A Hygge Healing Home

Creative living in a wee Scottish cottage. Friendship and gratitude.

Have you ever walked into a home and immediately felt so comfortable you think '“Oh I want to live here?”

My barometer for feeling at ease in someone else’s home is when I can imagine myself tucking my feet under my legs on the sofa, not with my shoes on obviously, with a cup of tea and a piece on cake balanced on my lap. I wouldn’t like to think that if I dropped a cake crumb on the carpet I would be thrown a stern look followed shortly after by the vacuum cleaner.

Years ago, in my early twenties not long after starting a new job in the City of London, my boss, a man with very few redeemable attributes, invited me and my new husband to his very grand home in Chigwell, Essex for dinner. He was obviously very proud of his palatial home, but that was the rub, it wasn’t a home, it was a sanitised show house. The pristine beige carpet in the hall was protected from incoming traffic with wall to wall plastic which in hindsight set the tone for the evening.

In the enormous sitting room where we were ushered to have welcome drinks, my boss and his perfectly manicured wife sat staid and upright on the small white French sofa in the middle, flanked on either side by me and my husband perched on very uncomfortable gold leaved chairs, like two foreign dignitaries who can’t speak the language but smile awkwardly to break the ice. I couldn’t help thinking this was some sort of test, would I be able to eat the hors d’oevres without leaving a trace of flaky pastry on my lips, or worse the carpet. Was I supposed to comment on the wine choice, bearing in mind in those days I only knew the difference between red or white. Perhaps he wanted to know my opinion of the pompous portrait of himself, complete with off-the-peg family crest, leering down at me from above the fireplace.

Dinner for the four of us at the long twelve seater table was no more relaxing, the table was set as though royalty was expected with so much china, cutlery and glassware I wasn’t sure what fork to pick up first, what glass to use or what plate to put my bread roll on. Needless to say I was relieved when the evening was over, only to suffer further embarrassment on the following Monday morning when his wife telephoned me at work to say she had found one of my false nails and would I like it back.

Thankfully, my recent visit to Scotland in a cosy little tucked away stone cottage was far removed from that overbearing, stifling experience back in the 1980’s.

After a seven hour train journey, on Monday I hopped off at Queen Street Glasgow excited but slightly frazzled. The week before my son had returned to Uni, there had been a few mishaps at home, nothing major but those little niggles that can turn into big niggles if not addressed, and a painfully itchy eye. The problem, I think the result of a leaf poking me in the eye while gardening the day before, I tried to resolve immediately on arrival in Scotland by quickly popping into Boots the Chemist for some soothing ointment. If only life was that easy.

The resulting farce involved a long walk to another branch of Boots for an eye test, suitcase in tow, only to be greeted by a very unfriendly young lady who didn’t seem to believe a word I said even though the first Boots had made the appointment for me. Then an hour wait, after explaining umpteen times that I just wanted some ointment, I didn’t need to know pressures, how many letters I could read or the condition of the perfectly OK left eye. Finally after both eyes being prodded, dyed sunflower yellow and puffed at, I was eventually handed a prescription and advised there would be another 20 minute wait, apparently the amount of time required for one of the eight people standing around chatting about their favourite burgers to retrieve a tube of ointment from a shelf. That was the last straw.

Now in a huff and thinking I could save time, I took the prescription back to the pharmacy in the first Boots only to be informed the prescription couldn’t be processed because I didn’t live in Scotland. After my slightly testy response, enquiring why she hadn’t told me that two hours previously when I gave her my address and explained I was on holiday from Suffolk, she cheerfully informed me it didn’t matter as I could buy the ointment over the counter for £2.84. The same ointment I could have bought from her when I first got off the train.

My poor uncomplaining friend, Carole, who had driven miles to collect me from the station and still had another 2 hours to drive to reach our destination was all the while tolerantly tagging along and smiling patiently as I grew more and more guilty because me and my dodgy peeper were ruining the start of the holiday.

Luckily, we eventually managed to find the funny side of the whole situation and once the traffic of Glasgow was finally left behind, it was as though we both exhaled all the stresses of the day and and let the fresh, clean air of the mountains blow away any lingering cobwebs.

As this was the first time I had been to Carole’s gem of a cottage, I didn’t know what to expect, although as she always underplays her many, many talents and gifts I wasn’t too surprised when I stepped inside to find a home filled with gorgeousness on every shelf, in every corner and nook and cranny. Immediately I knew I would be welcome to put my feet up on the sofa.

Her collection of time worn mementos and newer keepsakes displayed on every single flat surface, drew me in for a closer look. Each little bottle, pebble, piece of paper and picture told a story, every single bowl and book looked completely at home, nothing placed pretentiously or shouting “look at me”.

Not surprisingly, being an excellent cook, Carole has made the most of the small but highly efficient kitchen, every available space is filled with all the necessities required to whip up delicious meals for family and guests. The art is making sure every pot or utensil is both aesthetically pleasing but also usable, in a kitchen this size, anything that can’t be used is surplus to requirements.

Carole’s love of cooking and creativity is clearly evident in the vast quantity of books dotted around every room in the cottage. I felt so at home every time I sat down, being no more than an arm’s length away from a chunky tome on every type of food imaginable. I could imagine on dark, wet Winter evenings, hunkering down in a comfy chair in front of the fire, book in hand while the many candles flickered all around. Heaven.

Carole lights a candle as quietly as others turn on a light switch, with no fanfare or fuss, in silence and unnoticed, something it was obvious she does every day, not just when visitors call. A small thing, but one that says so much about her instinct for understated grace and simplicity.

At the end of the first the day, as the coral pink sky danced over the ridge of the glen, indoors the roaring wood burner took the chill out of the evening air. With sleepy heads we sat with a steaming cup of tea for a while to mull over the day, munching on scorching hot slices of cheese on toast. Even though tiredness was knocking at the door, I was already feeling the effects of this special place. The small snug rooms decorated with an eclectic mix of country cottage furniture, vintage finds and personal treasures exude a sense of easefulness and calm but also a creative energy.

The most delightful unique features made by Carole’s husband, a charming log store under a window seat and beautiful natural wooden lamp stands add to the relaxed informality, a place where care has been taken to retain the down-to-earth nature of the cottage with objects that have been made with love. After just a few hours I already felt very at home, cocooned not in luxury but in something much more satisfying, contentment.

Over the next two unexpectedly sunny days Carole took me to some of her favourite places on the west coast, we picnicked on the beach, lunched on seafood, walked by the Crinan canal and sat in awe wondering at the spectacular views. And of course at the end of each day we returned, tired but happy, back to the warmth and comfort of the cottage.

A compact work desk highlighted by the light of the window is a perfect place to experiment and play with colour and texture, its diminutive size belying the amount of art materials tucked away in this charming creative corner. A collection of Carole’s soft ethereal photographs and pieces of art are hung on the walls, mixed in with paintings from other local artists. The moody seascape in the kitchen was painted by her friend and artist neighbour Gill Stewart who some of you may know from Instagram. On Wednesday Carole and I shared a G&T with Gill in her magical garden, the setting sun and convivial company combining to make a special memory of my last evening in Scotland.

Being in such a comforting and inspiring environment in the company of a friend who quietly supports and encourages in equal measures is a very potent tonic. In a few days my blood pressure had gone down, my energy levels had shot up and thanks to Carole’s motivation since I have been home my kitchen cupboards, paintings and furniture have been re-arranged. Bags and bags of bin liners containing tons of unused stuff have been taken to the tip/charity shop and most importantly of all, I have returned to the studio to paint.

My painting has been neglected lately, it seems to have been overshadowed by writing and poetry but thanks to Carole’s uplifting words and gentle knack of boosting one’s confidence I actually looked forward to picking up a paintbrush again.

Scotland. Oil on Card. Lindsey Dickson

How incredible that in just a few days the healing power of hygge and the kindness of friendship could make such a difference to a mind and soul.

Love Lindsey x

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Carole is on Instagram, her personal creative page is Pebble & Pine Creative

and her catering company is Lazy Sunday Catering (even if you are not in Scotland worth looking at for the beautiful photos!)

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