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

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 New Year confidence - " this time will be different" - has been replaced by something more familiar: realism.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

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 . The French medieval meaning of the word surrender, was all about "restoration" - to hand back rights or authority. A piece of land or a farmhouse tenancy, on the expiry of its lease. To

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

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

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...

Vanessa and I are currently in the quiet throws of the annual gift search. For us, being in the beautiful depths of rural France, it is all about Amazon. Most of our pressies are UK bound anyway, and life is easier, cheaper and so much more convenient without the need to manage postal deadlines or their astronimical, associated costs.

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..."

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.

Soulstice Immersions are two-week, women-only experiences, designed to help us come home to ourselves - through courage, creativity and connection. The quiet clarity that emerges when life finally gives us space to breathe.

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

Why is it, when we see the ruins of a great castle, the knarl of an ancient olive tree or the oldest grave in the cemetery, we become so awestruck and admiring? We are so absolutely enchanted by the sheer age of things. We respect them. We willingly keep off the grass of history. We admire the flaws and crumbling imperfections. We feel a loving and protective instinct, despite no sense of personal ownership. It runs deep in us and we feel proud to be a product of our creative

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 month, rather than a focus on food and what makes our table groan, we feel a bit caught up in remebrance. Of course that in itself is quite fitting for November. It is a month roomy with retrospection, governed for most of us through the memorial of the 11th hour of the 11th day, to the waste they called "Great War".

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