New Shoes

I love back-to-school time. While the mornings are getting a bit depressing, the sunrises are worth it and I am already excited about cosy evenings involving soup, blankets and candles. Last night was spent debating this year's Hallowe'en costumes. Autumn is underway.

As I have already banged on about a lot, I am now pretty much not buying new things. Depop has (quite dangerously) become my new best friend. My newest-to-me purchase has brought me so much joy I cannot tell you.

I have new school shoes.

I have bought a pair of second-hand DM shoes, identical to the ones I wore for school between the ages of 13 and 16. I love them so much. I feel solid and my clunky footsteps delight me. It was pouring with rain this morning, and for once my feet felt warm and dry. I am enjoying wearing them with a cropped trouser and a jazzy sock. Shoes haven't made me so happy, probably since my last pair of DMs - which I had to beg my mum for and promise I would wear at weekends as well to justify the expense (which I did, for years). Truly happy-making shoes for the back-to-school month.

Most importantly, it's the season when I feel the most productive. I have so many new ideas and just need to get on with it and do them.

Today really is back-to-school day. Tonight I am taking my new shoes and my rucksack and my new notebook to an evening class. This will be the first new thing I have learned in a long time, and the first non-writing-related endeavour I have undertaken... maybe ever? New stuff. It's scary and good. Wish me luck.

A nice time.

It's been a good week. I started it off in Andorra, where I went - via overnight train from Paris - for a long weekend. There was a lot of walking, eating, swimming and more walking. Andorra is weird, but I feel fondly towards it.

On Wednesday, when I was home, the announcement was made about my new book STAUNCH. It's a memoir, my first adult book and my first non-fiction. I am excited about it and also terrified. These days, I only want to put work out into the world if I think it serves a real purpose - and I truly believe this does. That is probably also why the prospect of it makes me feel like one big messy, bloody, beating heart. Ho hum. You can read this labour of love in March next year!

I happened to read this little definition of a long-term relationship in the comments of a random blog of all places, but I have been thinking about it ever since. I don't think I've ever heard real emotional intimacy with another human summed up so incredibly accurately. As much as anything, I'm putting it here because I really want to remember it.

The lovely, lovely comfort of someone to go home to completely be yourself with, immediately worrying about losing them, the boring moments (is this all there is), the really bad mad moments (is this it?), and back again to the romantic luckiness of wow wow I can’t believe I found you and you see me and I see you.

Last night, I found myself singing Joni Mitchell songs to myself in the bath. She sums up a lot of feelings so well; I am struck anew by it every time. Listen to the whole of Blue, then to Court and Spark but only up to and including Car on the Hill. That's my big advice to you.

It's about to be a long weekend and it's going to be sunny. I am hoping to hang out with nice friends, go for some walks, sleep a lot, do some cooking, wear dungarees and do some jobs in the (tiny, concrete) garden. I can't wait.

How To Be Luminous

My great friend Harriet Reuter Hapgood writes more beautifully than you can possibly imagine. She recently produced both a book and a baby into the world in the space of one week, that’s the kind of casual over-achiever she is.

Usually, if I read a book and wish I’d written it myself to the point of jealousy, it’s because it has a clever, twisty plot that would be far beyond the limitations of my small brain. However, Harriet could write a book in which nothing happened whatsoever – full of sighs, meaningful glances, no dialogue and solely descriptions of beautiful rooms and outfits – and I would happily spend the rest of my life reading it. I honestly don’t know anyone else on the face of this planet who has her gift for unusual description, unexpected detail and sighingly gorgeous lycricism.

Her new book, HOW TO BE LUMINOUS, tells the story of the three teenage sloe sisters. Their famous artist mother has disappeared and Minnie, the middle sister, has lost her ability to see colour. There are gorgeous boys, even more gorgeous settings, outfits I wish were real and in my wardrobe, fictional artworks that I can see right in front of me, and a rabbit called Salvador Dali. There are roses and sequinned platform shoes and secrets and wild swimming and a thousand shades of bright pink and existential angst.

Her first book, THE SQUARE ROOT OF SUMMER, is also wonderful but I think I love this one even more. I highly recommend reading both. She is frequently compared to Jandy Nelson – company of the highest order and very aptly deserved.

In short. I do not even have the linguistic skills to convey how beautiful Harriet’s writing is. It makes me feel like Georgia O’Keeffe and PJ Harvey and Sylvia Plath do, but about teenage girls in South London. I can’t wait for all the things she’s going to do next. The word ‘humbled’ is overused and I hate it but… yeah, that.

As well as being a very proud friend, I also really like this sensible and wise article on being single by Garance Dore. I think she’s a pretty cool woman.

I also bought some tiny Ivy Park shorts on Depop (I only buy second-hand clothes now). I bought them from a cool teenage girl and now totally feel like one when I’m out running. It’s a great feeling.

I have been drinking a lot of kombucha. Fun. Today I’m 42 days sober (the longest since I was 14 years old) and I’m told this is where it gets really good. Incidentally, I have now not smoked in 9 months. This almost passed me by, and it feels normal now, most of the time.

I presume you already do Yoga With Adriene, but stepping up to doing at least one of her (usually short) videos every day has changed my life for the better.

Last night, we ate pasta sauce made with olives from the garden and few things have ever made me happier.

Things are really not too bad on this humid, London, sleepy, wearing my boyfriend’s shirt to work Monday morning.

Maybe useful, maybe not

I’ve been making a lot of stuff lately. I’ve been low-key productive, focused on the small things. It’s been nice. I find pottering very relaxing. These things make me feel in control when I’m not. I really value peace, at the moment. Also I like it when the end product outweighs the effort involved.

I’m trying hard to live a little bit healthily, for myself and the world.

Here are some of the things I’ve been making and doing, in case it’s useful to you.

This recipe for kimchi has really improved my life. It’s so easy, it keeps, it’s good for your gut, and it makes a really good dinner just with a bowl of rice. I leave out the weird addition of carrots, but once I used the spicy pickling paste just to pickle some carrots on their own, because they were sitting about getting a bit old, and they were incredible. The moral of the story is: spicy pickle anything and everything. Also apple cider vinegar works just fine if, like me, that is your thing.

This very, very basic jam recipe is great if you have any fruit that needs using up. If you feel a little bit fancy, you can add vanilla or balsamic vinegar or thyme. I have some foraging planned.

You can then have your homemade jam on these vegan pancakes for ridiculous smug levels. They are among the best pancakes I have ever made, vegan or no, and so simple you might as well just make them every Sunday. Yay grown-up life.

Who knew that making your own oat milk was SO EASY? Also: ridiculously cheap and saves on packaging (buy your oats from a bulk store and take your own jar!)

Making your own rice milk is also very easy, but I find it a bit less delicious. Still, worth doing if you just have a bit of cooked rice leftover, which you can then use to make chia pudding.

Making your own hummus, if you do it from dried chickpeas bought in bulk, also saves a lot of those little plastic tubs if you get through as much hummus as I do.

Now that I’ve tuned into reducing packaging, it’s hard not to think about it at all times. So just to cut things down, I’d also recommend this deodorant (all natural, comes in paper packaging, works really well) and this luxurious shampoo bar (invented by my friend Jonathan and probably the fanciest shampoo bar there is, although I also quite like the Lush Godiva one).

If, like me, you have limited outdoor space and limited gardening skill/time, I also recommend plants and seeds from the pound shop. I’ve got some carrots growing on my kitchen windowsill from a pack of 79p seeds. I just sprinkled them around and hoped for the best, and magic seems to be happening.

I could, should and hopefully will do more of the above type stuff. Please send me your recs (ideally on Instagram, where I now spend all of my time looking for eco life hacks and sexy sobriety). Thanks!

Notes from *any* divorce.

I've been thinking a lot about last weekend's Emma Forrest article.

I agree with her wholeheartedly that: 
"The thing I find most painful about divorce is that there is no marked spot at which to leave offerings."

In the end, I can only conclude that the best thing we can do is to write about it.

Emma's writing has always helped me, perhaps because I relate far too heavily to all of it. I have read her memoir Your Voice In My Head probably more times than I've ever read anything else. It's certainly influenced my current writing a lot.

When she got married I literally started a scrapbook of her Elle columns about marriage. 'If she can do it, maybe I can too,' I thought. 'Maybe...' 

However, as always, her words tap into a comforting place, no matter how sad the topic. I was also reminded of the time my friend Ali and I followed a man around Marrakech for an entire afternoon because we thought he might be George Michael. He was not George Michael.

I'd like to be in Marrakech right now. It was a place I long dreamed of before I ever went there. It was more magical than I would ever have expected. For years, I thought I'd end up being like the mum in Hideous Kinky one day. I don't think that any more.

This week a year ago my dog died and I went to Switzerland with a boy I barely knew.

Anyway. Observations today include that spicy-pickling carrots is always an excellent decision. I'm also heavily into aubergines right now (sprinkle them with sumac and roast them). I've been reading about meditation, which I am quite bad at. I'm prepared to try.

Tomorrow I am 30 days sober and have been instructed to buy myself a treat.

My life has been quite small, lately. It's been domestic and cosy, and I have enjoyed it. I'm starting to feel the itch to do bigger work, though. Maybe because I watched Brene Brown last night and... if you know, you know.

What I've been up to.

It’s been a quiet cosy time, but it also feels like a productive time.

I have been making a lot of stuff. Kimchi, oat milk, hummus, chocolate spread. I have been pickling a lot of things. The olive tree in the garden has yielded an abundant freak crop of Brighton olives. I’m trying to make us into a zero waste household. I’ve planted some carrots. I’ve started using a natural deodorant and I don’t even seem to stink.

I went to a gin festival and drank coffee.

I’ve been to some nice gigs. I highly, highly recommend checking out the ED Fowler Band and Peter Cat, two of the best things I’ve seen lately.

I re-read The Outrun by Amy Liptrot and The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy, both of which are beautifully written and highly inspiring. This is the sort of thing I’m in the mood for these days.

I went to a Belinda Carlisle drag queen contest and it was a lot of fun.

I went for a massage, on a whim. Never done it before, best decision ever.

I’m trying to do yoga every single day, and it is helping.

I watched all of the new series of Stranger Things in a 24-hour period. I cried profusely at the end. Rare for me these days; I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.

I hate shopping but I’ve suddenly taken to buying second-hand clothes on the internet. Getting parcels is fun. So is having a lot of jumpsuit options, it turns out.

I am in awe of my wonderful friend Harriet, who has made a book and a baby in dazzlingly quick succession. She is one of the most beautiful writers on this earth, and you should definitely read the book.

Emma Forrest has also – again – cemented her place as my favourite living writer and I cannot wait to see her film.

I’ve been listening to Domino Kirke’s beautiful record a lot and also aiming to be beyond waves. There’s graffiti at the end of my road that declares NO MORE DRAMA and I want it tattooed on my heart.

Today I am 28 days sober, like that film with Sandra Bullock.

100 days.

I am doing 100 days of not drinking. I am only on day 8, so I don't have any profound words of wisdom, but I like to write things down.

Actually, I've been enjoying not drinking. Unexpectedly so. I can't remember the last time I went over a week without having a drink.

During this week, I have been on a date night (drank tea!), been to the pub with friends (drank ginger ale, nobody particularly noticed or cared), been away to Edinburgh for the weekend (went to an awesome Stranger Things-themed pop-up bar and asked them to make me a 'very sour' mocktail).

I took my boyfriend out for a birthday dinner and thought there might have been a mistake in calculating the bill for our incredible three-course meal... then realised dinner is pretty much half the price if you don't drink a kir royale, then a bottle of wine, then maybe a glass of dessert wine.

I might start adding up how much I am not-spending on booze, and put it in a savings account. Or at least buy myself a treat. If I include hangover food in this amount, I might soon have a small fortune.

I am excited about doing jobs around the house and cooking and maybe taking up knitting again.

I am - tentatively - thinking I might keep this up.

I'm less than a tenth of the way through... let's see how I get on.

37

Rather delightfully, I spent my last day of being 36 in Paris.

And then I woke up on my 37th birthday alone in my house, drank coffee and listened to the Beatles. My mum arrived, with her dog, a huge homemade carrot cake and the loveliest presents. Most of all: Fiesta Melons (look it up).

We spent the day on the beach, chatting in the sunshine, drinking wine and eating chips.

In the evening, we went to see Patti Smith - on my ACTUAL BIRTHDAY, IN BRIGHTON. She was everything I could have hoped. What an inspiration. What staunch.

I feel powered up for the next year.

The next day, we drank tea in bed and then I had lovely friends and family round to hang in my sunny garden, eat party snacks and drink more wine. There were wonderful pals, a dog and singing in the garden as it got dark.

Then I had a nice long sleep before getting back to work.

What a treat. I really like you, 37.

We are the Misfits!

My cousin and bestest friend (AKA frousin) Nic is pretty awesome. Recently, she has moved to Brighton (to the end of my road - yay) and become a yoga teacher.

She is now launching MISFIT YOGA, which I personally think is a very exciting and brilliant idea. Basically, it's yoga made fun and accessible, not scary Insta showing off, with laid-back and friendly people. She will be running workshops, initially around the Brighton area, but let her know if you live somewhere else and are interested!

There will also be a MISFIT NEWSLETTER! I am very delighted to disclose that I will be helping out with this side of things, so as well as more information about Misfit and yoga wisdom from Nic, please do sign up if you have any interest in receiving amusing, tenuously yoga-related articles from me, straight to your inbox. Boom.

Expect my thoughts on Madonna arms, the classic Geri Halliwell yoga video, inspirational women in general, fitting in exercise when you have a full-time job plus side hustle plus social life, recipes, random book/music/article recommendations, and other such life-enhancing ephemera.

I'll leave you with the original Misfits. Well, kinda. The best ones, anyway (haha).

Over. It.

January is over. The supermoon is over (although it was, rather magically, still visible in the sky as I took the early morning train into London this morning).

Today it is a new month, a beautiful sunny day in London. Spring in the air is sniffable.

Yesterday, I wept through therapy, dragged myself through a dance class hoping it 'would help' (it did, kind of - only kind of). I ate a barely-cooked steak as big as my face. I had a full-moon bath and left my crystals out on the windowsill. Then I stayed up for most of the night watching The End of the F***ing World. Cannot recommend highly enough, is pretty much all you need to know from me. Bonus props for the on-point True Romance aesthetic, perfect architecture and Earl Cave.

I've saved this article by the inspiring (in an I-wanna-be-her-or-maybe-be-her-friend-or-at-least-have-her-hair sort of a way) Molly Guy. I've been finding it most useful. When ANYONE offers you a plate of crumbs and tells you it's a feast, tell them to fuck right off. I'm working on it. A work-in-progress, I must admit.

Today, I brought a green smoothie to work in a fucking Kilner jar for my breakfast. Smug levels high. Think I might go and hang out in Holland and Barrett at lunchtime. Yoga tonight.

The Fuck-Boys-in-the-Eye February regimen is afoot. I'm actually excited.

For what it's worth

January is nearly over and where did the time go? I'm not going to complain; the mornings are getting lighter, I left work yesterday when there was still blue in the sky. Daffodils are in the shops and I've been buying them by the armful like a basic bitch. Few things make me happier than a nice bunch of daffodils in every room.

I managed to skip most of January. I went to Goa, where I did yoga every day, ate curry for every meal, and absorbed a lot of forgotten family history. I bought impractical dresses, rode in tuk-tuks and befriended wild dogs. A toothless old lady stopped me in the street and gave me a blessing and a slightly manky old flower; obviously I gave her all my money and kept the flower plaited into my hair long after it was brown and dead.

In short, I'm now one of those annoying people who is obsessed with India.

I flew back overnight from one extreme to the other: to a tumbledown old priory in the countryside with my friends for the weekend, where we drank wine, played board games and went on walks. It was pretty perfect. I wore long socks and sat reading by the fire. I slept in the furthest-away bedroom by myself, the one with the little writing desk overlooking the Long Man of Wilmington, and basically pretended I was in I Capture The Castle.

And now... I'm back. I'm ashamed to say I haven't managed to do yoga once since India. My tan feels like it's fading by the minute. It's too cold to wear any of my new dresses.

I am, however, inspired to be productive, make this year count for something. I've been editing a book (in bed, wearing two jumpers, mostly) and I have new ideas buzzing around.

And yet... It takes so little to make me happy, and it also takes so little to tip me into abject despair. I came back with such good intentions. I have daffodils in my house and new fairylights, and it's cosy in here. It's not awful being back.

But I also still can't decide if I should get a cat, and my favourite person is going away, and there are so many things I should be doing that I never have time for... and this morning I made my coffee, ate a ham sandwich, and then spent twenty minutes crying to this song and I'm not even totally sure why.

'For what it's worth, I love you
And what is worse, I really do.'

If you lived here you'd be home now

I am back from the wilderness (well, a whole FORTNIGHT in Spain with my grandmother).  I am very suntanned, so zen I am practically levitating.  I did very, very little.  I feel I have slowed down to octogenarian pace, which is a rarity for me.  Readjusting to real world life - alarm clocks and trains and general bullshit, quite frankly - is HARD.

I did writing, mostly on a sunny balcony, sometimes in a cafe.  I tried to go running every day and to chant every day.  I drank gin.  I read precisely zero books.  I sat still an awful lot.  I swam in the sea.  I had Thai massages on the beach.  I ate chips.  I slept.  I walked.  I wore a hat.  I listened to a lot of Radiohead and Prince and Steely Dan and Cat Power and Devendra (my nan's new favourite OF COURSE).

While I was away, I had a birthday.  How (HOW?) am I 36 years old now?  Nothing is what I thought it would be.  Mostly that's OK.  I got some great birthday presents.  The best ones were: a rose quartz necklace and the Brian Eno Oblique Strategies cards that I have been fascinated with for the longest time (I seriously cannot imagine a duo of presents that 'get' me more than this, from someone I haven't known for very long); and a black/red reversible Chinese silk jacket, that my dad bought my mum in Hong Kong in the 1970s and I have coveted literally my whole life (THANK YOU, MUM).

I am seeing a lot of cats and a lot of 11.11.  (WHAT DOES IT ALL MEEEEAN?  The cats speak Spanish so it's hard to tell, obvs.)  This generally means evolution is afoot.  Or that I am overtired.

Today I am mostly trying my best to hang on to the zen.  Wish me luck.

Sundays in Vienna

A whirlwind of a weekend... I think I have had the total of one night's sleep in the past four days, pretty much.  Entirely worth it.

I went to Vienna, where I hung out with wonderful family (including Mochi the dog), drank (a lot of) beer and ran with 30,000 women through the park.  A favourite discovery was that there is a gemstone vending machine outside the toilets at Vienna airport.  True story.  All your crystal-powered emergency airline needs met - you're welcome.

In other news, I read THE HATE U GIVE and I'm going to join the chorus of people saying that it's worthy of all the hype and more; a truly important book and you must read it.  It's (rightly) a tough read, but I wasn't expecting some of the well-placed humour and quite how much I would care about the characters (especially Big Mav, who - although I'm sure he would be appalled at the idea - has made it straight to the top of my Dream Fictional Husbands List), compounded by Lisa's advice on how to assess whether the good outweighs the bad in any relationship, which feels like a timely lesson for me.  Anyway, you don't need my words on the matter.  At all.  Just read it.

This post is also brought to you by: Roxy Music (pretty much new to me, ridiculously); kitchen discos (always) and pyjama parties; my new silver boots; Soap and Glory lipsticks; watching the video for Ashes to Ashes by David Bowie and getting the song stuck in your head literally forever; my new rose quartz necklace, which was the nicest present ever; rose-tinted octagonal sunglasses.

It's a very good sign.

I have woken up with this song wedged in my head.  This is neither the original, nor remotely cool.  However, on a gloomy Friday, I say you should always go with the 10 Things I Hate About You version.  Always.

Today I am mostly wearing my sparkly Star Wars sweatshirt, visiting the crystal shop later (I have a hankering for black obsidian in my life right now)... and probably watching 10 Things I Hate About You.

Bon weekend.

Energy Detox

We're in a Scorpio full moon this week.  As one of my favourite websites, The Hoodwitch, has pointed out:

It's Full Moon time again, kiddies, and this week is likely to bring hella chaos, so get ready! 

The Moon will be full at 20 degrees of Scorpio on the 10th at 2:42pm PST. Expect feels to be at heightened levels of intensity leading up to this event. It’s a dangerous time for building up resentments, developing grudges, or obsessing on your ex, so don’t say I didn’t warn you. Scorpio is the sign of death and regeneration, healing and destruction; whatever happens with this Moon, it isn’t likely to be chill. You’re going to want to get deep, and that can be complicated if things do go your way, which I’m sad to say they probably won’t.

There's a lot more useful stuff on there; I recommend having a look if you are so inclined.  Whether it's the full moon or what, I'm really feeling this chaos and intensity.  So, today I have written a list of the myriad hippie bullshit ways in which I am going to have a two-week energy detox.  How very Goop of me, right?  This ranges from 'no/minimal drinking', 'daily exercise' and 'more lentils' to 'pay attention to red flags' and 'don't get on someone else's rollercoaster'.

I'm hoping it will help.

One thing that *has* helped lately, is the book 'The Course of Love' by Alain de Botton.  My stepmum sent it to me in the post, as she thought (very rightly) that I would find it helpful. It was only when I started talking to friends about it that I realised how much love there is out there for this book, and how many people have found it genuinely transformative.   Cannot recommend enough.

Finally - while chatting about dating and the universe with a lovely friend today, she gave me the best piece of advice I've heard in a while: If it's right, there's literally nothing you can do to fuck it up; if it's wrong, there's literally nothing you can do to make it work. Wise words worth bearing in mind, comrades!

Now, please excuse me - I'm off to do some chanting, eat some lentils and howl at the moon. Or similar.

I AM NOT ASHAMED

It finally exists!

To explain, my wonderful friend Harriet Reuter Hapgood* and I have been talking for AGES about how we are going to make a proper old-school photocopied 90s-style fanzine.  Just talking about it has been the best fun ever - a bit like being a teenager and discussing at length with your friends about how you're going to start a band but never actually playing a note (was that just me and my friends, maybe everyone else used that time to actually learn to play guitar properly?).

Anyway, we spent days drinking tea and eating snacks, talking about how great our fanzine was going to be.  Obviously, this was a very worthwhile exercise.  We would write bits, ambitiously plan bits, draw bits... then put them in a drawer and kind of forget about them.

This weekend - during a Brighton heatwave - we decided: ENOUGH.  We spent a whole day sitting in Harriet's garden in the sunshine, with her cat and a bag of cookies and a stack of craft supplies and a suitable playlist, and we GOT IT DONE.  We made a fanzine!

Our fanzine is called I AM NOT ASHAMED.  Its (very broad, quite vague) theme is ENTHUSIASM.  Be an unapologetic enthusiast.  Enthusiasm is good.

I AM NOT ASHAMED will probably be available at a publishing event near you soon.

In the meantime, here is a little zine inspiration board.

*If you have not done so already, I cannot recommend enough that you read Harriet's beautiful book, The Square Root of Summer - it is truly wonderful and I am still pretty blown away that this amazing and gorgeous genius is my friend, TBH.

The Pyjamas Paradox

This may be a paradox, but it’s a fortuitous one as far as I’m concerned.

I currently have a new (to me) pair of pyjamas that make me feel both ludicrously comfortable and spiritually strong.  Yes, it turns out that is possible in a pair of pyjamas.  They don’t even look like anything *that* special: they’re a sort of jersey material, grey and white, thin stripes, kind of yoga pants and a slouchy top.

I inherited them from my best friend last week.  Having turned up at her house underprepared for a sleepover, I then proceeded to wear them for 24 hours straight.  As I was reluctantly taking them off while packing up to leave, I commented on how much I liked them, and she instructed me to keep them – ‘they’re nothing special; they’re only cheap’.

I think they are pretty special.  Mostly because they are not something I would ever buy for myself.

My best friend A has got pretty good at self-care by this point in life.  My stay at her house, as always, involved lie-ins with dogs, proper coffee, Moroccan tea made lovingly in a teapot, indulgent bathing, delicious food, time to read and write and have big conversations.

She has many pairs of comfortable pyjamas.  Her house is always warm and cosy.  Her fridge is always full.

I generally sleep in a ratty old band T-shirt, if that.  I don’t really do comfortable lounging clothes.  At a push, I might wear my running kit all day and then be cross with myself for not going running.  It’s not really the same.

I am a puritan at heart; I have no idea where I get this instinct from.  I don’t really see the point of turning on the heating ‘just for me’.  Too often, I will consider making dinner and then have a glass (OK, bottle) of wine and a bag of crisps instead.

Whenever I spend time with A at her house, I feel recharged and more positive about the world.  This is largely due to her wise and beautiful presence, of course, but it also extends to the space around us.  Her house is like a zen retreat.

I always put this down to the fact that she has a more flexible working life than I do.  This is technically true, so I’m not going to start being hard on myself over it, but I can try my best.

I am determined that the mythical pyjamas should be a reminder; they should remind me to create this same zen feeling in my own house, wherever I can.  I have worn them every night this week and, while that time has admittedly involved eating cereal in bed at midnight for dinner, it has also involved writing a lot of words.  It’s a start.