In this monthly journal episode, I explore the places where memories live – through family gatherings, days out, stories shared, unexpected deliveries, and the quiet work of learning to carry grief alongside everyday life.
Last month, I shared a deeply personal piece about what grief looks like in my world right now. I honestly wasn’t sure how it would land – but the responses floored me. The comments, the personal messages, the hugs sent from afar… each one made something heavy feel just a little more held.
It’s one thing to write a journal as therapy. It’s quite another to hit publish and have people say “this helped me understand”. That affirmation – that this isn’t self-indulgence, but connection – means more than I can say. We need connection. And I’m so grateful to those of you who saw me, read with care, and reminded me why words have always been my way through the fog. Even now.
So, I’m continuing. Continuing to write my way through this strange new world I find myself in. I’m only three months into this journey, but already I’ve learnt more than I ever expected.
Nothing is the Same
In my first post after my husband was killed, I wrote: “Everything has stopped. Everything has changed”. But even I underestimated how deeply true those words would become. Nothing in my life is the same.
Not even work, the place I spend my days doing something I feel reasonably good at. In some ways, it’s been a safe space. Work was always mine, something I did independently. August has been especially busy, given the nature of the Higher Education industry I’m in. That’s been good, in the sense that it’s kept me occupied and moving.
But it’s also added to the deep tiredness that won’t shift, even with decent sleep. I’ve found it hard to keep my emotions in check: there have been tears, speaking without thinking, and a real need for more quiet than usual. I’ve tried to be mature about it, tried to apologise when I know I’ve been short or sharp. But I’ll be honest, I don’t think I’ve done a particularly good job at that. It’s hard to be gracious when you’re running on fumes.
And then there’s home. I underestimated how hard it would be to suddenly run a house on my own. He was the one who kept things clean and tidy, who managed the finances, who made everything feel ordered. I did my bit, of course – we split the chores in a way that felt fair. But now I’m trying to do both halves, and it’s proving stressful. Finding the time, the energy, and the motivation to do it all to his standards feels impossible. I want to honour the way he kept things, but I also need to find a way to make it mine. And I don’t know what that looks like yet.
In this Episode
These blog journal episodes aren’t all about grief, and they’re not meant to be. But this space has always been about the stories that live between the adventures. And right now, this is my story.
If you scroll down a bit, you’ll find short tales of the two quirky stays I explored in August (go here for more of those), talk of things that arrived in the post, and my usual That’s Entertainment section. It might seem strange to include grief alongside flapjacks and BBC game shows, but that’s life, isn’t it? A series of seemingly random things that don’t always look like they belong together, but somehow form the shape of how we live, how we feel, how we carry on.
Where Memories Live
If I could describe this last month in one heading, it would be this one.
It feels like I’ve walked through a dozen small doorways into the past – moments, places, and conversations that have triggered memories I didn’t expect. Some were loud and obvious. Others crept in quietly, tucked inside a scent or a song or the way someone laughed or looked at me.
I’ve said before that I want the stories of my life with my husband to have somewhere to live. Not just in my head, but out in the world, in words, in places, in shared moments. So, when something reminds me of one of those stories, I want nothing more than to speak it aloud. To say, “This happened. He was here. We lived this.”
This month gave me a few of those moments. And they were both joyful and deeply sad.
Cotswolds Weekend
I spent a weekend in the Cotswolds with family right at the end of July, visiting Bourton-on-the-Water, Stratford-upon-Avon, and the Cotswold Wildlife Park (the one with the lemur enclosure). All places that hold echoes of joy from previous visits with our now missing person.
Stratford especially stirred something deep. We’d taken two narrow boat holidays from Alvechurch Marina, which meant we’d cruised into that famous basin in the heart of Shakespeare’s hometown. I remember those trips fondly; slow days on the water, pub stops, the rhythm of locks and laughter. I mean, just look at this catalogue pose from the second of those two trips!
And weirdly, one of my clearest memories from the second trip is sending a starter back at Pizza Hut because it was still frozen. The things you remember! It’s funny how the mundane moments sometimes stick harder than the big ones.
Surprise Party in Essex
Later in the month, I headed to Essex for a good friend’s surprise birthday party. These are the kinds of events that will keep coming because the world still turns even if mine has experienced trauma – things I’ll need to go to alone now. And while it was sad in many ways, I’m glad I made the effort.
My friendship with Mark and his family goes back further than my marriage, but my husband was very much part of our long-standing friendship. We’re Godparents to their lovely children, and the afternoon was full of stories, some old, some very very old, all threaded with warmth.
It was a true reminder to me that memory doesn’t just live in places. It lives in people, too. In the way we gather, the way we retell, the way we hold space for what was.
Memories on the Wall
And what I’ve noticed is this: memory doesn’t always arrive with fanfare. Sometimes it slips in quietly, tucked inside the scent of a café, the curve of a riverbank, a specific flower along a verge, or the way a voice carries across a room. It’s astonishing how the smallest thing – a certain light, a phrase, a song – can open a door to something vast. One moment I’m here, now; the next, I’m back in a sun-drenched afternoon from years ago, heart full and aching.
There’s a strange duality to it. These memories are gifts, truly. They remind me of love, of connection, of the life we built. But they also carry weight. They remind me of what’s changed, of who’s missing, of the shape of grief as it folds itself into joy. It’s not one or the other. It’s both. Always both.
This month, I did something we probably should have done years ago: I chose and put up a selection of photographs at home. Images from our long list of travels, motorcycle adventures, and holidays in the sun – snapshots of the life we lived with such fullness. Now, they live on my walls. And every time I walk past them, I smile.
It was hard to do. Choosing them, printing them, placing them. But adding that bit of personal colour to the house has made it feel more like mine again. More like ours.
If you’re reading this and you haven’t printed your photos, do it. Don’t leave them buried in your phone or lost in the cloud. Let them live where you can see them. Let them remind you of who you’ve been, and who you still are.
A Quirky Stays Teaser
Before diving into what landed in my inbox and on my screen this month, I wanted to share a little glimpse into two of my most recent Quirky Stays. Both will get their own blogs (and videos), but for now, here’s a taste.
If you’ve been following along this summer, you’ll know I’ve tried to explain my Quirky Stays as sitting somewhere between escapism and curiosity. They’re my way of seeking out places that offer more than just a bed for the night. Each one invites a different kind of rest – playful, restorative, sometimes a little surreal – and always with a story to tell.
They’ve become mini adventures in a summer where the bigger ones we’d planned fell away into the pit of nothingness. A conscious decision to do and be somewhere different, here and there. And a way of experiencing the magic of unusual places and how they can spark connection, wonder, and the kind of delight that everyone deserves. I think that makes sense.
Celtic Woodland Holidays, Mid-Wales
Right at the start of August, I headed to a wooden cabin at Celtic Woodland Holidays, tucked near Builth Wells in the heart of mid-Wales. This was the kind of quirky stay people probably imagine when I say glamping, a comfortable cabin on a small campsite, surrounded by similar pods and some tent pitches. My cabin was perched on the edge of woodland, overlooking the rolling Welsh countryside, and yes, the epic sunset the website promised absolutely delivered. Both nights.
Inside, the cabin was surprisingly spacious. There was booth seating that transformed into a generous bed, a compact kitchen, a wood burner for cosy evenings, and a deck with outdoor seating perfect for watching the light fade (and reappear). The ablutions block was a large communal building shared by all on the site, with a kind of nostalgic charm that was perfectly adequate for my stay.
Between my two snug nights, I set off on a long hike up two beautiful Welsh hills. It was warm, sunny, and spectacularly beautiful – quite the opposite from that Dartmoor hike on my first Quirky Stay at Honeydown. It was the kind of hike that reminded me why I keep chasing these little escapes.
Celtic Woodland Holidays might not have been quite as unusual as my first two stays in this series, but it ticked the quirky box for me: a hand-built modular cabin, something a little out of the ordinary, surrounded by nature and full of quiet charm. More soon.
Talliston House and Gardens, Essex
Then, at the end of the month, I may have found the quirkiest Quirky Stay yet. And I mean quirky to the point of being slightly overwhelming – in the best possible way. I stayed in The Cabin at Talliston House and Gardens, and wow, quirky doesn’t even begin to cover it. It felt like I’d been dropped into the Canadian wilderness, despite being nestled among perfectly ordinary houses in the middle of an Essex village. The Cabin sits just ten feet from the main house, but stepping inside felt like crossing into another world.
The Cabin itself was a finalist for Shed of the Year, featured as part of Channel 4’s Amazing Spaces series. It’s a period log cabin styled like a trapper’s hideaway, complete with rustic fittings and a gallery sleeping area that feels like something out of a storybook.
And it turned out I didn’t just have access to the Cabin – I had the whole house. Each room is a different world. Not just themed or decorated, but curated with astonishing detail so that you’re not just imagining, you’re actually there.
Talliston delivered everything I could have ever imagined I might be faced with. Cosy doesn’t come close, it was immersive, imaginative, and completely otherworldly. I quite simply cannot wait to share this one with you. When I first arrived, I was so overwhelmed I just stood and stared for a good few minutes, not knowing where to look or what to do. But once settled in, I made myself at home and had the best time soaking up every inch of somewhere so incredibly, unapologetically quirky. It’s going to take some beating, that’s for sure.
In the Mail
In a month of memory-laced wandering, it’s been a quiet joy to receive a few lovely things through the post; gifts and goodies that have brought a smile, a bit of colour, and even a surprise snack.
Merino Magic from Isobaa
First up, a generous parcel from the wonderful folks at Isobaa, the merino wool people. They sent me three of their new pieces to try out, and I’m already smitten. There’s the Women’s Merino 120 Ultrafine Cropped Blouse – light, breathable, flattering, and just the right kind of soft. Then the 260 Merino Blend Grid Fleece, which feels like it was made for crisp morning walks when the weather cools down a bit. And finally, the 180 SS Hiking Top, which I’ve already road-tested on a few trails, as well as to the office – I’m going to get a lot of wear out of this one!
Isobaa isn’t new to this blog. I’ve been wearing it for years; their lounge sweater is one of my all-time favourite pieces, the kind of item that feels like home. I’m looking forward to getting just as much wear (and pleasure) out of these new additions. They’re the kind of layers that make you want to step outside, even when the weather’s undecided. And as always, I’ll let you know how they perform in the real world over the coming months.
Trainer Trouble (Again)
I may have treated myself to two new pairs of trainers, thanks to my ongoing collaboration with adidas. This time I went full sneaker mode – daps, if you like. The Nizza RF 74 Shoes in orange (apparently orange is having a moment this year, who knew?) and the Training Spezial in white and black, complete with a gum sole that makes them look effortlessly cool even if I’m not.
And yes, I’ll admit it, I have a trainer problem. They are my weakness. Some people collect stamps or houseplants. I amass shoes that make me want to walk further (and smile when I look at my feet!). There are worse things.
Flapjack Therapy
And then, the sweetest surprise: a box of flapjacks from The Cornish Company, waiting on my doorstep after a long day at work earlier in August. Four little squares of joy – Raspberry Crumble, Lemon Meringue, Salted Choc Caramel, and Millionaires. Each one a tiny celebration of delicious gooey sweetness.
Sweet treats in the mail feel like the most delightfully 21st-century kind of gift – unexpected, indulgent, and absolutely welcome. I didn’t know I needed flapjack therapy, but apparently, I did. And I’m here for it.
That’s Entertainment
This month’s listening and watching has been a mix of memoir, myth, and mystery – with a few unexpected hooks along the way.
Audiobook: Between the Stops by Sandi Toksvig
Sandi Toksvig’s memoir Between the Stops (Audible | Amazon) is anything but conventional. Framed around her journeys on the Number 12 bus through London, it’s a meandering, witty, and deeply personal ride through memory, musings, and moments that matter. She blends history, humour, and heartbreak with the kind of storytelling that made me feel like I was sitting beside her on the top deck.
I really loved the structure, using a familiar route as a spine for reflection and storytelling. If I were ever to write a memoir (don’t worry, I’m not planning one anytime soon), this is exactly the kind of format I could imagine using. Though of course, Sandi’s already done it – and done it brilliantly. If you like a good story, especially an audiobook where it’s narrated by the person at the centre of the tale, then this one comes recommended by me.
Audiobook: The Story Collector by Evie Woods
This one’s a dual-timeline tale set between a quiet Irish village and modern-day New York. The Story Collector by Evie Woods (Audible | Amazon), weaves folklore, family secrets, and the kind of magic that lives just beneath the surface of everyday life.
The story leans into the folklore of the Celtic people, especially the tales of the good people, the fae folk who live just out of sight. It’s the kind of mythology that feels deeply familiar, and I couldn’t help but think of Dartmoor while listening. The same stories that whisper through Irish hedgerows seem to echo across the moorland paths I’ve walked.
This was an enjoyable listen that was easy to follow to with enough pace to help a long car journey race by. I recently listened to Evie Woods’ Mysterious Bakery and think this one was better, although the Lost Bookshop is still my favourite of hers.
Audiobook: The Society of Unknowable Objects by Gareth Brown
If you read The Book of Doors, you’ll feel a sense of familiarity here – The Society of Unknowable Objects by Gareth Brown (Audible | Amazon) lives in the same kind of world, full of magical artefacts and secret societies. But this one has its own distinct personality.
It’s a globe-trotting adventure with a literary twist, following Magda Sparks as she’s pulled into a web of danger, legacy, and hidden truths. I really enjoyed it, especially the way Brown builds a world that feels both fantastical and grounded. And without giving anything away, the final chapter left me hopeful for what might come next. There’s more to this universe, and I’ll be keeping an eye out for a new tale.
Television: Destination X, BBC One
I watched this because a whole bunch of people told me I’d like it – and they were right. In case you missed the heavy promotion, think part Race Across the World, part The Traitors, with a blacked-out bus, cryptic clues, and contestants trying to guess where they are in Europe.
I got Destination X bang on a couple of times, but even when I wasn’t sure, I spent the series shouting answers at the screen as if the contestants could hear me. It was a fun, easy watch, full of puzzles, alliances, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting. Just wish (as always) that the editing concentrated less on making people seem mean!
Of course, guessing the locations is much easier when you’ve got the clues laid out in front of you on the sofa – definitely trickier when you’re actually riding the bus in the dark. But that’s what made it engaging. A midweek easy watching adventure I didn’t know I needed.
See You Next Time…
As ever, I’m using this journal to make sense of the world I now live in. To share the shape of grief as it unfolds, quietly, unexpectedly, and in noticing where the stories show themselves. This month has reminded me that memory isn’t just something we carry, it’s something we walk through. It lives in places, in people, in photographs on the wall. And writing about it helps me feel less alone in it all.
I know there’s a weirdness to finding joy in things like deliveries and audiobooks when your world feels upside down. But those niceties are just that, nice. They don’t fix anything, but they soften the edges. And sometimes, that’s vital.
Looking ahead, September brings a few bright spots I’m genuinely looking forward to. Another Quirky Stay is on the horizon, this one tucked deep in nature, promising a different kind of stillness. I’ve also got two theatre trips lined up, and an orchestral concert that I hope will be a full-on soul-filling evening with all the feels.
If you’re not done reading, don’t forget to check out the blogs and videos from my first two Quirky Stays in the Honeydown Truffle and rooftop caravan in Bristol, my report from that wild Dartmoor hike, and my hot weather hiking tips – especially useful if September decides to surprise us with a late heatwave.
Thanks for walking through this with me. See you next time.
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