We’ve been in France. Eating, thinking, relaxing. Making plans. Looking after the biscuit.
I’ve realised that there’s something about the rhythm of a working week that I miss. Something about knowing where the sweet spots are: the absolute freedom of a Friday evening, the pleasure of plunging into the park at lunchtime. Something about the small ceremonies of buying a coffee & almond croissant on a Friday morning or of pausing to wash an apple mid-afternoon. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to fit these tiny moments of pleasure into the freer routine of days at home with the biscuit.
I love the fresh promise of autumn. September has always seemed a far more promising place to start a year to me than January. So, New Year, new plans. Little ways to improve the days. And, more ambitiously, plans to find time to write (the last twentysomething birthday and I make myself a rash promise — but, if not now, then when?).