Somewhere along the way, we took the word intimate for a long walk. We led it out of philosophy, psychology, and human experience, and ended up folding it neatly in a drawer, labelled - " Reserved - Date Night"... But why even take this subject on, when we seem quite happy for it to describe what we take off? Is intimacy all about the bodies beneath the clothes, or the self beneath the surface?

"To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance". Oscar Wilde When asked why I did not write about relationships, I thought, but I do. Everything I write is about ‘relationships.’ Not in the traditional sense of couples or coupleship, but every interaction is related to something or someone. So I pondered, and here’s what emerged. We are connected to all things: friends, family, coworkers, animals, nature, the world, and ourselves. Being a part of a

Red roses. Valentine’s Day. Floral messaging that has no room for manoeuvre or misconstrue. Important, perhaps becasue our February 14th intentions need to be absolutely legible. Our designs and desires must have clarity and meaning. The red rose then, is a comfortably predictable symbol, bought and sold by the dozen. In fact, 250 million red roses are produced globally, for this day alone. Beautiful, classic, fully unmistakable. Even if we feel that a red rose is actually st

There is a moment most of us recognize, even if we don’t yet have words for it. It comes before the decision. Before the plan. Before the next chapter announces itself clearly enough to be named. It’s a life-affirming moment, where nothing is technically wrong, and yet something quietly asks for attention. It's a space that needs to be filled. Not with added responsibilities or new hobbies, but with gentle, wholehearted purpose. Soulstice Immersion, September 26 - October 10

We say “thank you” a lot. Often with great sincerity, sometimes as a polite acknowledgement of a door held open or receiving a handful of change. Silence would just feel rude. It's a nice thing to hear and a good thing to say. We also, on occasions, use a clippy catch-all in the form of a neat little phrase: "Thanks for everything." It's a generous sentence, at face value. Broad, inclusive, hard to argue with. And yet it can leave behind the fantest whiff of disssatisfaction

Way before "stories = letters forming words", they would be carried from the mouths of our elders to the eager ears of a younger generation of listeners. Tales of fire and creation - of seas, lakes and mountains. The wonderful animations around the family tree of all things starry and celestial. These ancient tales were not fixed things, back then. There were no documented points of reference, or scrolls unfurled in proclamation. The stories moved from firelight to shadow, a

"Did you have a good Christmas and New Year?".. I mean, that is about as soft, low risk enquiry as we could possibly be asked at this time of year. It's almost so seasonal, that we could wear it as a sign around our necks so we can avoid even saying the actual words.. It's a verbal handshake. No sharp edges. Not a trick question. At all. "Yes, thanks..we didn't do much; long, lovely dog walks, too much to eat and some catch-ups with a few dear friends... You?".. The answer is

The word surrender did not always carry the white flag with which we associate its use today. It comes into English from the Old French " surrendre" - formed from sur (over) and rendre (to give back). Its Latin root, reddere , means to return, to restore, to hand back what was borrowed .

Out of the 65,000 thoughts we have a day, 95% are largely sub-conscious. How many of those are kind reflections, and how many are deeply critical? Well, that is difficult to know, simply because of the very nature of the “sub” conscious. Pause for a moment… What are you thinking right now? What little tiny flash did you just have? Was it gentle and loving or carry a hint of judgement?

There is a particular kind of pressure that arrives every December, almost as predictable as the myriad lights and endless lists. That little "gift" that slips quietly into our thoughts before we’ve even noticed its pre-paid weight. " This year, it has to feel magical. This year, I'll get a real tree. A big one. This year, I’ll get it right..."

Once a simple word for a regular townsfellow, the term " bourgeois" has travelled through centuries of revolution, ridicule, and refinement. Its journey from common noun to common mirror, reflects our own uneasy juggle with progress and social aspiration. It is neither really a word of belonging, but perhaps more one that suggests "becoming". The hapless work of the sausage roll that wants to be a "Pork Wellington"...

Every year, I hear someone say "It just keeps getting earlier "... referencing the sudden appearance of Christmas in late September. Like it matters. For me, any season that is associated with joy, giving and connection to loved ones can start its shift as early as it damn well pleases. Many do not share my view here and I fully respect that. For some, the hoildays are strongly linked to sadness, stress, depression and anxiety, for which I am profoundly sorry. That must suck.

A note on some feelings which recently surfaced, when Vanessa and I ran into a couple we hadn't seen for a while, and what began as a pleasant enough conversational exchange, soon had us on the back foot, in a sort of panicked display of what can only be described as "anxious over-explaining". It was very aparent that this was a central tenet to our personal sense of being in the right place.

French supermarkets at Christmas-time are irresistibly mesmerising. Perhaps it’s the seasonal theatre of it all - quarries of oysters; gentlemanly rows of sincere-looking Champagnes, serious wines that require a quick chat before being chosen. Stockpiles of chocolate logs arranged like artillary ordanance. Or maybe it’s simply the Star Wars scale of the Hypermarché itself, which in December feels less like a shop and more like an obstacle course in Oz. "It's ok, I've got thi

Our understanding of the contemporary meaning of etiquette is possibly aligned with what the dictionary tells us - "The mindful, intentional practice of creating respectful, kind, orderly interactions". It still feels like a term that will always be a little distant, perhaps the domain of the snobby English, the word itself residing in a tidy cottage, somewhere near Wimbledon. We see the meaning plainly - as the opposite of queue jumping or asking a woman how old she is. Thi

The French have a verb for a very specific pastime. The dictionary has it as - Flâner… (v) to wander about with no particular purpose. Pronounced - flan - as in pan and ay - as in hay.  She  (or indeed he  - Le Flâneur ) was an individual who elegantly ambled the streets and squares with no desire to get anywhere specific, but simply to be there.  To observe. To absorb. To walk with no agenda other than the call of curiosity.

It is all well and good to throw buzz-words around, but one that often comes up in casual conversation these days, is ‘frequency’. Like most expressions, it can mean different things to different people and yet actually, is very rooted in science. Not in a “my frequency is like..so off today” as though you‘re just having a bad hair day, but involving physics…a real exchange of energy with the environment and people - total friends or total strangers. We’ve all been in a room

This is something I came to learn very late in life, having never questioned my beliefs or my decisions. I’ve since found so many areas in my life where I blindly accepted that my beliefs just are what they are, fixed in time, and my decisions simply followed. Turning things upside down to get a different perspective, allowing myself to question things and decide again, has become such a valuable tool. I like to think of it as “curiosity with benefits”. As young children, oft

Every nation tends to make a contribution to the great theatre of style. England gave us understatement, Italy provided road rage and France — with predictable irony — gave us austerity disguised as art. The word silhouette began not as a term of beauty, but of mockery. Étienne de Silhouette, was the well intentioned but disastrously unpopular 1759 French finance minister. He tried very hard tried to balance the Nations chequebook after yet another costly skirmish with the E

Self-talk is not something to be taken lightly. Saying things like “I can’t carry a tune, I’m tone deaf.” whilst it can be an expression of mock humility maybe it is true... for now. How do you know? What if saying this is why you haven't become better? Sing because you love to. If all people thought they had to be perfect in order to love something or try something, we'd all be sunk. What I wanted to say has nothing to do with singing, or maybe it has everything to do with