Oh Hi, Fellow Locals!
So, I’ve recently moved to what I thought was the English countryside.
As some of you may know*, I’ve recently moved to what I thought was the English countryside. I thought all I would find were farmer boys**, obscure pubs and snooty cows, and instead, any time I am walking down my tiny country lane, it’s not a sluggish John Deere*** I encounter—it’s a bloody Aston Martin blasting way too fast past me.
“Oh, no!” I usually think out loud. “Wasn’t I the first to discover this idyllic place?!”
Somerset is hardly a secret. The gatekeepers unlocked the gate a long time ago. The Londoners are out. Which is probably how I slid into the landscape like the imposter that I am.
As much as I’d like to see myself as a country bum, and all that.
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Right now, there are five settings where you’ll find me, which is already two more than what I had in London (that would have been 1/ my desk perched at the top floor of my home, 2/ Victoria Park Village, and 3/ the rare Shoreditch stretch. Anytime I was further down the centre of London, it was an adventure and I would report to you on it), which is why I decided that I would share them with you today, because, context.
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HOME
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The Vibe
A Georgian home in the misty mornings, nestled between two gentle hills. Horses and cows in the foreground. A very green lawn at the front, which, when the gardeners come over, gets all stripey, which, wooooooph. There is actual landscaping at our house. We have a few trees that are shaped to look like mozzarella balls, and I am sorry to say this so bluntly, but I think I love it.
The faint smell of manure is dominated by the comforting scent of firewood because yes, we have two working open fireplaces—who cares if I have no clue how to make a fire? Add to that a few candles here and there for cosiness and walls so thick no wifi can pierce them. Take that, TikTok. The interior is still a bit of a mess, but we are in the type of place that needs absolutely nothing to look stunning.
Even though, at this point, a cleaning wouldn’t be a luxury.
The Style
I’ll be real, my style is a bit out of place. I did bring with me all of my London coordinated sweats, but they don’t make me as happy here as they used to. I do feel the terrible call of finding interior outfits that suit my environment better, whilst trying to resist morphing into a cottage core influencer, even though those who have taken the plunge before never fail to make me dream. Yes,Amanda Brooks, and yes, Marie Forsberg, and yes, even you, Sienna Miller.
I’d like to subject this to a vote. Should I let go of my sarcasm and become a raging English countryside cliché? Should I reveal to you that I’ve been trying to teach myself the art of the French Braids for a few weeks now?
The Action
Yes, so I tried to bake a cake on Sunday (that’s what I do when all the family is around, I bake cakes. My mother never baked cakes for us because she was a power woman, so she was at the gym, and it still makes my heart weep)(you should have seen her abs, though) and my cake was absolutely awful (probably the lack of practice, all my mother’s fault, obviously). That should teach me to look at recipes on Pinterest.
Overall, I still do the same thing I used to do in London: bake bad cakes, sit at my desk, work, and do absolutely no exercise whatsoever. But to my credit, I’ve just added a new and lovely outing to my day.
Because I want to force myself to drive. (I am still learning to drive on the wrong side of the road, and I am afraid to report it is STILL the wrong side of the road after three weeks of driving. Don’t do it.) I have decided to go out everyday, rain or shine, around 11 (less traffic—yes I am that bad) and try to come back before two.
It can be going to get eggs at the nearby farm, a coffee with a new friend, running an errand in Bath, whatever. It can take 45 minutes or three hours. It’s nice, apart from the terrifying right turns, of course.
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THE BABINGTON HOUSE
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The Vibe
One of the most beautiful Soho Houses I have ever seen, literally a little English village with church and all, a hotel, a restaurant, a café, a gym, a pool, all of it. The day that I realised there would be more creative directors than farm boys in my life was the day I saw on Maps that our house was five minutes away from the renowned Babington House.
“What?!!!” I screamed. “NO WAY.” But also “Hummmm!” and that’s when the whole Somerset reality hit. My friends, I happen to have landed in one of the hottest places in all of Europe, maybe in all of the world (you can take the girl out of fashion, etc.), and there are so many hip hotspots around here that it will deserve its own newsletter—and I PROMISE that I didn’t know any of it.
No, this was not premeditated. Remember, it was just about the house!
Did I know Phoebe Philo was going to be my (sorta)(very distant) neighbour? I certainly didn’t. Do I feel validated by that fact? I wouldn’t go that far, but in a small corner of my mind, well, maybe?
The Style
The style at Babington is cool countryside rich, which means that on the tighter side, you have the glorious yoga mom in SUV vibe, the same across all the world, a true woman to my heart. Range Rover, yoga pants, fresh highlights, she knows what she wants and where she’s going, the exact opposite of me, entirely lost with no highlights. I do love her.
Then there is our cool creative woman. I suppose I should include myself here even if I’d like to think I am SO unique. But basically, she’s me. Her sense of fashion is sort of chill, and her husband probably asks her regularly if she could wear more dresses. She drives a Mini or a vintage car of whatever sort, and she thinks she’s DIFFERENT, okay?
And that, my friends, is my (visible) point of difference. (I knew I was unique!!!)
See, what I drive is a Suzuki. No, not a Subaru Outback, which, for the connoisseurs, totally carries its own myth. What I drive is a Suzuki Ignis (you’re allowed to google), the tiniest car I found on the market which doesn’t look like a pot of yogurt. (God, this letter is getting way too long because we have a few other locations to go over, but just know I love my car, even though it looks absolutely stupid in the Babington House’s parking lot, and people look at me suspiciously. They’re probably like, “Is she part of the staff?” Or maybe it’s more “Is she about to run over me?”)
Why did I buy this? Want me to write a whole letter about it? I could.
The interesting part is that Graham doesn’t have a car yet, so he gets to drive it, which is hilarious. Not just because the man usually loves a nice sports car, but, and I don’t know if you know this****, but Graham is quite the giant, and he’s also a superstar on the silver screen*****, so it never ceases to make me laugh when I see him driving my Ignis (and pestering when its engine struggles in the hills, which there are a lot of in this side of the country).
He dared tell me that one day, “I’ll upgrade to a Mini,” which I thought was insulting.
I can’t let you go without mentioning the men, and yes, they look—I mean, a lot of them look—good, like cool chefs. But that shall be a whole letter in the future. I almost wish I was single just to tell you about dating in the “countryside” (hardly). Oh, the fun we would have. I mean, oh the fun you would have. I’d probably be as miserable at dating as I’d always been. But worse, because I'm older.
The Action
I can’t tell you much about the action, as it’s too early and I am not even a member yet and you’re supposed to be discreet about the Soho House (no photos!). I only went there when invited by my new adorable friends. I’ll probably be denied after writing this, so thank you very much to myself and my insatiable need to SHARE my bloody life.
Update: I have been accepted as a member. They probably couldn’t resist my Ignis. They don’t know what they just did to themselves, eheh.
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TWO AND MOO
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The Vibe
My favourite place. Look, I don’t care for the decor much, and maybe that is also one of the reasons I love it so. Coffee shops have become so, so, so designed in the last few years over in London that I was starting to feel like my coffee break was an AI experience. Two and Moo is the heartbeat of Frome. (The names used to make me laugh too, okay, but now that I am a local, I don’t even raise an eyebrow when people tell me they live in Bruton, Frome or Tetbury.)
The vibe is the best thing about this coffee shop. It’s locals central, and, if you know anything about your favourite impostor, aka me, it is that there is nothing she likes more than to feel like a local. All the cool locals (again, creatives of all types, just less rich)(just kidding)(but am I?) other than the ones at Soho House come here and gather every day.
If you remember how lonely I was in London, you can imagine how heavenly this feels to me. A built-in community. Damn!
The Style
Imagine a chill Brooklyn or a cool Shoreditch or a relaxed Marais meets the happy country bum. I love the style there. I’ve seen a lot of cable knits (my goal for the winter), many Birks with socks (I didn’t say the style was reinventing the wheel), and Carhartt jackets in lieu of Barbours because this is not bloody Balmoral. The layering is out-of-control great. The worker shoe is queen. The hat game is unbeatable, and yes, ladies, at the risk of repeating myself, there are a lot of men.
Oh, to be single and land in this fantastically virile landscape!
Unfortunately, I suck at dating, and I already have my Ignis-driving man.
Instead, I just get very excited for new friendships and stocking up on giant wool socks. I’ll probably be drinking so many oat lattes that I will die (apparently it’s very bad for you).
But I’ll die a local.
The Action
Right, so picture me lurking around cool-looking locals while they’re chatting, organising stuff—there is a lot of stuff happening around here, a lot of fairs, gatherings, parties, and people actually get together and organise them (Did I tell you this was my favourite place yet?). My level of action is that I am basically idling there as often as I can, obnoxiously saying "hi" to everyone, just like Steve Buscemi going undercover: “How do you do, fellow locals?” I also like to stay in my corner in the hopes that I’ll just slowly get absorbed by the local crowd.
One could say I am creepy with my eagerness, and they would be damn right that I am. But you know what’s great about the countryside? It’s so small, at some point you’ll adopt even the creep sitting on her own with her dog (adorable, the dog) and a half shot oat latte in her hand. Also, you will somewhat admire her because she doesn’t care about dying of OAT LATTE DEATH.
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THE UNDERWOODS
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The Vibe
Well, a dog needs to be walked, and a lady who is sitting all day on her ass drinking oat lattes needs a slight bit of action, so here I am in my fourth setting, the bloody English local woods. They are as magical as they can be eery, and it happens often that I go from enchanted, ready to fly away with the little fairies around me, to thinking I might very well be in The Blair Witch Project.
Who’s here, what’s going on, did I just hear a crack, where the fuck is Lulu and is that person I saw behind that tree my ghost self or the local rapist? So the general vibe is between elated and slightly startled to downright terrified.
The Style
Wellies, because even on warm summer days—which, who am I kidding, it is the English countryside, so it’s a bit like the Scots say: “What, summer? Aye, it happened one week in June!” (Then they laugh uncontrollably which is slightly embarrassing but also endearing.)
In other words, there is mud.
I need much better wellies, as mine are not even wellies, they’re chic French Aigle rain boots that are not even sold in England probably because they’re so slick they’d be a hazard here. They make me slide like a model on prototype heels at New York Fashion Week. One day, I know I’ll fall face first in the bloody mud. It almost happened this morning—thank god a tree (or was it?) caught me halfway.
The Action
It’s just me and my dog, and sometimes a podcast—but I’ll be un-ironic for just one second: these moments are just so lovely on their own. My dog running free, the sound of the nearby river in my ears, the fabulous lightness of the air in my lungs, and the never-ending network of footpaths—this is one of the most magical things that has happened to my days.
If one day I don’t come back home, just know I was taken by a sexy ghost, or got buried under ten tons of mud in my own personal Burning Man '23, but I disappeared happy.
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So, here you have them, my four hangs. I know I said five but that was just out of my love for odd numbers in any literary list making.
My fifth was supposed to be Bath. I love Bath but it already feels like the big city where you have to park (terror!) and you have to sort of plan your outing, and I thought I would spend my life there but I don’t. And I haven’t yet been to Bruton, apparently one of the jewels of the region and where all of the Philos live. Or to Vobster Quay, the cold water swimming lake where I intend on becoming a regular—thank you Leonora for telling me all about it, LET’S GET COLD.
There might be a part two to this, who knows? The countryside life is young, and your correspondent in Somerset likes to take her time because that’s the way you become a true local.
Now, time to go get my coffee. Say "hi" if you see me lurking, fellow locals ;)
*Everyone knows, Garance.
**Hey, keep your filthy mind out of my pastures! ;-)
***A tractor, not a man.
****Yes, we know, Garance, we know.
*****Ok, Netflix.