of hands to guide you through the final year. Your week at PGL set the term off to a good start, and we started the process of visiting secondary schools. SATS, entrance exams and banding tests followed, and now here we are. Sports day is done, end of term disco, school play, and last of all, the final farewell picnic on the common. You’ve got your new uniform already. I am so excited for what comes next, but my heart aches for what we are leaving behind.
Your generation has been challenged in a way mine never was, endured spending months apart from your friends, and I wish you could have had one more year with this group all together, to make up for the time you missed. But we can only go forward – and on we go, taking with us what we can carry, our happy memories of golden summer days and snow days and play dates and holidays. We love you.
We are at the stage of the year where everything feels like a downhill rush to the summer holidays – like a snowball picking up speed, if that isn’t a bad metaphor for summer.
This year is especially frantic – and emotional – with bonus strike days, a settling in morning at secondary school, end of year show, and the last sports day for one girl. I’m already feeling tangled in the emotions of primary school ending. Even though I’ll be taking a child there for another 3 years, I still wince at the thought of the faces of kids and parents I might never see again, the people who are going to pass out of my life or become those you merely nod hello to if you bump into them.
Early summer, a favourite view towards Crystal Palace tower
The children are being dispersed to a range of local and not-so-local schools – as per all of London these days – but our girl is going to the closest school and I’m very happy with that. To know she’s only a few minutes walk from home, no bus or train to deal with, (just one bad road to cross, but that’s another story) gives me a bit of comfort as she sets off to navigate so many strange and new experiences.
As for me, I have to remind myself that it’s worth carving out a bit of time for me before the holiday mayhem begins. Two weeks after half term were given over to summer fair prep, so with that done, I have a moment to catch my breath. So much of my week is taken up with a set routine – run 3 days a week, yoga and volunteering on the 2 mornings I don’t run, work and household chores in the afternoon – that taking a step outside that feels very bold. But I know I need to do it, to create a little headspace for myself before all the big feelings and farewells arrive in July.
Summer fair donations, so many donations
The question is, what would I choose to do with a spare day in London in summer – if I was going to ignore any mounting chores, garden or household jobs I had meant to tackle, let’s pretend those don’t exist for now.
What I would like to do is wander round central London aimlessly, swim outdoors, eat sushi, go to the theatre or art gallery, get my toenails done…not possible all in one day, sure, but it should be achievable to do at least some of them.
Last week, I had a bra crisis – a broken zip. My trusty sports bra has lasted 8 years I think, and the zip is fixable, but I couldn’t face the disruption to my running regime waiting for mending, so I jumped on a train to Victoria to the ‘big M&S’ to see if they had anything suitable. Luckily, there was one I could squeeze into, not as familiar a friend as my old one, but it seems to be bearing up well so far.
That shopping trip landed me in Victoria wondering where to go next – so I struck out towards Westminster, and it ended up being quite a long ramble. It was a hazy humid day so I didn’t take any photos – just enjoyed wandering with no particular goal in mind, until I suddenly hit Parliament Square and found it packed with tourists. I hadn’t been there on a weekday in so long, and I was slightly dumbfounded. Open top buses, tour groups on foot, tour groups on bikes, so many different nationalities – and me with my new bra from Victoria having wandered into Touristland by mistake.
Shaftesbury Theatre on the left, Oasis sports Centre on the right. It’s certainly not a looker
The following week, I was back in town for another adventure. I yearn to swim outdoors more regularly, as indoor pools are always so stuffy and airless, plus my skin hates chlorine. I always mean to swim more, I never manage it – and Tooting Lido being closed for renovations, I had to look elsewhere. I couldn’t face Brockwell Lido following reports of chaotic booking systems and broken, dirty showers, so I recklessly caught a train into the City, and walked to Oasis leisure centre, which is just at the point High Holborn meets Shaftesbury Avenue.
Obscured view of the pool (best I could do whilst trying to maintain others privacy)
I was a member back in 2007/08, and had a vivid memory of swimming on a winters day in an outdoor heated pool, with steam rising off the water. It turns out in summer – it ain’t heated! – but it’s sheltered by high rise buildings and not nearly as cold as the lidos. And there’s a sauna to warm up in afterwards. The pool is still very municipal, borderline grotty, but the changing rooms are clean and smart, and it was only an hour and a half from the school gates to getting into the water.
Central London means sushi for lunch
Yes it’s a bit extra to go all that way just for a swim, but after weeks of slogging away at the thankless task of school fair admin, it was nice to have a day of reasonably affordable, reasonably accessible leisure.
I then got my sushi lunch, followed by a bonus treat of walking back to Blackfriars through the hidden seclusion of Inner Temple, one of my favourite secret places. I never stop to poke around too much, as I’m worried about being ‘moved along’ as a nosy pleb, but even just knowing it’s there as a useful short cut to the station is a bit of secret joy.
The Master’s House, Inner TempleNon-Residents Must Not Bring Dogs Into the Inn
Still on the list to do – pedicure, that’s booked in for later this week. Theatre and art gallery, I’m making a plan.
ladymissalbertine 