I’ve always thought that most of life happens at the kitchen table, that a kitchen table bears the story of a family.
Mine has seen birthday cakes, homework, book reading, deadlines, joy, arguments, laughter: the shorthand of domestic life. I was proposed to at a kitchen table. I’ve thrown plates over one (but not for a few years). I’ve laughed, cried, smoked, written books and put the world to rights at one. The kitchen table is one of the places where I am happiest.
This website began as an archive, a place to put work that was sitting in the attic. It morphed into something far more exciting, something collaborative, a place where it’s not just my voice creaking on, but instead a lovely, eclectic group of people, primarily women, and a few great men, who all have a story to tell. Something fizzing away inside of them.
Children’s rights, tiramisu, mermaids and make-up, feminist issues, fudge, human issues, scent, cashmere and books… I wanted to create a kind of virtual Sunday lunch table, with excellent guests; one that was warm and inclusive, that a reader could dip in and out of, month by month. A place that became familiar.
So at this table, there’s a lot of cake. There’s good coffee. Sometimes there’s tequila. There are babies on knees, there’s probably a dog or a cat skittling underfoot. There’s likely some Nina Simone playing. There are blowsy flowers. There are flaws there, chipped china, bruised hearts and conundrums. There’s also a roof beam raising sense of happiness. Some slow cooked stew laced with a dirty laugh. You are welcome there.
A kitchen table for me is the hearthstone of family. A place of connection and comfort. It represents so very much.