A journal in progress
Two small children, one draughty house, and the parts of the week worth keeping. Written slowly, mostly at the kitchen table.

Written by Elin Marsh since 2019

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The front room, 7.42am
Nothing here is sponsored and nothing is a system. It is one family writing down the weekday hours before they go, twenty minutes at a time.

Walks that were meant to be short, and the long argument about whether it counts as a hike if nobody wanted to go.

The suppers that get made on repeat, the recipes my mother posts in the mail, and honest notes on what the children pushed to the side of the plate.

One bag, low expectations, and somewhere within a tank of fuel. The trips are small and the write-ups are honest about the parts that went wrong.
Lessons in the morning, potatoes in the afternoon, letters to grandparents when it rains. Most of what ends up on this blog started at the same scrubbed table, and the entries read like it.


We stopped planning grand outings the year the youngest learned to say no. Now it is one flask, one field or one stretch of coast, and home before anyone is properly cross. Those days fill more of the archive than anything else.

Reader since 2021

One short email at the end of each week. What got written, what got eaten, and a photograph that did not make it onto the blog.
Six years of ordinary days, sorted by season. Start anywhere; the entries are short and nothing needs to be read in order.
Notes from readers get answered slowly but gladly, usually once the children are asleep. Tell me about your week.