Paint colours in a real house, skincare I've used long enough to have an opinion, kitchen kit that earned its worktop space, and the occasional grown-up money post. Written from a new build in Aberdeen, Scotland, one room at a time.
The nicer version of the life you've already got
Most of what you'll find here is one question, asked over and over: is this worth it?
Is the Farrow & Ball colour worth three times the price of the Dulux match? Is the mattress still good six years in? Does the viral serum do anything at all? I buy things, live with them for a long time, and then write up what happened, cons included.
You won't find a showhome here. The kitchen has beige cabinets with a hint of purple that nobody chose on purpose, and the playroom mural is still half finished. What you will find is somebody making the same slow, room-by-room decisions you are, and telling you which ones she'd make again.
The things that make a day feel better tend to be small. A coffee that tastes like coffee before anyone else is up. Bedding you don't have to think about. One wall in a colour you'd never have picked from the chart.
That's the version of luxury I'm interested in. The kind you can afford in a normal house with a normal mortgage, that still feels like a treat at ten o'clock at night when the house finally goes quiet.
Small upgrades. Long memories.
I'm 33, I live in Aberdeen, and I'm doing up a new build very slowly with my partner, who does most of the cooking and gets roped into most of the DIY.
I'm not an interior designer and I'm not going to pretend to be one. I'm a person who reads far too many reviews before buying anything, and then keeps using the thing for years so I can tell you whether it held up. Some of it did. Some of it didn't. Both go on the blog.
If you like the sort of recommendation that still holds up six months later, leave your email below and I'll write to you on Sunday.
Most Sundays, once the house has gone quiet and it's edging towards nine, a letter goes out. It's the one I'd write to a friend with good taste and not nearly enough time: one thing worth reading, one thing worth buying, and one thing to skip. No noise, no pressure to spend, just the considered version of what I've actually been using, loving, or quietly sending back.
