10 SEPTEMBER 2023

The Observer Magazine

Me, myself and I

More and more of us want
time on our own – so put
yourself first with our guide
to the unique pleasures of solo
travelling and dining.
Plus, nine famous faces on
the joy of solitude

What Neanderthals can teach us about the future My life in flatshares It’s not over yet… late summer escapes
Anything but ordinary

DOWNLOAD THE APP TO SHOP NOW


The Observer Magazine
24
34
Contributors
French artist and photographer
Franck Allais’s work aims to
capture the remarkable in the
everyday, engaging viewers in
an intimate exploration
of the mundane.
Using scale and interior
imagery, he has created
the magical images
for our cover feature
on going solo (p8).
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
10 SEPTEMBER 2023
Journalist Lara Kilner
grew up in Lancashire,
but now lives in
Brighton. She has
been interviewing
people from across the
spectrum of fame for
more than two decades, and
often writes for the Times and
the Telegraph, as well as the
Observer. In this issue of the
magazine, she talks to the
Rev Kate Bottley about how
she spends her Sundays (p38).
3
31
In this
issue
Up front
5 Eva Wiseman The mixed joys of a celeb
wardrobe sale. Plus, the Observer archive
7 This much I know Spice Girl turned
writer Geri Halliwell-Horner
Features
8 It’s me time Hankering for a minibreak
on your own? Looking for dinner for one?
Our brilliant guide for solo travellers has
all you need to know to escape a busy life
16 Meet the ancestors French Neanderthal
hunter Ludovic Slimak on a discovery
that totally reinterprets our prehistory
21 Rent nation Living with other people
has its ups and downs. But is it actually
a more natural way to build community?
Food & drink
24 Nigel Slater Coppa, fig and gorgonzola
tarts. Plus, lemony beans and cabbage
28 Jay Rayner A new nose-to-tail
restaurant. Plus, apple-based drinks
16
Fashion
30 The edit The hoodie, a streetwear
go-to, from high street to high end
Beauty
31 Get fresh Is your foundation past its
best? Our pick of the new season products
Interiors
32 Going Dutch A home in Amsterdam
that reaches new heights of invention
Travel
34 Shore leave Blissful beach stays in the
UK to enjoy some late-summer sunshine
Self & wellbeing
36 A search for meaning How his friend’s
murder changed the life of writer Hua Hsu
Ask Philippa
38 “My aunt would be safer in a home,
21 but she refuses to make the move.”
Plus, Sunday with Rev Kate Bottley
Journalist and producer
Michael Segalov specialises
The Observer Magazine
10 SEPTEMBER 2023
The Observer
Magazine,
Kings Place,
in the environment, lifestyle, 90 York Way,
London N1 9GU
culture and LGBTQ+ issues and (020 3353 2000)
works regularly for Vice, the magazine@
observer.co.uk
Guardian and the BBC, as well Printed at
as this magazine. In this issue, Walstead Roche,
he travels to the Rhône Victoria Business
Park, Roche,
Valley to discover Victoria,
the secrets of our Me, myself and I
More and more of us want
time on our own – so put
St Austell
yourself first with our guide to
PL26 8LX
prehistoric ancestors
the unique pleasures of solo
travelling and dining.
Plus, nine famous faces on the
joy of solitude
(p16), and ticks
‘meeting a Spice Girl’ off What Neanderthals can teach us about the future My life in flatshares It’s not over yet… late summer escapes
Cover image
his bucket list, too (p7). Franck Allais
3
Anything but ordinary

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From the
archive
A look back
at the Observer
Magazine’s past
Carrot on its outstretched
palm, the Observer took a
close look at horses on 20
July 1969. TV coverage of
riding and postwar affluence
had contributed to ‘a growing
army of equestrians’, with
80 London schools adding
riding to the curriculum
and 25,000 urban riders.
Soon, it claimed, riding
facilities might be ‘as much
a community essential as
a public swimming bath
or children’s playground’.
Horsing around was no
longer the preserve of the
landed elite: ‘Anyone who
can afford to buy a weekly
LP or pay a couple of visits
to the cinema can ride.’
Here and there, horses
were still earning their keep.
At Young’s Ram brewery,
drays were cheaper than
£3,300 diesel lorries. Farms
(tractors had ‘lost their
novelty’), mines, police plus
London’s ‘costers, flower
sellers, coal merchants,
removal men and rag-and-
bone collectors’ all remained
partly horse-powered.
Once they had outlived
their usefulness, ‘Almost all
horses are eventually eaten,’
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
declared a grisly blow-
by-blow (literally) guide to
horse butchery. The French
found British horses too
fatty; the Belgians couldn’t
get enough (especially
diaphragm, a delicacy).
Yet the pony-girl
stereotype remained alive
and bucking. Girls ‘feel
maternal towards animals
from a very early age’,
and the ‘pony phase’ was
‘almost as inevitable a part
of puberty for the English
teenage girl as spots or
puppy fat’. Supporting
a pony-girl habit required
more than your weekly LP
budget: a minimum £100 for
a ‘reliable but not especially
beautiful or accomplished
pony’, then bottomless
running costs from hoof oil
to hay nets.
Parents were offered
alternatives. ‘Donkeys
aren’t all that daft,’ read the
headline on one section
(cheaper and less likely to
eclipse a woman’s beauty
than a horse, reportedly). Or
a higher-tech solution: ‘If all
else fails, promise her a car
for her 17th birthday, it will
be cheaper.’Emma Beddington
Up front
Eva
Wiseman
Is a Chloë Sevigny-
style wardrobe purge
the key to maturity?
 @evawiseman
T
his spring, when Chloë Sevigny announced copy her. I pictured that famous photograph taken
she was putting on a closet sale in New from space, where a mountain of dumped clothes is
York, a number of feelings passed through clearly visible, blue against the brown of the earth, and
me all at once, a kind of poisoning. First, imagined similar in my living room. Could I take it? Real-
obviously, jealousy: a vintage jumble sale is life people (rather than Vinted or eBay avatars) sifting
my favoured way to shop, but I could not be there in New through my vintage dresses with their judgy little hands?
York to rifle through her racks, to pick up her unwanted Discarding the best pieces of me with a scrunched nose
denim chaps or Prada backpacks or vintage kilts or and a nah? Perhaps.
Miu Miu clogs, to walk home with a bitchy strut ready to Perhaps part of accepting that I am no longer the
begin the rest of my life as an enigmatic ingenue. person who thought nothing of walking to work in a silk
Second, shame. I recognised it in the eyes of the 1940s dress and 3in platforms is giving away that dress
women in the very long queue, documented online. They and those platforms, and leaving a gap for something
looked away from the cameras, clearly unwilling to be new to enter, whether psychic or cotton. Perhaps
witnessed here, waiting, their eyes like those of shitting having these old costumes hanging there all deadly is
dogs. Yes they wanted the clothes, but no, they very much
did not want to be seen wanting. It is hard to remain
preventing me from moving forward into adulthood,
in a corduroy slack and nice ironed shirt. Of course, I’m
cool when you’re papped trying to purchase clothes you
desire because someone cooler has worn them. The fact
not kidding myself for a second that my pile of clothes –
a heap of disappointed housewives in muted shades of
of wanting them, of believing them to be imbued with silver, their husband’s secretaries, and a drummer whose
the spirit of Sevigny, deeply undermines the project of band had some success around the introduction of
remaining unique, louche, necessarily disinterested. decimalisation – would elicit a queue like Sevigny’s, but,
But still, they queued, and still I scrolled, wondering importantly, they are mine, and I have loved them, and
idly how I’d look in that Victorian lace blouse with this I’d like to know they were going to continue to be loved.
high-waisted Margiela trouser, and how it might have I have a fantasy of how it might play out: discovering
transformed or improved or settled me down. new local friends who take my jumpers as if adopting
The third, was inspiration. Sevigny’s closet sale found a cat, or old friends reminiscing about the parties each
me in crisis. It happens every decade or so: I will look minidress saw, then perhaps, I don’t know, framing
in the mirror and realise, I don’t dress the way I think them on their wall as a kind of permanent exhibition of
I dress. And I will look in my wardrobe and realise me. More likely I will end up somehow with more than
there is nothing hanging there that I can bear to wear. I started, or forced to rediscover a love of polyester and
My vintage dresses make me look like John Travolta leopard print. But maybe I will emerge from the purge
in Hairspray. My heels become suddenly obscene. Stiff elegant and free, and ready to step forward confidently
denim seems an absolute madness. Anything white is and comfortably into middle age in a smart little loafer.
now a sickened grey; anything woollen is now a moth I’ll let you know how it goes. ■
buffet. But a new issue for me, as this decade’s clothes
crisis comes round, is it seems there is no longer truth about ‘credit claiming’,
anywhere reliable to shop in order to replace them.
I enjoy the marvellous game of Vestiaire Collective,
that “Maybe This Time” scroll, but there’s nowhere
One more making sure it is known that
it was YOU who started
reliable where I can comfortably browse on a Saturday
afternoon, languidly fingering sparkly tops and bumping
thing… a hashtag. ‘We have to do
it, or so many of us believe
– we are caught in a roaring
into old selves. Charity shops are filled today with Shein river of voices that seems
pieces of indeterminate purpose, vintage shops are few to wash away all that came
due to stocks inevitably running low, and the high street before. If we don’t remind
just reminds me how much I miss Topshop. I choose people of what we have said
to remember that place, that magical place, through and done, surely we will soon
rose-tinted glasses, a pair of which I once bought there A chilling article about be floating downstream to
for £5.99. As well as “basics”, which for many of us has AI by Simon Rich in Time the sea with all the other
spanned everything from a white T-shirt to a pair of includes both a list of cultural detritus.’ Eek.
1970s-ish silver platforms, there was always space for genuinely brilliant Onion-
the quite mad and silly, and sculpted and dreamy, and style headlines, and an There are some fabulous-
you could see the whole of fashion if you stood by the excellent, dark short story, looking films out soon. I’m
escalators and turned, slowly. written not by Rich but by looking forward to Poor
The spur for Sevigny to purge her collection and an advanced AI program. Things, Yorgos Lanthimos’s
sell this warehouse-worth of stuff, she said, was I remain… horror-struck. follow-up to The Favourite,
becoming a mother, which struck me as a depressing and Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla
acknowledgment of the limits of parenthood from In Naomi Klein’s brilliant new Presley biopic. She says
a woman who seems so alive and so free. But yeah, book, Doppelganger, she it’s like ‘Marie Antoinette in
also, I get it. And it occurred to me that maybe I should points out an uncomfortable Graceland.’ I can’t wait.
5
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This
much
I know Geri Halliwell-Horner, singer and writer, 51
Interview MICHAEL SEGALOV
Photograph DAVID LEVENE
The loudest person in the room is an
empty vessel. I used to jibber on – a sign
of nerves. Now I allow the pauses, and say
less than necessary.
Waving came naturally to me. My
earliest memory is being pushed in a pram,
the rain cover being hit by raindrops, and
me waving at the people of Watford.
My childhood wasn’t perfect, but
there was lots of love. Dad was very
English, a broadsheet reader – intelligent,
but he never fulfilled his potential. Mum
is hardworking – a Latin live-wire.
I don’t feel I achieved what I could have
at school. I was always distracted. During
my A-levels, I started to do well. Then life
took me in a different direction.
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
The Spice Girls doesn’t belong to the
five of us – the band is everyone’s. We
were a voice for the voiceless; expressing
how so many people felt. Whether you
were five, 15 or 25, through us people saw
that they could be themselves.
I can sometimes over-egg an
omelette. Impatience is a bad habit of
mine. I’m a solutions person, but often
rush to find the answer, rather than
sitting on a situation.
Writing is my greatest joy. For me, it’s
all consuming. I get to play God, in total
control: will they live or die? Feel pain or
fall in love? I can immerse myself entirely.
I nearly drowned meeting Stephen
Fry on the River Nile. We were filming
for Comic Relief. Our bit involved me
travelling down white-water rapids. Then
ping, I fell out of the boat into a whirlpool.
For a moment I didn’t know which way
was up and which was down. It was
terrifying. But somehow I escaped with
nothing worse than a fat lip.
I’ve become less selfish since
becoming a mum. I’m no longer the
priority. What I want to be as a parent,
and what I am, are different things. I try
to be firm but fair and fun – lately I’ve
been the disciplinarian.
The Spice Girls
belonged to
everyone. Through
us, people saw
that they could just
be themselves
Up front
Marry someone you like – who loves
you for your best, worst and silliest self.
Find someone you have fun with.
There’s meaning behind every
magpie you see. I always count them: one
for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl…
If you see one by itself, you must salute it.
Judi Dench is gorgeous, I love her.
When we first met, she invited me for tea.
I told her I’d been reading the Merchant of
Venice. I started to quote some; she joined
in. I’ll treasure that forever.
I’d like to go to Oxford University to
study history and English. I said it out
loud for the first time this morning. I’ve
every intention of making it happen. ■
Rosie Frost and The Falcon Queen is
published on 3 October by Scholastic, £7.99.
Buy it for £7.43 at guardianbookshop.com
7
 Need
some
time
alone?
Solo dining and travelling have never been more popular. Here, we celebrate
the joys of relaxing alone, with our guide to the perfect places to visit, stay and eat.
Plus, nine familiar faces on how they savour moments by themselves

Introduction REBECCA SEAL Photographs FRANCK ALLAIS

8 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

A
s a writer, I spend
much of my time
alone, and yet I almost
always want more.
I’m fascinated by
the relationship
between solitude and
loneliness, between
the yearning to be alone and our deep
desire not to feel isolated. A few months
ago, I announced to my family – who,
to be clear, I love very much – that I was
taking myself away for a weekend,
something I had not done for more than
a decade. My need to be on my own had
become too loud to ignore. As I sometimes
manage to, I’d let work expand into all the
nooks and crannies of my life. All I was
doing was work-parent-work-parent –
and on that hamster wheel, it’s easy to
forget the restorative power of solitude,
let alone work out how to achieve it.
And so I went away, to a little hotel,
and it was glorious, like a long, slow
exhale. A full 28 hours in which no one
asked me anything, or needed anything;
nobody else had opinions about anything
I did, or when I did it. There was no one
to please but me. (I didn’t take being able
to do it lightly and, yes, it was expensive.)
Outside the normal framework of my
life, it felt like being in my 20s again, that
decade when I had no idea what a luxury
I had access to, when my weekends were
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
often empty and the days stretched out
in front of me, full of the freedom to do
whatever I wanted. I was oblivious to the
fact that my future self would look back
at all those solitary Sunday afternoons
lying on a sofa watching television, and
envy her own past.
One of the best things about that
weekend were the meals alone in the hotel
restaurant. I love eating with people, but
I like a table for one just as much. I always
sit facing the room, with a book for the
bits between courses. I watch the staff as
well – I was a waitress for years – the ebb
and flow of their tasks, the dance they do
around each other. There’s nothing boring
about being a solo diner in a room full
of people; a meal out by myself is what
meditation seems to be for everybody else.
“When people do things alone, they
enjoy themselves more than they expect
to,” says professor of marketing Rebecca
Ratner, who has studied how people feel
about the idea of undertaking hedonistic
activities alone, and then how much they
enjoy actually doing them. “People also
overestimate the benefits of being with
someone else,” she says. Intriguingly,
according to the ONS, we seem to enjoy
being alone most in childhood, and then
over the age of 55 (we also spend more
time alone in later life). People aged
24-55 have the least leisure time (and
women have 40 minutes a day less than
men, on average), and are less likely to
enjoy spending it alone. Nonetheless,
women are driving a solo travel trend,
with surveys suggesting that between
70-80% of single travellers are women
(average age 47; millennials still make up
a big proportion, but boomers do it with
more cash in their pockets). Meanwhile,
solo dining is increasingly popular, and
a widely celebrated activity on TikTok.
There have been plenty of worrying
headlines about the health consequences
of persistently feeling lonely, but
loneliness is a subjective experience –
emotional information that needs to be
heard – and it’s not the same as solitude.
Loneliness feels horrible, but research has
shown that solitude can help us be more
creative. Susan Cain, who wrote Quiet:
The Power of Introverts in a World That
We’re social
animals,
but we also
require time
by ourselves
Can’t Stop Talking, calls this a “catalyst
for innovation”. It was ironic that so
little of the will-we-won’t-we work from
home debate focused on solitude and
its eureka moments. I’ve had good ideas
crowded round a white board, but the
rare exceptional ones arrive when I am
alone and usually nowhere near a desk
or screen; this is because we are less
inhibited when we are alone, feel more
self-reliant and are more likely to enter
a state of flow, as another set of studies
has also demonstrated.
We don’t need science to justify our
need for alone time, though. Humans
may be social animals, but we all require
time by ourselves, away from both money
work and care work, to recharge. (In fact,
studies have shown that social isolation
has evolutionary advantages for various
animals, from toads to primates.)
Regular trips to boutique hotels are out
of my financial reach, but that weekend
was the reminder I needed that taking
occasional long walks, seeing an exhibition
or sitting alone on a bench in the sun,
are not lazy indulgences but antidotes,
essential and joyful counterpoints to our
busy, noisy, always-on world.
Solo: How to Work Alone (And Not Lose
Your Mind) by Rebecca Seal is published
by Souvenir Press at £9.99. Buy it for
£9.49 at guardianbookshop.com ‹
9

Top 15
solo trips
in the UK
When travelling alone,
Annabelle Thorpe gets
to be her very best self
There’s something wonderfully
liberating about travelling alone and the
following trips fulfil all the best aspects
of being solo. No compromises to be
made, no itineraries discussed; get up
when you want, eat what you fancy, do
nothing or everything, talk to the friendly
person next to you at breakfast, or pop
in your headphones and ignore them
completely. When I’m travelling alone,
I become the best version of myself; the
most decisive, the most charming, the
most curious. I see more, go further,
ITV/SHUTTERSTOCK; GETTY IMAGES; ALAMY
strike up conversations with people I’ll
never meet again, yet always remember.
And even after 25 years of travelling,
I still get the same feeling of satisfaction
when I’m home – a quiet sense of
pleasure that I did it all on my own.
Coastal
1. Brixham, Devon
The Berryhead Hotel – surrounded by
six acres of gardens with lovely views
across Torbay – is a rare find: a hotel
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
with single rooms that are actually half
the price of doubles (from £88 B&B,
berryheadhotel.com). It’s an easy walk
into picturesque Brixham, where the
town’s fishing fleet fuels a clutch of
excellent restaurants; pull up a seat at the
counter at Simply Fish, a family-owned
restaurant where diners pick their choice
of seafood from the fresh fish counter
(simplyfishrestaurant.co.uk).
2. Wells-next-the-sea, Norfolk
Vast skies, tranquil beaches and
a delightfully slow pace; the Norfolk
coast is a great choice for a solo
trip. Book a Cosy Room at the
charming Crown Hotel (from £180
B&B, crownhotelnorfolk.co.uk), where
a complimentary cream tea is the
perfect excuse for a lazy afternoon
with a book in the comfortable lounge.
On a non-cream tea day, book one of
the 11 tables at the Wells Crab House,
where the friendly team serve delicious
seafood, including single oysters and
taster portions of everything from
crayfish tails to cockles and rollmops
(wellscrabhouse.co.uk).
1
Julia Bradbury
presenter
Solo walks keep
me sane. I take
one every day
and, when I can, I head to Mam
Tor in the Peak District, where
I first started walking as a child
with my dad – one of my most
special places. I don’t plug in
headphones, so I can relish the
solo experience. It’s my therapy,
and an opportunity to observe
people and interact on what I call
an ‘eye-smiling basis’; a little nod
or hello to strangers in passing.
I walk backwards for some of my
solo walks, which gets me strange
looks. But it’s good for the hips
and balance, and anxiety.
Simon Reeve author
When my head is in the right place
I love the chance to travel alone.
It’s an opportunity to selfishly
indulge in my favourite pleasures:
people-watching and time in
nature. I like to do something
adventurous and sociable, and
love the idea of a long-
distance walk k – pitting
myself against st the
elements, the e distance
ude. The
and the solitude.
antiago
Camino de Santiago
ust
in Spain has just
the right mix of
views, challengenge
and great food.od.
Interviews by
v
Michael Segalov
Time alone
3
3. Camber Sands, East Sussex
Morning yoga classes come free
at the lovely Gallivant (from £215,
thegallivant.co.uk) – a great way to meet
fellow guests – along with a weekly
programme of classes, encompassing
everything from wine-tasting to garden
tours. Combine sociability with solo
walks along the great swathe of sandy
beach at Camber Sands and pop up to
the historic town of Rye for supper at the
Fig (thefigrye.com), with super-friendly
staff and a menu of Ottolenghi-esque
small plates.
4. Tenby,
Ten South Wales
Pack walking
w boots for a stay in Tenby,
w here the Pembrokeshire Coast Path
where
leads out on to spectacular clifftop
scene
scenery, with the town itself – famous
for its picturesque harbour with pastel-
hued houses – a lovely friendly spot to
return to and ideal for a solo foray. Stay
Tr oyne Manor (trefloyne.com),
at Trefl
five minutes’ drive out of town and
pop in for a spa treatment at the cute
Dov
Dovecote spa. Pull up a bar stool at
Tw
Twelve (twelvetenby.co.uk), where ‹
11

‹ the friendly bar staff can advise on the
ideal glass to match a trio of tapas-style
plates – the perfect amount for one.
5. Bude, Cornwall
Get chatting to locals with a kayaking,
paddleboarding or surfing class
with Free Wave Surf Academy
(freewavesurfacademy.co.uk), or mix solo
strolls along Summerleaze Beach with
a dip into the town’s artisan market
(Wednesday to Saturday, 10am-3pm).
Settle in for a supper of small plates
ideally suited for one at Temple (the
roof terrace, overlooking Summerleaze,
is a dream on warm evenings) and
stay at the Beach at Bude (from £195
B&B, thebeachatbude.co.uk), a charming
Victorian house with rooms decked out
in a New England seaside style – with
self-catering apartments also available.
Rural
6. Buxton, Derbyshire
Fancy a solo spa treat, but don’t want to
be marooned in a secluded hotel? The
Buxton Crescent Spa (from £193 B&B,
ensanahotels.com) lies at the heart of
the Peak District’s most vibrant town,
combining thermal pools – including on
the rooftop – with a wide programme
of treatments. Beyond the hotel, Buxton
is an easily navigable, friendly place;
spend an hour browsing the 40,000
secondhand titles in Scrivener’s Books
6 the cinema is a supposedly guilty
(scrivenersbooks.co.uk) before lunch
at Noonology, where hearty brunch
dishes sit alongside vegan poke bowls
and pleasingly indulgent cocktails
(noonology.co.uk).
7. Hay-on-Wye, Powys
Bookish Hay is ideal for solo travellers;
bookshops come with armchairs and
assistants who are happy to chat and
recommend, there are great walks from
the centre of town, and the Granary
(thegranaryhay.co.uk) is a convivial
JOHN ATHIMARITIS; SUKI DHANDA; ALAMY; GETTY IMAGES
place for lunch, offering homemade
pies, veggie dishes and inventive
salads (strawberry and goat’s cheese
is particularly good). Atelier Hay is
a tranquil bolthole above an art gallery
(from £170, three-night minimum,
atelierhay.co.uk) and if you run out
of something to read, the 24-hour
open-air Hay Castle Honesty Bookshop
ensures you never go to bed without
a good book.
8. Ludlow, Shropshire
Surrounded by the rolling hills, Ludlow’s
high street is dotted with boutiques,
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
delicatessens and cafés – perfect for
a spot of people-watching. A walk along
the River Teme gives wonderful views
of Ludlow Castle; finish up at the Green
Café (thegreencafe.co.uk) where small
plates of broccoli with melting cheese
and orange spice or Ludlow farm steak
with green harissa mean you can try two
or three dishes without feeling you’ve
over ordered. The Cliffe at Dinham
(from £120 B&B, thecliffeatdinham.co.uk)
is a charming restaurant with rooms,
10 minutes’ walk from the centre.
9. Keswick, Cumbria
Who says shepherd’s huts are only for
couples? The Mount B&B has a beautiful
hut for singles only (three-night break
£240 B&B, themountkeswick.co.uk),
with a woodburning stove and lovely
garden views, with the chance to join
other guests for breakfasts around the
communal dining table in the main
house. This is serious walking country,
with footpaths from the front door;
reward yourself with Mexican-inspired
tapas at Es Bar (esbarltd.co.uk), with bar
seating, dogs welcome and a breezy,
chatty atmosphere.
10
Peter
Bradshaw
film critic
The cinema I’ve taken
to showing up to on
my own is the Everyman Muswell
Hill in north London. It used to be
the Odeon when it was a single
screen and only the balcony was
open. Now it is dark and plush and
vaguely Lynchian in a way that’s
downbeat and discreet. Going to
pleasure which is, in fact, entirely
guilt-free; unlike dining alone in
a restaurant there is no equivalent
of the waiter ostentatiously
clearing away the other place
setting. Going alone gives you the
time and space to think.
Samira Ahmed
broadcaster
I’ve always loved doing things
alone, visiting museums
and other centres of culture
specifically. It’s something about
the power of independence, of
having the quiet to think and
absorb on your own and savour
things at your own pace. There’s
nowhere better er than the BFI on
hbank. Last
London’s Southbank.
year, they had a François
Truffaut season. n. I booked
tickets for afterr work, for
my days off. I basically
saw everything, g, and
was transported ed to
world’s I’d havee
otherwise
never found.
Time alone
10. Lavenham, Suffolk
The most picturesque of Suffolk’s
historic wool towns, Lavenham has
a slow-paced arty feel, with a number
of art galleries and boutiques
that offer an excellent afternoon’s
browsing. Number Ten Wine Bar
& Kitchen (ten-lavenham.co.uk) is
a convivial place for lunch or supper,
with giant barrels providing great
tables for one, while the Swan at
Lavenham has a cocoon-like warmth,
with cosy bedrooms beneath original
15th-century beams (Lavenham rooms
are ideal for singles, from £171 room-
only, theswanatlavenham.co.uk), and
a boutique spa. Dogs are welcome at
both places.
Urban
11. Canterbury
Set within the Cathedral grounds,
the Canterbury Cathedral Lodge
is a unique place to stay, with
single, ensuite rooms (from £92
B&B, canterburycathedrallodge.org),
with views straight across to the
1,400-year-old church. The rate
includes free entry to the cathedral
(usually £15), with the city’s historic
streets just outside the door. Don’t
miss lunch (or just a shopping spree)
at the Goods Shed, a daily farmer’s
mark
market and restaurant, serving
produ
produce from each of the stalls;
two starters
s (maybe octopus, clams
and ’nduja
’n or cheddar and truffle
beign
beignets) make a perfect meal for one
(thego
thegoodsshed.co.uk).
12. L
London
Perfe for a solo jaunt, Citizen M has
Perfect
four breezily
b hip outposts, where the ‹
13
26 September — 8 October 2023

‹ pod-sized rooms are ideal for one
(from £155, citizenm.com), and the
open-plan bar/lounge/restaurant
downstairs is a comfortable place to
hang out. Borough Market has a great
range of places that offer counter
dining; Arabica (arabicalondon.
com) offers lip-smacking Middle
Eastern small plates and super-
friendly staff, while Wright Brothers
(thewrightbrothers.co.uk) is so compact
it’s almost rude not to start chatting to
the person next to you.
3 go there for companionship.
13. York
With an easily walkable historic
centre, boasting both York Minster and
a picturesque tangle of pedestrianised
streets, York is ideal for a solo
weekend break. Book a counter seat at
Skosh (skoshyork.co.uk), to watch small
plates of Orkney crab papads, paratha
with whipped aubergine brinjal and
Peruvian chocolate tart roll out, and
stay at No 1 Guesthouse (from £138
room-only, guesthousehotels.co.uk),
where the well-stocked pantry means
there’s always something to nibble on
if you fancy a break from eating alone.
14. Edinburgh
Plan a packed itinerary for a trip
to Edinburgh with the Kimpton’s
Stay Human concierge, which offers
a variety of curated experiences – from
city walking tours to coffee tasting
or personal shopping – all bookable
before you arrive. Book a City Single
(from £252, ihg.com) and spend an
evening at Eleanore, where high
stools at communal tables encourage
chat between locals and visitors, and
TJ BLACKWELL; ALAMY; ROO LEWIS/THE OBSERVER; GETTY IMAGES; THE GUARDIAN
the pared-down menu of artfully
presented dishes is ideal for a solo
dinner (eleanore.uk).
15. Bristol
Buzzy and bohemian, Bristol
combines West Country warmth
with a hip urban feel and a clutch
of excellent galleries – from
contemporary artworks at the
Arnolfini to more than 70 artists,
makers and designers at Spike
Island (spikeisland.org.uk). Book
a Broom Cupboard or Shoe Box at
the hip Artist’s Residence (from £185,
artistresidence.co.uk) – small rooms
with striking artworks that are perfect
for one – and bag a seat at the bar
at Marmo (marmo.restaurant) for
their excellent value set lunch (two/
three courses £22/25) or a dinner of
Italian small plates. ■
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
Time for
me time
Book yourself into a
retreat that’s perfect for
pampering solo guests
1. Homefield Grange,
Northamptonshire
Offering tailor-made programmes for
everything from weight loss to detox or
simple rest and rejuvenation, Homefield
Grange offers the chance to restore
internal balance with a focus on self-care
(homefieldgrangeretreat.co.uk).
2. The Glasshouse, Essex
The UK’s first purpose-built wellness
retreat, The Glasshouse in Bulphan,
Essex, offers a daily programme of
wellness activities – from hiking and
mindfulness to plant-based cooking
– set in seven acres of countryside
(glasshouseretreat.co.uk).
3. Gaia House, Devon
For those looking for a more spiritual
retreat, Gaia offers silent meditation
retreats from various Buddhist traditions,
led by experienced Dharma teachers.
Group retreats last from two to 10 days
(gaiahouse.co.uk).
4. Glen Dye, Aberdeenshire
Making the most of the spectacular
surroundings, Glen Dye offers a wellness
programme of foraging walks, forest
bathing, wild swimming and Vinyasa
yoga, with breathing workshops
and a wood-fired sauna to relax in
(glendyecabinsandcottages.com).
5. The Detox Barn, Suffolk
Book a weekend retreat, courtesy of the
dynamic Gavin sisters, who offer yoga
classes, guided walks and meditation,
vegan suppers and an “intention-
setting” session around an open fire
(gavinsisters.co.uk). Annabelle Thorpe
4 – the perfect placece to people
Time alone
Kirsty Wark
presenter
Sometimes I head
off alone to Kendoon
Loch, south of
Carsphairn in Galloway. It’s one
of the places my father loved to
fish. It is incredibly peaceful and
beautiful. It always reminds me of
him; and, no matter the weather,
at some point sunlight always
sparkles on the water.
Jay Rayner
restaurant
critic
It doesn’t matter
that I’ve eaten there
alone five or 10 times a year for
over a decade. They rarely seem
to recognise me as a returning
customer. The branch of Four
Seasons in London’s Chinatown
is not that sort of place. I don’t
I go there because I love the
Cantonese roast duck. Amid the
noise, I am alone and at peace.
Megan Nolan
author
I write in bed
after midnight
because my brain
has a masochistic inability to
function during designated work
hours, but when I need to leave
the house, I go to the Pelican
café in Peckham on my own
and sit there for hours. It’s a big
comfortable space with cheap
coffee – and when I’ve finished
it’s usually just rolling into happy
hour.
Joe Lycett
comedian
Birmingham is well
known for its grey,
brutalist architecture,
less so for its green space. But
my suburb is surrounded by
wilderness, where any potential
assassins will easily find me
looking for creative alchemy
and inspiration: jogging, walking,
drinking, smoking or fighting –
sometimes all at the same time.
Ravinder Bhogal chef
My restaurant is in Marylebone,
it’s a wonderful neighbourhood.
If a day feels too busy, I take time
to shop, alone, along Chiltern
Street. Daunt Books is a haven
watch. La Fromagerieerie is
the best grocer in London.
Meandering in and d out
of shops, I have a break,
and time to think; find
myself inspired by y
someone I bump
m
into. Going solo, I’m
on my own time.
There’s nobody
hurrying me along g.
Interview MICHAEL SEGALOV
Photographs GRÉGOIRE BERNARDI

T
here’s no confusing Ludovic Slimak for
just another hotel guest. It’s a swelter-
ing Sunday afternoon in late August
and we’ve arranged to meet in the
carpark of a guesthouse on the out-
skirts of Montélimar, southeastern
France. The lawn sprinklers are in
full swing; a couple of kids play in the
fenced-off poolside area. Hiding from the heat in my rental
car, I’d been concerned we’d struggle to find each other:
Slimak’s email and WhatsApp communication until now
have been at best irregular; the phone signal is patchy in
this rural French corner. As soon as he pulls up in a dust-
covered Volkswagen minivan, however, I realise there’d
been no need to worry. Amid the trickle of blissed-out
holidaymakers, Slimak seriously sticks out: he has wild,
long hair and an overgrown, grey-flecked beard; there’s
dirt deep beneath his fingernails. It’s 43C, according to
the screen on my dashboard. In shorts and a T-shirt, I’m
sweating. Meanwhile, the man now waving in my direction
is dressed in a herringbone waistcoat, stained linen trou-
sers, denim shirt and Indiana Jones Panama hat. There’s no
need for introductions to confirm he’s the man I’m here to
visit. Ludovic Slimak looks a picture-perfect archeological
adventurer; a self-described Neanderthal hunter.
He suggests we drive in convoy to our final destination,
the Grotte Mandrin, a hillside cave hidden deep in Rhône
Valley woodland. “It’s almost impossible to find the place
unless you’ve been there many times,” Slimak explains in
fluent English with a French accent. “And it’s better that
way: we don’t want any random people to – accidentally
or otherwise – come across all the treasures we’re finding.”
One of the world’s leading experts on Neanderthals, Slimak
has spent decades travelling across continents in search of
insights into this mysterious, extinct prehistoric species.
Just a short drive away, he assures me, is one the most sig-
nificant archaeological sites he’s ever spent time working
at. “I started digging there 33 years ago,” he says, “and for
the past 20 years I’ve spent a lot of time in this cave, trying
to understand Neanderthals better. It’s here we’re making
discoveries that are radically reshaping our understanding
of the history of both Neanderthals and humans, too.” His
book, The Naked Neanderthal, is the result of this research.
In 2022, it was published in France to great acclaim. Now,
it’s been translated into English. That’s why I’m here.
For 15 minutes, we drive in convoy further into the
countryside. From a deserted road, we turn on to an unas-
suming dirt track. I park up, as instructed, and get into his
VW. We make a bumpy climb a few hundred metres uphill,
before we jump out. I follow him down an overgrown foot-
path I’d never have noticed. “This cave can be seen for miles
around,” Slimak says, a few steps in front of me. “Locally,
it’s known as ‘The rock of the guide’. The oldest occupa-
tion here, we think, is at least 115,000 years ago. We know
there were 500 phases of occupation in this cave. It’s
a hyper-strategic location.”
Sandwiched between Marseille and Lyon, it feels as if ‘We have an opportunity
we’re in the middle of nowhere, save the regular rumble to look in a mirror and see
of high-speed trains a hundred or so metres below. “The ourselves for what we truly
national highway and railway lines here represent 70% of are’: Ludovic Slimak outside
European movement along the north/south axis: a path Grotte Mandrin in France,
through the mountains. It’s why this has historically been which has been occupied
very significant.” We turn a final corner. Ahead of us, an for at least 115,000 years
archaeological dig is in full swing. Slimak guides me ‹

16 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

‘I feel like
a man from
another era’
Explorer Ludovic Slimak has
dedicated decades to unearthing
the mystery of our prehistoric
ancestors. Now he has found
a missing piece that radically
reshapes our understanding –
not just of the Neanderthals
but of humanity itself

The Observer Magazine 10.09.23 17


‹ to the top of the cave area, where we sit and observe.
Seven or eight experts are at work: brushing, noting, pho-
tographing, sorting. His wife – fellow Neanderthal-expert
Sonia Harmand – is one of those present. Their two sons,
nine and six, are back at the 12th-century castle they rent
while on site. Others here are PhD students and research-
ers drawn to the dig from all over.
“By all accounts,” Slimak says, “as a species, Neanderthals
are our closest relatives. And we have parallel histo-
ries; common ancestors, I believe, between 300,000 and
500,000 years ago. But then there’s a great divergence.”
A separation of the two creatures. “Home Sapiens – our
ancestors – were mostly in Africa, although we can see
early traces of them in the Near East and Eurasia. There’s an
anomaly, however, with Europe, where we believe Sapiens
didn’t really travel to, home to the largest Neanderthal
populations.” The first Neanderthal skull was discovered
in a Belgian cave in 1829; the first bones were found near
Düsseldorf in the 1850s. For millennia, these creatures
coexisted on the planet in different places. “More recently,”
Slimak continues, “we have started to discover there were,
in fact, moments where these species met. And here in this
very cave, we’ve made an exciting new discovery.”
At the age of four, Slimak was asked by his father what
he’d like to do when he grew up. “I said I wanted to make
holes in the ground to find old things. I didn’t know it was
a job, until he told me about archaeology.” He’s been at it
ever since. Slimak was born in 1953; his father was a for-
ester. His early years were spent surrounded by trees, as
the family moved across France. “My grandfather lived
in the Pyrenees. He was born in 1918, but really, he was
a man from the 19th century. I spent so much time with
him that I also feel like a man from another era, lost in the
modern world.”
By 10, Slimak had talked his way into various archeolog-
ical digs he’d come across near their home. At 14, he was
already something of an expert. “By 18, I was working on
a dig here in the Rhône Valley, at a Neanderthal site maybe
70km north.” These Neanderthals were cannibals. “From
then on, I knew I wanted to dedicate my entire life to these
creatures.” At first, university didn’t feel a fit for this born
outdoor explorer. In his 20s, he realised a degree would
help him carve out a career, so enrolled in a course at Aix-
Marseille University. To help pay his way, Slimak learned
to play the bagpipes after writing to Glasgow’s College of
Piping, and through busking and playing in Marseille’s
premier late-90s Celtic band earned enough to keep his
research afloat. In 2004, he completed his PhD and was
soon recruited by Stanford University, before being hired
by France’s prestigious Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, where he’s worked ever since.
His Neanderthal hunting has seen him direct digs
everywhere from the Horn of Africa to the Arctic Circle.
“It’s an exploration,” he says. “On this planet now, there
is no longer any exploring to do horizontally in space, but
there’s so much to do in time. Neanderthals offer a huge
unknown; still, it’s the greatest exploration.”
What happened to the Neanderthals – their extinction –
is one of the greatest unsolved mysteries. Around 40,000
years ago, they vanished. It’s a topic that has consumed
both academic research and fiction. Much effort has been
spent trying to ascertain what led to their demise. But
the way Slimak sees it, this might no longer be the most
prescient question. “Normally, archaeologists find that if
Sapiens come into Neanderthal territory, that’s the end of
the Neanderthals. But here we’ve made a unique discovery.”
He jumps down in the dig itself, pointing between various
layers of rock and sediment. “We are finding thousands of
things at every level: this is a flint, a flint, a flint, a bone,
a flint, tooth, flint, rib…” The team here can date every bone,
tool or rock they discover while digging. “Neanderthals first
occupied this site more than 100,00 years ago. Then, we
now know that 54,000 years ago, the first Homo Sapiens
lived here. After that, there were at least five further phases
of Neanderthal inhabitants over a 12,000 year period.”
It sounds complex, but Slimak is keen to make clear the
takeaway is short and simple. “Finding Homo Sapiens
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
Neanderthal hunter
sandwiched between Neanderthal occupants in these
caves? It totally reshapes our understanding of our ori-
gins and rewrites what we’ve believed previously. If both
species brushed up against each other over this long
period of time, far more important than what happened
to Neanderthals, we should be asking: what did these two
species do together? Did they communicate? And most
importantly, how did they interact? Because Neanderthals
experienced and existed in the world differently to our
ancestors. Not just by culture, but by their very nature.”
He points to the way prehistoric Homo Sapien and
Neanderthal crafts are vastly different. “We might not
know much about Neanderthals,” he goes on, “but through
what they created, we can see something incredible. When
you take Home Sapien tools made of flint, spanning tens of
thousands of years, in different parts of the world, they’re
always the same. Standardised. It can’t be cultural.” There
was likely little contact between these different settlements.
“There’s something innate within the behaviour of Homo
Sapiens – within our behaviour – to act and think in a cer-
tain way. It’s in our nature.” Neanderthal crafts, though,
don’t share this pattern of standardisation. “Look care-
fully at Neanderthal tools and weapons. They’re all unique.
Study thousands and you’ll find each is completely dif-
ferent. My colleagues never
Digging deep: (from top) realised that. But when
the Grotte Mandrin site; I did, I saw there was a deep
and some of the flints divergence in the way Homo
found there that give vital Sapiens and Neanderthals
clues about our past each understand the world.”
Historically, he believes
humanity has had a problem. “To truly understand some-
thing, you need to be able to compare it to something
else. But us as Sapiens? We’ve never had a species to com-
pare ourselves to.” Yes, there are other animals: great apes,
chimps, gorillas. “But we diverged from these creatures
maybe 10m years ago. Of course, compared to a gorilla
we have more creativity and skills. It gives us a certain
image of ourselves– one of superiority. But what happens
if we compare ourselves to something far closer – some-
thing far more like humanity that only disappeared 40,000
years ago?” Imagine, he suggests, how differently we’d see
ourselves if confronted by hyper-intelligent aliens.
Slimak feels this comparison can and should be made
with Neanderthals. “Their tools and weapons are more
unique than ours. As creatures, they were far more creative
than us. Sapiens are efficient. Collective. We think the same,
and don’t like divergence. And I don’t just mean western
culture. Go to any Aboriginal society: there are clear rules
and customs, and shared styles of clothing. Expectation to
act in a certain manner; to follow regulations.” Our ances-
tors, he says, lived like this instinctively. “You don’t see that
with Neanderthals.” By seeing Neanderthals as a reference
point against which we can measure ourselves, Slimak
reckons humanity is offered a gift: “We have an oppor-
tunity to look in a mirror and see ourselves for what we
truly are. To help us redefine, which we must do urgently.”
The way he sees it, this isn’t just an interesting philo-
sophical theory. “Neanderthals vanished, I think, because
of high human efficiency. And this efficiency now threat-
ens to destroy us, too. That’s what’s killing the planet’s
biodiversity.” For Slimak, The Naked Neanderthal isn’t
a history book. “It’s about us in the present. Urging human-
ity to see itself for what it is by comparing us to something
else, in the hope of changing the course of our future.
‘As creatures, Because by understanding our nature – and the risk this
efficiency poses – we can save ourselves from a similar
fate.” Over millennia, humankind has also developed an
Neanderthals advanced, impressive technology and culture, of a type
Neanderthals could never have imagined. “So while there
were far more is something dangerous in our nature, as a collective we
can control and reshape it. Understanding this is the key to
humanity’s future. Because if we don’t think carefully, next
creative than time it won’t be Neanderthals that our efficiency destroys,
it’ll be humankind itself that’s the victim.” ■
Homo Sapiens’ The Naked Neanderthal is out on 21 September (£20,
Allen Lane). Buy it for £17.60 at guardianbookshop.com
19
My life
in flat
shares
Like so many people,
Daniella Isaacs has spent
years moving from one
rented property to another.
It’s anxiety inducing, but
it has also fostered a rich
sense of kinship among
her resilient cohabiters

I
’m sitting in a sea of badly packed
moving boxes with a painful bout
of shingles and a sprinkling of
existential angst. My landlord’s
mortgage has been hiked up, so
he’s selling up and me and my flatmate
are being shoved out once more.
In need of a dose of light relief,
I FaceTime my young niece. But she’s
distracted, examining my east London
rental. Suddenly, I’m incredibly self-
conscious about the unjustified amount
of faux fruits, framed 90s movie posters
and the unwieldy box of skincare
products on display.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Thirty-two,” I whisper.
I dive into a box searching for my
32-year-old teddy’s battered paw.
“Thirty-two!” she howls.
I tell her I have to go, my flatmate’s
just walked in. A lie. She’s actually in the
process of moving in with her Hinge
lover. I just didn’t want her to see me cry.
By and large, “adulthood” remains
shorthand for stable housing and long-
term domestic partnership. The nuclear
family home is embedded into our
mainstream cultural template of what it
means to be a righteous grownup. But the
facts are beginning to tell a different story.
In the 2022 census, the fastest-growing
household type over the past two decades
was the “multi-family” setup, where
“families” may be unrelated and, therefore,
encompass more than one person living
with someone not necessarily related. Photographs KRISTINA VARAKSINA
This isn’t surprising. According to the ‹ ‹

The Observer Magazine 10.09.23


‹ Office for National Statistics, private
rental prices in the UK increased by 4.4%
in the year to January 2023: the largest
increase since records began. Add that
to the swelling statistic of single adults
(aged 30-34) rising from 49.2% in 2011
to 58.9% in 2021. And so, for those of
us born without the magical power of
affluent parents, what this equates to is:
getting a roommate.
What was once seen as a “blip” on the
journey towards adult life, a final hurrah,
a Friends or The Young Ones experience
before you maturely moved on, is
increasingly becoming the destination
of the adult experience. And, though my
tears are falling because I, like my niece,
have been indoctrinated to think that
the family home is the goal, and I’m not
hitting the Farrow & Ball painted mark
just yet, I also think I’ve found the beauty
in this messed-up fate.
Yes, this housing situation is anxiety
inducing and increasingly impossible
for many. And, yes, it’s a gloomy product
of the extremities of capitalism. But,
as I sort through the relics of flatmates
I’ve lived with over the past few years –
Polaroids, birthday cards, old wine corks,
a motivational Post-it – I’m hit with a
deep pang of nostalgia. I’ve navigated
this 55sqm space with a delectable cast
of city dwellers over these past five
years. We’ve each partaken in the bizarre
dance of sharing a sofa, toilet, food
cupboards and that weird drawer filled
with curious things (candles, batteries,
sparklers, etc). We’ve fielded constant
micro-negotiations of managing work
calls and nighttime partners and personal
conversations and cleaning rotas and
social plans and individual highs and
woes. Essentially, we’ve completed a crash
course in navigating interpersonal ethics.
Amy Canevello, a psychology professor
at the University of North Carolina,
explains the unique dynamic of non-
family cohabitation: “Our expectations
are different from living with romantic
partners or family… It calls for a clear
setting of boundaries. You negotiate,
hopefully with a sense of care, how you
are going to live in an intimate setting
without the presumption of shared values
or an intrinsic sense of responsibility
for the other person. The space becomes
quite democratically shared.” Within this
strange and sometimes strained intimacy,
I’ve had a taste of communal living.
I’ve binged every 60s horror film, while
wolfing down troughs (mixing bowls)
of pesto and pea pasta with a flatmate
who generously nursed me through
a breakup. I arranged an online boxing
session for my flatmate (which backfired
as I mistakenly kicked her in the face),
as she was processing a family illness.
HAIR AND MAKEUP BY JULIANA SERGOT
Through Covid, after my uncle died, my
flatmate instilled a Sunday ritual of a hike
(long walk) followed by a roast dinner
followed by making our way through the
Guardian’s list of the top 100 films of the
21st century. The shared walks, talks and
food helped me grieve.
It reminds me of Michael Pollan’s
writing in Cooked. He explores the social
glue that is borne out of communal
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
All boxed up and ready to go: ‘We are living in an era of impermanence, of forced adaptation’
meals. “What Winston Churchill once
said of architecture – “First we shape
our buildings, and then they shape us”
– might also be said of shared feasting.
First we cooked our food, and then our
food cooked us. The rituals, they build
a sense of community.
Over the course of my rental life, while
sharing rooms with acquaintances who
have – on the most part – swiftly become
close friends, I’ve experienced heartbreak,
lust, love, death, work wins and losses,
illness and grief. We’ve navigated the art
of communicating (as best as we can),
adjusting, considering – and coexisting.
Like any other relationship, this isn’t
a utopia. I once had a flatmate who used to
trim his pubes, leaving a confetti-like trail
around the toilet seat on a biweekly basis.
I had another cohabiter who didn’t register
the thinness of our walls, so I listened
to the uncensored audiobook of her sex
life with her new boyfriend. We swiftly
instilled a non-negotiable agreement to
play music whenever a bed partner was
present. Back in the early years of my
rental life, I was navigating a disordered
With my
flatmates,
we’ve had
lust, love,
heartbreak
and death
relationship with food while living with
a personal trainer. This meant I waited for
her to get to bed before I binged my way
through the kitchen, like some strange
orthorexic vampire until she caught me
one night rustling in her cupboards. Even
these awkward encounters, as hellish as
they were to confront, were instructive.
In one of my many moving boxes,
I have a book (gifted to me by a previous
flatmate) Life, Letters and Journals written
by the pioneering astronomer Maria
Mitchell. She writes: “Is not the assent
of another a sort of second conscience?”
She poses that the people with whom we
encircle ourselves become fundamental
in the architecture of our own being. “Our
character is moulded by them and receives
its colouring from them.” She describes
what researchers (Aron & Aron) went on
to define as “self-expansion”. Most studies
are limited to exploring how romantic
relationships help broaden our sense of
self. Renting over the past decade, I’ve had
the chance to experience multiple “others”
rather than a single partner. They’ve
challenged my biases, my blindspots and
ultimately my sense of meaning.
While the single-family home has
long been held up as the aspiration –
the signifier of stability, commitment,
wholeness and a range of other
moral attributes – I wonder if there is
a correlation between the “chronically
lonely” age we are living in and the
picket-fence domestic dream. Urbanist
Jane Jacobs argued that “The structures
that once supported the nuclear family
no longer exist,” and this leads to
an intense sense of pressure on the
relationship. The average divorce rate is
currently 42% and that figure is on the
rise. Psychotherapist Esther Perel comes
to mind: “You’re asking one person to
give you what an entire village used to
provide.” Perhaps by aspiring to shack up
Daniella Isaacs
with our romantic partner and build
a self-sufficient brood in an urban
dwelling or, if financially possible, a
house with a manicured lawn as a moat,
we are risking seclusion. Bowing to the
pressurising institution of individualism.
The nuclear domestic setup was not
always the norm. For centuries, kinship
was not defined by being genetically
related, it was something you could create.
An international research team carried out
an ancient genome-wide analysis in an
early mediaeval graveyard of individuals
who most likely lived together 2,700 years
ago in what is now Germany. They found
that many of the people who were buried
together were not related to one another.
They shared the highs and lows of each
other’s lives, but were most likely not
romantically or genetically linked.
Maybe by softening our commitment
to the socially prescribed “family home”,
we might give ourselves the chance to
rebuild a sense of community. I’ve read
that the Chuukese people in Micronesia
have a saying for when two people survive
a dangerous trial at sea – they call their
boating partner “my sibling from the same
canoe”. I haven’t had to test my survival on
the shores of the Thames just yet, but
I do believe that through my rental life,
I’ve built an eclectic network of kinsmen.
As I tape up my boxes, preparing myself
for my next overpriced, under-furnished
abode, I think about my niece’s quip.
“You’re an adult. Start acting like one.”
We are living in an era of impermanence,
of forced adaptation. Maybe, the very act of
living in a constantly changing setup is the
definition of modern adulthood; learning
to live with the precariousness of it all.
I FaceTime my niece again and just as
I’m about to share my theory, she tells me
she’s been thinking about what she wants
for her birthday. “A doll’s house,” she says,
“with a mummy and a daddy and a baby
and a dog.” Before I have the chance to
respond, she’s performing a very good
song from Matilda.
I follow her birthday instructions and
swiftly fall down an Instagram hole of
doll’s houses. Wide oak-plank floorboards,
shiplap walls, Shaker-style cabinets,
a Victorian fireplace, a study for the
parents, a playroom for the kids, a larder.
I could scroll for hours… I want all of it. I’m
interrupted, damn. The moving van is here.
As I open the door to my new rental,
with boxes filling up the hallway, I meet
the eyes of my new flatmate. A broken
toilet sits outside the bathroom and the
smell of a dead rodent is hard to ignore.
And she quietly, anxiously, asks me for
a hug. Together, we confidently refuse to
move in until the flat is made acceptable
for two human beings who are paying
far more than they can afford. The
faceless estate agent grimaces, but we
stand strong: “My sibling from the same
canoe.” There’s power to be found in this
kinsmanship. And as we take the agent
round the flat, showing him what needs
to be fixed, I wonder, what will be learned
here, within these four weathered walls? ■
Listen to People Who Knew Me, written
and directed by Daniella Isaacs, available
wherever you find your podcasts (bbc.co.uk)
23
Food & drink
Nigel Slater
A new season September, and what always feels like
the cook’s New Year. Time to put the
and space for
oven on again. I started with a row of
pastry cases, long and slim, flaky and
golden, their filling bubbling over the
salads as well edges. I gave them a stuffing of milky
mozzarella, a spoon or two of softly
as baked tarts
marbled gorgonzola, then a little crème
fraîche and ripe green figs.
Good as they were, an extra savoury
note came in the form of very thin
slices of coppa, but pancetta or parma
ham would work here, too, the fine
sheets of cured meat tucked among the
figs and cheese.
I made long thin tarts, enough
for one per person – but smaller,
Photographs JONATHAN LOVEKIN round ones would also be good (the
24
 @NigelSlater
trimmings of which can be brushed
with beaten egg, sprinkled with thyme
and finely grated parmesan and baked
like cheese straws). Another possibility
might be to bake the entire sheet of
pastry as one large tart, though you
would then need to double up the
quantity of filling.
Crisp tarts such as these need
a plentiful accompaniment. I made
a bowl of French beans with shredded
spring cabbage and a mustard-lemon
dressing, substantial enough to eat as
a principal dish if you wished. I added
toasted hazelnuts, too.
The cabbage is very lightly cooked –
just a dip in boiling water, really, to set
its colour while leaving it crisp.
Coppa, fig and gorzonzola tarts
One of the ready-rolled frozen pastry
sheets works perfectly here. If you don’t
have coppa, use thin slices of pancetta,
torn into stamp-sized pieces. The tarts
are at their best when eaten straight from
the oven, while the cheese is still soft and
melting. A few salad leaves would be good
on the side. Makes 4 tarts.
puff pastry 320g
figs 4
mozzarella 250g
gorgonzola 200g
crème fraîche 4 heaped tbsp
thyme leaves 2 tbsp
coppa 80g
egg a little, beaten
Line a baking sheet with parchment.
Preheat the oven to 220C/gas mark 7.
Roll the pastry out to a rectangle roughly
36cm x 23cm. With the longest side
towards you, cut down into 4 rectangles,
measuring 9cm x 23cm. Place each one
on the parchment-lined baking sheet.
Using a sharp knife, score a second
rectangle inside each one, leaving a 1.5cm
rim around the edges, taking care not to
cut through the pastry. Chill in the fridge
for 20 minutes. (This prevents the pastry
from shrinking in the oven.)
Cut each fig into 6 wedges. Tear the
mozzarella and gorgonzola into small
pieces and drop them into a bowl. Add
the crème fraîche, the thyme leaves and
a grinding or two of black pepper.
Bake the pastry in the preheated oven
for 8 minutes until it is just starting to
colour and crisp. Remove from the oven
and, using the back of a teaspoon, push
the inner rectangle of pastry down to
form a hollow.
Spoon the filling into the hollows,
tucking pieces of coppa and slices of fig
into the filling. Brush the pastry rim of
the tarts with a little of the beaten egg,
taking care not to let it run down the
sides of the pastry.
Return the tarts to the oven and bake
them for a further 10-15 minutes, until
the pastry is crisp and golden. Eat straight
away, while they are still warm.
French beans and cabbage
Lovely lemony, mustard and basil notes
going on here. This would be good with
the tarts above, but would also work as
a main course, especially if you introduce
some smoked mackerel or mussels, ‹
10.09.23 The Observer Magazine
Give a fig: coppa, fig
and gorgonzola tarts.
Facing page: French
beans and cabbage
Classified
......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Food & drink
Nigel Slater

Lovely lemony,
mustard and basil
notes here. This
is a salad I like to
serve just warm
rather than chilled

‹ steamed and pulled from their shells.

I like to use one of the pointed spring
cabbages, though a crisp round white
cabbage is also fine. I leave the darker,
crinkly leaved savoy types for the winter
months. This is a salad I like to serve just
warm rather than chilled. The beans need
their stems removing, but not the tender,
curving points that make these late-
season beans so elegant.
Serves 4 as side dish

French (haricot) beans 250g

spring cabbage 450g
hazelnuts 50g
tarragon leaves 2 tbsp
basil 10 medium-sized leaves

For the dressing:

Dijon mustard 1 tbsp
red wine vinegar 2 tbsp
lemon juice 1 tbsp
honey 1 tsp
olive oil 150ml

Make the dressing: put the mustard in

a small bowl, then stir in the vinegar and
lemon juice, honey and a good pinch of
sea salt, then beat in the olive oil, either
with a fork or small whisk. Set aside.
In a dry, shallow pan, toast the
hazelnuts over a low to moderate heat,
moving them around the pan so they
colour evenly. When they are toasted The recipe the mixture well, so the crumbs are moist
and fragrant, remove from the heat and
roughly chop. Then chop the tarragon
leaves and basil and stir together with the
Nigel’s The season for hot puddings is
almost upon us – and time for plum
pies, crumbles and cobblers. I use
and glossy then tip the mixture over the
plums in the baking dish. Bake in the
preheated oven for about 35 minutes
hazelnuts into the dressing.
Bring a deep pan of water to the boil
midweek breadcrumbs as a crust, too, tossed with
melted butter, spices and brown sugar.
until the plums are soft and juicy and
bubbling around the edges and the
and salt it lightly. Remove the stalk and treat It’s lighter than a pie crust and is a good crumbs are crisp and golden. Enough for 4

(if you wish) the pointed tips of the beans.
Drop the beans into the boiling water
and let them cook for 3 or 4 minutes until
they have darkened and will gently bend
without snapping. Remove the beans
from the water and set aside. Let the
water come back to the boil.
Shred the cabbage into finger-thick
strips, removing the core as you go, wash
under running water, then drop into
boiling water. Leave to cook for 1 minute,
then drain into a colander, shake dry and
add to the beans. (Make sure to shake
the cabbage well, so the dressing does
not become diluted.) Toss the beans
and cabbage with the dressing and pile
generously on to a serving dish. ■
Plum crisp
way of using up a loaf that is past its best.
Set the oven at 190C/gas mark 5.
Cut 850g of plums in half and remove
their stones. Put the fruit into a 23cm
baking dish or deep pudding basin
(a shallow casserole will work, too).
Squeeze over the juice of a small orange
and sprinkle lightly with a couple of
tbsp of caster sugar.
Reduce 125g of fresh white bread to
coarse crumbs. A food processor will do
this in seconds, but you can use a coarse
grater, too. Toss the crumbs with 1 tsp
of ground cinnamon and 80g of soft
brown sugar.
Photograph In a small pan, melt 80g of butter, then
JONATHAN LOVEKIN pour it over the sweetened crumbs. Toss
 The crumb topping can be applied
to apples, apricots and sweet
mincemeat, too.
 Use a mixture of varieties, even adding
a few late damsons if you have them.
Blackberries are a gorgeous autumn
addition, their purple juices marbled
through that of the scarlet plums.
 You need a juicy filling under the crisp
crumb crust. Pour in a little apple juice
– or at a push, water – if necessary. If
making an apple crisp, then I recommend
cooking the apples a little first.
 This is one of those puddings where
cream is essential, rather than just a
luxurious accompaniment. ■

The Observer Magazine 10.09.23 27

Food & drink
Jay Rayner
Critic of the year  @jayrayner1

As Smithfield meat
market gets ready to
close, a superb new
meat-led restaurant
opens up its doors

Origin City Slapping the words “nose

12 West Smithfield, to tail” on your website
London EC1A 9JR is a gutsy flex for a new
(020 4568 6240; restaurant, when it’s located
origincity.co.uk) fewer than 250m from
Starters £11-£15 Fergus Henderson’s St John.
Mains £21-£42 They coined the term almost
Desserts £8-£10 30 years ago, and have been
Wines from £24 diligently working their way
from arse to nostril and
back again ever since. If that
“whole animal” approach is
what you’re after, why would you come to this new place
when the mothership is just over there?
Then again, the team behind Origin City, on the south
side of the soon-to-close Smithfield meat market, likes
a grand statement. The meat comes from the 600-
acre organic estate in Argyll and Bute which, like the
restaurant, is owned by the Landsberg family. Seafood
comes from Loch Fyne, which they also own. There are
wines from the winery in the south of France, which
– checks notes – they own. They own an awful lot of
stuff, do the Landsbergs. The restaurant does all its own
butchery and ages all its own cuts. They make all their
own charcuterie, and weave all their own tablecloths
from the hair combed from the golden tresses of their
willing waiters. That last one isn’t entirely true. The
tablecloths here are glacial snowfields of cotton. There
are hefty oak floors, tweed-backed banquettes, high
ceilings and low lights.
It all has a 90s power-lunch vibe, and I am very much Power lunch: (clockwise from left) Morteau sausage; the
here for it. The thing about those 90s power-lunch nch places dining room; charcuterie; pork tonnato; stone bass with
is that they were comfortable. You could pull up to the warm sauce Olivier; Texel hogget; and chocolate dessert
table, order that ill-advised third Martini and stay ay the
course. They were engineered for Lunch and Dinner, nner, toast as if surrendering. We get a quenelle of the ’nduja
with a capital L and D. This is one of those places. s. The butter to go with the toast. It arrives speared with a curl
tables are big. The music isn’t intrusive. The menu nu is of salty crackling, which has crunch, but also melts away
readable. More important than all of this, obviously,usly, tto something softly gelatinous. The butter is a ludicrously
is the food. It’s good. At times it is nothing shortt of iintense mess of shredded spiced pork, chilli and whipped
magnificent. As someone guilty of flashing moree thigh d
dairy fat. It’s so rich I suspect you could rub it into your
motion,
than is strictly necessary in the interests of promotion, sskin as a treatment for cellulite. Or you could just pile it
I understand the need for a hustle. But what matters tters o
on to toast. I pile it on to toast. My cellulite is beyond help.
more than performative statements about how you ou The menu is divided into these rather curious things
source your ingredients, is what happens to them. m. Head ccalled “starters” and “mains”. There are six of each. It
chef Graham Chatham, who has cooked at Rules and m
might catch on. Their take on vitello tonnato involves
Daylesford Organic, treats them with old school care,
attention and at times, maternal indulgence.
are,
Discs of smoked rroasted Tamworth pork loin with a generous ribbon of
fat, sliced almost as thin as the coppa, and piled with
We have a board of smoked coppa, salami Milanese ese Morteau sausage are just enough tuna sauce, plus a sprinkling of golden fried
and ham, sliced thin enough so you could read the
interesting bits of the FT through it. They serve it warm
stacked like poker breadcrumbs and prime caper berries to send it on its
way. And oh boy, their rough-textured, smoked Morteau
enough so the fat begins to melt on contact with your chips across nutty sausage. The discs are stacked like poker chips across
tongue. It has depth, and piggy power. There are crunchy,
sweet-sour pickles, and fatty pork rillettes, also served
black lentils nutty black lentils bound by a profound meatiness, with
a mustard sauce. It is a trio of huge flavours playing very
at room temperature, which slump on to pieces of warm in a mustard sauce nicely indeed. You will clean the plate.

28 Photographs SOPHIA EVANS 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

 There is indeed a nose-to-tail ethos here, but compared
mpared Watergull The grapevine may
to St John over on the other side of Smithfield Market,
it is precise and contained. It’s best expressed through
keet,
ug gh
W
Wines off Orchards Cox
Apple Juice
be an increasingly
common feature of
roasted hogget, with chunks of liver, kidney and merguez
sausage lending a waft of spice, all brought together
errguez
er by
the week England
£2.65, 75cl,
the English and Welsh
countryside, but I still
dollops of salsa verde. Order the charred long-stemmedmmed
riple-
broccoli with anchovy sauce. Definitely order the triple-
Toast apple Waitrose think of this time of year
as apple season. Unlike
cooked chips, which are thick, and crusted and crunchy nchy season with wine grapes, which
and golden, and speak of time and effort. juices, ciders you are just not going to find in your local
Perhaps you are not a meat eater. Perhaps you are re
and sparklers.
greengrocer, you can, of course, celebrate
rolling your eyes at all this. Quite right, too. Origin City the apple harvest by biting into a freshly
is not for you. Try Masala Zone, which I reviewed last ast By David Williams picked Russet or Cox’s Orange Pippin. But
week; they have lots of non-meat options. Here, they ey
y the apple is also worth toasting for being
recognise that needs must be catered for, hence a startertaarter the only fruit to rival the wine grape as
of summer beets with pickled pear and goat’s curd or a base for a range of complex drinks. Indeed,
the main of a courgette flower with goat’s cheese and d when it comes to drinking the juice before
romesco. But these feel like acts of politeness rather than it’s been fermented, English apple varieties
commitment. It is a meat-led restaurant. That said, the he have the edge on any wine grapes. Most of
cooking of stone bass is spectacular. The creamy-white hite the best I’ve tried have come direct from
flesh slips apart. The skin, stacked with shiny orangee farmgate shops, although Cambridgeshire’s
trout roe, is so crisp it makes a rustling noise when Watergull Orchards' deliciously lipsmacking
a knife edge is dragged across it. Underneath is a warm arm  @Daveydaibach Cox’s juice is also available at Waitrose.
“salad Olivier”, which is lots of impeccably crunchy y
vegetables bound in a warm, thickly emulsified butter tteer
sauce. The kitchen has some classical chops and it’ss Guzman Riestra If you prefer your English
determined to use them. Desserts include a perfectly tly Sidra Natural apple juice to be, in the
made crème brûlée, and a log of chocolate mousse with Espumosa American parlance, hard,
a raspberry compote centre, enrobed in dark chocolate, olate, Brut Nature my favourite crafty
alongside a peanut butter cream. Are there missteps ps with Spain producers in the heart
the food? Yes, a tiny one among the petit fours: a cube ube of £14.49, Cider of Ciderland in the West
fudge made with beef fat. It’s a lousy idea. Stop it. Stick Is Wine Country might include
to the tiny, warm, dolls-house honey madeleines. Somerset’s Pilton Cider,
Starters are in the mid-teens and mains loiter aroundound Herefordshire’s Little Pomona and Severn
tio
£30. Importantly though, it is good value. In addition, on, Cider in Gloucestershire. I’ve also enjoyed
£2
the carefully arranged wine list starts in the low £20s20s the champagne-alike sparkling cider of
and barely manages to get above £40. What’s more ree it’s Gospel Green in Hampshire: the 2016
shared with its extremely civilised sister wine barr at vintage of their Méthode Traditionelle Brut
56 West Smithfield just across the square. Have a glass was elegant in its combination of appley
rusted
of wine you like there over a bowl of rosemary-crusted and bakery-shop aromas (the 2018 vintage
mbourg
nuts, perhaps a pinot gris by Clos Jangli of Luxembourg is £14.99 from realenglishdrinks.co.uk).
for £6, and you can continue with a whole bottle in the In another classic apple-growing region,
restaurant for £27. Origin City is possibly one of the most Asturias in Spain, Guzman Riestra makes a
espite
traditional restaurants I’ve reviewed this year. Despite refined, dry very crisply delivered example,
the mission statements, the kitchen is not pushing ng at the which, like the Gospel Green, clocks in at 8%,
boundaries of anything. Instead, it’s doing somethingthing making it a low-alcohol alternative to classic
m. ■
rather less celebrated. It’s cooking up a total storm. champagne or English sparkling wine.

Rukét is an Italian maker

aker just north restrict yourself to just one a day.
day

Notes on of Bologna. This part of the world

holds a special place in my heart
A perfect quotidian portion of dark
punchy cocoa. There’s currently
Christian Drouin
Bouché Brut Cidre
Guzman Riestra are also
dab hands at ice cider,

chocolate since my dad was from Parma and

would come back from Italy with
half his suitcase full of parmesan
It’s time to go and Parma ham (if anyone offers
dark, small and to bring you back Parma ham, ask
a wait-list like a lot of craft
chocolate, especially imported, but
waiting is the new availability.
de Normandie
France
£6.99, Roberts
made from the juice of
frozen apples. Their Sidra
de Hielo (£19.99, 37.5cl,
Still in dark mode, Éponine’s & Speight cideriswine.co.uk) is
Orange and Almond dark bar, a kind of sweet essence

delicious, says
for it to be loose packed and not
put sotto vuoto as it’s impossible
Annalisa Barbieri to separate the slices if it’s sealed
under vacuum). Rukét’s journey
into making craft chocolate was
largely accidental, after they tried
to find the best possible chocolate
to put in their ice-cream.
While they make various bars,
I love the little squares in a box,
the Grenada 73% (£8.95, 100g).
There is minimal packaging, but
somehow, even though the
squares are all open in their cute
slide-out box (think miniature box
of After Eights), you somehow
(£6, 60g) is delicious. I’ll admit
the Marie Antoinette in me would
have preferred the almonds to
be skinned, but it’s all extra fibre
for the gut isn’t it? What you
get is a perfect tile of 66% dark
chocolate with whole almonds,
thick slices of candied orange and
golden raisins. Yes it does put me in
mind of Christmas (first mention).
While you’re on the page, because
you know I like the P&P to work
for itself, do look at Éponine’s
barres and Sn’eggs. (Billionaire
and Peanut and Caramel are my
faves, respectively.)
of apples baked in brown
sugar. Ice cider, like ice wine, is also popular
in Canada, specifically in Quebec, where
the subzero late-autumn temperatures
allow the apples to freeze naturally before
they are picked. It makes for exceptionally
concentrated, balanced bottlings, such as
Leduc-Piedimonte Ice Cider 2011 (from
£23.99, 37.5cl, novelwines.co.uk). Finally, no
article on apple drinks would be complete
without something from Normandy, where
distillery Christian Drouin makes both a
wonderfully quaffable cider and exceptional
Calvados such as the gorgeous, seasonally
mellow Christian Drouin Hors d’Age Calvados
(£89.95, thewhiskyexchange.com).

The Observer Magazine 10.09.23 29

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30 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

Beauty
Funmı Fetto
 @FunmiFetto

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The Observer Magazine 10.09.23 31

 Words SERENA FOKSCHANER
Photographs ON A HAZY MORNING

Living
doll’s
house
This Amsterdam apartment started life as a storage space,
but a touch of toy design transformed it into a live/work eyrie
32 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

N
aomi Russell may not be an
interior designer, but she has
precise views about how her
Amsterdam home should
look. The “perfectly done
space that feels like a showroom” is not
for her. What Russell, a theatre producer
and founder of arts organisation
Espaço Agora prefers is a gentle fusion
of past and present. It is the approach
she applied to her ingenious live-work
eyrie. Set on the top floor of a slender
19th-century townhouse, streamlined
furnishings and vivacious paint colours
are clasped by soaring golden beams so
that, as she puts it: “The provenance of
the architecture shines through.”
Like most of Amsterdam’s pre-20th
century houses, the apartment originally
served as a storage space for household
clutter. A previous owner converted the
90sqm interior into a home in 2002. The
airy, double-height living area – a ladder
stretches up to a roof terrace above
– basks in the brightness of the south-
facing front, with two bedrooms and
a bathroom tucked behind.
Russell rented the apartment
for three years before seizing the
opportunity to buy it when it came up
for sale in 2016. “I’d been commuting
between London and Amsterdam. Every
time I got off the train I’d sigh and say…
‘I’m home.’ It made sense to move here,”
she says. The tenancy had been useful.
‘Like a jigsaw’: (clockwise from left) the
double-height living area, with its platform
and reading nook; the kitchen shelves
accessed by sliding steps; Naomi Russell;
wallpaper by Netherlands designer Irma
Boom; and views over the river Amstel
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
It gave her time to unpick flaws.
Rachel van der Brug, the interior
designer who helped her to reshape
the apartment is a neighbour: “She
made sense of my ideas. I needed an
external eye.” The jigsaw-like layout
means that no two rooms are alike.
“I was lucky because our builder was
creative. His colleague makes doll’s
houses; he was good at coming up with
solutions to tricky spaces,” says Russell.
“Everything’s an odd size, I couldn’t
buy things off the shelf and almost
everything had to be made to fit.”
Russell wanted to make the space more
efficient, without compromising the
architecture. “It was never my intention
to gut the place, but to work with what
we had.” One solution was the overhead
desk space, wedged between beams with
a glass floor beneath, like a floating office.
You climb a ladder to reach the space
because, as Russell will tell you, a head
for heights is another prerequisite for
living here. “I’ll happily look down,” she
says. The window seat below – for equally
contemplative vistas – is also new.
Another dead space became Russell’s
reading nook, accessed by a set of
custom-made, stepped bookshelves.
The shapely vase belonged to her
grandmother; the artwork of silvery
eggs is by German artist Rosemarie
Trockel. “She had an exhibition at the
Interiors
Whitechapel Gallery in London, where
I had my second job. After the show we
were all given a signed piece.”
The striped wallpaper by Netherlands
designer Irma Boom, inspired by
paintings in the Rijksmuseum, was the
catalyst for the confection of colours
– burgundies, blues, oranges – used
throughout. “I was greedy and chose
11 versions of the paper. I was worried
it might be too much. But Rachel helped
me make sense of how every space
could draw on a different palette.” In its
previous incarnation the apartment was
all white. No longer. “I didn’t want white,
anywhere. Instead, we used a soft pink to
anchor the different colours.”
She trod lightly, too, at the back of
her apartment – leaving the layout
untouched, but finding ways to utilise
overlooked nooks and crannies. It was
her builder who suggested she add the
platform bed in the guest room. The gap
below is now a wardrobe screened by
a colourful curtain. In Russell’s bedroom
they used four different shades of blue
for the walls: counterintuitively, the
mix makes the small space feel larger.
When friends come to stay she hangs her
clothes for the week from a beam.
The bathroom is next door. In true
Amsterdam fashion, the claw-foot bath
was hoisted into place through a window,
using a rope attached to a hook on the
facade An old-fashioned wooden drying
rack hovers above; the antique gilded
mirror fitted on to the back of her bike.
Russell also found the reclaimed doors
locally. Chosen for their patina of time,
they look – like everything else – as if
they have always been here. ■
espacoagora.space
33
It’s not over yet…
These 10 idyllic beach
stays around the UK
offer September
sun and no crowds
Words ANNABELLE THORPE

Reaching out to sea:

dusk at the Neist Point
Lighthouse on Isle of
Skye, Scotland

34 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine


1
Southwold, Suffolk
The ideal place to indulge in
classic beachy pleasures –
strolls on the prom, snoozing in
a deckchair, fish and chips at sunset –
Southwold has a delightfully old-school
feel, particularly once the summer crowds
have gone. Potter between the shops
and tearooms en route to Pier Beach,
or head to Denes Beach for sand dunes
and marshland that offers great bird-
watching and lots of watersport options.
Drop in for fresh fish platters at the Sail
Loft (sailloftsouthwold.uk), set right by
the beach and stay at Southwold Surf,
a chic one-bed apartment, situated on
the High Street. From £767 per week,
suffolk-secrets.co.uk
2 6
2
Sennen, Cornwall
Immerse yourself in Cornish
scenery and traditions with
a stay at Sennen, a small seaside
village on the county’s southwesterly tip,
within easy reach of Land’s End and the
pretty coastal villages of Porthcurno and
Mousehole. Dip into the circular Capstan
Gallery, hike the South West Coast Path
on to Mayon Cliff and book tickets for
the Minack Theatre. Stay at Sea Scape,
a spectacular eco-home, with outdoor hot
tub and three spacious bedrooms.
From £1,989, sykescottages.co.uk
3
Swanage, Dorset
The Isle of Purbeck is at its most
beautiful in early autumn, when
the golden-hued beaches of
GETTY IMAGES; ALAMY; NICOLE AMMANN; THOMAS BRADFORD
Studland and Swanage are released
from the summer holiday crowds.
Mix beach walks with visits to Corfe
Castle and Brownsea Island, or hop on
the ferry across to Poole for lunch at
Rockfish (therockfish.co.uk), set right
on the quay. Stay at the Arc, a cute,
character cottage in Swanage; it sleeps
four, but is an ideal bolthole for two.
From £847, originalcottages.co.uk
4
Whitesands, Pembrokeshire
Pack surfboards and SUPs for
a water-based week, staying
at Tan y Bryn – a sleekly
refurbished 1930s house, just yards from
the beach with wonderful views out
The Observer Magazine 10.09.23
to sea. The charming city of St David’s
is a short drive away, famous for its
medieval Bishop’s Palace and 6th-century
cathedral. Book a table at St David’s
Gin & Kitchen (stdavidsdistillery.wales),
run by a family of farmers, and walk it
off with a hike along the beautiful Welsh
Coast Path. Tan y Bryn sleeps seven.
From £1,400, coastalcottages.co.uk
5
Dartmouth, Devon
Book a week at Out to Sea, an
elegant three-bedroom house
set above the River Dart, and
it might be hard to stir from the terrace,
which has glorious views across to
Kingswear. This is an ideal base for
4
4 bus ride that climbs the cliffs between
walkers, with waymarked trails heading
out from the town including a route
to the beautiful beach at Blackpool
Sands. Hop on the ferry to Kingswear
for crab sandwiches at the Ship Inn
(theshipinn-kingswear.co.uk), before
sundowners on the terrace back at base.
From £1,380, dartvalleycottages.co.uk
6
Rye, East Sussex
One of Sussex’s most
picturesque small towns, Rye is a
stone’s throw from the five-mile
stretch of beach at Camber Sands, perfect
for walks. Book a table for lunch at the
Owl (theowlcamber.co.uk), a buzzy pub
behind the dunes, and spend afternoons
perusing the antique shops on Rye’s
winding streets, or discover the region’s
rich history with a visit to Bodiam Castle
(nationaltrust.org.uk). Stay in the heart
of Rye at Crown Cottage, sleeping four,
with a pretty courtyard garden.
From £831, holidaycottages.co.uk
7
Freshwater, Isle of Wight
There’s a lovely, unspoilt beauty
to the western side of the Isle
of Wight, and the small town of
Freshwater makes a great base for walks.
Dip into nearby Yarmouth for a morning
scouring small boutiques and art galleries
before lunch at the George (thegeorge.
co.uk), and don’t miss a ride on the
Needles Breezer – a spectacular, open-top
Travel
Alum Bay and Freshwater. Base
yourself at Graham Cottage, sleeping
four, in the heart of the village.
From £583, holidaycottages.co.uk
8
Woolacombe, Devon
The three miles of pristine
beach at Woolacombe cater
for every pastime, from dog
walking to surfing, with the island of
Lundy floating hazily in the distance.
To sit and soak up the views, head up
to the Porthole Café for homemade
cakes, or venture out to Morte Point for
a stunning walk through heathland,
past smugglers’ coves and seal colonies.
Stay at Vardan, a charming apartment
sleeping four, just 300m from the beach.
From £822, marsdens.co.uk
9
Holkham, Norfolk
Holkham can get overrun
in school holidays, but by
September the great swathe of
sand, backed by pine forest, is far more
tranquil. Relax after a walk at the Victoria,
which offers upscale modern British
dishes, and head inland to dip into the
galleries and shops in Burnham Market.
The harbour-front village of Burnham
Overy Staithe makes a tranquil base
beneath Norfolk’s vast skies; Crow’s Nest
Cottage is a cute former fisherman’s
cottage, ideal for two. From £645,
sowerbysholidaycottages.co.uk
9
10
Skye, Inner Hebrides
Scotland’s most visited
isle teems with visitors in
summer, but as September
dawns the crowds – and the midges –
dissipate. Hike up to the spectacular rock
formations at the Old Man of Storr and
head to Neist Point on a clear day, to
make the most of the spectacular sunset.
For a truly tranquil stay, base yourself
in the crofting township of Edinbane in
the north, where Ploughman’s Cottage,
which sleeps six, has lovely views over
Loch Greshornish, and the Edinbane Inn
(edinbaneinn.co.uk) offers local mussels,
Skye black pudding and Scottish beef,
with an excellent selection of whiskies
From £1,095, ihcottages.com ■
35
Self &
wellbeing
Photograph DEVLIN CLARO

His best friend’s

brutal murder
rocked Hua Hsu’s life
– and made him the
person he is today
Interview KAT LISTER

Days after Ken was murdered, in the summer of 1998, the

then-21-year-old Hua Hsu went out into the California
sunshine and bought a journal. Everything is wrong,
he scrawled in permanent black marker across the first
page – because everything was. Laughter distressed him.
Pop harmonies were unlistenable. He even shaved off his
hair with clippers. For some time after his friend’s savage
killing, Hsu’s relationship to most things, including
writing itself, changed beyond all recognition.
“I think I was searching for a language,” the author
and journalist says of his evolving grief. In the 25 years
since his friend’s senseless killing – Ken’s body was
found in an alleyway after he was abducted by three
strangers as he left his own housewarming party – its
sensory traces are still fresh in Hsu’s mind as he speaks
to me from his tidy office in Brooklyn. The past still
permeates the present. His college bond with Ken may
well be “a three-year period of a life that’s now more
than 30 years on”, but it still has much to say about the
devotional pull that’s kept the writer revisiting their
friendship, again and again, over the past decades.
“It’s one thing to hold on to a moment from the
past, it’s another to think about all the good stuff that
cemented this person in my mind,” Hsu, now 46, ponders
as we talk about his poignant new memoir, Stay True,
a book that’s taken him a quarter of a century to write.
Already a professor of English at Bard College and a “I was quiet, and Ken was loud,” he writes. “He projected “Millions of people liked Nirvana, millions of
staff writer at the New Yorker, Hsu has taken his time confidence, I found people suspicious.” Hsu is still friends people wore old cardigans, but my path to it was
to try and fathom the unfathomable: a senseless act of with most of the people from his college years and most a little different,” Hsu says. Despite his mainstream
violence that robbed him of a burgeoning friendship of them have said since reading Stay True: “You’re not aesthetic, versus Hsu’s indie leanings, Ken’s path to
only a month after he had turned 21. “He did what they that much of a prick”. He laughs. it was different, too. As a Japanese American, there
asked,” Hsu writes. “He got into the trunk. He gave them For Hsu, the son of Taiwanese immigrants, who made were parallels between the two friends when it came
his bank cards. Nevertheless, they shot him through fanzines, and wrote passionately to the Nirvana fan club, to their personal development. Despite the pair being
the back of the head.” That we only encounter this Ken represented everything he was reacting against. As homogenised as “Asian American” in the eyes of white
monstrous act halfway through the book says a lot about well as being “flagrantly handsome” he also seemed too America, the differences between them brought to light
the elliptical way in which Hsu has sought to investigate eager for the adult world. At the crux of their differences, certain subtleties of belonging and identity in the United
his grief in his 40s. “he was comfortable with himself”, and yet upon their States: the experience of being an American when you
“I think the older I got, and the more distance there first proper interaction, Hsu recognised something in feel othered by the culture around you. At the same time
was between me and that moment, the more the writing the curious person he saw in front of him, and vice versa that Hsu was shaping himself as the son of immigrants,
made sense as a desire to understand why I still thought – a willingness to understand. “The more we hung out, his parents were navigating their own relationship to
about these things.” the more I realised we were into the same bits of obscure their adopted country. His father had left Taiwan in 1965,
What was it about that moment? What was it about this 80s trivia about TV and baseball,” Hsu says. “He was his mother in 1971, both welcomed as students when the
friend? “I didn’t realise, until I started writing this book, interested in learning about Immigration Act of 1965 relaxed restrictions on entry
how male friendship is not a subject that gets unpacked all the music I was into. He from Asia. Mapping out proximity to friends and Chinese
that much,” Hsu says as we return to their first interaction
at Berkeley – and the complexities that initially separated
‘I am the understood that everyone
had their own gift for
food, they chose Cupertino in California – now a part of
Silicon Valley – to raise their children, the suburb where
them. “The first time I met Ken, I hated him,” he joke of others and he would seek Hsu grew up among the bubble-tea cafés and “a few
deadpans, when we’re first introduced to the 18-year-old
San Diegan on the third floor of Hsu’s dorm. Ken’s home the book, out what that gift was.”
Very soon, the two young
Apple buildings that seemed a joke.”
For Hsu, as an American child, making his zines was
city may seem inconsequential, but when added to all
the rest – his fraternity antics, for instance – it combines
the one men were inseparable –
they went for late-night
a way of sketching a new self into being. For his parents,
however, their allegiances remained with the home
to make a “genre of person” that the earnest Hsu doesn’t
want to be: mainstream. “I’m the joke of the book, I’m the
who’s made drives, they watched videos
together, they made each
they had left behind. “Maybe there was an emotional
language I was seeking though music that had
one who’s made fun of,” Hsu says with a knowing smile. fun of’ other mixtapes. something to do with that context,” Hsu muses.

36 10.09.23 The Observer Magazine

 m welcome. £3
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uk
£11.99, thearchway
planter.co.uk

When Kurt Cobain died in 1994, Hsu’s father sent the

mournful 17-year-old a loving fax that posed what he
called the dilemma of life: “You have ve to find meaning,
but by the same time, you have to accept the reality.”
His parents thought his priority should be to
keep living, that life goes on, “which ch I found to be
a cruel piece of advice to give.” Now, w, however, at 46, Desktop
“I completely understand why they y felt like that.” In the Hepa air
same way that you can never fully understand your grief, purifier Save

task
I wonder whether you can ever truly ly understand your your breath.
parents. “From a very young age my dad said, your life is
harder than mine because you have ve way more choices,” ind
K ters
£97, diy.com

masess essentials
Hsu recalls.
“The first generation thinks about ut survival,” he writes,
Welln p you work
es.” The answer,
“the ones that follow tell the stories.”
for Hsu, lay in writing, to give the past, and his grief, 89, backinaction
meaning. In the weeks after Ken’s murder, it wasn’t just e t ty. £ .co
. uk to hel ome
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fury of graffiti tags”. The
death, I first night without him,
yped a letter to Ken
he typed
probably iling everything he’d
detailing
left behind: the bandage
UV

wouldn’t be he’d affixed to the air

VL

a writer’ freshener in his car, the

lucky volleyball shirt still in
his hamper back home.
“If it weren’t for Ken’s death, I probably wouldn’t be Logitech Lift ergonomic mouse
a writer,” he says. “At all?” I exclaim. “Yeah,” he replies Click into place. £69.99, logitech.com
before pausing for a moment, something he does
often throughout our conversation – still searching
for a language. “At the back of my mind, I always knew
I wanted to go back to the subject I was writing about in
my journal.”
Séamas My
M y son has only recently
discovered YouTube, but
his interests are restricted
bac
backpain
lifti
we share is from
lifting and holding her, but,
on the plus side, we’ve
news stories either, likely
because I was subsisting
on two hours of trembling
He should have stayed, he told his therapist in his
early grief – he could have done something. Hsu left
Ken’s house party early that night to go to a rave. A few
O’Reilly exclusively to those videos
which further his obsession
with maths: Numberblocks
lea
learned a lot about those
things we can and cannot
do one-handed. Cracking,
sleep a day. The Gatwick
drones? A wafer-thin sliver
of remembrance. The Yellow
hours later he was dead. Have the “what ifs” softened It took us years mainly, as well as kid- frying and serving an egg? Vests movement? A blur of
over time, I wonder? It wasn’t necessarily guilt over his to escape Baby friendly explorations of Yes. Buttering a single slice French traffic jams and the
movements that night because he was always going to math-related phenomena, of toast? No. vaguely understood aims of
leave, he answers. “It was probably the sense of relief Shark’s sharp which he adores as they fly When he was her age, men in hi-vis. And, with no
I felt in not staying.” Ken had suggested that they take little teeth. Now over his head. my son’s poison was Baby little embarrassment, I can
his work colleague swing dancing the next evening – not We’re sanguine about all Shark, so we turned to confirm that I have only
exactly Hsu’s thing. “Not only did I not stay but I was
my daughter has this, because we’ve done it for the first time in five now learned of the death of
actually relieved when he didn’t call the next day.” His been bitten, too the sums and are prepared years to see if it might work George HW Bush.
relationship to all this has changed a lot over the years, for his eyes to go a little the same magic on her. Even though it leaves
he’s quick to add. “There’s a relationship between finally  @shockproofbeats square if it allows him an Watching it now evokes us cold, Baby Shark offers
writing it all down and feeling a sense of peace, but it hour a day to refuel his list a bittersweet sensation my son a flicker of distant
wasn’t necessarily what I was seeking,” he says. of mathss q uestio rather
questions, of time not just passing, recognition and he screws
If anything, writing about his friendship with Ken has than repeating
repeaating th
the same but being deleted entirely. his face up in that ‘How do
given him his first opportunity to feel happy when en he ones to us, ad nau
nauseum. But I know I watched this video I know you?’ way he does
thinks about it. Happy to have known him. One of the mostly, we’re hoping
hop it will thousands of times, yet it when he meets an auntie
final images of Ken that we’re left with heartachingly ingly rub off on his little sister, seems impossibly ancient. he hasn’t seen in a while.
embodies this subtle shift in his grief. Ken used to sell who has yet to ta take to I remember our first My daughter, however, is
children’s shoes and, one day, when Hsu went to find screen time at all. go-round with the entranced. She jolts, eyes
him, he watched incognito as Ken carefully tied a balloon At the moment – adolescent selachimorph as popping, as if no song has
and handed it to a child waiting with his parents.. It since birth in fact – her a time of deadening grind, ever rung so sweet in her
was a generous act, Hsu writes. “I simply felt lucky ky to relationship to us is less although ‘remember’ might ear. She claps her hands and
witness something so effortlessly kind – to see my ‘child and parent’ and more be the wrong word. This was approaches the screen with
friend do something good.” When it comes to joy y ‘koala and tree’. FoFor several December 2018, so I look an addict’s rapt attention.
and sadness, he reminds me, one doesn’t diminish sh hours each dayday, she up what else was going on My son loses interest
the other. “The true account would necessarily bee insists on bein
being carried then, hoping I could compare and begins posing maths
joyful, rather than morose,” he writes directly to and no book, toy or how well I remembered problems again, but we don’t
Ken in the book’s closing lines, “and surrendering g activity can dissuade the news stories of the mind. If he has to pepper us
to joy wouldn’t mean I was abandoning you.” ■ th
her from this time, to the blankness with with equations for his sister
pleasure. My wife which Baby Shark now to loosen her grip, it’s worth
Stay True by Hua Hsu is published by Pan Macmillan
an at rea
and I realised some stares back at me. I find it. We’ve done the sums, and
m
£10.99. Buy it for £9.67 from guardianbookshop.com time ago that the I can’t remember any of the it’s a small price to pay.

The Observer Magazine 10.09.23 37


Sunday
with...
Rev Kate Bottley
on feeding flocks
and alarm clocks
Sunday lie in? The only
thing I don’t like about my
job is the tug of war with
my alarm. I’m up at 4.30am
in the Holiday Inn in Salford
before my Radio 2 show.
First thing you do? The
great thing about radio is
nobody can see you, so I just
walk into the studio, the
coffee goes on, the papers
come out and my co-host
Jason Mohammad and
I open our takeaway bags
from the hotel in the hope
it’s some beautiful Heston
Blumenthal creation instead
of yesterday’s croissants.
Sunday morning? We’re on
air at 6am for three hours.
I’m the daughter of a steel
worker and school cleaner so
this job is an unexpected joy.
Sunday church? I drive home me
to Retford for the last half
hour of church and walk in
as they’re on the bread and
wine. I’m a supply vicar, so
I just turn up in a dress and
show off. People recognise
me and say, ‘I know you,
n’s
don’t I? Did you do my cousin’s
wedding in Shropshire?’
38
Sunday lunch? My
Yorkshires are amazing. I’m
from Sheffield – they revoke
your citizenship if you can’t
make Yorkshire pudding.
I feed people, literally and
metaphorically. My mum
died in February, so I feed my
dad, and I make food when
people are sad. I like to think
what I do well – and not just
from the pulpit – is offer
people nourishment.
Sunday workout? I swim
in a local river and I’ve got
a cold water barrel in the
back garden which is more
of a dip, but it resets me.
Sunday tipple? Red wine
with leftovers from the
roast. My top tip is Yorkshire
pudding with golden syrup.
Sunday wind-down? I fall
asleep doomscrolling on
social media. I tell myself
I’m not going to do it every
night. I also tell [my husband]
Graham I’m not going to be
asleep when he comes up
but I always am. Lara Kilner
Radio 2 in the Park is in Leicester
on 16 and 17 September
Ask
Philippa
Our elderly aunt
won’t move into
a sheltered home
 @Philippa_Perry
The question My sister and I love and care
deeply for our elderly aunt and are determined
that we will care for her with the same level
of care that she gave to her own mother.
However, we really would feel much better,
as I think she would do, too, if she were to
spend her last years in a property that met
her needs and without the weight of her
parents’ possessions around her and her own
mountains of old paperwork.
There was a sheltered accommodation flat
going near me that would have been perfect,
but my aunt, although agreeing it would
be good, was resistant to leaving her large,
unmodernised, family home. I have offered to
help her sort things out, but she gets agitated
and upset at the thought, insisting that neither
she nor I have the time, and wouldn’t it be
nicer if we just went out for lunch instead? We
all do go for a lot of nice lunches and love it,
but we need to help at a more practical level.
It’s so painful to watch. Our grandmother fell
down the stairs in that house and died, and it
seems to me that her last act of obedience to
her controlling mother is to follow her down
those very steps. I don’t think it’s conscious.
She hasn’t done anything in the 20 years
since Granny died except potter about and is
stubborn about not allowing us to do things
for her. She likes to be the one who treats us.
It seems to us that the time window for her
“sorting out her stuff” and moving somewhere
that doesn’t have a large garden or only one
lavatory at the top of some steep stairs, is
vanishing. We would love for her to spend her
final years in peace, knowing that everything
is taken care of.
Philippa’s answer You can see clearly how your aunt’s life
P may never accept this.
ccould be improved and made safer and yet, although she
k
knows you are loving and sensible, she is not budging
a
and she doesn’t really seem to be able to articulate why,
eexcept she keeps saying, she “hasn’t got time”, even
tthough she just potters all day long.
Manson’s Law of Avoidance: the more something
Write to us: If you have a question, send an email to askphilippa@observer.co.uk.
T
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threatens your identity, the more you will avoid it.
Manson’s Law applies even if that change to our identity
would benefit us, as your aunt would benefit if she
moved from her large, impractical house to a flat near
you, and yet it is still too unbearable to contemplate.
This is deep stuff and she doesn’t want to open that box,
so she prefers to say she hasn’t got time. And maybe
she hasn’t. As you say in your longer letter to me, she is
getting sleepier. She is drifting away at times and her
forgetfulness has increased. Yes, she may well follow her
mother down those stairs and, yes, it could be avoided,
but if she feels she needs to cling to her sense of who she
is by being the one who treats rather than the one who is
helped, plus she feels she is part of that house, part of all
that stuff, this will be what is holding her back.
You could say, “Please, for my sake, let us clear the
house and put you all on one floor so you’ll be safer.”
She only has the present and the past now. She doesn’t
want to think about the future, so clearly she thinks it
would be nicer to have a lovely lunch. So get her out for
as many nice lunches as you can. These are what really
matter to her, bringing her, and you, joy.
You and your sister know
that independent sheltered
Take her accommodation would
out for as make you all happier and be
the best option, but it seems
many nice it is too big a leap for her to
take. And yet, if she carries
lunches as on putting off changing her
circumstances, everything
you can, will change suddenly when
a crisis happens. Ideally,
give her joy you want to put measures
in place so that the crisis
never happens at all. Moving seems overwhelming
to her, so maybe minimal adaptations to make her
current home more suitable may help. Perhaps a new
loo so she doesn’t have to climb those steep steps. Or
even a commode and a daily home help. You could try
to convince her that getting the right support in place
would help her maintain her independence at home for
longer and prevent the need for a nursing home later
and could avert a crisis. But she may not want to hear it.
I expect she has a covert belief that if she moved from
that house, or even accepted more help, she would no
longer be herself. Until she makes that leap of faith,
she won’t realise that, of course, she’d still be herself,
probably be even more herself than she is now. But she
What this can teach us is that when our time comes,
we should take on board the advice of the younger
generation. Accepting change is one of the hardest
things, and I really don’t think your aunt is up to it.
Accepting that others cannot accept change may be
even harder. ■
ALAMY
10.09.23 The Observer Magazine
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