Turns out this photo is a fake, by the way... Even though if it did fool the folks at Forbes magazine, but... that's OK. It says what I want to say, AI or not. It's a picture that "shows" French farmers protesting in Paris. They are there, by the way - as I type - with tractors and trailers, and even sheep , lining the grand Avenues and Boulevards of the Nations capital, hosing down Government buildings with the occasional muck-spreader. When French farmers are unhappy, they

Today is a particluar kind of Sunday. It's flea market day. Not any one in particular, just one close to us. In fact there is very possibly one taking place every day of the year in France. The French "brocante" . The word itself is pretty old. It comes from the 15th century verb "brocanter" meaning to barter or trade in small goods . It's roots are a bit more practical than poetic. The things for sale, were never supposed to be rare or carry any kind of prestige. It was all

Somewhere around the two-week mark, January starts to itch. The pristine list of resolutions is still magnet-fast on the door of our fridge, exactly as we wrote it. The intentions are still there, yet you perhaps suspect that enthusisam might be trying to call a cab. New Year confidence - " this time will be different" - has been replaced by something more familiar: realism. This is the turnback point - when going home to get your phone is more of a pain than going shoppin

I used to love that day in school, when we were given a brand new writing book. It was a thing of mint, undefiled beauty - filling us with a quiet, focused determination to write really nicely. To do really well. I mean, OK, we were easily pleased back then, but there was still an undeniable thrill which - to this day - draws me helplessly to the pen and ink of the stationery shop. New books, new beginnings, New Years. They are all versions of a familiar and robust re-set. T

Chef Kris Báhn Strydonck was born in Nong Kai, in Thailand and raised by his bar-tender Mother, who claimed to work for the CIA. His culinary journey started with a Street Food cart, which he refused to push himself, saying "Darling. ..my hands are my precious".. Hello darlings on Platform 13 and welcome to the New Year !! "Sawatdee Pii Mai "... as we say back home in Thailand. I send you greetings from my adopted home in France, that I love so much.. so many moustaches, so

Truffles have been around since the Pharaos were in short pants. Quite why the first sandal kicked the first truffle, prompting its wearer to bend down and take a mouthful, is another story altogether. But we have been loving them ever since... King Francis I of France (let's hope he didn’t endure the challenges of rhotacism) was the first noble notable to put truffles on the royal platter. His truffly gusto was duly noted by the brilliant lawyer-turned-chef, Jean Brillat-Sav

Each year, we leap forward with enthusiasm, believing obstacles will vanish with the turn of the calendar page. We think that with the change of date, the obstacles in our paths will miraculously disappear; life will be different. And you know what? It is, and it isn’t. Today is different than yesterday. Even if invisible, the planet has shifted; the sun rises earlier and sets later, and our cells regenerate. However, our challenges may remain the same because we haven’t chan

I have always thought of exhaustion as a physical thing. The outer limit of fatigue. An elevated, adult sense of tiredness that comes from our own sense of just doing too much. It's personal, of course, because we each have our own sliding scale of feeling "sapped", which varies with age, fitness and foibles. But let's take a minute to look at exhaustion through a different lens. As a cause rather than an effect - the result of something much deeper than that old chestnut

It’s the last month of the year — a season of celebrations and festivities designed to brighten the darker days. But what is December, really? Dec-  once meant the tenth month until calendars were reshaped to suit emperors, systems, farmers, and politics. Even the moon keeps its own measure of thirteen lunar cycles, reminding us that time is elastic more often than we gather. This certainly isn’t a lesson about timekeeping, but a gentle question about how we spend the time we

December is often called the month of giving — wrapped boxes, warm gestures, small surprises left on doorsteps. But for every act of giving, there is an act of receiving. And strangely, that’s the part many of us find to be the harder of the two to do with grace. We all know the feeling...

A year-end inventory around who I’m keeping, who I’m releasing, and why clarity is a kind form of courage. "Well that's not very " Happy New Year of you"... No, perhaps not. But we are only a fortnight from 2026, and our New Years resolutions - the biggest, most bombastic, annual re-set tale we tell oursleves. People talk a lot about New Year, New Me - but the truth is, these delusional decisions don't generally fall into the silo of "real change". Resolutions are more-than

Christmas...the great revealer of who people really are. There is something about the holidays where grinches and gaslighters find their normal camouflage difficult to don. Perhaps because the festive season is ostensibly about the core values of love, tradition and unadulterated joy, toxic personality types in particular, find themselves sorely lacking the opportunity to grab the kind of attention, admiration and entitlement they so desperately crave.

France is famous the world over for its attention to mealtime detail. None more so than the Christmas Eve celebration of “Le Réveillon de Noël”.

Generally, the French go at Christmas less hard than elsewhere it is celebrated. They don't post a shopping day countdown, or fall out of bars wearing reindeer horns from mid-November. France (mercifully) lacks the pub culture that brings the English "together". Nor, might I add, do they have TV programs of a necessary standard to keep people at home on the sofa. I cannot think of a single French TV show, where a Christmas Special wouldn't be acutely painful.

There’s a funny comedian who asked this of the audience “who here is a glass half empty person?” Half the audience raises their hands.  “Show of hands for the half full?” The rest go up. Now that everyone had defined and labeled themselves, he delivers the punchline.

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.

I know... some of you will not see relocating as an "art" . Perhaps viewing it more of an extremely daunting prospect, a discomfort to be avoided, or just something that other people do. Particularly, of course if it involves not a mere change of post code, but a move that crosses time zones and international date lines. We benefit from a built-in bias around the beauty of staying put. Home is where our friends are, or the kids live, or the climate suits. It's where we "belon

OK.. I will admit, I did not know that was what a pre-picked lentil looked like. Which got me thinking around what else I did not know about lentils - and don't imagine I am suicidally bored, or at the wrong end of a bag of California's finest gummies. There is always a tin in the cupboard, thanks to Vanessa, who will gleefully stir them into to pretty much anything. I saw lentils more as a food to be consumed when all else is gone. When the sirens blast, sending us scurrying

Admit it or not, we all admire the effortless, DNA chic of the French. They could throw a bolt of fabric down the stairs of the Paris Métro and it would somehow have design purpose. What makes things that are put here or placed there, so utterly “French”? It's a big country with distinct and varied regions, each with their own style, so defining it as a particular binary “look” would be impossible. No matter where you find yourself in France, there is that unmistakeable  “ je