Nostalgia. It's a beautiful soft, sepia-coloured word, isn't it? Comforting, cushioned and universally understood, although in terms of nuance, it punches way above its weight. Unlike terms that refer directly to longing, or regret, nostalgia isn't really about wanting to return to the past, or somehow have the past return to us, but much more subtly, it suggests a profound and meaningful gratitude that the past actually happened at all. Nostalgia has inherently soft edges. I

Somewhere, right now, a figure is sat at a kitchen table before dawn. The house is silent, the coffee beside them is a warm version of hot, and the only light is thrown by the open window of a glowing laptop. The rest of the house is fast asleep... I imagine them being tired. Not because they manage their time poorly, or enjoy working silly hours, but because this piece of personal sacrifice, was the only way to protect something else. Perhaps they promised the afternoon to h

There was a particular little shop that used to exist on almost every French street corner, and although most of them have quietly disappeared, their ghosts remain if you are lucky enough to spot one. You will be walking through some entirely ordinary town or village, when your eye drifts upwards and catches an old façade, it's painted signage faded and faint, but sure enough - perhaps above a mobile phone shop, an estate agent or some other high street blandness, you will se

An exhausted pizzaiolo, weeps softly in the dim light of a kitchen corner. Floury head, in floury hands. The culinary heritage that was boyhood, manhood and his very lifeblood, just died on the table... ...Rest in Pizza. Gone now, but ever-remembered - the classic beauty of what he called pizza - the disciplined, ascetic stretch of dough, frugally flavoured with a thick slap of tomato salsa, hand-torn mozzarella; perhaps a lean slice of local ham and a leaf or two of basil

There is a recognisable sort of chap standing beside a very clean car outside a top hotel. He wears two principal things - a peaked cap, and an expression of professional, unbothered serenity. He opens the door. He inclines his head. He says "Sir" and "Madam" with the respectful deference of a fellow who has said it many times. And when you have spread yourself across the leather interiors, he glides you smoothly across town without, it seems, doing anything so vulgar as maki

Closure. It's one of those words that sounds like it should solve something. Firm, clinical, faintly medical - the sort of word a doctor might use, or an estate agent. Somewhere between stitches and stitch-ups...It has the satisfying sound of a door shutting properly, seat belt fastened, an attaché case - closed and clicked. We reach for it constantly and perhaps a bit unconsciously. "I just need some closure..." "She never got closure..." "It gave me the closure I was lookin

I am a sucker for things that are not really traditional food parings. I mean I love things that do go together - fish and chips, buttered toast, and cream on jam, but I do like a new challenge. Enter, Roquefort & Honey Ice Cream. Found on a menu at a not-very-posh bistro in the stunning town of Sant Malo. There were clearly less challenging flavours on offer, and I could very much have made a far more vanilla choice, but something about it made me want to dive headlong into

There is a fine line between what we understand as appreciation and what we immediately deride as snobbery. Somewhere along the way, we decided that knowing too much about wine, coffee, or olive oil, made us a bit "too" something. You will know by now, that I love to look at the roots of words. The Etymology. The Verbal archaeology that whispers through history, where words and phrases orginiated and how we have skewed them to suit modern purpose. Frustratingly, the origins o

It's hot here. The sort of heat that suggests any kind of movement is a bad idea. Last night I sat in the pitch-black kitchen, with the fridge door open. It was not as effective as I would have liked. It was like being interrogated by the faint smell of Melon. Now then, if we played a word association game, and I said "Summer".. chances are someone would respond "Ice Cream". It is a horse-and-carriage relationship. A friendly rebellion against the sun - saying "OK if you want

It's that time of year again. Suitcases are being retrieved from the darkest corner of the loft, sunscreen checked for "use by" dates and bathing suits - scrutinized, discarded and unceremoniously replaced. Discussions are held in-household, asking why we left it so late to do almost everything, and promises are made around wholly unrealistic departure times for Gatwick airport. Meanwhile, other-peoples-photos are already beginning to arrive on your phone, with other-peoples-

I recently stumbled across an article in Forbes magazine, comparing two pieces of real estate. The first was a 996-square-foot "tear-down" in West Los Angeles. I had to look up the term "tear-down". It is basically a house that no-one wants to live in, and is far cheaper to knock down and build from scratch, than to fix up. The second property, was a 4,806-square-foot Château in France on 24 acres, with 8 ensuite bedrooms and a guest house. They were both listed for the same

If there is one subject guaranteed to unite humanity, it is the weather. We simply cannot stop discussing it. It doesn't matter whether you're in Paris, Perth, or Pyongyang, "weather chat" is the small talk of choice. The ice-breaker, the introduction. The attempt to bash down the barrier of language, and a chance to stand on some familiar, common ground, where souls that collide in the far-flung corners or our little blue rock, can meet on the level. And what better leveller

Like many British people, I came to goat's cheese quite late in life. I mean, when I was a kid, you could order fruit juice as a starter in a fairly posh restaurant... yes, children, it was once thus. Anyway, in our house, goats didn't produce cheese, cows did. And they made it all in a place called Cheddar. Britain in the seventies, was not a place where food was discussed with any particular reverence. It came either hot, or cold. Cold was for lunch, hot was for dinner. Bre

Aren't cherries just a wonderfully optimistic fruit? They arrive quite suddenly, unlike the well guarded blackberries of Autumn, which just take forever to ripen and seem to do so one at a time. Cherries just appear. Reckless and post-box red, they are a bounty of equal opportunity, for birds and beings alike. In France, cherries are not simply fruit. They are a seasonal event. A brief national orthodoxy that, for approximately three glorious weeks, has everyone smiling. Here

On the un-scratched surface, there are few things less glamorous than a bowl of potato chips. They occupy that curious corner in the picnic hamper of human existence, reserved for things people secretly enjoy but rarely defend publicly - like reality TV, cheap rosé, or the schadenfreude of watching downhill skiers wipe out. And yet, somewhere between Devon and the Dordogne, I stumbled into what can only be described as a minor, crispy epiphany. The culprit was a French compan

Yes... we all of us like to imagine that judgement is simply something that other people do. That we don't judge. That our opinions are as neutral as a Swiss watch. We even use qualifiers like "I am not judging here, but..." in celebration of that marvellous expression, "Everything that comes before "but"... is B.S." We are persuaded that it is only other people that are so critical... Other people are so narrow-minded. Other people are sitting somewhere, in deep Facebook, ma

There is something very unsettling about regrets. With me, they have a score of almost zero on the mental, feel-good scale. A bin of despair, out of which we must occasionally haul ourselves, using the ropes of clever mantras and helpful sayings, like "Well if I hadn't have done that, I wouldn't be where I am now" - wordy platitudes, which while indisputably true, barely contain the comfort of a decent slice of chocolate cake. Regrets are our mental, feel-bad reels. Wholesale

Comparisons... just one more item, on an ever-expanding buffet of human habits, capable of turning a perfectly good morning into a very bad one, in the blink of an eye. We might wake up, feeling relatively chipper, coffee in hand, birds-a-chirping, hair acceptable, with a B+ for emotional stability. And then Wham!.. Your online scrolling uncovers some bloke you sort-of-knew at school, standing shirtless and barefoot in a Tuscan lemon grove, beside his perfect CEO wife who res

From a fairly young age, I always felt the need to choose a direction. A kind of path. A version of myself that made the most sense to whatever situation I found myself in. We moved around more than most, so adapting was a key skill I had to learn early. And once I chose that direction - once I rearranged my room to suit me, I set my personal sails to suit the local wind, the expectation was simple: stick with it, Vanessa. There was a comfort in that idea. One that I definite

I like looking up quotes. It is nice to see who wrote what and where it came from. As well as being little wordy gems, that represent "things I really wish I had said", quotes give us an anchor to a thought, or a state of mind - perhaps even a way to live life. Mostly, they are either clever or beautiful or deeply deep. And I think deeply deep down, we all crave a life that is quotable... Good quotes - the ones that resonate the deepest - engage us the mostest, because the p