There was a time, and I might be showing my age here, when butter became the subject of a deliberate, fatty witch-hunt. It seemed to be a hearing behind closed doors, for us butter lovers. It was accused and found guilty of shortening our lives and making us fat. The Western world fell under a wave of nutritional anxiety. Butter, which had been besties with bread for such a long time, was suddenly recast as the insidious villain of the kitchen. Into its golden yellow slippers

Platform 13 is so delighted to introduce our wonderful coaches and Immersion facilitators to our first Soulstice Experience, beginning on Spetember 26th 2026. A two week residential retreat, led by women and designed for women. Guests do not need to arrive with anything other than an open heart and a willingness to meet themselves where they are. No prior experience is required — just curiosity, courage, and the desire to pause. Everything else is held for you: expert guidan

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

OK, so firstly, we Brits did not know that Groundhog Day was actually a thing. It is a real event. In Pennsylvania, every February. To us, it still looks like a punchline that somehow escaped the joke. A fluffy, tired animal is lifted from its burrow, consulted about the future, and returned to its warm den, while a crowd applauds politely and then heads off to CostCo.

January was the month my Mum used to come home with holiday brochures. Not just two or three, but one of each. They were free, you see, and that gave them an edge. They were acknowldged as intrinsically trustworthy. As reliable as the North star or Greenwich Mean Time. Smiles were real - not a cloud in sight. There were no reviews, no marks-out-of-ten . All the parents seemed to get on and Kids appeared to exist in a permanently airborne state. The entire 109 pages of fun an

Hello and Seasons Greetings to all of you standing on Platform 13, in your woolly hats and Christmas knitwear. It's cold out there... Many of you will be looking forward to the usual Turkey for your festive holiday dinner this Christmas, which is fine - if you enjoy that dry old buzzard of a bird.

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.

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.

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

Platform 13 CEO Vanessa Grant sits down with the a local artisan who shares her story of creativity and community. In a sun-washed workshop on Rue Notre-Dame, in the beautiful bastide village of Monpazier, jewellery designer and maker Claire Lamouroux shapes stories from natural materials. Her boutique, Semilla (“seed” in Spanish), is shared with her partner Jean-Luc Pigeat — together they create wonderful, original jewelley pieces that feel both ancient and utterly present.