For the last two weeks, I have woken up most mornings having to actively work out what day it is.

Christmas has a way of doing that. It softens time until everything blurs. Days lose their edges and routines dissolve, and suddenly Tuesday feels exactly like Saturday. I do not think I have ever checked the calendar so often just to ground myself in where I am.

And before I say anything else, I have not been doing nothing.

I have been walking for miles with my dog Tiffin, often with no plan beyond moving forward. I have been going to the gym, working on my strength and fitness, feeling my body respond in ways that remind me why that matters. I have also been planning and filming new baking classes, quietly and steadily, in a way that feels very different to cafe life.

It has been work without noise. Without urgency. Without fires to put out.

Tomorrow, though, I go back into the cafe to prep. We open again on Wednesday. I know exactly what I will be making first. Scones. Warm, fresh from the oven, ready for customers who have missed them. My hands know the rhythm. They always do.

But if I am honest, there is a knot sitting quietly alongside that familiarity.

Going back to full time cafe days feels heavy right now.

The days are so full on. The baking, serving coffee, managing orders, plugging holes, fighting fires, constantly spinning plates to keep everything moving. It is physical and mental, and it often drains the energy I would like to have for a life outside of it.

This time away has reminded me what it feels like to work differently.

To create without rushing. To teach without shouting over a coffee machine. To think long term rather than just getting through the next service. Filming these classes has felt calm, thoughtful, and deeply satisfying, like a quieter extension of everything I love about baking, without the constant pressure.

That contrast has made this return feel harder, but also clearer.

When the cafe shuts over Christmas, something rare happens. I can properly switch off. Not just a day here or there, but a real pause. Long enough to exhale. Long enough to forget what time service starts. Long enough to remember who I am when I am not responding to the next urgent thing.

And yet, there is still comfort in the familiar. Even when time has felt slippery and unstructured, some things remain solid. There will be scones in the oven. There will be warmth. There will be that quiet moment before the doors open, when everything is possible again.

Maybe this is just the in between. The space where rest has not quite faded and responsibility has not fully arrived. A moment to acknowledge both gratitude and dread, without needing to tidy either one away.

For now, this feels like an honest place to begin the year.

COMING SOON

Alongside the cafe, I am slowly creating a collection of baking classes filmed by me, at home, in my own kitchen. They are shared in real time, at an unhurried pace, just as I bake myself.

Perfect Scones, launching this week
A calm, detailed class focused on getting the basics right and understanding how to adapt them, so you can make delicious, well risen scones with confidence.

The Legendary Bread and Butter Pudding, coming soon
The much loved recipe people travel for, made at home and shared with all the small details that matter.

Meringue, all you need to know, coming soon
A gentle, confidence building guide to meringue, focusing on understanding as much as technique.

Frangipane, from mince pies to blueberry tarts, coming soon
A versatile, quietly brilliant filling, shown from start to finish and made for both special occasions and everyday baking.

More details soon.