‘Grace and the Wind’ is a unique cross between young adult fiction and spiritual self-help literature. The protagonist is an outcast teenager who learns from an unusual spiritual guide, the Wind, how to synchronize with nature’s rhythms so she can flow through life and live in grace.

When meeting people at parties and telling them I’ve written a book on rhythm, many literally sing back to me, “Hit me with your rhythm stick / Hit me slowly, hit me quick / Hit me! Hit me! Hit me!” I kid you not. I now stop them after the first “hit me,” explaining that if they carry on, I really will hit them.

“Rhythm as in nature’s cycles,” I clarify. Glazed eyes. So in the interest of preventing awkwardness at any future social gatherings (on both sides) this – in an exceedingly schoolmarmish tone – is what I mean by rhythm.

All of nature’s cycles have a wonderful way of reminding us of life’s bigger picture – that we’re not the ones personally bringing the sun up and down each day. Tidal, lunar, circadian and seasonal rhythms influence our lives in profound ways and it’s by cultivating our relationship with these rhythms – and aligning to their energy – that we enter a state of flow. (I won’t even contemplate explaining flow in this article!) Bringing total presence to each unique moment of time, we become a channel for grace (ditto describing grace – it’s for another time) to surge through our lives.

When we’re in the ocean and experience the gravitational pull of the tide’s ebb and flow we feel the life force of something greater than ourselves. And just as the ocean isn’t afraid of its own waves, neither should we fear our own emotions as they come crashing onto the shores of our consciousness. We can’t physically stop the waves from rising, cresting and breaking, but that’s exactly what we do when we don’t allow our emotions to fully express themselves through us.

If we feel out of balance (which is most of us, most of the time!) we should first connect to the wisdom of nature’s rhythms and the intelligence that lies therein. The ocean’s effortless ebb and flow teaches us to allow, not force. It reminds us that rhythm arises from alternation as one state smoothly transitions to the next. Life is not static, it’s transitional. We’re continually adjusting, fluctuating and oscillating as we experience simultaneous dissonance and harmony, and just like the ocean, we can encompass the equilibrium.

In ancient times people counted time by the moon’s phases, not calendars. The moon’s cycles told them when to plant, harvest, hunt and gather. Because the moon’s gravitational force pulls on the ocean’s waters and since humans are mostly composed of water, our relationship to the moon is one of the most significant unions we’ll ever form. But does today’s average urban dweller even think to amalgamate their lives with the moon’s cycles? (Judging by my conversational experiences at the local pub, no.)

Witnessing the moon’s contraction and expansion can help us escape our either/or thinking, reminding us that life is a process, that each phase is part of a wider whole. The ritual of self-reflection in tandem with each of the moon’s phases reminds us where we are in our own life’s journey and to not get too attached to one stage as another will soon appear.

All things in nature exist in their own strength, bringing an irreplaceable vibration to the world as each element is in harmony with the moment. Unfortunately our constant exposure to artificial lighting and the multitude of lights emitted from our digital devices – let alone jet lag – means we’re not in sync with the rhythms of the rising and setting sun. Work or school tends to dictate our circadian rhythms (the roughly 24-hour cycle going on within our own bodies) more than nature.

[This is where I now hit my stride as the poor person who innocently asked, “Rhythm? Do you mean like in music?” wishes they’d just kept their mouth shut.] It’s crucial to harmonize with the light-dark cycle, which is the inherited blueprint our body’s cells and organs follow. Our body is part of the universe, so while our heartbeat belongs to us, it also belongs to the heavens. The rhythmic rise and fall of our breath is the very essence of life itself.

In bringing ourselves into line with the sun’s exultant path across the sky, we never witness it struggling to rise or set as it does so effortlessly. It’s a reminder for us to go about our days with equal ease. (The person at the receiving end of this lecture is by now hoping they can smoothly slip away to knock back a G and T or two!) By not integrating, referencing and living the movements of the cosmos, we miss the miracle of how each day comes to be and how quickly it vanishes like an apparition into the night sky.

By being one with the seasons as they fleetingly make their way through us, we feel the abundance of the earth, its nourishment and wholesomeness. When eating seasonally we also notice everything else special about that time of year: what insects are buzzing about, which plants are blooming, the changes in the air (lots of nodding of heads here, especially by the foodies who worship asparagus season as the highlight of their year). It’s a particular point in time on the calendar that can’t be frozen; it must pass. By trying to capture the ephemeral we only diminish its beauty and imprison its legacy.

Nature is continuously in a state of growth, decay and shape-shifting, like a wave that forms, breaks and disappears back into itself. All natural processes are cyclical, not linear, and these sequences aren’t something to conquer. Imposing our own timetable on a flower’s birth is impossible (no matter how much we may try!). When we can accept what is and surrender to a force greater than our own limited personalities, we become an unobstructed vessel for life to flow through us.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” (Only the very brave would now start singing, “Turn! Turn! Turn!”) Everything occurs at the exact moment it’s meant to so instead of striving and struggling to make things happen in our own lives, why can’t we – like nature – let moments run their course? Why can’t we trust that the deeper intelligence orchestrating the cosmos is also operating within us for our own greater good?

To conclude, when living in rhythm we’re magnetic – we’ve plugged into the source of creation. Dwelling in the womb of nature, the artificial falls by the wayside and our sense of unity with the divine returns. It’s not enough to mentally understand this though; it needs to be known as a truth through direct experience. Begin by sensing nature’s aliveness, its pulsating energy, both in the earth and your body, and have faith that the current of life will carry you to wherever it needs. And if that’s too hard to trust in . . . well . . . just silently murmur to yourself, “Hit me with your rhythm stick / Hit me! Hit me!”

I know I’ve got to leave the sand at Diamond Head, admit I’ll never have spectacular sunset views from my shoebox in Shibuya and bring elements from my holiday into my day-to-day reality, but honestly, it’s tough. Unfortunately the only way is through, so I’m trying to find the positives in being back. I’m sure everything I experienced in Hawaii can be replicated here in Tokyo. Let’s see . . .

HI: Poi pancakes drenched in coconut syrup and the best Eggs Benedict in the world at Hau Tree Lanai.

TKO: Guess I could try the first Japanese outpost of famed Waikiki brunch spot Eggs ‘n’ Things.

HI: Perfect weather. Full stop.

TKO: No choice. Just have to tough out Tokyo’s hot, humid summer and gracefully accept my clothes will become a portable sweat bath.

HI: Lush green foliage, turquoise blue oceans, double rainbows.

TKO: Grey concrete.

HI: Swimming in the ocean.

TKO: Swimming in a stream of trivial, pointless emails.

HI: Hiking trails that reward you with waterfalls or stunning coastal views for your effort.

TKO: Hiking groceries back to my flat from Tokyu Food Show. No satisfaction whatsoever.

HI: Frangipani’s fragrancing the sidewalks.

TKO: Vending machines dominating the sidewalks.

HI: Whole Foods.

TKO: Tokyo, why can’t you have a Whole Foods? Just one? C’mon? It can’t be that hard to arrange surely.

HI: One suitcase living.

TKO: A wardrobe full of clothes but nothing to wear.

HI: Oh, just the small issue of Hawaiian tropical cocktails on the beach as the sun sets over the horizon.

TKO: I suppose I could try and be outside when day gives way to night but what’s the point when you can’t see the sun through the haze?

HI: Surfing, surfers and surfer culture.

TKO: Office ladies, salary men and corporate culture.

HI: Natural daylight.

TKO: Fluorescent strip lights. Oh, did I mention neon lights and noise blaring from giant video screens?

HI: Sleeping with the shutters open and the wind caressing me to sleep while the dawn light softly encourages me to wake and begin my day.

TKO: Curtains and windows closed, air conditioner on full blast, the shock of the alarm clock jolting me out of bed.

HI: Sunrise walks on the beach with the sand between your toes, the sea lapping at your ankles.

TKO: Morning cycle through Omotesando and Aoyama trying not to get hit by a taxi.

Nup, this really isn’t cutting it. Hawaii, I want you back!

I was working all weekend in Manhattan so couldn’t indulge in my favourite pastime of brunch. A friend once derided the whole American weekend brunch phenomenon and the queuing it induces declaring, “It’s eggs. You crazy people are queuing for eggs.”

The older I get the less I like queuing and the more I’m in NYC the more I ‘get’ that the enjoyment of the city comes from being in the right place at the right time. Soho on the weekends – not fun; weekday afternoons – really rather pleasant. 3pm Bryant Park Café seated at a table and serenely enjoying the view – divine; at 6pm surrounded by businessmen shouting into their iPhones as they pose and posture – get me out of there.

And anyway, brunch doesn’t solely have to exist on the weekend. Brunch on the weekend is for people who work 9-5 weekdays. They have no other choice. I’m a freelancer God damn it. I (in theory) can have brunch any time I want. I mean, if that’s not what freelancing is about, then what is??? I knew in Williamsburg, Brooklyn they served brunch all day so got myself onto the L train quick.

The Rabbithole, named after Alice in Wonderland, has a long, dark corridor you wander down that teleports you out of normal life. With a garden courtyard outback, the dining room has mismatched chairs, wooden floorboards, fresh flowers resting against exposed, red brickwork and antiqued, smoky Venetian mirrors dotted around the place. The space feels intimate and private, yet with crowds raucousness can also occur. It’s a place to bunk off and enjoy life. The magic of the place is it melds to what you want from it. How many places do you know that can do that?

Trying to explain the American brunch phenomenon to me, owner and baker Lawrence Elliot said, “New Yorkers work hard all week. They need a day off. It’s a contrived event, an excuse to celebrate, to release.” I asked why his place serves brunch until 5pm and he replied it’s in response to the location. “Williamsburg has a different lifestyle. It’s full of freelancers who wake up late and want breakfast at lunchtime.” Or late afternoon.

Saying Williamsburg has a high density of artists is like saying humans need air to breathe. ‘Almost’ everyone in the neighborhood is a creative of varying degree and everybody working at The Rabbithole plays a musical instrument of some sort. Elliot told me the feeling here in the neighbourhood is super casual, that it’s about winding down, being a bit reclusive. “For those with a different orientation to life, when you don’t want to be in the middle of everything. That you can get away from Manhattan but still be surrounded by energy.”

So there I was at 5pm on a Monday reading Sunday’s New York Times contemplating the brunch menu. The Saturday edition of the paper I can easily skip but the Sunday edition, I just love. It takes me at least four hours to read cover to cover (and that’s me pushing myself at a stretch).

I ordered the Stuffed French Toast (homemade brioche with strawberry mascarpone). Put the word homemade in front of me and I’m anybody’s! And a Kir Royale. Traveling so much I firmly believe it’s always cocktail hour somewhere in the world. I sipped the Kir, which perfectly played brut with sweet, and dug into one of the most gratifying fried breads of my life.

Elliot came up with the recipe when there wasn’t much to eat in his house so pulled out some brioche from the freezer and some mascarpone and made the dish first for his wife. “It’s about simple things. Balance. And going beyond average.” There are only so many ways you can serve pancakes, French Toast or eggs so places that serve these dishes with a quirk on the side, I adore.

There’s the argument that food critics should only eat five bites of a certain food, as past that the enjoyment factor doesn’t increase. And in the five bites they should be able to encapsulate the experience to their readers. Sometimes, yes. Agreed. But other times with certain comfort foods, the pleasure only increases as each forkful of food goes into the mouth. French Toast is one of those food items. Whether it’s the crust of the brioche or the soft, fluffy middle, the enjoyment only builds as you progress.

‘Flightless Bird’ by American Mouth was playing (which will forever be known as the song Edward and Bella dance to in the final scene of Twilight) when Elliot brought me a traditional scone with blueberries and icing to try. Now I know you’re supposed to eat mindfully, but all I remember was being on the phone to American Airlines trying to rebook my twice cancelled flight to Paris when I suddenly looked down and the plate was empty. The scone was so good it disappeared down the rabbit hole just a little too quickly.

Staff at The Rabbithole weren’t just attentive, they actually seemed to care. A rarity in any service industry these days. I’ve lived in Tokyo too long so it’s best not to get me started on a rant about the dismal American service culture, but oh how I do want to rant. Okay, I’ll recount just one experience in an unnamed department store. The shop assistant tells the customer the shoe she likes doesn’t come in her size. The customer then asks if the shoe comes in a different colour to which the shop assistant replies with a heap of attitude and in the most surliest voice ever, “Well you didn’t ask me if it came in a different colour.” Customer service? Hardly.

At most restaurants, it’s not the food you go back to per se, but what the experience conjures up in you. Having my Sunday morning early Monday evening meant I could focus on timelessness not time. I could indulge in delicious, sweet things while luxuriating in the newspaper’s words. And I didn’t have to queue hours for the privilege. Oh, and I had already believed six impossible things before breakfast.

For a certain in the know person, a fragrance from Escentric Molecules is the only accessory worth wearing. Created by one of the most talented perfumers in the industry, Geza Schoen, the brand has a cult following with worldwide waiting lists and adulation from every fashionista worth her top note. Oh, and lest you forget, there’s the much discussed pheromone effect.

You’ve probably read how Molecule 01 is a single scent ingredient (Iso E Super) with incredible powers of attraction and that The Beautiful Mind Series Vol. 1 reconfirms a smart woman as a sexy woman. But the genius of the EM series is rather than smelling of a perfume, you instead become enveloped in a feeling, which opens you into other worlds of possibilities and aromas.

The scents you can spray on your wrist when next in Harvey Nicks (if they’re in stock!), but for where the brand’s inspiration comes from, read my conversation with two of the founders of EM, Geza Schoen and Paul White of Me Company.

KD: Tell me about EM and where the idea came from.

GS: EM is the idea that not anybody wants to wear a ‘perfume.’ EM offers ‘auras’ with the Molecule series and incredibly sexy scents with the Escentric series. I’d been carrying that idea with me since 1990. It just needed the right time with the right people and that is precisely what came together when I met Jeff Lounds and Paul White in 2004.

PW: It all started with a conversation between Geza, Jeff and myself. A brief tour around the concept of EM followed by the working versions of Molecule 01 and Escentric 01. For Me Company it rapidly developed as investigations into concepts that could be loosely described as binary efflorescence, the science of scent and the sensuality of encoded messaging.

Ultimately we had 0’s & 1’s and geometrical binary on our mind, everything decodable if looked at intelligently enough. An arcane, submerged string of messages about the product. The EM01 is denser than the EM02, but even the dots on the EM02 are decipherable. All of this is a distinct and clear response to the nature of fragrance and its role in attraction.

KD: How do you ‘make’ fragrances?

GS: Well, fragrances are being created. You start with an idea; an accord of raw materials you think is exciting enough to try out. If it is a good one you carry on refining the scent until you are happy.

KD: What do you think people want from a fragrance today?

GS: Overall I’d say it needs to combine a few things. Everyone somehow still likes freshness in a perfume, it also shouldn’t get on your own nerves or others, i.e. be too strong or sweet or cloying. People also want to feel sexier or desirable with a perfume so it needs some intriguing notes others can’t get their nose off. So, that’s not too easy then to combine all these things and still smell different but good.

KD: Describe the bottle design . . .

PW: We have a saying, ‘Being creative is like running in someone else’s trainers. You don’t know where you’re going all the time. You don’t think about thinking, the synapses fire and you feel possessed. It’s like speaking in tongues.’ As in the case of EM, where someone really wants to work with you simply because they like and trust your potential to produce something original, this is going to produce the most interesting and original work.

Possibly this dark, encoded packaging has a quiet dignity that speaks to people. Equally the restraint of the branding and the subtle encoding help with the idea of a personal possession of the brand – we have heard people say many times that it is their fragrance and not ours.

KD: There are so many perfume bottles on the ground floors of the world’s department stores. What makes a fragrance cut through the hype and have impact?

GS: Phew, I hope that it is ultimately still the juice itself, which holds up the spirit and the success of a particular brand. In some cases advertising and TV campaigns will help for sure but if the fragrance isn’t right, it wont last.

KD: Where do you see the perfume industry going? New types of products, packaging, ingredients?

GS: For ingredients, as such, it will be a horrible future. Already so many fabulous ingredients have been eliminated or restricted that the new introduction of interesting chemicals won’t make up qualitatively for the losses. Imagine you’re a painter and some powerful organisation comes in and tells you to forget about dark green shades, no silvers and just maximum 10% of light violet tones please in the future.

Regarding the packaging I couldn’t care less really as the problem is within the cost structure of most products. As long as the industry won’t spend more money on better ingredients we won’t see amazing alternatives coming up. That’s why the niche market is more exciting to watch for future creations.

Every Wednesday afternoon in Adelaide my mother with several other women go to Crystal’s house to work on their beading projects. Crystal, a designer of ornate jewelry, hosts these afternoons not as social occasions, but as a way for women to make a commitment to their creativity within a busy lifestyle. “It’s a way for women to stop putting themselves last on their to do list,” she says. “Women are great at nurturing those around them, but not so great at nurturing the need to express themselves.”

Now you might think that’s all well and good for a bunch of mostly retired women amidst tea and biscuits to get together and sew beads on handbags and thread Swarovski crystals onto lace necklaces in the middle of the afternoon, but what of the younger generation?

To friends my age, it’s equally appealing. Whether it’s the friend who bought some fabric to make a skirt last year and it’s now this year and there’s still no skirt; or another friend inspired by a short introduction course to glass blowing whose inspiration is still stuck in the classroom; or myself who buys endless cookbooks but can’t seem to find the time, energy or space to make any of the recipes manifest in the real world so live vicariously through the pictures of the finished product.

Time dedicated to creative pursuits is an out and out luxury.

Crystal says beading is not so much about a creative outlet where at the end of the process you get a beautiful object. Rather it’s the process – not what you actually make – where the fulfillment lies. “And the human contact that comes from the ancient way of sitting in a circle also helps women get in touch with their life force,” she explains. So rather than seeing our creative pursuits as time taking, we need to see them as life giving. And life saving.

Flowers are there at all the most important moments in life – weddings, births, deaths – and CALMING PARK, a company whose candles are made in Grasse, France, believes there’s only one comparable modern day object, the scented candle.

To founder Olivier Rohrbach, scented candles embody the same symbolism and provide the equivalent desire we have from flowers – for them to act as our calm and still companions as we make our way through life.

From 5-20 February 2010, CALMING PARK will present the exhibition ‘Art&Candle’ at Holm in Zurich. The exhibition shows the work of seven internationally renowned artists. (I’m one of them, though feel completely undeserving to be showing with such amazing talent.) The seven of us reveal through our work what happens when scented candles meet luxury, fashion, music, spirituality and the visual arts.

So let’s meet the seven showing artists:

Photographer Agi Simoes’ work has been seen in Vogue Living, Elle Decoration, AD and many more titles. For Art&Candle he created five ambassadors and these male models represent the sensual, natural, exotic, fresh and erotic side of the candles. The ‘5 scents/5men’ photo shoot took place in the gardens and parks of Zurich, with the models wearing their own favourite jeans to give the images that personal, natural feeling.

Bruno Pieters, nominated ‘Fashion Designer of the Year’ by the prestigious Pierre Bergé – Yves Saint Laurent Foundation, is best known for his work as the designer of Hugo by Hugo Boss. For this project he designed the candle ‘Dark Pepper’, a chic and minimalist candle wrapped in black glass whose scent is inspired by his favourite eau de toilette.

For Sabina Sciubba, lead singer of the Brazilian Girls, whose ‘New York’ record was nominated for a Grammy, the candle became the collision point between music and video. In the video for the song ‘So Close Yet So Far’ the faint glow from a CALMING PARK candle accompanies her sultry guitar performance.

The quintessential embodiment of Paris chic, theatre and movie actress Arielle Dombasle, is also an accomplished singer and was inspired by her latest album ‘Glamour à Mort’ (sentence fashion to death) to create a candle with this spirit. The result is Tubereuse-Musc made by the Grasse experts with direction from Arielle.

Bruno Pienado, a key figure of the French contemporary art scene who mixes, samples and recycles popular contemporary iconography like flyers, comics and video games, gave the CALMING PARK tree logo a new pop and playful life. He said, “I take back the image, going back to its roots, to understand how it works. The most important thing to me is to give a new life to these images.”

OeO, the Copenhagen based design consultancy are best known for their role as Creative Directors of Mater, the award-winning Danish ethical home accessories brand, and as part of the creative team behind Georg Jensen. They created a reflective scent that conveyed their perception and memory of Tokyo, so with one whiff they could be back there “whenever and wherever.”

And as for myself, I created a digital media presentation inspired by the nature of light and shadows in people’s personalities. It’s only when we can see and accept the shadows and light in all people, circumstances and situations do we have any hope of becoming whole.

I just thought, we’re so fractured, especially in how we direct our attention today, that a sunken hearth in the home, where CALMING PARK scented incense resins and powders would burn over charcoal tablets, could be a possible future interpretation of the scented candle. By taking pride of place in the home, the hearth would be the gathering place for family and friends and a focal point to reconnect and rebalance.

So if you’re in Zurich, do head to Holm to check out the Art&Candle exhibition. A selection of candles will also be available for purchase at the boutique. I may be biased, but it’s fascinating to see how scented candles have become the de rigeur item for the modern home and to witness these amazing artistic interpretations of light and scent, calmness and stillness.

With many Christmas parties to attend this week, as well as hosting my own at my home last Saturday night, I thought I’d share some of the lessons learnt. As they say, experience is the best teacher.

1. All anybody wants is to be invited somewhere. So don’t stress too much about your party. You’ve already done the most important part – giving people a place to go. Mission accomplished. After guests receive an invitation, everything else is icing on the cake.

2. Always ask the host if it’s okay to bring friends and accurately judge the sincerity of their “the more the merrier” reply.

3. Don’t RSVP and then not show up. 

4. Conversely, don’t go all incommunicado pre-party and then turn up on the night.

5. When party shopping, do not attempt to carry all the supplies home on public transport yourself in one sitting. Not only will you look like a packhorse, your arms will feel like breaking and you’ll feel incredibly frustrated by the whole process and think bitter thoughts. Only shop at places that home deliver.  

6. Know that whatever time you start preparing the day of the party, you should have started at that same hour the day before.

7. When friends offer to arrive early to help, let them. This is no time to be Queen of Effortless Perfection. Throwing a party takes effort and is no place for a perfectionist.

8. And so, for one night only, you must live by the motto: ‘close enough is good enough’. 

9. It’s almost impossible to do, but as the host, you must be dressed before the guests arrive. I know hoovering seems more important, but no. Eyeliner with decent lashings of mascara is. Put down the vacuum cleaner and pick up the eyelash curler.

10. You as the host set the tone for the evening. Guests are tuning into you. What frequency are you on?

11. Know what you’re going to wear at least five minutes before the party starts. Crying that nothing fits, bemoaning you have nothing to wear and wailing about all the wretched wrongs in your life is the quickest way for guests to ask you to turn down the psychotic and turn up the music. 

12. Friends of friends who are tagging along, on entry, please introduce yourself to the host. Don’t just start helping yourself to the buffet table.

13. Having said that, don’t begrudge interlopers. We have each been one ourselves and on the receiving end of someone else’s generosity plenty more than once.

14. Remember who brought what. There’s nothing like admiring the beautiful biscotti Christmas tree with a resplendent icing sugar figurine of Santa on top, and not knowing which kind soul brought it.

15. Finger food means no forks.

16. Or spoons for that matter.

17. ‘Bring a bottle’ does not mean one bottle between four people.

18. Have a room or balcony at the party where people can escape. Others. The Noise. Heat. Anything.

19. As the host you can’t always have in-depth conversations with everyone in the room, so the people you do manage to talk to – talk with them – instead of thinking how you never get the chance to chat with anyone.

20. If people are hungry, they will eat. Don’t force-feed them. 

21. But then everybody likes to be served. Just practice a touch of restraint with the ‘hostess with the mostess’ routine. 

22. Ask a few, dear friends to clear dishes here and there throughout the evening. All the more to see what’s edible, instead of inedible.

23. Remember to light all the candles. There’s always one you’ll forget.

24. Have a dedicated room for coats, unless you want the party to have a student feel.

25. Understand that some guests don’t want to be connected to others. They like standing on their own, drink in hand, taking in the scenery and people watching. Saying, “Oh you must meet so and so” is their idea of hell. They were very happy in their isolation and you just made them miserable with company. Not know thyself but know thy guests.

26. If someone spills something on the carpet, don’t do the half-assed “I’ll deal with it in the morning” spiel. Deal with it now.

27. Get a good ‘time/energy spend to guest ratio’ with the food. Three hours to make a few plates of homemade mince pies that are gobbled up in under a minute is neither cost, nor energy efficient.

28. Sandwiches on the other hand, always a winner.

29. Guests that bring their own cocktail supplies right down to the ice, limes and cups are always more than welcome.

30. Ditto those that bring champagne and delectable macarons.

31. If you’ve made a special music mix for the party, don’t let anyone near your iPod. It’s the one thing you’re allowed to get all schoolmarm about.

32. Whatever your opinion of the Black Eyed Peas, their song I Gotta Feelin’ certainly gets the party started.

33. At a house party, dance in the living room like it’s the hottest nightclub in town, with your shoes off and feet in the air.

34. There’ll always be someone at the party who can sniff out a bottle of wine still containing liquid when all others claim defeat.

35. Keep your own secret stash for this very purpose. 

36. Or make that person with the sniffer dog nose your best friend.

37. A quick wave and mouthed ‘thank you and goodbye’ when leaving is enough if the host is busy. Just leaving – rude.

38. Before crashing into bed still fully dressed you will get a genius idea, and believe in the clear light of day it’ll be even more genius. Know whichever light bulb went off in that moment won’t be switching on again anytime soon.

39. The morning after, eat the leftover cake. And whatever else is not too dry, soggy, stale or beer soaked. And don’t feel guilty about it. It’s one of the only pleasures of the cruel tidying up ritual. 

40. Dregs of wine and half-finished cocktails are a no though.

41. As you’re clanking the empty cans and bottles into bin liners, don’t play the same music you did the night before. No matter how good it was, you gotta wash that party outta your hair. It’s a new day.

42. Give up the recriminations. Yes, you should have spoken more to Natalia, and put Danny in touch with Marcus, and told Julie about drinks on Friday, and remembered Felicity’s new boyfriend’s name, and asked Jeremy how he’s coping with his job loss and complimented Charlotte on the cherry shortbread she kindly made. But you didn’t. Deal with it.

43. And you shouldn’t have glugged the port like it was wine or sculled the Amaretto like it was juice. Or scoffed the crisps like a pig at a trough. Or had a few too many helpings of said shortbread. But you did. Again, deal with it.

44. Guests that stick Christmas cards to gifts are the best ever. In the morning after the night before haze, the immediate linking of bearer to gift is most appreciated.

45. It’s no good having a lost and found box containing one glove, two scarves, a rather lovely canvas bag, a baby’s bib and a Santa hat – but not your own earring.

46. To post a thank you note or not? Yes, always. But in the following days until the post is delivered, the host may think you rude for your lack of communication. So send a text or email, as most people do, and then go in for the kill with the card. 

47. Receiving a note saying yours was “a wonderful party, the best of the year!” Priceless. 

Wishing you all a happy and joyful festive season! Kristina x

The invitation asked if I’d like to see a documentary on seeds. “Er, no, not especially,” I thought. But like all things you go into in life with your mind made up, the ‘thing’ in question always has a habit of changing your mind.

The restaurant that on entry looks like the dodgiest dive ever is the one on exiting you proclaim to friends as the best in the world e-v-e-r. The sorry excuse of a town you’re only staying in to connect to the train that will take you to the town you really want to be in, becomes the highlight of your trip. So an evening I thought would be as dull as dishwater turned out to be immensely fascinating.

In 2006 director Sally Ingleton heard a radio interview about Dr Ken Street, an Australian scientist on a mission to seek out ancient seeds. So far, I’m bored. But that’s partly because I (and many others) assume that the effects of global warming will first occur in extreme weather, rather than in food shortages and associated cost increases. As the planet heats up, one of the first casualties will be the crops that supply our food.  

In the radio interview, Dr Street explained how many basic crops, like wheat, are under threat from climate change. He believed a solution could be found by going back to mother nature and finding the old ancient farmer varieties – the wild relatives of our food.

The genes in these seeds are becoming extinct as modern agriculture takes over much of the world, and as the scientist states, “People go to war over oil, people go to war over gold and yet oil and gold are actually of lesser importance than food.”

Ingleton was hooked and after securing funding, the production team traversed drought ravaged farms in Australia, the Middle East and the mountains of Tajikistan where Dr Street and his gaggle of ‘gene detectives’ hunted plant genes that will help our food withstand the impact of 21st century global warming.

Today, areas of our planet that were once ‘food bowls’ are now dust bowls and the film shows farmers in Tajikistan suffering from drought, lack of rain and an influx of new pests and diseases that destroy their harvests. Dr Street was convinced that in the remote mountains there were people who still grow the tough, traditional species of our food plants and it’s in these mountains where the main action of the film takes place. Far from wishing I were propping up a bar with a White Lady, I was captivated.

As the climate changes, we need the genes of these same ancient varieties to help develop new varieties that still have the high yield benefits of modern crops, but in addition have the capacity to withstand hotter, drier conditions. Just a fraction of a degree change in average temperatures can be enough to stop many crops from flowering and producing seed and fruit.

The documentary also discusses Svalbard Seed Vault (known as the ‘doomsday vault’). Located in the Arctic, it’s a back up to the world’s supply of seeds. The storage facility is cut into remote, icy cliffs where the permafrost keeps the vital heritage seeds safe in its deep freeze. The vault has been built to withstand almost any disaster we can conceive, and could be the key to the survival of humanity.

As the film passed the halfway point, if a fire spread through the building, I wouldn’t be racing out the fire exit, as this real life Indiana Jones was getting closer in his search for ‘green gold’ – the wild chick pea. Chickpeas are the ultimate food for dry zones, rich in protein and nutrients. The meat that you can grow when you can’t afford meat.

While this ‘seed hunter’ wants to collect traditional farmed varieties, he really wants the mother ship – the wild species that gave rise to the modern farm plant. He wants its toughness, its potential resilience to disease, pests and the climate. With the DNA he can breed new, hardy hybrids that will grow in other places where climate change and poor soils put pressure on agriculture.

But in an almost comical way, everywhere he looks, the villages are growing modern wheat. And as the chase for the elusive chickpea gathers pace, there are all sorts of hiccups and mishaps, then the local farmers say they’ve pretty much given up on the crop and no-one can tell him if any wild chickpea still exists!

Not wanting to give away the ending, ongoing drought in many parts of the world has exposed the vulnerability of our food production. Though spending precious leisure time watching a wild goose chase for a rare legume may seem like a total waste of time, I assure you, it will be anything but.

More information on the documentary can be found here:

A scone has the power to heal my soul. Even more so when it’s part of a decadent afternoon tea at a fine hotel, but also on its own, with its favoured companions, strawberry jam and clotted cream.

To me a scone means leisure. It means choice in what I’m doing. Freedom. And definitely no guilt.

It means being idle and enjoying life. It means it’s 4pm and there’s nothing better to do BUT devour a scone.

So up early yesterday morning to learn how to make these delicious creatures myself. I’m all for accessible luxury you see!

In Tokyo, chef Mark Peterson runs scone-baking classes at his bakery, Notting Hill Cakes.

Part of me thought of all the better things I could be doing with my time on a Sunday morning – er, sleeping mainly – but the promise of being in close vicinity to an oven (I live in a cooped up shoebox in Shibuya) was too enticing. My hostess archetype wanted to come out and play.

And the result? Hands down the best scone I’ve ever had. [Second if you’re interested was the oatmeal and raisin scone at the now closed Flâneur Food Hall in London; third the green tea version at The Peninsula in Bangkok.]

I won’t give away the secret of the recipe suffice to say the measurements were incredibly exact – 3g baking soda, 6g baking powder – and what I think was the secret ingredient, yoghurt. Or maybe it was the chilled butter???

The class also learnt how to crack an egg with no shell remnants (break the egg against another egg), and how to achieve the natural break in a scone (fold the dough in half onto itself before using the fluted round cutter).

As we tucked in to enjoy our morning’s work, Mark advised us to break the scone open with our hands and to only dab the cream on the part of the scone we were placing in our mouths.

I’ve always been unable to control myself from slathering the whole scone at once with cream, but as they were hot from the oven, a dainty bite proportioned with the right amount of jam and cream, meant the perfect melting moment in the mouth.  

Ah, heaven. 

So I’ve been out of the loop. I opted out of life and spent a month traveling the Trans-Siberian railway from St Petersburg-Beijing. No phone, no email, no Facebook. Just more life.

Now back and ensconced in my Tokyo routine and feeling dehumanised by urban life; family, friends and clients have kindly been asking for details of my trip . . . and I’ve discovered that it’s impossible to put a month’s worth of experiences into the perfect sound bite.

From seeing Saint Petersburg’s Mikhailovsky Theatre open its 177th season with a premiere of Swan Lake, to experiencing the chill of the Siberian wind, to sleeping in gers with traditional nomadic Mongolian families, to riding on an ox and cart through the Eurasian Steppes, to climbing the Great Wall of China. Oh and did I mention the four nights on the train from Moscow-Irkutsk? Or the banya experience at Lake Baikal?

Just exactly how is one supposed to put this multitude of experiences into an all-purpose, catchy one-liner?

It can’t be done. Travel changes you on the inside. It’s just that when we’re back on home soil all we do is narrate in monologue fashion what we saw on the outside.

We reel off all the exotic places we saw, list the creature comforts of the divine hotels we stayed in or the leaky tent we roughed it in, describe the strange and curious meals we ate and detail all the good, bad and never-drinking-that-ever-again local alcohol we (too frequently!) consumed. We describe the crazy people we met, the beyond bad pop music we listened – and of course – danced to and bang on and on about how alternatively gorgeous or rubbish the weather was.

We usually don’t recount our feelings of travel – what was stirring inside us when a stirring view caught our breath and moved our heart.

So some advice for the next person that asks me about my trip.

Ask instead the emotions I recollect. Inquire exactly how this journey moved me. Demand to know why this travel experience was a game changer in my life. And then we’ll be having a discussion where I share with you how I finally learnt (and experienced as a Truth) that life is a journey, not a destination.