Add to List - #100
2025 has been a trip and a half
Wow. Wow. Wow. This came around quickly, didn’t it? 100 weeks of Add to List!
Writing this newsletter is such an honour. I love hitting your inboxes every week—the conversations it’s sparked; the thinking it’s made me do; not to mention the people I’ve met on here. You’re all so gorgeous, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. Honestly, it brings tidings of comfort and joy—every Sunday feels like Christmas. (In case you hadn’t guessed, I’ve started to feel festive as of this weekend.)
This is my last newsletter before I take a break for Christmas. I’ll be back sometime in 2026. New year, same Substack, maybe a slightly different format. Any feedback or thoughts welcome.
Wishing you all a wonderful ‘most wonderful time of the year.’ And if, for you, it doesn’t feel that wonderful? Take some rest—you deserve it.
It’s a bit different this week. I started making some lists of my yearly highlights for you and, well—you’ll see, I got a little carried away…
Obsession
The year of discovery and ever-changing obsessions. Of first drafts. Unfinished manuscripts. New ideas. Rehashing old ones. Eighth chapters, eight times over. Free writing. Pomodoro technique. London Writers’ Hour. Rabbit holes. Reddit threads. Forays into areas I felt unqualified to write about. Forays into areas I wish I had been writing about much longer. Had circa 24 jobs. Been a receptionist. Been a waitress on a boat. Been a professional wing woman. Been a dog sitter. Sold all my clothes on Vinted to afford a food shop. Lived off tinned food. Maxed out my credit card. Saved diligently to pay it off. Worked front of house at a viral bakery. Ran writer sessions in a library. Built new creative connections. Wrote product descriptions for Shopify. Wrote hotel reviews. Restaurant reviews. Wrote first-person stories. Wrote fintech features. Wrote analytical product reviews. Interviewed experts. Wrote newsletters. Recipes. Blog posts. Entered writing competitions. Ran recipe competitions. Made friends with people in high places. Made friends with people in low places. Was in a high place. Was in a low place. Got my first short story published. Applied for 37 freelance gigs and got none of them. Pitched commissions. Got professionally ghosted. Went to movie premieres. Press screenings. Restaurant openings. Cocktail parties. Taught kids after-school science. Got commissioned to write about science-y things. Got commissioned to interview celebrities. Ran my first cover story. Got to eat a lot of pasta and write about it. Got to take friends and family for fully comp’d meals. Took advantage of the cocktail menu a little too much on more than one occaision. Got commissioned to go on holiday. Went to a couples retreat on my own. Went to Italy three times. Went to Paris. Went to the Caribbean. Went to the South-west countryside. Went to Devon. Went to so many great restaurants. Drank too much wine. Got all of the desserts to share. Made bold moves. Made mistakes. Made amends. Ate far too many overpriced anchovies. Devoured a few Michelin-starred steaks. Drank about 58 martinis. Suffered the effect of some much more than others.
Confession
Went on 14.5 first dates. Was set up by magazines. Set up by friends. Set up for failure. Set up for mild success. Been love-bombed. Toothbrush-bombed. Bombed of all hope. Reviewed the patterns. Held myself accountable. Was chatted up at work events. Press trips. Co-working spaces. Bars. Pubs. Pubs that turn into bars. Got commissioned to work with a dating coach. Cooked men dinner and then never saw them again. Been fucked over. Been fucked. Fucked people. Had my faith shattered. Had my faith re-instated. Came off Hinge. Re-downloaded it. Been disinterested. Been too picky. Not been picky enough. Been too hopeful. Too cynical. Been unbothered. Been very bothered. Dated 33-year-olds, 38-year-olds, 45-year-olds, 30-year-olds. Accidentally given my number to a 23-year-old. Been in the wrong headspace. Realised I’m finally in the right one. Wondered if I’ve left it too late. Dated people with kids. Dated men. Dated boys. Didn’t get ghosted. Didn’t ghost. Dumped myself. Walked away when I wanted to. Walked away when I didn’t. Sent the difficult text. Had the hard conversation. Had first dates offer to cut my hair. Cut contact. Took time to think. Took too long to process. Realised I’m finally ‘ready’. What for anyway? Living?
Shook
Tears. Lots of them. Mostly the good kind. Ones as the bass drops in the club. Ones when friends tell me their good news. And the bad stuff. Laughing for the first time as I watch people persist in toughest times. Seeing strength. Seeing pain. Seeing hope. Feeling loved. Feeling like telling people how much I love them. Feeling inspired. Making new friends, drifting from old ones but knowing they will always be there. Wrote poetry. Pulled tarot. Saw my first psychic. Did the work. Gone to therapy. Got back into running. Got into yoga. Decided to rip up the rulebook, sit in the pub and have a gin and tonic instead. Fake-tanned. Downed a strong martini and screamed the words of a throwback song in a sweaty circle. Watched friends say fuck it. Watched friends say fuck off. Watched friends say fuck yes. Encouraged it all. Made impulse purchases after cocktails. Booked last-minute flights. Booked last-minute gig tickets. Got sent on last-minute press trips. Sat staring into the mountains and understood life isn’t forever. Watched comedy. Watched sunsets. Watched sunrises. Witnessed changing leaves. Flowers growing in places you wouldn’t think possible. Clapped louder than everyone in the West End watching my sister on stage. Danced with my parents in the kitchen. Danced with my parents at a concert. Watched friends quit their jobs and chase their dreams. Never felt prouder. Watched flirtation and long-standing love and wedding bells and big life decisions. Held the purest souls in my arms. Watched closest friends grow tiny humans. Not stopped crying about it. Watched friends who’ve been single for years fall head-first for people. Not stopped crying about it. Tried to find love for myself. Not yet been successful. Sometimes still cry about that too.
Cook
The steak at Dorian. Fregola frutti di mare at Nipotina. Scallops at the Eagle. Fennel salami at Salvino. The duck liver at Lympstone Manor. Porcini lasagna from Gioccabazzis. The vesper at Duke’s. Caesar salad at One Club Row. Cheesecake at Lagana. The lobster rice at Da Terra. Madeleines at the French House. The Taipei butter rice at Bao. Champagne at The Ivy Club. Oysters at Parsons. Boiled eggs at the kitchen table. A jerusalem artichoke magnum at The Star Inn. Marron glacé ice cream at Ciampini. The crayfish at Sino. Spicy margs at Cavita. Pork meatballs from DeBraggio’s. Prosecco at Alpino. The Scotch egg at The Pig and Butcher. Tiramisu at Trullo. Burrata at Lina Stores. Tuna tartare at Llewellyn’s. The suckling pig head at Legado. The Chinca Alta at Oriole. Pints at The Parakeet. Pints at the Coach & Horses. Shots at The Sun & 13 Cantons. Dorado at Coal Pot. Tina’s Rum Punch at the Gros Islet Street Party. Avocado toast at Bread by Bike. Cardamom bun at Fabrique. Rhubarb swirl at Pophams. Crispy chicken skin at Som Saa. Saag paneer pizza at East West. Yellowtail crudo at Roka. Kampachi amberjack at Luna Omakase. Glasses of natty at Dan’s. Sichuan prawns at The Lazy Lobster. Paneer at The Tamil Prince. Radicchio salad at Padella. Langhe Nebbiolo at Passione Vino. White negronis at Brilliant Corners. Albariño at The 10 Cases. Gin and tonics at The Fat Badger. Lamb pizza at The Tufnell Park Tavern. The asparagus at Duchy. Cortados from Superette. The hummus at Agora. Tzatziki at Schwarma Bar. The ricordi d’infanzia from Napoli on the Hill. The margarita at 50 Kalò. Jaffna lamb shank at Kolamba East. Rhubarb americano at Bar Daskal. Flat whites from Watch House. Guinness at The Auld Shillelagh. Vermouth at The Compton Arms. Negronis at Bar Termini. Fritto Misto at Macarena. Spaghetti Vongole at La Riva. Salted popcorn at every cinema. Salted popcorn in the top room. Pain au chocolats from Jolene. Meatballs at Mother + Wild. Lemon and ginger tea at Thames Lido. Falafel at Parliament Hill Fields Lido. The duck liver brioche at Mare. The dill boy at Motorino. The tom yum at Farang. Pickled disco-ball martinis in my living room. Lageritas at BloodSports. Cacio e pepe at Il Marchese. Bleu d’Auvergne at Provisions. More pho takeaways than my bank balance should have allowed.
Book
Audiobooks. Consider Yourself Kissed. Want. All Fours. Fundamentally. Books left on the beach. Books in the bath. Books on a plane. Books on a train. Meditations for Mortals. Writers and Lovers. Pity Party. No books. Book breaks. Probably Nothing. Nobody Belongs Here More Than You. Tart. Perfection. Bad Taste. Books added to the TBR pile. How I Cook. The Course of Love. Books bought and left aside. Books on a shelf. Bookshop singles nights. Books still in the process of being written.
Look
Everything burgundy. Cardigans with one too many buttons undone. Coats done all the way up. Jumpers one size too big. Brushed silk balloon pants. Vests with everything. Chains on top. Chains tucked in. Wide-leg jeans. Flared jeans. High-waisted jeans. Mid-rise jeans. Low-rise jeans. Baggy jeans. Blue jeans. White jeans. Brown tops. Black tops. Jeans and a nice top. Puffball skirts. Leather skirts. Leather jackets. White shirts. A lot of shirts. Chloé sunglasses. Yellow aviators. Cowboy boots. Disco boots. Chunky boots. Chunkier loafers. Bucket bags. Buckets of black. Mens shirts. Mens swimming shorts. Dressing like the man I wish I was. Pyjama sets as outfits. Baseball caps as the main accessory. Trench coats as the whole vibe. Sambas. Converse. Khaki coats. Jumpers tied around shoulders. Colourful socks. Bomber jackets. Stripes. Stripes. Lots of stripes. French fireman-uniform jackets. Not a single snood. Bodies. Bralettes. No bras. Backless tops. One-shoulder satins. See-through shoes. See-through underwear. Low buns. High ponytails. Frizzy hair. Blow-drys. Subtle gold. Chunky silver. Pointy shoes. Pointy shoes. Did I mention pointy shoes?
Can’t Stop Scanning
Martin Luke Brown. 00s Floorfillers. I Love LA. Saunas in caravans. Saunas at lidos. Saunas on rooftops. Girls. Sex and the City. Yorgos Lanthimos. Protein hacks. No longer reading the nutritional label. Looking for holiday spots. Looking for free sun loungers. Food round-ups. Witty round-offs. Salad recipes. Silverware. Pasta recipes. Striped table covers. Slots for summer open water swimming. Pancake day recipes. Hand-made menus. Photo archives. Photo dumps. Substack writer meet-ups. Pitch call-outs. New places to pitch. Olivia Dean. Bridget Jones. Throwback house music. Upbeat disco. Acoustic Folk. Neo soul. 90s RnB. Lime bikes without flat tyres. Lime bikes without broken pedals. Lime bike getting help with this ride. Riding with the roof down. Riding solo. Riding on a boat around Saint Lucia. Riding on a quad bike around a banana farm. West End Girl. Skin food. Cerave. Cute bookish venues for events. Cute people at book shop meet cute nights. Cute people in pubs with live music. Cute people in sports bars. Open mic nights. New wave poetry. Best products for curly hair. Cheap blended balayages. Berlioz. Wine tasting. Musicals available to stream at Christmas. Food-themed Christmas tree decorations. Bistro lamps. Bread bins. Candlesticks. Candle holders. Sleep candles. Sleep spray. Sostrene green. Everything beige. Warm lightbulbs. Pickled anything. New York style delicatessens. British delicatessens. Italian delicatessens. Fresh pasta. New shapes. New roles. New challenges. Enneagrams. Astrology. Blaming everything on the moon. Blaming everything on the planets. Blaming everything on the patriarchy. Blaming myself for things I shouldn’t have.
Forward Planning
Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?
omg what a gorgeous way to summarise the year, and what a year you’ve had!!
Looooooved reading this 💕 you are amazing. Beauty in the big and the small. Well done you on 100!! ❤️❤️