The Note #25

Deeper In The Mud We Go

Sorry about the quality of my photo, the English countryside also means low light at any time the day and crippling depression by March if one doesn’t take one’s vitamins. Hat, Madeleine Thompson. Coat, Zara mens (old), sweater—best sweater ever that I can’t take off, Cos.

I promise that a part of me—at least 10% of me—tried to avoid becoming an English countryside cliché.

Okay, so 90% of me is rolling into the cliché like a dog rolls in horse poop. Gleefully.

I was with a friend on Monday, at the Beckford Arms, of course, near the fireplace, as one should, both wearing our Le Chameau boots, evidently—need I say that in the sofa nearby was an English family so perfect, flanked with their (OBVIOUSLY) adorable, children, Labrador AND the ideal grandpa and grandma—and if one would have eavesdropped one would have heard me tell her:

“Ah, come on, you’re not going to get a Defender, are you? You’re already wearing a bloody Barbour! Have you no shame?*”

“Oh, hell yes I am! As soon as I have the budget I’m getting a Defender. The one where people are sitting on the side in the back. I don’t care!” She said.

Oh, how I love people who don’t care.

Meanwhile I care (too much) about not being a cliché, which is why I am trying to retain a semblance of personality—but the truth is that the English countryside, more than any other place I’ve lived in**, actually calls for its essentials.

It has this way of reeling you in and in no time you look like this:

Jeans, H&M, boots, Le Chameau. Find everything I’m wearing—or similar because some things are too old, here.

Do you need a Defender? No you don’t. 

But do you need a car that can get dirty? Yes. Do you need a whole collection of rain boots? That you do. And to buy wellies for all your guests because otherwise, it means that your guests won’t have access to the nearby walks? Absolutely.

Do you need a sort of Barbour, something greenish that won’t look awful in the rain? Yup!!!

A hat? Yes. Thick sweaters and socks? That’s right.

My conclusion because I know you’re busy getting ready for the holidays and have no time for my bullshit:

A lot of clichés actually come from real functionality—get the Barbour and stop apologising. Roll in it, G, roll in it.

*The Brits taught me to take the piss at everyone and everything. My family is shocked. My American friends are loving it.

** Because, let’s be honest. LA doesn’t really call for a Kamm Pant. But is that the first thing I bought when I moved there? It was. Did I ever wear it? Never—I don’t have the waist for high waisted things. I have a sweat pant waist. Bye now!

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Here is a lovely shopping board with all my references and my favourite countryside things! I didn’t include the Defender, I promise.

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First, because ‘tis the season, here is a gift idea: a subscription to The High Light! I know, who came up with such a great idea?

My latest letter was about my crazy thoughts about thoughts about food—and a few wise ones.

In the last Note I talked about why I hate wallets.

My latest Instagram reel was about some of Graham’s and my favourite places to visit in Edinburgh.

Doré is my fantastic, luxurious yet affordable, sophisticated yet effortless skincare line. You can find it here! It’s (also) a great present!

If you have any questions, let me know here!

Big kiss!