Everyday Life

EVERYDAY LIFE: Never Take Parsnips From a Stranger

What a quiet time it’s been. A weirdly quiet and blended time where days and hours are unrecognisably similar. 

There was a point in January when I resembled the Crack Fox from The Mighty Boosh. I scurried around like a hunchback Womble, with socks for gloves to cover my bleeding hands and an oyster shucking knife to cut parcel tape with; and I packed two tonnes of toiletries into boxes underneath my car whilst it was raised to just chest-height on a lift. It was a cross between a hoarder’s paradise and some kind of horrific endurance test. I’m thinking of entering the World’s Strongest Man competition next year. If there’s a category where you need to squat and shuffle boxes around I think I could win it, and I reckon I could definitely hurl a boulder.

I attended another online press trip, this time it was a virtual tour of ‘Fleeting – Scents in Colour’ a fascinating exhibition at Mauritshuis, all about how it might smell if we were in the actual picture – women folding fresh linen, bleaching fields, sewage filled canals and dank rotting vegetation. A beautiful box arrived in the post, printed with flowers and containing two little bottles of scent that would have been given to us at the museum if we’d been able to be there in person for the launch. One smelt so pretty, floral and breezy, and the other… Jesus Christ! I’m glad I didn’t spray that on my sleeve! Cheeky Dutchies!

Louise and I went for a walk, out to the back roads and through the fields. It was beautiful. We stopped to look at a field of subtle coloured pumpkins, all buff and gold (and a rare sight at this time of year). Louise made a quick water colour sketch. It felt like a real joy, a privilege to have the experience. Then a man came along in his truck, trailer full of parsnips, he stopped and asked if we’d like some to take home. Unfortunately he turned out to be a big fat racist, which was depressing. Have you ever eaten a racist parsnip? Me neither. 


I saw a load of pitta breads floating down the river. Like a regatta.

I bought a glitter ball for over the bath.

I was in Women’s Weekly magazine, a feature about Toiletries Amnesty.

Tutti was in the Financial Times luxury lifestyle magazine How To Spend It.

I was once quoted in the Financial Times talking about selling modernist sculpture at Bonhams, but that’s been overwritten by time and now I am quoted calling a cat a weirdo. 

I drove through a really big puddle.

I made a short film about portfolio reviews for Fujifilm.

Adam make Zeeuwse bolussen. I made something between a cake and a pudding, with rhubarb.

The 2020 pancake journey came to an end. Would you like to see all those pancakes? Of course you would, that’s why I created a ‘2020 year in review’ highlight on Instagram.

The pancake habit has resumed.

We have a house guest. She’s called Betty Snowday and she’s a white feather footed pigeon.

I spotted her from the window, in the garden, in the snow, eating food from the chicken’s bowl. I thought ‘Ah, cute!’ and then she turned around and I thought ‘Eurgh, gross!’ as I saw the big conker sized wound on her back. Hawk attack. I brought her in, cleaned her up and fed her a grape. We found her mate decapitated on the front lawn.

She’s been here for almost a month now. She’s definitely getting stronger, and the wound has almost healed, but she can’t fly yet. She can sit on my shoulder though.