1. I need to break up with my phone on holiday.

My phone and I are in a codependent relationship. I know I am not unique in this. We are all living through an epidemic of cell phone codependency. No matter who you are, or what you do, we are all plugged in, hooked up, Matrix style to the Metaverse. In my case, and for those who work in the same industry as me, those whom, for our sins, fall into the category of “influencers”, this codependency becomes increasingly difficult to address, and rectify, as a huge portion of our jobs, and therefore livelihoods, revolves around being plugged into social media. For the most part, I love my job, but I am becoming increasingly aware, and bothered by, how much my incessant use of Instagram has robbed me of my ability to focus on not only my other work, but also my ability to be present, and crucially, to relax. Over the last couple of years there has been a huge discussion surrounding ‘doomscrolling’, and the negative effect caused by over consumption of other people’s lives and opinions. It is absolutely normal now to see people lying on sunbeds, looking at (and coveting!) other peoples holidays, whilst they themselves are also on holiday! Personally, what this summer has taught me is my problem is less about consumption of content, as I am fairly good at managing my screen time on holiday, my issue is with my need to create content for other people to consume. Despite being on holiday I feel the need to make sure that I am documenting all the best parts of the trip in a visually interesting and original way. In the past I have justified this by accepting it as being part of my job, but this summer I realised, isn’t a holiday supposed to be a break from a job? Is it really a holiday if I am looking out for ‘the shot’, or finding new ways of showing people quite how beautiful the South of France is? I know that I can’t escape posting about my holidays, the algorithm Gods demand it, but I have learnt this summer that I need to be careful about how I manage my time when I am away. Not everything needs to be documented, a sunset is just as beautiful without me taking a photo of it. The world will survive without me showing it quite how blue the sea in Greece is. I can cook something without needing to film it! I now know that I need to allocate time to create, and time to unwind. Some days, the phone needs to stay in my bedroom, because after all, it probably needs a rest too.

2. Turns out, sometimes, less really is more!

I am a chronic over-packer. Why bring 4 shirts when I can bring 12, and don’t be ridiculous of course I need 3 pairs of evening shoes for a beach holiday in Greece! Oh and don’t even get me started on toiletries, I mean, what if they don’t have pharmacies in Europe anymore? However, I’ve never packed carefully, I have just thrown in anything I think I might need, and hoped for the best. This summer, due to the complexity of my route to get from London to France, to Greece, and my lack of faith in the airlines ability to ever take off on time and therefore get my to my connections with enough time that I don’t have a nervous breakdown, I decided that to minimise stress, I would be keeping my bag on me at all times, and therefore, she had to be small. I did almost three weeks away with a carry on suitcase, and you know what, it was strangely freeing. It took more time than I usually allocate to packing, but it meant that I only travelled with what I would actually need, and crucially, wore! I distilled the perfect summer wardrobe (link here), including the all important toiletries into one bag, and it worked beautifully! It also meant that whilst I took longer to do the packing plan, at the end of the holiday I didn’t have to sacrifice the last few precious hours of holiday filling a huge suitcase with unworn clothing, I was in and out of the room in 15 minutes! Turns out, occasionally, less really is more!

3. I spend 40% of my holiday reading…

That being said, one thing I will not travel without, is enough books to see me through the trip, because, personally, it is not a holiday, unless I am reading at least 40% of the time. If my body has escaped to some lovely destination, then my mind needs to also, especially as my mind likes to time travel, which sadly, my body hasn’t been able to do yet. So, enter, the book. But how did you travel with enough books if you’ve only got the carry on I hear you cry! Well, my secret is, The Travel Suit. I always travel in a suit with capacious pockets, so I can slip at least two extra books through security, it also just makes you look just that little bit better than everyone else in the aiport (thank me later). There is nothing I love more than the pre-holiday book selection, who is coming, and who is staying. It’s infinitely more fun than deciding which pants to pack! This summer I decided to dive once more in to Proust (I will own to the fact that this is my 5th attempt at reading Volume 1 of ‘In Search of Lost time’, the boarding school kid in me couldn’t stomach 30 pages of a little boy pining for his mummy, I mean, shes only downstairs, grow up lad!). This time, I successfully got through the first few chapters, and found myself, dare I say it, enjoying the book that has been described as “the cornerstone of western literature.” However, I knew no matter how much I was enjoying it, I would need something beach and scrambled brain appropriate, which is why I also wore the below through customs! They were both highly enjoyable and a much welcome distraction from Proust’s mummy issues.

4. Adios Beach Towel you sad wet thing, hello Pareo you slithery sauce pot.

Now, if you’re European, you probably already know this, so excuse my English ignorance, but there is a huge difference between what we consider beach towels and pareos. I was introduced to pareos two summers ago by my boyfriend’s sister, Eugenia, who on holiday in Patmos with us seemed to have a never ending collection of them that she transformed transfigured and transmuted into a seemingly endless array of towels, skirts, tops and headscarfs. I wasn’t convinced, the flimsiness of the material didn’t seem like it could do anything apart from drape feebly around my body, and I certainly didn’t think it could be relied on to adequately dry me. Pareo, please forgive me, I was wrong, you’re wonderful. I bought my first one this summer and channeling Eugenia I used it as a towel, as a sarong, and as a wrap (I tried it as a top, but alas, I couldn’t pull it off), It’s a fantastic bit of kit, much better than a soaking towel with takes up half your beach bag, or gives you a chill as you wrap it round your neck and speed off on the back of a scooter. A pareo is chic, versatile, and fuss free, plus, they dry almost instantly and provide you with a sort of European insouciance as you try it round your waist for a sundowner at the local beach bar.

5. Drinking is fun.

Disclaimer, please skip this part if you have a drinking problem, a substance abuse problem or any issues with addiction.

God drinking is fun, I know that sounds somewhat crass, but really, it is. We live in an era of over optimisation, of matcha lattes and wellness gone wonky! We all spend so much time trying to be ‘the best version of ourselves’, that we have forgotten how much fun being the worst version of ourselves can also be. The version that cracks open that second (third?) bottle of wine at dinner, who tells the same story twice, who laughs sloppily at their own jokes and perhaps, as a guest once did at our house in France, falls asleep at the dinner table! Drinking is a social lubricant, and in a society where we are all too afraid to say the wrong thing, to the wrong person at the wrong time, I do strongly believe that alcohol, when consumed responsibly, can do wonders with its ability to force us to unwind. Things are rarely as bad as they first seemed after a glass of wine, because the reality is, they were never that bad to begin with! Stress and anxiety are wicked sprites who poison our minds, and occasionally, a good glass of wine is all it takes to drown them. Now, I should say, don’t go chasing waterfalls of the stuff, alcohol, like most things really, is best enjoyed in moderation, but I did learn this summer that I have the propensity to hang on too tightly to ‘wanting to be on form the next day’ or ‘wanting to be healthy’, and actually, the best parts of a holiday are often the parts that are unexpected, and nothing stokes the fires of spontaneity than an extra glass of wine at lunch!

6. It’s your holiday.

Lastly, the summer is yours to do with as you please. Unless you are travelling alone (bliss I hear you say?) all too often our holiday is at the mercy of our travel companions. The itinerary is split into a collection of activities that too often, not everyone wants to do. So remember, if you don’t want to take a 2h hike up a mountain to see a ruin, you don’t have to. If you don’t want to go meet people for lunch, you don’t have to. If you don’t want to go out for the 4th night in the row, you’ve got it, You. Dont. Have to. My brother once described me as “the most boring person in the world to go on holiday with'“, and really, he’s probably right. All I really want to do is lie by a body of water and read my book in the sun, then have a couple of glasses of wine with dinner and go to bed. I don’t like staying up late on holiday, I don’t like being overly social. I like winding down and shutting up. So much of my life is hyper social, so for me, the idea of carrying that socializing through into holiday time, just does not make sense. This summer I learnt that was ok. We finished the summer on an island in Greece, where socialising is actively encouraged, and expected, but this year, we were very selective about how much, and what we did. We asked ourselves, do we want to see this person? Do we want to go to this party? And if the answer was yes, then off we went, but if it was no, then away we stayed, sans guilt, because on holiday, the only person you owe anything to, is yourself!

When I accepted the invitation I suspected I was in for a treat, but nothing could have prepared me for quite how special the new Hope Lodge from the WildLands collection truly is. The team at WildLands have spent years buying and protecting land in Scotland, and they are now the largest private landowner in the county. Their mission is beyond admirable, to restore their lands in Scotland to their previous natural splendour. They have manage to achieve this though working carefully with conservation experts, removal of fences and man made methods of landscape segregation, the reintroduction of certain animals (and the culling of others in a humane way), and allowing nature to take over. The landscape is impressive enough, and thats before you’ve got to the accommodation, which in our case, was the Hope Lodge. It is the latest jewel in the WildLand’s crown. Operating as a hotel, as well as being available for private hire, Hope Lodge is a masterclass in creating a space that works with the landscape rather than imposing on it. The design scheme is full of soft, neutral tones with a focus on natural fabrics and colours. I particularly loved the use of hessian on the walls, which was inspired by the discovery of the fabric in the structure of the original building, which had clearly been added as a form of natural insulation. Another detail I really enjoyed was that there was no art on the outer walls of the building, which allowed the landscape through the windows to be the centre of attention. The food was phenomenal, and we were spoilt by not one but two incredible three course dinners (to clarify: not on the same night!). We ended our second evening with a whisky tasting, which predictably involved one too many sips and not enough spits, and we all ended up dancing to Madonna until the wee hours.

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Located a mere hope skip and an hour and a half from Dublin, Ballyfin, like all great country houses appears in all its regency glory behind a bend in the drive. The sudden full reveal is a careful considered choice, to ensure maximum gasping from incoming visitors. Historically the country house was built as a status symbol, as a way of asserting the power of the ruling dynasty in the area, and Ballyfin is no different. The surrounding area has been a seat of power stretching back centuries, and there have been variations of the current house in the same spot stretching all the way back to the 1500s, but the current version of the house, and therefore the hotel, is all thanks to one very young man called Sir Charles Coote. Sir Charles Coote inherited his cousin’s vast wealth and title at the ripe old age of 10, and as part of his inheritance, he took charge of the land surrounding Ballyfin, which at the time was still in the hands of the Wellesley-Pole family. The Wellesley-Pole family had been at Ballyfin for generations, and the interior design gods smiled down on us all when. just as Sir Charles Coote came into his majority (translation, his billions), the Wellesley-Pole family decided to sell up (just in time apparently, as of the heir apparent was a notorious gambler and all-round regency rake, so much so that his obituary eventually read - “he was redeemed by no single virtue, adorned by no single grace.”). Sir Charles bought the property in 1813 and in 5 years (an incredibly feat at the time) transformed the place into the slice of heaven we see today. The Coote family clung to Ballyfin for as long as possible, until they were forced out of Ireland by the wars of Irish independence. The house lay shut up, abandoned, and thanks to the caretaker, flame torch free (The Irish went on a country house burning spree as they were considered symbols of English oppression). Eventually it was taken over by the Patrician brotherhood, who used it as a school. Finally, after years of doing what they could with the little they had to keep the house standing, the decided to sell, and in came the visionary behind today’s hotel, Fred Krehbiel, and his wife Kay, - who spent 9 years restoring the house to its former glory for me, sorry, all of us, to enjoy.

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Well, what a week! We did it. We survived The Great Heat of 2026. At one point, as I swam across my bed in a pool of my own sweat I wasn’t sure I was going to make it, the air being blasted in my face by my struggling fan was doing nothing to assuage the almost physical heat that felt like it was trying to suffocate me. Staying in the house was unbearable, leaving the house, impossible. I spent most of everyday last week in my garden, slowly chasing the shade, having transformed my outdoor table into a mobile desk. However, I knew I couldn’t hide from my diary for ever, and so after a preemptive cold shower, I headed to Bonhams to see what Henry Holland had cooked up with the team there.

Henry Holland is a real force of nature, and I feel incredibly lucky to count him as a friend. Creatively, he is brilliant, everything he tries his hand at comes out with his signature flair, and it’s a joy watching him sprinkle his brand of ceramic magic over the interior design scene. Monday night saw a group of us gather at Bonhams to celebrate their forthcoming auction. Henry had been asked to curate a centre piece for the event, which featured a selection of his incredible vases, all of which are named after famous affairs. Despite the heat the evening was a rip roaring success, and it was great to see so many beautiful works of art up close before they head off to their next homes! I was particularly enraptured by the painting below, the details of which I stupidly forgot to write down (I blame the heat!)

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Well, what a week. It started with a 7am pick up which landed me in Italy by way of the delights of Stansted Airport. I was grumbling about how early I was flying (internally obviously, I am not a monster) until I was humbled by the information that the other guests had agreed to the 6:30am flight, which meant a 2am pick up! Well, more fool them, could simply never be me. Short of a family emergency, nothing is getting me out the house before 7am (and even then it best be life or death). Depite my rumblings, the early start was worth it and before I knew it I was pulling through the medival gates of the Castello di Rocca Cilento, a boutique castle (if that is a thing) located about an hour and a half outside Naples.

Now, I am no stranger to a press trip, I have been lucky enough to be working in the influencer industry (lol) for longer than I care to admit (anyone remember the Valencia filter?), but I never take these invitations for granted. It is incredibly spoiling to be able to experience, and share these wonderful places and every invite is still thrilling. As readers of this substack will know, I am a huge fan of Naples, but bar Pompeii and Sorrento, I hadn’t seen much of the surrounding areas, so this was a real treat. The Castello itself is medieval, and its most esteemed guest (before I arrived) was Ferdinand II of Aragon in the 16th century, so, you know, it’s swanky. Made even more so by the current owners, who rescued what was rapidly becoming a ruin, and turned it into the boutique hotel you see today. It only took 7 years, which in Italy is whiplash inducingly fast. The hotel itself is magnificent, and you can really tell that a lot of thought went into ensuring that the castle felt restored rather than remade. It has even been given the seal of approval by the Castello’s longest standing tenants, the flock of swallows that have made their home in the towers and that put on a constant mesmerising aerial display. I was particularly impressed by the pool area, which, despite being necessarily modern, still harmonised beautifully with the medieval-ness of the towers. In fact the pool was built in the exact same spot as the trough used to water the animals used to stand, so I guess the purpose of the area remains the same, keeping filthy animals cool. I was lucky enough to be in one of the suites, with my own private turret, which meant I started each morning reading my book stark naked, coffee in hand and a prayer on my lips that there were no bird watchers in the area.

(I am wearing pants in this pic - this isn’t onlyfans!)

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It all started earlier this year, when Jodie from The House Upstairs reached out, tentatively and asked me to collaborate. We both knew, that was an itch in the chair scene that had yet to be scratched, and we were determined to be the first to get our nails in. However, I knew this was to be no small feat, and I warned Jodie, that I would only agree to embark on this journey if she agreed to go chair-ily, where no chair had chaired before. She nodded apprehensively. We both knew there was a key piece of furniture missing from the arsenal of interior design. For too long have clients, friends and family been limited by the hardness of the dining chair, and the size of the sofa. We knew that we needed something in-between, something to fill that empty spot by the fire, or that corner of a bedroom. Something to curl up in, to throw yourself down in. Something beautiful, something durable, something revolutionary.

So I got to work. I scoured the pantheon of decorative schemes for inspiration. I travelled globally, through different cultures, countries and continents, before I finally picked up my pencil, and sketched. Many months later, we settled on what we have now christened, ‘The Look No Further Armchair.’

After months of secrecy, we were finally ready to show the world what we had created. So, under the strictest of NDA’s London’s premier interior design critics were invited to the as yet to be opened Pembroke Club in Belgravia, and after being ushered upstairs and furnished with a martini, they waited, with breath that was baited, for what can only be described, as a once in a lifetime event. Security was tight, it had to be, for an innovation of this scale, we couldn’t afford to take any risks. Anticipation built and before long you could almost taste the curiosity in the air. Before it suffocated them all, I unhooked the velvet rope and led our guests into the future.

And what a future. There were tears of joy, someone fainted. Gasps and sheer unbridled delight erupted as I invited London’s leading ladies onto the stage to meet ‘The Look No Further Armchair.” They could not believe their eyes, or bottoms, as they sunk, elegantly in to the seat. It was beautiful to watch as critics heralded a new dawn for interior design, as they rambled to me about the majesty of a chair so comfortable, and so compact, that they simply couldn’t fathom how we all got by before.

All too soon it was over, and as security dragged the last martini soaked guest off the chair, I let go of the breath I had not realised I had been holding. We had done it, we had birthed a legend. A piece of furniture to join the likes of table, cupboard and desk in the ranks of ‘how to make a home’. I was pleased, but more than that, I was honoured, to have my name associated with what people are now saying, is the greatest thing to happen to interior design since paint. Now, you can see it for yourself. Head over to The House Upstairs, your bottom will thank you!

Naples is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, it can date its history back to 9BC, and, as one would expect, over the course of its long and illustrious history it has attracted a whole host of conquerors, all of whom have been treated by the Neapolitans with an insouciance that even the most human adverse cat would be proud of. Whilst, mercifully, Naples is no longer under threat from foreign armies, it is however, under threat from a different sort of army, namely, an army of tourists. However, unlike Venice, Florence, or even Rome, Naples has not succumbed to this relentless hoard, but instead seems to completely ignore them in the same way it did the Greeks, the Spanish, and the French. The attitude seems to be ‘Enjoy Naples, or don’t, we don’t care either way”, which is an attitude to tourism I can really get behind. Naples feels alive, and thriving, whereas so many of her sister cities seem to have slipped into an almost catatonic state, where their charms and jewels have been ripped from the bosom of the city and carefully sealed behind glass to be oogled at by a selfie stick wheeling Americans. Naples on the other hand still wears her charms proudly, and rather aggressively thrusts them up into the visitors face, daring you to enjoy yourself. Venice, these days, is often referred to as a floating museum, and if Venice is a museum, then Naples is a theatrical production, and one that demands audience participation. It’s a pantomime city where everyone has their role to play, even the tourists, if only to provide comedic relief for the locals.

For this reason, I often find that Naples is a divisive city. For many people ‘glorious chaos’ translates to ‘constantly being almost hit by a car’ and ‘throbbing with life’ means graffiti and unwashed youths on motorbikes, and whilst I can see their point, if you don’t ‘get’ Naples, you are missing THE point. Naples is not something you ‘get’, its something you live, which previously, was the aim of traveling. In the past the goal was to see and experience life in other parts of the world, with an emphasis on the word experience. Now, the aim of the tourist is the capture, to package and resell what you see, rather than what you feel. It is less about living it and more about other people liking it, which is why so many people pass through Naples and onto the infinitely more ‘likeable’ islands of Capri and Ischia, or travel up to Sorrento and Positano, whose picture perfect backdrops provide unchallenging ideas of beauty, whereas Naples, well, like all the best things in life, is more of an acquired taste. However, once you have acquired it, you realise that what Naples offers most of all, is an opportunity to remember how to live. It is a fast city where people live slow, where the past bumps permanently into the present and there is no concern about the future save where to grab your next meal from. This attitude to life, this care only for the present I believe is an inherited neapolitan trait, brought on by living in the shadow of the world’s most famous volcano, and its aftermath, the ancient city of Pompeii. They have a very visual reminder that life is unpredictable, and therefore why bother worrying about things that are out of your control.

I spent a week in Naples recently and decided to approach the city as a local, rather than a visitor. I did not just want to see, I wanted to live the Neapolitan dream, and I felt the best way to do so would be to set myself a routine. Every morning I would have breakfast with my boyfriend and his family, before walking the same route to Gambrinus, the legendary cafe next to the Palazzo Reale where Oscar Wilde fell in love with Naples. There for the princely sum of two euros I would sip my espresso and scribble in my note pad as the immaculately dressed staff hurried past me carrying silver trays laden with pastries so decadent they would have brought a tear to Marie Antoinette’s eye. I would then take in a museum, or a church, never both in the morning, because, why the rush? The museums were predominately empty and I was able to absorb, unencumbered, centuries of genius and craftsmanship. The churches also, inspired in me a devotion I have never felt for any religion and I sat, quietly, staring at ceiling after ceiling of breathtaking beauty until I felt my neck might never forgive me.

I limited myself to one morning activity, and one afternoon activity, and I walked, everywhere, trying as much as possible to go from memory, rather than maps. After my morning, I would go home to Edo for lunch, where mama Giulia would have (with a little household help) whipped up a lunch most restaurants can only aspire to, with produce so fresh that in front of which, our own supermarket versions in the UK would simply dissolve in shame, before heading out again for my afternoon activity. Which, I must admit, predominantly revolved around Pistacchio Sorbet. I would then start the evening by saying goodbye to the sun on the rocks by the Castello dell’Ovo surrounded by the sound of the cities scugnizzi (basically Oliver Twist: The Naples Edition) hooting and hollering their way through endless games, most of which seem to start by terrorising the tourists and ended up with them launching themselves into the sea. One particularly brave scugnizzi who actually bore an uncanny resemblance to our cat had the audacity to sidle up to me and start rooting through my bag, when I grabbed him by the wrist and questioned him, he grinned like a kid caught with chocolate all around his mouth before scedaddling off to join his friends. He was looking for a snack (more out of greed than necessity - worry not). I have no doubt he was disappointed to discover only my factor 50 SPF and a half drunk bottle of warm water. The scugnizzi are charming and harmless and so part of the fabric of neapolitan culture, that honestly, even if he had pinched a few euros, I wouldn’t have minded.

Edo would then join me for an aperitivo before we found somewhere to eat, the most memorable of which was a little place on the port in the shadow of the Castello, where my tired legs and oversaturated mind got to unwind to the smells and sounds unique to port side living. As someone chronically overstimulated, my love for Naples surprised me at first, however, I found that the humming and throbbing of the city, rather than further stimulate me, in fact provided me with a rhythm and a sense of calm I rarely manage to find in London. Perhaps it is being by the sea, perhaps its being in the shadow of the volcano, or perhaps its the ‘so what’ attitude of the Neapolitans, but visiting Naples, I felt more calm than I had in years. This trip reminded me of why we travel, it’s not just about collecting, and seeing everything, about guidebooks and ticking off recommendations from friends, or rushing from place to place, site to site, bar to restaurant. It is certainly not about getting the best content. Travelling is about slowing down, not speeding up, of listening and not talking, of absorbing, and not grabbing. I had forgotten that, and I have Naples to thank for reminding me.

That is not to downplay the majesty that is the Garden Show, or as I like to call it, Flower Fashion Week. I bestowed the show with this moniker a few years back when I noticed that every single one of the show gardens was dominated by the Iris, a flower which I was was largely unfamiliar with at the time. As the show finished and the social merry-go-round started up again I noticed that the aforementioned Iris seemed to be cropping up more and more, on tables, in photoshoots, at events, and then eventually my local florist. The show gardens, like the runway, had selected the next trend in floristry, and we, the grateful public, had lapped it up. The same was true the next year, when Cosmos, which I had only really ever seen on a bush, created pandemonium in the growers tent, and then appeared on every influencers table scape from here to Edinburgh (including mine. Gasp!)

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Starting off with possibly the perfect entrance hall, minus the blossom, which is making me sneeze just looking at it. Edward Bulmer’s paints are pretty spectacular. They tend to bounce light perfectly, especially when applied using a stipple effect - as seen here. Bulmer’s paints are perfect for a period home, as they are natural products intended to allow the house to breathe, which is essential when thinking about redecorating an old home.

2. Brockfield Hall

As the (former) editor of House & Garden Hatta Byng clearly knows a thing or two about decorating, as she proves here in her oh so humble entrance hall. This is the kind of hall that would make the post holiday return home bearable, as you dropped your bags and breathed in your own manufactured sunshine, you could remind yourself that whilst England can be cold and grey, your home is not. As with the Edward Bulmer example above this hall has been painted using a ‘stipple’ effect, which is a very traditional style of decorative painting used to add depth and visual interest (John Fowler was a huge advocate).

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I come back to this room again and again, although despite several exhaustive google image searches I haven’t quite managed to figure out where it is. Google and I seem to think it is Helmingham Hall, which in itself is well worth a google (it has a moat). What draws me back here time and time again is the perfect balance between comfort and classicism. The playfulness of the chintz with the seriousness of the original detailing, all tied together with the blue (oh I hear you say, it’s not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean...) carpet that Miranda Priestly would certainly approve.

2. Hapsley Court by Nancy Lancaster

Nancy Lancaster, one of the grand Dames of the “English Country House” aesthetic, was in fact, American, although we shan’t hold that against her. Her last, and most well documented design scheme was her collaboration with her long term partner John Fowler at Hapsley Court, her final home. This room is a masterclass in the use of trompe-l'œil, as only the cornicing is 3D. Everything, including the plaster plaque above the fireplace is decorative painting. Genius.

3. Peggy Guggenheim’s Bedroom in Venice.

I never leave Venice without paying my respects to La Guggenheim. Her Palazzo on the Grand Canal is as legendary for it’s art collection as it is for being the only one story building on that iconic stretch of water. Over the course of her life Guggenheim built up a collection of art that defined a generation of artists and the building that was once her home now attracts thousands of visitors every year. Anyone lucky enough to have visited the museum will have seen the Alexander Calder headboard, but it was only recently that I stumbled across this image of the piece in situ.

3. A Drawing Room in London by Veere Greeney.

Velvet Walls. That’s all (apologies for the double Devil quote, I just wanted the trailer for the upcoming sequel so it’s all floating around up there). Seriously though, velvet walls. I am not sure you can get more decedent than that, but the power of this room is that Veere somehow manages to make the opulence seem understated. I am particularly fond of the use of the cream cornice and of course the classic Colefax & Fowler ‘Bowood’ fabric upholstery.

4. Sky McAlpine’s Dining Room in Venice.

There is no place like Venice, and there is seemingly no where better to eat than Skye’s dining room in Venice. As befits the floating city this dining rooms looks like it was made from candy floss, but grounded by the beautiful Italian terrazzo flooring. One day I will have an enormous Murano chandelier in my dining room, although sadly today is not that day (tomorrow sadly not looking likely either.)

5. The Master Bathroom at St Giles House.

I have looked at a lot of bathrooms, like, a lot of bathrooms, but this one, this one I think might just be the winner. A tub in which you can soak for hours, and enough natural light that getting ready in the morning is not a complete guessing game (as it is in my house). You cannot really ask for more than that. I am not known for my love of simplicity, but there is something about the refined elegance of this room that has me in a bit of chokehold.

6. Source Unknown.

Just in case you thought I had gone soft, or worse, straight! A much more intimate bathroom here, but packing a serious (high camp) punch! I love the mirrored bath area, not only the walls, but also around the tub. There is also something so incredible outrageous of a bathroom chandelier. Outrageous, and therefore essential. I am all for a jewel box of a guest bathroom, something that makes your guest smile as they sit down on the throne or pop themselves in the tub.

7. The Garden Room at Reddish House. Chez Cecil.

   

   Oh to live like Cecil Beaton. Or his pug, or even his plants. I wouldn’t mind being vegetal if it meant spending my days in this room. This is possibly the most referenced garden room in the world, and for good reason. The bamboo encased walls and the ornamental pond are masterful touches and don’t even get my started on the plethora of pelargoniums and the j-amazing jasmine (sorry.)

8. Peter Popping’s Study in Normandy, France.

I have referenced this room a lot in the past, so it is only fair that it gets a mention now. One of the most important elements to consider when putting a room together is how you are going to layer it. The best rooms, like onions, have lots of different layers consisting of different colours, textures and most importantly, time periods. Too much off of one specific element of the later and a room can end up looking like, at best an homage to a specific era of design, or at worst, dated (the horror!) What I love about this study is the combination, and adaptation, of pieces from radically different periods. The red lacquered desk is dramatically contemporary yet sits perfectly in front of an antique (French?) mirror, and I love the antique chair with the leopard seat cover. It is the contrast here that works, all tied beautifully together by the large jute rug.

9. The State Bedroom at Houghton Hall.

Possibly the most famous bed in England, and one of the inspirations behind my, admittedly slightly less famous, bedroom. This bed, created for Sir Robert Walpole in 1732 by William Kent, was ruinously expensive, with the trimmings alone costing over £200,000 in today’s money, and that is just the trimmings! Whilst I am not sure I could stomach spending that much money on anything that I couldn’t actually live inside, I am glad Sir Robert was made of stronger stuff, as now we all get to enjoy this exSHELLent piece (what’s wrong with me!)

10. A bedroom by David Hicks.

David Hicks is one of those designers I come back to again and again. Specically to learn about his use of colour, and colour blocking. I am always drawn to the way he never over accessories his schemes, he allows the key pieces of furiniture, and the paint to do the talking. Less really is sometimes more, and less is definitely harder to work with. With less to distract the eye the scheme needs to be much more coherent and tied together, which I believe this room is perfectly.

One, two, buckle my shoe, three four, give me some more! How incredible are these Georgian buckles. Not entirely sure what I would do with them, aside from the obvious ! I rather like the idea of displaying them framed on a wall. The more sparkle the merrier in my opinion.

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1. First up is the legendary Hayes Mews drawing room designed by John Fowler. This shade of blue grey really shows off Fowler’s mastery of colour and tone and offers the perfect backdrop to the incredible antiques on display. This room was created by removing a floor, hence the improbably high ceilings, so this blue benefits from a massive amount of light and space.

2. Hands down one of my favourite uses of blue. This magnificent room is by Michael Inchbald. I particularly love how the tones used pick out the blues in the impressive portrait behind the sofa. This room is the perfect example of a multi hue success story - the walls, cornicing and ceiling are all different which creates fabulous visual interest.

3. I revisit this image time and time again. Actress Ina Claire’s sitting room with her portrait by Cecil Beaton hanging above her fireplace. Although I can’t be sure, I would image the colour scheme of this room was directly influenced by the portrait. For me this room is a lesson in allowing colour to speak for itself, for a room of this size there is very little furniture or art work but the walls, curtains and carpet more that make up for it.

4. Whilst not entirely being to my taste I do appreciate this retro bedroom/ living area. Again what is effective here is the multi shade approach, although here rather than use different tones of paint, the designer has used different blues for the soft furnishings.

   

   5. The ultimate Cornish Blue. This room at St Michael’s Mount has been a source of inspiration for countless designers over the years, and you can see why. However I think it is important to note that this is not necessarily a warm, cosy room, the blue here is almost cold, lending to the air of formality in what would be a more elegant entertaining space.

   

6. The Octagonal Room at Honington Hall complete with exactly who I plan on being in the not so distant future. I love how the different shades of blue here create the illusion of depth and drama.

   

   7. I’ve included this Drawing room from an apartment in Burley on the Hill, designed by Mark Gillette in the style of Robert Adam as an example of some great colours to pair with Blue. Red and blue has been done quite heavily over the last colour of years,

   and although the pastels together can teeter dangerously towards kitch territory, if paired with the correct furniture you can easily pull the room back from becoming too ‘period’ specific. I actually particulary like the lilac lampshade against the blue…

8. As far as most contemporary followers of interior design are aware, Lucy Williams invented decorating with blue. Her living room in West London is perhaps one of the most copied rooms in London spawning countless imitations done with varying degrees of success. As I have said, blue is not naturally the cosiest colour, and the secret to Lucy’s success with this colour drench is the combination of the rooms positioning (its towards the front of the house and gets plenty of natural light), and the coupling with the use of strong earthy, warmer tones in the upholstery and the rug. The careful consideration of the accompanying tones means this room feels welcoming and calm, rather than cold and formal.

9. When decorating with blue, you obviously do not just have to limit yourself to paint. In this iconic scheme by Henri Samuel for novelist Louise de Vilmorin, the designer expertly ties together this large room using paint, toile de Jouy and nerve. ‘Colour Drenching’ is a real buzzword at the moment, and has been for the last couple of years, and maybe, just maybe, it is time we look at fabric drenching, because how utterly magical is this space, you just know that in this room tea was poured, and even hotter tea was spilled.

   

   10. Last but not least, one of my favourite rooms, or ‘sets’ as apartments in the Albany are known. Perhaps one of the most famous blue rooms in interior design, expertly decorated by Fleur Cowles. The genius of this room is in the layering. The layering of different colours, patterns and eras. That blending of pieces from different design periods is really what makes a successful interior design scheme. Too much of any era turns a space into an imitation, or an homage, rather than a home.

I know social media plays a huge role in this sense of unsettlement. Scrolling makes me feel permanently on edge, because according to the internet, I am woefully underprepared for this thing we call life. Every day I am force fed content online reminding me that I am not strong enough, toned enough or eating enough protein. I am told my tap water is trying to kill me, the air in my house is polluted, I am eating my food in the wrong order, or storing it in the wrong way (anyone else constantly being attacked by AI vegetables veg-splaining their individual storage needs?). My skincare is inadequate and doing more harm than good, my cleaning products want me dead and the phone through which I am consuming all this is in turn consuming what is left of my brainpower. Even my morning coffee now costs £18 a bag as according to some ‘expert’ (you used to need a PHD to be an expert, now you just need a tripod and a dream) regular coffee is full of mould and death. Oh, and not to mention the supplements I take are wrong, my laundry detergent is lacing my clothes with poison and I apparently want to die young because I don’t down litres of bone broth. For breakfast.

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Every house needs a couple of pieces that do not take themselves too seriously. A home where everything is too considered, too stylised, can very easily veer towards that horror show of a result, the show home. This painting from 1894 is beautifully executed, as well as being playful. The suspicious looking, side eye giving horse and the loyal hound would make an excellent addition to any kitchen or dining space!

Shop the nervous equine and his loyal companion here.

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Now, before I begin my review, I should note that I am, what a lot of the critics have called, a ‘purist’. I have devoured Wuthering Heights so many times that the pages are clinging to the spine tighter than Heathcliff to Cathy, and with as much chance of staying together. I think it is important to flag here that the enduring power of Brontë’s masterpiece is her gut wrenching portrayal of the darker side of love, of devotion veering savagely into obsession. Cathy and Heathcliff are not in ‘love’ in the way traditional romantic leads are. They are not Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. They shoot straight past love and into the kind of frenzy human beings simply cannot sustain. It is a mania that is so all encompassing it can only lead to mutual destruction. That toxicity is the enduring appeal of a story published in 1847. It’s the addiction, the love you grow up thinking you want, the love you yearn for until you realise that love and obsession are very different beasts. One devours whilst the other sustains. The book is a masterclass in the destructive power of obsession and the life destroying poison of revenge.

This film, is not quite that. I knew going into the film that this was not going to be a faithful adaptation (Emerald Fennel and the entire cast, have been very open about the fact that this is an interpretation) but at the first major break from the source material (Catherine is an only child in this version) I found myself fact checking against what happens in the book. I couldn’t help wondering how this was all going to tie together if so many vital elements of the original story had been removed, or altered. Fifteen minutes in I had to force myself to stop thinking about my own interpretation of the book, as the differences were distracting enough to divert my attention away from the film. I guess that is the main issue with adaptations, the veering away from what is expected, what is known, and the reason why, no matter how beautifully executed, adaptations will always ruffle feathers.

However, I did manage to stop comparing, and once I did, I was able to seriously enjoy this film for what it is. Which is a two and a bit hour visual assault, in the best possible way. The sets are spectacular, with both Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights providing gasp worthy backdrops to the story, and the set dressing in every scene is pure magical realism at its finest. The world on the moors that Fennel has created is so jaw droopingly surreal that it helps move the mind away from Brontë’s world and into hers. As do the costumes, which are supporting cast members in their own right, especially Cathy’s. The visual language of the film is its core strength, its pure fever dream madness, which absolutely aligns with the obsessive nature of Cathy and Heathcliff’s relationship.

As for Cathy (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), much like the sets they are both spectacular to look at. So much so that it is easy to forget the characters they are supposed to be playing. Initially I felt Robbie had Cathy down perfectly, and any misgivings I had about the casting were blown away as the precocious, spoilt, self-centred nightmare of a young woman that I love so much, sauntered around the moors. However, I can’t help but feel that as the film went on, Cathy got a bit too… passive. Her timeless appeal is her almost animalistic nature, she is all passion, all rage. She is manipulative beyond measure, and by the middle of the film Robbie plays her as too acquiescent, too domesticated, with only flashes of her wildness coming through. Her delivery of some of the most famous lines in literature (“whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same” etc) fell a little flat, and lacked the wildness of the Cathy of so many of our imaginations. As for Elordi, personally, I loved his Heathcliff. He is brooding and swarthy, and although he is tipped slightly into the ridiculous by the decision to turn his relationship with Isabella into a BDSM trope, I think he captured Heathcliff beautifully. He is outrageously sexy and his lifting of Cathy up by the laces of her corset to the (wuthering) heights of his 6’5” lips was nothing short of cinematagraphic gold Perhaps my only criticism, which is not entirely his fault, is that his eyes are too inherently soft. Jacob Elordi has puppy dog chocolate brown eyes, which somewhat trips up his attempts at ferocity. Isabella Linton is made into a hugely enjoyable comic figure, which although might infuriate some Brontë fans, I actually thought made for fantastic viewing.

Overall the film packs such a visual punch so powerful that you are left quite literally in some scenes, seeing stars. That bamboozling, coupled with the Charli XCX soundtrack means there is very little time to look for the all important Yearning. Perhaps because there isn’t really any. The longing that is so key to the source material, the eternal torture of a sexual passion unfulfilled, is, in this adaptation, quite graphically fulfilled. In the book they are bound by the strict moral codes of their era. They are victims not only of time, but of their own positions in life, and that leaves a frustration, and resentment that is crucially missing from this adaptation. As with Saltburn, I was blown away by Emerald Fennel’s visual language, every scene is a masterclass in visual storytelling, it is wild, challenging and completely enthralling. However, much like with Saltburn, I felt that in parts, the story collapsed under the weight of what she wants us to SEE rather than feel. As with all her films there were gratuitous sex scenes that I felt weakened the message we are supposed to take away from Wuthering Heights, and in a world so overexposed to sex, perhaps a love story without it would make for more erotic viewing.

However, as I mentioned at the beginning, this is not a faithful adaptation, nor was it ever really supposed to be. The film ends halfway through the book, with the focus being exclusively on the ‘love story’ rather than on the twisted tale of revenge that so scandalised Regency England. However that does not make it any less enjoyable, because it really truly is! The film is laugh out loud funny in some parts, and heartbreakingly sad in others. I sat, enthralled throughout and could have easily kept watching for many many more hours. At its core this film is a raucous romp through Regency England under the the umbrella of ‘Wuthering Heights’, and I can’t help but feel that Emerald Fennel slightly shot herself in the foot by assuming the ‘Wuthering Heights’ title. She could have just as easily called this film ‘Heathcliff”’or any snippet deriving from the story. By calling it Wuthering Heights, she limited herself to the weight of other peoples expectations, and opened herself up to unnecessary criticism. Although, perhaps that is exactly the point.

I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100 times. I love an occasional chair. Especially canned. Especially Regency. This chair, being both, is an obvious winner for me. I can image this looking glorious in a well lit spot pilled high with books and topped with a flowering red pelargonium! NB. When piling canned chairs with books, make sure that the bottom book is balanced on the frame of the chair rather than the cane, because if the seat breaks through - it is ruinous to fix!

Shop the chair here.

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1. This bed (or sofa) Canopy from Brown Rigg Interiors is flawless. As someone with a sofa canopy in their office, I can confirm they make an excellent addition to any space. The yellow of this would cocoon you in your own personal ray of sunshine!

1. Shop the Canopy here.

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I don’t know when my obsession with red started, it might have been when I stumbled across Diana Vreeland’s apartment, the legendary “Garden in Hell”, decorated by Billy Baldwin. Perhaps the overexposure to those saturated images short circuited my brain and dulled any affinity I might have had with other colours. Regardless, that apartment will forever be one of my favourite homes. It is without a doubt the most apocalyptic use of a single colour in a design scheme that I have ever seen.

Personally, I particularly love a red dining room. There is something about the idea of eating nestled inside a giant ruby that particularly appeals to me. The Georgian’s, those bastions of good taste, agreed, and it is partly thanks to them that red is such a popular colour for that part of the house. Red is one of the world’s oldest pigments, and for centuries it has been used to symbolise life, power and fire. The Georgians also believed it stimulated passion and hunger. Which is exactly how I want my guests to feel, hungry and horny! As the natural light of the day fades, and the candles are lit (no over head lighting please this isn’t a dentists office), red bounces a softness, and a healthy flush onto your guests faces, as well as being flattering to the food. Side note; I was told recently, that historically people shied away from using green in the dining room, as the light reflected the shade onto the food making whatever they were eating look mouldy, and the guests ill!

Fundamentally there is something inherently naughty, and sacred, about the colour red, it’s used for stop signs and religion. It’s used to drive bulls crazy, it’s the colour of blood, the thing that keeps us alive, and heat. Red is passion, love, sex. Wearing red says something scandalous about the person wearing it, living with red, the same. And don’t we all need a bit more scandal in our lives! So go on, decorate the dining room red, and if you need some inspiration here are a few of my favourites.

1. Amanda Harlech’s Red Dining room at home in the country. One of my favourite interiors images ever.

2. The Dining room at Britwell House, designed by David Hicks. The festoon curtains and matching table pelmet in an even redder red really drive me wild.

   

   3. Admittedly flirting more with coral in this delicious room. I sadly can’t seem to ID it - if anyone knows please feel free to comment!

   

   4. One of Martha Stewart’s dinning rooms. Need I say more. If it’s good enough for Martha….

   

   5. The Red Dining Room at Castle Howard. One of the most spectacular dining rooms in England. I’ve always found Damask wallpaper really hard to get right. It always feel like it exclusively belongs in stately homes, and any attempt to court it into more contemporary houses ends up looking very naff - thoughts?

   

   6. Another room I can’t seem to ID but I love how playful this combo of colours is, and I adore the yellow pelmet !

   

   7. Another mystery image found in the annals of Pinterest. Love the Lacquer and a great use of a Regency concave mirror .

   

   8. The Dining room chez Lee Radziwill in New York. The monkey in a jacket is the cherry on top!

   

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