6.6.16

Life Lately // Spring Madness

Well hello there! I thought it was high time we had a catch up after what has been a pretty bonkers few months, so settle in for a good chin wag and imagine we're sipping an excellent cup of coffee in the sunshine outside. 

I finished a pretty major part of my training...


These past couple of months have seen me very much resemble this snail; slowly working it's way up the tub in a quest for a delicious reward come June. Well, I'm pleased to say that both myself and the snail have completed the mission and although I did lob Mr. Snail into next door's garden (we don't like them) when he started chomping on my shrubbery, I on the other hand have been basking in the real and metaphorical sunshine since the end of May. What was I doing?

It's something I've decidedly not chosen to talk about here on Snug. I wanted to keep my 'day job life' and my 'shiny aesthetically pleasing Snug life' separate, but I've since had a bit of an epiphany about owning all aspects of myself in the most authentic way possible. What's the point in a lifestyle blog if I keep a large part of my lifestyle hidden?

I just finished my second teacher training placement and in two weeks time will be a fully-fledged-actually-responsible-for-young-people secondary teacher of English. Can. You. Believe. It.

13.5.16

Trying On 300 Year Old Underwear in Dr.Johnson's House



It's no secret that I love everything to do with eighteenth century history. I spent many happy hours pouring over tiny conduct manuals from the late 1700's in final summer of my masters degree (and many stressed and unhappy hours typing up the notes in deadline week!). I've always loved the tactile nature of history. Going to an estate and sitting under the bower of an oak that's older than the house itself. Complaining loudly that they lock away the books so that vagabonds like me can't touch them. Eating a hot sausage roll in a cafe converted from the servants quarters. Historical houses are my jam

The other week myself and my chap Joe planned a staycation. We live in London, but like so many Londoners, we rarely get out and experience all this mad city has to offer. Having done most of the 'big' London attractions, we started ticking off things from the 'days out' list I've added to over the years. Last year I heard about Dr. Johnson's House Museum when I visited Benjamin Franklin's House; a beautifully preserved Georgian terrace near Embankment. Imagining myself as a time-travelling socialite, I was keen to visit the home of Samuel Johnson near Fleet Street. After having a blustery walk from Waterloo over the Thames towards the City, we took a little alley behind Cafe Nero and there it was. Quaint, tidy and cobbled. A world away from the busy office workers in their glass fronted towers next door.

28.4.16

Ode To The Outdoors


It's hard to categorise what the 'outdoors' is; what it isn't. It's everywhere, yet sometimes so hard to find. The true outdoors I mean. For some reason, the small, dirt trodden patches of grass outside tube stations don't count. Not the small pots of heather on the middle of  coffee shop tables. Not macrame ferns hanging above the shelves in Urban Outfitter. You can't contain it in a single word, a single frame, a single shopping bag. The outdoors is something bigger.

Perhaps it's the result of growing up among a patchwork of fields. To be indoors at the weekend was quite frankly NOT allowed in my childhood home. Occasionally, and my parents would argue that it wasn't infrequent at all, I would moan and moan about having to go on long walks. Once I point blank refused to go any further during a hike in Herefordshire, so sat down on a tree stump, arms wrapped around my legs with an upside down smile. 'Ok, Abi, we're going, byeeeeeeeee' they said, thinking I'd totter along after them. I didn't though. Nope. I was done with walking.

I've since recognised that here's something powerful in being outdoors. About being truly outdoors. Not walking to the bus stop but being present right there outside with no distraction other than the cling-film wrapped sandwiches and kettle chips in your rucksack.
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