The Festive Shift, Cosy Escapes & The Year’s Final Chapter

November has been a mix of soft knits, spiced drinks, unexpected escapes—and, somewhere amidst the twinkle lights, a truly horrendous Hinge date that I will never emotionally recover from. We’ll get to that.

London has gone full winter-coded. The air bites, coats are buttoned tighter, and the once-glowy amber of autumn has surrendered to fairy lights, fir wreaths, and the collective murmur that it’s nearly time to surrender to the sparkle. It’s the month where everything slows down just enough for you to realise how tired you are—until someone hands you a glass of mulled wine and it all feels fine again.

There’s a kind of quiet intimacy to November. Everyone’s either cancelling plans or suddenly desperate for one last dinner before the year ends. It’s the season of unexpected reunions and softly whispered “we should definitely do this more” moments, even though you both know you won’t. I’ve had more heart-to-hearts over hot toddies in the last two weeks than I’ve had all year. Everyone is reflective, a bit nostalgic, a bit more human.

Also: yes, I’ve already watched The Holiday. Twice. We’re leaning in. Nancy Meyers is the only director I trust in a crisis.

Vienna Christmas Markets: A Spur-of-the-Moment Escape

So, about Vienna.

It started innocently—a passing thought, a throwaway “maybe I’ll just hop over for a few days.” But you know what happens after one particularly excellent glass of Syrah and a scroll through Skyscanner. Suddenly I was booked, packed, and trying to find a travel-sized version of my favourite face oil.

Vienna in December is something else. It’s cinematic. The kind of place where you half expect to bump into Julie Andrews mid-carol. Grand buildings lit up like sugar sculptures, the scent of roasted chestnuts in the air, and stalls overflowing with ornaments that look too delicate to survive my suitcase. It’s Christmas, but elevated. Elegant. A little snow globe of festivity.

The idea of wandering cobbled streets with gloved hands wrapped around a mug of glühwein is basically my Roman Empire. I want snowflakes, I want string quartets, I want to pretend I’m the main character in a BBC period drama but with better skincare.

I’ll be there in a week. I’ve already planned my outfits, my hot chocolate stops, and the soundtrack for the flight. Something about escaping the pre-holiday chaos of London to embrace chaos elsewhere feels very me. A curated chaos. A chaos with charm and architectural symmetry.

The Hinge Date That Should Have Been Cancelled

Back to the trauma.

It began so promisingly—decent banter, mutual appreciation for good coffee and city breaks. Nothing wild, but enough to warrant a meet-up. I wore a good coat. I felt optimistic.

And then he arrived.

There’s a very specific energy a man brings when he’s already had three drinks before you’ve even taken off your scarf. He had it. In spades.

Within minutes:

• He ordered two drinks at once. Both for him.

• He disappeared to the bathroom twice. In ten minutes.

• He name-dropped the words “private equity” and “St Barts” in the same sentence.

• By the third drink, his words were melting together. By the fourth, he vanished for 15 minutes.

When he returned—smelling vaguely of regret and spearmint gum—I did what any sane woman would do. I made an excuse, paid for my own drink, and fled. The group chat lit up like it was New Year’s Eve. Final verdict: Finance men remain undefeated in disappointing us.

A footnote: I’ve since updated my Hinge filters. They now include “no 5 o’clock shadows,” “must hydrate,” and “knows the difference between flirting and monologuing.” Manifesting better choices in 2023.

Cosy Season in Full Swing: Pubs, Friends & That Winter Slowdown

Thankfully, the rest of November has been much more wholesome. That in-between space before party season, where everything feels a little slower and sweeter.

Recent standouts:

• A long lunch at 40 Maltby Street that dissolved into a lazy wine-soaked afternoon.

• Sunday roast at The Bull & Last—proper gravy, fluffy Yorkshire puds, and the kind of warm buzz that only a fireplace pub can deliver.

• Catching up in Horsham with friends I hadn’t seen in years, now suddenly balancing toddlers with Merlot.

I’m also now in my seasonal habit of inviting people round just to drink wine and sit under blankets with no intention of going anywhere. “Let’s stay in” energy is very much trending.

Also: I’ve officially entered my ‘no fireplace, no attendance’ era when it comes to pubs. If I’m going to leave the flat, I expect roaring flames and at least one dog under the table.

Style & Beauty: High-Low and Frosty Glow

We’re layering strategically now. The goal? Look chic but survive the Tube.

Style notes:

• Wool coats in deep camel and grey—structured, serious, secretly cosy.

• Ribbed knit dresses with a touch of stretch, layered under oversized scarves.

• Tall boots, or ballet flats with tights when I’m feeling brave and impractical.

• Statement earrings that whisper “I’ll join you for one” at the wine bar.

Beauty-wise, I’ve leaned full glow-up prep. Skin is being exfoliated, masked, and slathered like it’s auditioning for a Christmas ad. I’ve booked in for a facial and even considered a lash tint. It’s the end-of-year version of spring cleaning, only for your face.

Mindset: Soft Goals, Warmer Hearts

December is nearly here, and for once, I’m not racing into it. I’m setting softer goals. I’m reflecting without spiralling. There’s been enough hustle this year—what I want now is depth, not speed. Presence, not perfection.

I’m giving myself permission to do less, to enjoy more, and to ease into December with curiosity instead of control. No rigid planning. No dramatic detoxes. Just hot tea, sparkly nights, and the occasional moment of unexpected joy.

Vienna’s coming. Christmas is creeping. And for now, I’m exactly where I need to be.

Sophie x