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

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

Have you ever been told you weren’t listening… when you absolutely were? It’s a strangely frustrating accusation. You were there. You heard every word. You could probably replay the conversation back if asked. And yet, somehow, the conclusion is the same — you weren’t listening.The difficulty, of course, is that you don’t get to decide if that is true, or not. Listening is one of those curious things that feels entirely internal, but is judged almost exclusively from the outs

Guest Writer - Dr. Stephanie Burchell Take a second to look at everything in front of you right now. If you’re like me, you’ve got at least a few browser windows open (each one loaded with tabs you “ need ”). Your email inbox is steadily filling up in the background. Teams keeps popping up messages from different teammates. And of course, your phone… In other words, you’re multi-tasking. The problem is, there’s no such thing as multi-tasking! As multiple studies have confirm

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."

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 this

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. Thin