Spring is Here

Port Meadow, Oxford

Unlike every season change before it, Spring hasn’t just sprung upon me this year.

I’m putting that down to the ‘go slow’ thing I’ve been giving a go. I’ve been intentionally paying more attention to my body, my mind and my surrounds; with an offshoot of that effort being that I’ve noticed the new life that has begun to pepper the landscape around me. I’ve seen the first of the wild garlic push its way through the soil, along with the daffodils and the crocuses.

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The Level Collective | Doing Stuff Well

The Level Collective, Old Harry's Rocks

The Level Collective, an independent clothing company for adventurers, have nailed the ‘doing stuff well’ thing with their mad good ethos (and mad good design).

An encounter I had in the Colombian jungle made me realise that I needed to get my game face on and start doing stuff well too. From where I put my energies, my money, my heart or my time- I want to make sure that the impact I have is a good one. Just like The Level Collective.

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Wassailing

Wassail

It would be easy to forgive a passerby to a wassail for thinking that to wassail is to simply sing  songs about fertility and getting trashed while taking as many slurps as you can from the shared wassail bowl, for its contents are most certainly alcoholic. But it is oh so much more than that.

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Spoon Carving

Spoon Carving

I’ve come a long way.

My first ‘spoon’ sits on the windowsill in our family bathroom because no one has the heart to bin the club-like monstrosity. I’ve now realised the failure of my first attempt was rooted in my over zealousness. My inability to recognise I was using seasoned (and thus concrete-like wood) as opposed to green. I thought I was just bad at it and swiftly gave up.

But not this sunday gone- no no no. I picked up my tools again and was given a hunk of hazel wood that was green and as soft as butter to play with instead.

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Paris | A little corner of it

Paris roof tops

Before December hit I landed a handful of days in Paris- a city I had only ever passed through despite its renowned fame and so said infinite charm. Luckily for me the neighbourhood of Montmartre (where my Airbnb was) happened to be a winner in the Parisian stakes of romantic architecture and crooked charisma. After a potter I learned that this neighbourhood is also home to Pain Pain and I quickly assumed an almond croissant breakfast ritual (a dangerous consequence of staying around the corner from a bakery as good as this one).

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