I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes a home recently. I don’t mean fancy throw rugs or sticky-fingered children (although I’d be happy with both), but that moment when you suddenly feel at home in a new place. Because I do, now, here in L.A.

One minute, everything in L.A was a mix of novelty and anxiety and fun and stress. The next it was normal and, well, it was home. It’s been five months since we arrived with four suitcases and a shitload of hopes and dreams. And holy hell, it’s been full on. But we’re here, I’ve accumulated way more than I could ever fit into four suitcases and I like it. We have a cat. Two little dogs. Two trees in our living room. And our own vacuum cleaner. I don’t even really notice the American accent much anymore, which really grated at first. (If I start developing one, slap me). I’ve settled into freelancing, and I’ve been lucky to write stuff that I enjoy. I like working from home now (particularly because I don’t have to brush my hair). I’ve even started doing some beauty writing–a secret fantasy I’ve harboured since I helped out a beauty editor at Australian Women’s Weekly when I was 15. In other words, life’s good.

I can’t put my finger on what’s changed, but I know I’m glad it has. Special thanks to our foster fur babies for all the snuggles and conversation starters with strangers in the streets (Michael WISHES he had a miniature dachshund when he was single, such is Sasha’s pulling power).

Lots of love,


798fa47c95bb11e2976e22000a1fbc8d_731389ac88dc111e2bbd422000a1f9ab2_7 a7d3a23896fc11e2a2ab22000a1fb84b_7 a59ed8f896f111e2ab6822000a1fbc38_7  fa6f6e28972411e2b74e22000a9e07d7_7 0dff995a91bb11e2b8e822000a1fbcc7_7617b09608df711e29c6622000a1f9e4a_7 e27acb2e96f611e28b2322000a1fbe1b_7