What Japan taught me about treading a little lighter.

I’m a bit of an over-thinker.

There, I said it.

So when I travel, or do anything for that matter, I tend to overanalyse and overcomment and over-soak-up the experience. Or, as my family members like to say of me, “there is never an unpublished thought”.

Travel is remarkable.

This is not so much a blog post, as it is permanent Nikko pen scribble all over my girlfriends faces when they are passed out, which they will only see when they drag themselves out of bed in desperation for poached eggs. They will stumble in front of the mirror, and see on their foreheads, in perfect script (of course) – “do not let Jean ever, ever, forget that travel is quite good actually”.

The power of the pink polish.

I hadn't been home to visit my parents in over a year. So it was always going to be an experience.

What to buy a male for Christmas. Satisfaction probably not guaranteed.

Anyone who has ever read my profound essays on the incredulous life of the mountain goat will know that I am the best gift-giver. In those circumstances, buy your male window-dressing one of these this year:

Thoughts that a career girl denies she is thinking but in reality sometimes is.

A post that could easily unravel decades of bra-singeing.

Why you have to embrace your ridiculously embarrassing family this Christmas. A pre-Christmas eulogy.

I think we can all safely say we are nearing adulthood and are at a reasonable age to start showing some sort of maturity.

The Relationship Rules I Live and Die By

Almost as legitimate as the 10 commandments. Except I could only think of 7.