Confession Time Or The Ugly Truth Or Bonfire Of The Vanities

So, here we go, confession time:
The reason I'm not here anymore?
It's so ugly.
It's so ugly I can't stand it. I know, I know, I know. It's never been very pretty and it's not a design blog and why should it even matter and bla bla bla but it does. It really does.
I have things to say and stories to tell, but I find myself dreading the ugliness of this place and avoiding it pretty much at all cost.
And that's just a crying shame.
Because this place has been beautiful and important (well, to me) in oh so many ways and I really shouldn't discard it just because it doesn't look good anymore. How vain and superficial am I? (Oh, lots, it seems.)
You see, everytime I enter this space and see the ugly heading I just cringe and look away. And we can't have that anymore. This is the only writing I do without getting paid and I'd hate to let it go. I need to be here, I think.
So.
Starting today I'm on a mission to find someone who can help me transform this space into something that looks more like home. A clever designer with an hour or two to spare and a mission to create a heading that feels just right.
And.
Until I do find that person and the right idea and the right feeling and all, I'll go back to regular posting just to show that I'm not all about looks. You know, in case you'd gotten me all wrong or summat (sorry, saw Jamie Oliver last night, can't help myself). So there's that. That's that. That's it. That's all. Thanks for your fantastic patience, if you're still there.

Rue St Honoré

I'm thinking of posting everything we ate and drank in Paris. Would you like that? Really awful photos too, like this one, with too much or too little light and no filters and no nothing. Keeping it real. Whaddyasay? 'Cause, let's face it, Paris to me is always gonna be more about the coffee than about the Louvre.

I Believe In The Kindness Of Neighbours

I can't sew. The only sew I know is the "Sew - a needle pulling threeeaaad" from you know what-movie. Not the real deal. It makes me sweat and ache and swear and pant like a dog running a marathon. Annette on the other hand is calm, cool and collected and knows her way around the machine. So I begged. That's what I do, I beg and bribe. And she threw caution to the wind and helped me sew a new cover for the kitchen sofa, asking nothing in return. I gave her coffee and lasagna (I'm not a total monster), but apart from that I think I was mostly in her way. It was like having a blue wizard in the house. Wiz, wiz, wiz and all of a sudden there was spring in the kitchen. Thank you, Annette. I owe you.

Five Weeks

The brown photo on top is from today, from now, two minutes ago. The white and sparkly one from February 3rd, five weeks ago. Imagine if I had changed that much in five weeks. What would you see? Who would I be?
But I haven't. I'm the same.
The same same same.

I Have Plans

It's getting rude. This non-blogging thing I've got going.
I'm sorry. I'll be better! I promise! I will!
Thanks for asking, though.
We are all well.
And I have plans for this space.
Plans that somehow make it hard to sit down and write.
But all of these excuses really are no excuses at all.
So.
I shall return.
New and improved.
Thank you for your patience.

Photo from Porthleven this summer. The one day it didn't rain.

Let The Sun Shine In (On Expensive Porkers)

This is what our summer hols (when in Rome etc) looked like.
Beautiful. Enchanting. Exciting. Cold. British.
We're hoping for something warm and sunny this year.
You know, a little less interesting. More predictable.
Something summer-y.
Though the kids adapted well to rule Britannia.
They're still hooked on British sausages, which are a little hard to find over here.
"This is very expensive food", Wilhelm informed his friend over the lamb & rosemary Cumberlands this evening.
"Really?", Noah answered with interest and had some more.
I'm hoping for sun this summer.
Sun and very expensive food.

Friday Night Lights

My father picked us up at the train station.
He drove us home to Midsomer in snow and mist and teased me about being amazed by the beauty.
He's a city boy himself, but his four (six?) years as a permanent resident in the village gives him the right (he feels) to laugh at my constant oh's and ah's. I'm ok with that. I'm still better than him at finding mushrooms.
Though mom is by far the best forager, but that's stating the obvious.
Forager, you lovely word you.
It was a good weekend.
Sun and snow and sheep and food and sleep.
And now it's good to be back home.
Fire burning, tea and love by my side.
I hope you've had a good one too.
Especially you, miss ElizaHennessey.

Light

It's quite a treat when you haven't seen it for a while.

Did You See The Hunger Games Trailer?

I cried. But I'm pathetic and you can't take anything I say into account. Still. I don't cry for everything (insert giant AHEM from husband here). So I'd say it's looking pretty good. And, on another note, that book has some of the best names. Katniss Everdeen. Brilliant. Ok, it's Monday night, I have oatmeal coming out of my ears and I'm rambling. Will go make a fire instead. Good night and may the odds be evah in your favour.

Sea Of Good

I've been a little off track. It can happen, I guess.
Though when it happens to me I always get really surprised.
But I think I'm back.
I think I'm me again.
Hoping for new and improved version.
Or same old, same old. That would be fine too.
When the kids are having a period of more drama than usual we always refer to it as an utvecklingsperiod. A period of rapid development.
A period of learning new things and adjusting to all that new.
I've decided that that's what I've been having too.
En utvecklingsperiod.
And just as we do with the kids, I sigh deeply and say Pray God, it's over.
No more utveckling for a while.
Let me just stay in this feeling.
Let me just keep swimming in this sea of good.
I'm tired and I need the rest.
Happy Friday, everyone.