The first time I drank coffee was high in the mountains of Italy on a skiing trip with my family as a teenager. Each morning before our lessons, we would bundle downstairs to breakfast in bulky salopettes and thermals for eggs, pastries and hot chocolates. My Dad would order deux espressi per favore and tipping…
It’s a sure-fire sign that autumn has arrived when the supermarket fruit aisles, packed with rows and rows of strawberry punnets casually change their place of origin from Great Britain to Spain. We wave goodbye to home grown strawberries, soaked in summer rain and bathed in short bursts of sunshine for fruits produced thousands of…
September has not paved the way into the autumn months the way I thought it would, leaves curled on the ground, trees russet and crimson and a coolness in the air. The autumn we’re sold each year, written in thick liner on a Starbucks cup and wrapped in a tartan scarf has not yet arrived….
Some people don’t understand why I enjoy going on holiday with my parents. Perhaps they find the idea strange, this 27-year-old excitedly packing for a week in the sunshine. Maybe it is a bit odd that I look forward to 11am beers by the pool with my Dad, enjoying piri-piri chicken overlooking the sea with…