It's been an entire leap year cycle

I've now lived in London for four whole years. That's rapidly approaching five winters; now two New Zealand elections; one milestone birthday and three regular ones; two London Christmases, and two provincial ones; and one really long phone hacking scandal.

It's cliche I know, but where have the last four years gone? I could have completed a PhD in that time. And some.

I certainly have a lot more stuff now than the small wheelie suitcase and weekend bag I came with. Our fridge is graced with a collection of exotic tourist magnets, and I've pretty much memorised the major tube lines and important stops. But despite all of this, I still wonder exactly how the last 48 months could have gone quite so quickly.

Spending time with food

There's not much I like more than filling the kitchen with ingredients and spending a Saturday afternoon creating stuff.

The smallest of things please me. A bunch of bright red tomatoes still clutching frantically to the vine; the smell of red wine vinegar, brown sugar, and red onions slow cooking; and the way pastry feels between my fingers when I squeeze it into a ball.

On a Sunday, I gather together some small change, a bag or two, and head to the farmers' market. Just down the road, and through the village, it stands in the playground of a school every Sunday. There I'll decide on my soup for the week, getting enough ingredients for a large batch which will see me right through to Tuesday. This week it's carrot.

Back to the Bramwell roots

A few months back, a very special auntie came to visit. After a week of work (me) and dining out at fabulous restaurants (auntie) we boarded a train bound for the North East. At Newcastle train station there was a lovely Geordie lad waiting for us. With a lovely Geordie hire car.

And so our adventure began.


Our destination was a little village called Garrigill. The cradle of Bramwell civilisation.



In our hire car, we drove. Across the moorish landscape, winding through teeny villages that were barely there, until we came to Garrigill.



In the brilliant sunshine and passing sudden rain showers, we walked amongst the knee-high wet grass and wonky gravestones, straining to see a Bramwell. To no avail. But the inside of the church gave us two who had served in the world wars.

We left pleased that our lead mining ancestors had originated in such a pretty village (and not neighbouring Nenthead which was a bit dire), tucked into a corner of Cumbrian countryside.

One step closer

This week I managed to squeeze out a 5,000 word research proposal. On reflection, it all happened in such a blur, I don't quite remember how it came together. But fortunately, I submitted something that, in a haze of weariness seemed to be somewhat 'on topic'.

This moment signified the end of another paper towards the Masters. All going to plan it's just one more paper and four more months now.

What's next after that I wonder......

She's dreamin'

I'm not sure how it works for other people, but night time for me is an opportunity for my sub-conscious to run wild. It likes to use its entire toolkit of imagery, to release my deepest thoughts, feelings, and sometimes fears to the rest of my brain.

For months after visiting the Cayman Islands, I had a reoccurring dream of moving to a tropical island. All my friends would be there, waiting for me. Mostly the dreams were about me deciding where on the island I was going to live, and what kind of work I wanted to be doing. It was always sunny and the water was crystal clear. I'd wake with an overwhelming feeling of calm, and the obvious desire to immediately move to a white sanded beach.

But, just as quickly as they began, the dreams stopped a few months ago.

During the working week, I spend most of my dreaming time focused on clients and projects. This makes me feel incredibly dull. It's bad enough that I spend my working days concerned with action planning, surveys, analysis and project milestones, but it's horrifying to think that that's where my brain likes to spend its downtime.

I also worry that my sub-conscious has serious doubts about the depth of my intelligence, because a lot of the time, it prefers to make any messages it chooses to send me, as blatant as possible.

As my psychotherapist-in-training housemate said to me, last night's dream was one where no dream analysis book was required.

I was on holiday with a bunch of friends, staying at a series of Japanese-style hotels, with futons and tatami flooring. Every night we'd lay out the futons, and every night all of my friends would go to sleep in their respective pairings, except for me, who would always miss out on a futon, and would be left to lie on a pillow of folded clothing, at everyone else's feet.

I spend enough of my waking time battling with these sorts of insecurities, I don't want to wake up at 6am on a Sunday morning in a cold 'will be single forever' sweat. Bring back the tropical island dreams I say.

Annual onion marmalade making session

Take four massive onions from the farmers' market just down the road....

Chop 'em up with a big chef's knife


Throw into your biggest pan...

Cover in brown sugar, red wine, some thyme and butter. Then cook for a reaaaally long time until syrupy.

Pop in some cute wee jars you've got left over from last year's batch and offer up to happy housemates as a delicious topping for delights like bangers & mash, cheese & crackers, or perhaps a slice or two of beef.

Autumn in London

Autumn coat and boots

Yellowing tree


6.30pm sunset

Dissertation location #1

In an attempt to amass all the motivation I have, and reduce the possibilities for distraction (laundry, sleep, food, tidying, the entire Internet) I'm taking my dissertation on the road.

Yesterday I kept it local. Le Petit Boulanger is about five minutes from my house and has a wonderful collection of sweet-speaking French staff, and a couple of bakers working at their big stainless steel bench, about one metre behind the till.

The coffee is good, and the bread is chewy and crusty, just as it should be. In between my abstract, introduction and an article or two, I got the joy of watching the constant stream of locals coming, eating, and going again.

The weekly 'Hansel' moment

There's a long, and slightly hazy story as to why this is named after a Grimms' fairytale character, but there was a fair bit of wine involved, so I'm not going to attempt to re-tell it. Let me just say that it was something to do with an old woman called Gretel, socks, trainers and a skirt, maybe some body waxing, and her still quite definitely living life to the fullest.

Anyway, from a slightly drunken work ladies' night out, we constructed the weekly Hansel moment. This is the occurrence or happening in the past week that has made your week a tiny bit special. Even if you've had a week of missing the bus every morning, battling with more monstrous than usual egos at work, all the window envelopes arriving at once, and you spill red wine on your favourite white top; the Hansel moment is the one reason why you don't want this week to be erased from your memory. One thing that has been a move forward, or a first for you; a light in the dark.

This week my Hansel moment was making my first ethics committee application for my dissertation research. For a moment there, I felt like a proper, grown-up researcher.

The tide quickly turns

Usually, on this side of the world, summer tends to slowly step backwards, out the gate, quietly shutting it behind her, before disappearing gracefully into the distance. This year however, she turned sharply on her heel and bolted.

Even though it's the first few days of September, the morning air is chilled, and the forecast temperatures are very definitely in their teens.

I have to say, I feel a bit ripped off really. I've spend a large portion of this so-called 'summer' indoors, working or studying. And due to poor life project management, I've not been on holiday to somewhere that actually has a summer.

But there's no point in mourning a summer lost. There are plenty of nice things about autumn which must be celebrated. Chutney making, 'crafternoons', hot yoga which keeps you warm all evening, our annual Halloween party; and walks home when no one is watching, meaning you can kick the leaves so high they rain down on you.

I might even try and take a holiday this season.