Isolation activities.

Isolation continues. Cosy, scary, sleepy, confusing. I have to admit it's nice to have time on my hands. I realise this is a huge privilege.

I really, really like jam now. I used to think jam was only OK. Apricot is my favourite, but I have now finished the apricot and the blackcurrant is also good.

I am obsessed with Pinterest and all the decorating ideas I have 'for when this is all over'. For some reason, there is currently something comforting about visual fripperies. Especially when I am seemingly incapable even of reading a book at the moment.

I am going to paint my stairs pink. I am going to paint a dull wall bright purple. I am going to go to junk shops and poke about all day long and buy things and paint them. I want to start painting wooden wardrobes and shelves.

The light is nice in corners of my house, at times when I would never usually be there. I feel there is something important to be learned from this.

I have come to the conclusion that gxd has been saving Mad Men up for me at this time. I am obsessed. I dream about it at night and cannot wait for every next episode. Oh, Don Draper. My heart. Oh, also the styling. And everything.

Oh, and I did a podcast! I know that's the last sentence anyone needs to utter, now or at any time, quite frankly. But I promise it's not just me talking. It's not a 'haha, me and my friends are so funny, people would LOVE to listen to us just chat!' type podcast. Because there are more than enough of those, thank you very much.

The STAUNCH Podcast basically consists of interviews with interesting people who are far older and wiser than I am. Featuring stories and life advice and general chat. It was such an enriching experience that I am very grateful for. I honestly think it's a very comforting and reassuring listen. Available now on Anchor and Spotify (other platforms forthcoming), if you'd like to. Let me know what you think!

The first Sunday in December

Yesterday was Christmas tree day. I'm not a big fan of Christmas - being a chronically anxious child of divorce who may or may not have a drinking problem, it's not the best time for me. However, I love Christmas tree day.

This is a new thing for me. Until two years ago, I never had a Christmas tree of my own. What was the point? Well.

It's such a frivolous thing, but two years ago - when I decided to bother getting a Christmas tree for 'just me' - this represented a genuine shift in my attitude towards myself. I have an unexpectedly frugal streak, bordering on the puritanical (my parents both remain baffled by where this could have come from) and would sit in the cold and dark eating baked beans from a can (to 'save on washing up') if it were 'just me'. I'd lived in my house for years by that point and never once had a Christmas tree there. For years before that, I'd lived with an ex where we both agreed it was better just not to bother - which in retrospect speaks such sad, sad volumes.

But on the first Sunday in December two years ago, my friend Katherine and I went out together and each bought a small Christmas tree, bringing them back with much hilarity in a large taxi with an impatient driver. I was single, living alone, and I loved every minute of decorating the tree and drinking whisky by myself, singing along with Christmas songs.

Every evening, putting the Christmas lights on - and turning them off when I went to bed alone at night - brought me unprecedented joy. Having the tree gave me an excuse to have a Christmas drinks party, which got very out of hand and ended with me finding a bottle of cassis in the washing machine a few days later.

At the end of Christmas, dragging my own now near-dead tree to the recycling point at the park, felt like a huge achievement. Even sweeping up the needles afterwards brought me a low-key sort of joy.

Christmas tree day is now a tradition that makes me feel great about myself. I love it that I have a bag of Christmas decorations (mismatched and mostly from the charity shop) that I can pull out every year like a real grown-up.

Yesterday was sunny and I put on a very jolly jumper for the occasion. Because times have changed, I bought a bottle of non-alcoholic mulled wine and made this vegan Christmas tiffin, which I very highly recommend. Also, curiously, I recommend Batman Returns as a very, very jolly Christmas film.

The tree brought me a flash of joy when I got up this morning. I will spend the next month coming home every night in a state of terror that one of the cats will have pulled the whole lot over (again), and I'm delighted about it.

This year, in a new twist, I am actually looking forward to Christmas. For the first time ever, I have just decided 'fuck it' and I am going away. On Christmas Day I will be swimming in a lagoon in Iceland. I'm not sure I have ever looked forward to anything more in my life.

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.

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.

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.

Londoner eggs

One of my girlfriends is really good at finding great blogs and then telling me about them - all the coolest and most aspirational ones.

We are currently into The Londoner, a Chelsea gal who is preternaturally beautiful and glamorous, but also seems like a jolly nice person.  We like her, even though we should probably just be filled with envy-induced rage.

Somewhat predictably, rather than being drawn to her posts about high-end fashion and London nightlife, I have become obsessed with her recipe for eggs.  I cannot stop eating it for dinner.  Although mine tends to be a slightly lesser version cobbled together with the random contents of my fridge.  There's probably a very telling metaphor in there somewhere.

Oh, the glamour...

Mirror

Yesterday was such a lovely day.

After a walk on the beach and an excellent breakfast, I headed (with a lovely gang in tow) to Brighton Flea Market - my current favourite junk shop, at the top of St James's Street; do check it out if you're ever in my neighbourhood.

Amid the taxidermy, church artefacts and an amazing plaster dog that Jack wanted to buy, we found the perfect mirror.  I've been looking for a mirror for my sitting room for ages, with quite specific requirements - art deco, the type with bevelled edges that hangs from a chain.  It's been a lengthy process, as they've all been either not quite right or wildly expensive.  Anyway, there it was - just what I've been looking for, hanging in a dusty corner behind a pillar and only £18.

For good measure, I also bought a little blue and white French 'a vendre' (for sale) sign, because I liked the look of it.  It is currently hanging on my bathroom door for no good reason.

We then hauled our spoils to Metrodeco, a tea house where I have been meaning to go for ages.  There were exciting teas (and tea cocktails, which I did not try but intend to) and really good cakes.  Plus, all the antiques in there are for sale.

We headed home for Sunday dinner and Poirot, and I had a glass of ale in the bath.  Whenever I look at my new mirror hanging over the mantelpiece I can remember a lovely winter seaside day.

Eight years by the sea...

I am crap at remembering dates and anniversaries.  However, it is at this time of year when I usually remember that I moved to Brighton somewhere around the end of November.

Walking up St James's Street with my friend Jack last Sunday, we walked past the B&B where we stayed for two weeks when we first arrived here off the train from Victoria, before our flat was ready.  Those were good times - there was a telly in our tiny top-floor room; the place was run by the lovely Paul and Sean, who gave us extra breakfast and a motivational speech every morning.  I arrived - technically unemployed and homeless - on a Sunday night; by the Monday afternoon I had a job, which I am sure was due to this extra hash brown and enthusiasm.

That was eight years ago.  Since then, I have lived in three Brighton flats.

A crazy top-floor flat in a historic building in Market Street, the middle of the south Lanes: where a friend slept on the sofa for over a year; we had cheap pizzas from the restaurant over the road for dinner nearly every night and then had an impromptu street party after we all watched Italy win the World Cup together; the off-licence across the square did a special deal of two bottles of terrible red wine for £5...  I wrote my first full-length novel - the one that got me an agent - sitting at that kitchen table at night and smoking a zillion fags.

Then we moved ten minutes' walk up the steep hill to Albert Road in Seven Dials.  We rented a ground-floor Victorian flat with a tiny patio from a friend of mine, which was cosy and lovely.  I wrote like a maniac in that flat.  We became friends with people who lived in our road, and everyone in the amazing local shop.  I baked a lot of cakes in that tiny galley kitchen, feeling very grown-up.  I still also drank a lot of red wine and smoked a lot of fags on that back patio.

When it was time to move, we didn't want to go too far.  We were supposed to stay at Albert Road for a year, and ended up staying for four and a half.  So, we moved to Buckingham Road - a new address but technically about seven doors down the road.  We were now even closer to our favourite corner shop.  We could see the old flat from the new one.  This was helped by our vantage point from the high-up third floor; we called that place 'the garret'.  It was a lovely flat, with a weird layout and a tiny kitchen that reminded me of Paris.  It got really good light and it gave me my first-ever view of the sea, if you stuck your head out of the bedroom window/fire escape.  It was a great flat for writing in.  However, we heard our downstairs neighbour making weird sex noises pretty much every night just as we were sitting down to dinner.

So... nearly a year ago (in late January) we moved to a tiny little house on the other side of town.  The first time I've lived in a house (with stairs, and my own front door!) in over a decade and the first place I have ever 'owned'.  I have roots in Brighton now.  At the moment, at least, I feel like I hope they carry me out of my house in a box in approximately sixty or so years.  Incidentally, my next door neighbours have actually lived in their house for sixty years - isn't that cool?

Some Current Faves

• My new Isabel Marant haul - white jeans, a vest and a sweatshirt.  Swag.
• Elizabeth Taylor - I'm more obsessed than ever (I just read 'Furious Love', which is hyperbolic and silly but worth a fun read) and have ordered her hilarious diet book 'Elizabeth Takes Off' from the depths of out-of-print online booksellers.
• Red wine, because it's winter.
• Making kale chips and imagining I'm Gwyneth.  You may all know by now that, like so many of the proletariat, I love imagining I'm Gwyneth.
• Writing, writing and more writing - I really do love it so!

Autumn Common

If, like me, you are looking for some comfort in the autumn days - I can't recommend anything more highly than 'The Common Years' by Jilly Cooper.

Yeah, yeah - we know all about me and my love for Jilly, which you may or may not share.

This, like many of her early non-fiction works, is cosy and domestic - basically a dog-walking diary of the years she lived around Putney Common, with gossip of neighbours and notes on nature.  Being Jilly, it's also very, very funny.

It's perfect for right now - even more perfect with a whisky and a hot bath, or maybe a comfy sofa and some manner of crumble.

Junkaholique

I am currently pretty fixated on (still) doing up our ramshackle little house.  I have so many ideas, only hampered by time and money!

Anyway, I'm also - not unrelatedly - currently in love with this website, Junkaholique.  It's by a jewellery designer who is fabulously named Artemis Russell - her writing, pictures, ideas and ethos are wonderful.

Moving.

We are moving into a new house.  It is tiny and pretty and lovely.  It is in my favourite area of Brighton.  It will be the first time I have lived in a whole house (not flat) in nearly ten years – and that was with housemates so doesn’t really count.

Prior to this, we have lived in three different flats in Brighton.  We have lived in the same area for well over five years now and we really love it, although I think we’re ready for the change.

Things I will miss about Seven Dials:

• ·      The amazing local shop and all my friends there being right on my doorstep.
• ·      The Battle of Trafalgar pub.
• ·      Sing-Li fish and chips.
• ·      Being able to walk to Brighton station and into the Lanes in under a minute.
• ·      My tried and tested running routes.

We have lived in our current flat for only just over a year and a half (but before that we lived basically across the road – you can see our previous flat from the kitchen window).  It is not our dream flat but it has been good to us and we have got used to each other.  When we moved in, it was during a time of turmoil – we had to move at just the time I was made redundant from my job, so I was simultaneously (and pretty unwillingly) leaving a job and a flat that I had been in for a good few years.  Since then life has calmed down and I hope it will continue to do so.

Things I will remember about the Buckingham Road flat:

• ·      Being able to see the sea from my bedroom window.
• ·      Feeling cocooned on the top floor.
• ·      The nasty brown carpets.
• ·      The sweet little galley kitchen that reminds me of Paris.
• ·      The awful downstairs neighbours who filled the communal hallway with rubbish, had comically noisy sex whenever we sat down to dinner and one of whom would play Times Like These by the Foo Fighters (presumably the only song he could play on his acoustic guitar), repeatedly, every Sunday afternoon.  Somewhat annoyingly, they moved out only about a month ago and much nicer neighbours moved in.
• ·      The broken hallway light that nobody ever came and fixed.
• ·      The angry American next door – who we could hear shouting through the walls every time we were in the kitchen, but who was softly-spoken, polite and usually on his way to yoga whenever I saw him in the street.
• ·      The excellent shower, coupled with the weird fact that the only bathroom in the flat is the en-suite (providing much fun for overnight guests).
• ·      Sunshine in the sitting room on Sunday afternoons.
• ·      Making bivouacs.

So, we are now off to a new house and a whole new area.  Wish me luck.

Making Me Happy

Today feels like a good day.  Here is a little list of the things currently making me happy amid all the work and tiredness.  (Not just the glass of wine I am currently drinking whilst typing.)

• Looking forward to seeing brilliant friends old and new this coming weekend.
• The new Cat Power record 'Sun' - it's as good as I hoped (and I got a free poster in my brilliant local record shop, Resident - support your local record shop and you might get a treat!).
• Loads of Jilly Cooper non-fiction downloaded to my Kindle.  'Turn Right at the Spotted Dog' is currently making my increasingly-autumnal commute a cosier time.
• The new metallic leather shorts I bought in Beyond Retro last week, and plan to wear constantly as soon as it's cold enough.
• My new favourite restaurant, La Choza, finally bringing good Mexican food to Brighton.

If I Lived Here I’d Be Home Now

Does everyone want to live everywhere in the world, or is it just me?

I have lived in Brighton for over six-and-a-half years now, and I suppose am fairly settled.  Still, the idea kind of scares me, which may be why I have a different idea about where I want to live next nearly every day.

I’d love to live on a houseboat.  I’d love to move to California or Hong Kong for a year.  I’d like to live in the city and the country all at once.  In an ideal world, I’d be nearer to my family.

If I was rich, I’d live in London.  If I didn’t have to go to work every day and could afford a car, I’d live near my mum.  If money was seriously no object, I could do both.  In my ultimate fantasy, in which I win the lottery (despite never once in my life buying a ticket) or my book is made into a huge film franchise, I would spend two years living in rented flats in my favourite cities of the world – six months each in Paris, New York and LA, a bit in San Francisco, another elongated spell in Hong Kong, winter in Venice – before buying my perfect permanent base somewhere a bit more rural.

We currently live in the latest of a series of small, rented flats in the centre of Brighton.  I long for the security of my own little corner of roof, but more than that I really want to be able to make somewhere our ideal home.  We both spend most of our time in (as we like to call it) ‘the garret’, pursuing our various projects as well as just hanging out – I’d love to be able to make it beautiful and, more importantly, ideal.  This would include: built-in bookshelves, dedicated working areas, corners that we are each allowed to decorate in our own style.

In fact, we were all set to try to buy a flat in Brighton last year – we put in an offer on a dreamily perfect place and were slightly heartbroken when it was rejected.  Then the following month I was made redundant from the cosy, steady job I had been in for years and it started to feel like a blessing in disguise.  It also gave me a little of the fear that anything could be just around the corner and that it’s a very big commitment.

I love Brighton.  It’s such a cool place to live – a city with its own very unique identity; close to London but existing in its own chilled-out little bubble of bohemia.  There’s so much here that I take for granted that I’d miss anywhere else – my favourite independent shops, bumping into really nice people I know everywhere, the music scene that is literally on my doorstep, running on the beach to a yoga class on a Saturday morning, generally followed by Vietnamese food.  But my existence here doesn’t feel as solid as it did last year – I now take the train to work in a different town nearly an hour away, and as I get older I worry about being a few hours away from my family and when it will be good to gravitate closer to home.  My job is on a contract, and if it is not renewed I would like to see if I can transfer abroad, as I’m now working for a big company with offices in Singapore and San Francisco.

I think of the options and I am paralysed.

Part of the problem – if it’s even a problem – is that I think I am way too focussed on the future.  It’s a cliché, but I really need to work on living in the moment more.  It’s like my life is so full of ‘what if?’s.  The biggest of those being that I have spent my entire life working on a project that has not yet come to fruition: ‘what if my book gets published?’.  Although on a practical level, it may not change my situation much; it is a huge question – and so much of my life is planned with the vague and unknown schedule of ‘when my book gets published’.  Only then will I have done what I set out to do and know what my life is really going to be.  Only then will I be able to make a decision and settle.

They say that Brighton – city-on-sea, with rolling countryside only just outside the city limits, and less than an hour from London – is the place for people who can’t make up their minds.  So maybe I’ll stay.

Sausages.

This has been up for a little while, but I feel I must draw your attention to it.

http://whatkimcookednext.wordpress.com/2012/04/14/tied-to-the-mast-rock-n-roll-sausage-curry-from-sawmills-studio-in-cornwall/#comment-196

My mum is really clever.  My boyfriend is really clever.  Sausage curry is the best.

Ideal Schedule

Recently, my boyfriend and  were out for a walk and saw that a house has gone up for sale in our 'dream road', close to where we currently live (but obviously way nicer) in Brighton.

We can't afford it, and probably never will.  But dreaming about my dream house also got me dreaming about my dream schedule.

Because living in a house like that would mean that the stars had all lined up and I could live my dream life.  This is what it looks like.

I would wake up early, take my small dog for a walk and then have a delicious and healthy breakfast.  Get dressed in smart work clothes and head upstairs to my office; my office is high up, on the top floor and with a lovely view of the Brighton roftops and sky.  It is also beautifully decorated, Farrow and Ball-ed to the nines, with a variety of inspirational pictures in antique frames on the walls (you know, maybe one of Virginia Woolf to celebrate the fact that I finally have 'a room of one's own', and other such brilliant people that might make me work harder), all of my books, an ancient desk and contrasting 'ghost' chair and maybe a squashy velvety sofa for moments that need a comfortable mull.  It's all mine so it's ridiculously girlie, probably the only room in the house that will be.

I'll wok hard for the morning, then break at lunchtime to - as I like to say - get out of my brain and into my body, which is where most of my good ideas come from.  By this, I mean spend an hour doing something purely physical, like going for a long run, going to a dance class or maybe hot yoga.  Usually it ends up being a run, as I can just put my trainers on and go - that probably own't change.

Then back to work for the afternoon, with a mid-afternoon snack and cup of tea, and probably a pace.  As my commute home will involve only walking down the stairs, I can work pretty late and it won't matter - so I'll probably keep clattering away until around seven, when I will go downstairs to cook supper, drink some wine, talk to my boyfriend about his day in the basement music studio, and maybe watch a good film before going to bed late.

That's the ideal schedule.  Too much to ask?

Windswept

Tom's 31st birthday, and the best time of year for walking on Brighton beach!

Craftacular

I read an interesting theory recently, one that's got me thinking.  Basically, it was claiming that the 'craft' movement - i.e., the popularity of things like knitting, crochet, baking, making cards; decorative arts, if you will - were anti-feminist.

This is an old argument, but this time it wasn't saying that women shouldn't be forced back into the 1950s by being made to make things themselves and expected to be good at this as traditionally 'feminine' pastimes.

It was saying that women are being encouraged to make decorations and bake cakes and knit scarves, so that they can 'waste' their creative energies on these things, instead of focussing on 'important' artistic pursuits such as learning an instrument or writing a novel or making a film.  Like, it's a conspiracy to distract us.

I have to admit it, it's an interesting one.  I'm not sure I agree, but I can see the point.  I know loads of girls wo make fiddly little thingss like jewellery, but not that many who are in bands or making films.  They are outnumbered by the boys I know on that front.  I know loads of girls who write, but that may be due to my own personal circumstances rather than actual statistics.

The point is, everyone I know who makes stuff enjoys it.  Shouldn't that be the point?  If we're looking at it like that - like, we're not all in it for success and money and other such evil (ha!) things, then why is making music or writing novels any more valid than baking a cake or turning a T-shirt into a halterneck dress?  I suppose the results are more lasting, but it's all good, right?  It's better than watching the telly or getting drunk at a bus-stop.

So, all I can say is make and do what you love, whether that's crochet or poetry or ukelele or watercolours or quiches.  Be great at it and do it for the right reasons.  I am still thinking about this, though.

Creuset For You

One of the best things about the onset of autumn?  Getting out my Le Creuset casserole pot.  Seriously.

The rest of the year, it still gets its fair share of action (curries, summer soups, etc.) but like the duffel coat and the woolly tight, autumn and winter are when it really comes into its own.

On a Sunday, whilst reading the paper and listening to the radio, there is nothing better than whacking in some lovely ingredients and then leaving it to simmer and smell nice for the afternoon (that is if, like me, you like the aromas of cooking food more than anything else in the world – others may prefer to buy a scented candle).   Better yet, leave it on low and go out for a bracing walk.

Chicken, root vegetables, cheap cuts of beef and offal are all good.  However, the best in my humble opinion is the classic rabbit stew.  It makes me feel like Ted Hughes and I can almost convince myself that I went out on the moors at 5am to shoot the poor creature myself.  Actually, any slightly archaic meat is best – add venison and pheasant to that list, too.

Best of all, it’s almost impossible to get wrong – chuck in some meat and/or some veg, top up with stock (alternatively wine or ale if you’re feeling flush) and sprinkle in a few herbs, leave it in the oven and maybe do a dumpling at the last minute if you can be bothered.  Then you’ve got a complete beautiful meal that much easier and just as seasonal and comforting as a roast (although roast is joint king of Sunday lunches, obviously).

Better yet, follow it up with a crumble (but that’s a whole other story).  I heart winter cooking.