Malmo and Moss is a northern girl living in North London with her husband, three sons and a canine sized cat. Slowly renovating and always decorating an Edwardian semi in Scandi Vintage style (think Sarah Lund meets Lovejoy).
Growing up in Northumberland, I spent my early teenage years paying sartorial homage to Sue Pollard and playing the woodblock in an environmental activist band. With the group unable to replicate the success of its 500 cassette selling debut album "Auroborealis", I left the rock and roll lifestyle behind to become an environmental lawyer. Seven heady years followed applying for sewage discharge permits. Along the way, I met and married my husband (my fellow trainee solicitor with a cute bum and good line in Alan Partridge jokes) and discovered a love of interiors. Since 2010, I have mainly been giving birth to a trio of boys switching careers to work in sustainability, renovating our Edwardian semi in the North London suburbs and sharing the results on Instagram.
My interiors style has been heavily influenced by my love affair with all things Scandi, which began around 1994 in Aisle 44 of the Gateshead Metrocentre branch of Ikea. Notwithstanding an inability to deliver any Swedish or Danish sentence without sounding like I am just saying hurdy gurdy in a sing song voice, I still dream of moving there one day. I like to mix a bit of vintage in with the Scandi and can be regularly found asking (in my best North London Geezer voice) "what's your best" at Sunbury Antiques Market. With two fellow North Londoners I help to organise a twice yearly event called the Occasional Home Store which bring together a hand picked selection of vintage and contemporary homeware sellers together in a beautiful industrial venue in Stoke Newington.
This blog is my way of sharing both my love of interiors and what my family refer to as my "database" of places to eat and sleep that combine stylish decor and great food with a relaxed approach to 3 lively kids.
Anywhere within spitting distance of Hampstead Heath, a Georgian townhouse in Bath, a farmhouse near Lewes, a place overlooking the sea in St Mawes or a hygge apartment in Copenhagen.
Caravan or the Riding House Cafe for brunch with a side helping of rough luxe interiors, the Swan at Shakespeare's Globe for afternoon tea with an amazing view of St Paul's, Eliot's in Borough Market or Brawn on Columbia Road for relaxed romantic meals, Clipstone in Fitzrovia or the Palomar in Soho for a buzzy dinner out with friends, The Wells in Hampstead or The Rising Sun in Northaw for Sunday lunch with the former often serving up a celebrity spot with your roast. The list goes on.......
For adults only, No 38 in Cheltenham, Hotel Tresanton in St Mawes or, if I happened to find £1,000 down the back of the sofa, Soho Farmhouse or Ilse Crawford designed Ett Hem in Stockholm. With the trio of todgers in tow, hotels are a trickier beast and these days we have mainly swapped Mr and Mrs Smith for Air BnB. Favourite self catering finds include Kith and Kin apartments in Amsterdam and Antonia's Pearls in Cornwall.
The National, Radiohead, Bon Iver, Other Lives, Kings of Leon, Ali Fauke Toure, Birdie, Ben Howard and, if I'm being honest, Little Mix and Take That.
Epic romantic films; give me a pair of doomed lovers and a sweeping cinematic score a la English Patient and I'm happy. Ditto anything with a subtitle and Juliette Binoche in it. Three Colours Blue, The Beat That My Heart Skipped and The Lives of Others are some of my favourites. However, I also have a weakness for a Will Ferrell film (Blades of Glory and the Other Guys are two of my favourites) and I think I have watched the scene where Ryan Gosling takes his top off in Crazy Stupid Love at least 23 times.....
Eggs Benedict, Spaghetti Carbonara, Roast Chicken and Cauliflower Cheese, Plain Scones and Clotted Cream, Coffee and Walnut Cake and 5 Terry's Chocolate Oranges (don't judge, it is my last day on earth so there wouldn't be a grain of quinoa in sight).
A vet, until I realised that I have a fear of bovine animals and don't want to have to put my finger up the bum of a yappy lap dog.