A SEASON IN REVIEW

              elcome, dear friend.

              elcome, dear friend.

Welcome back, you plucky Internet Explorer. Do come in, quick, out of the cold. Doesn’t everyone look their most breathtaking with winter cheeks? Like an apple ripened to falling, a rosebud blooming into a warm spring meadow. You’re no different. Welcome to this little corner of the internet. We’re so glad to have you – we’ve been dying to tell you about our winter.

The closing of the year brought oil painting blue skies defiant before their cracking, it brought thin sunlight of the finest yellows that filled the whole body. It brought trying to make sense of the way time moves differently in the colder months, in the way this time is spent with families and friends and the places we swap stories and break bread. In the way intimate celebrations fast become shadows as we move on to new ones. In the way we pack and unpack, in the way home calls for us. Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin. Perhaps in winter we are all out with lanterns, looking for ourselves. 

As we drop the worst of winter behind us like a damp coat in a warm hallway, we take a look at the things that have passed since our last letter.

Welcome back, you plucky Internet Explorer. Do come in, quick, out of the cold. Doesn’t everyone look their most breathtaking with winter cheeks? Like an apple ripened to falling, a rosebud blooming into a warm spring meadow. You’re no different. Welcome to this little corner of the internet. We’re so glad to have you – we’ve been dying to tell you about our winter.

The closing of the year brought oil painting blue skies defiant before their cracking, it brought thin sunlight of the finest yellows that filled the whole body. It brought trying to make sense of the way time moves differently in the colder months, in the way this time is spent with families and friends and the places we swap stories and break bread. In the way intimate celebrations fast become shadows as we move on to new ones. In the way we pack and unpack, in the way home calls for us. Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin. Perhaps in winter we are all out with lanterns, looking for ourselves. 

As we drop the worst of winter behind us like a damp coat in a warm hallway, we take a look at the things that have passed since our last edition.

We are writing to you from somewhere near Ambleside, deep in a bitter winter landscape adored by thousands before us. We haven’t been for some time, and we found ourselves taking stock of the ways life has changed since we were last here. 

We went to the cathedral (the cathedral!) to see Emily's alma mater's carol service this Christmas. The money, the millennia of tradition, the time and the effort. The art and the expression. A life’s work dedicated to it all. What a thing. In many ways these hills are cathedral enough for our pilgrim eyes; their heavy skies make for a clear head. From the window, a single silhouette breaks the skyline – so clear-cut in the winter sunshine. It is easy to find religion in these hills. It is easier to find it in the company of our loved ones.

Of course, we are really at home, by the seaside in Essex. But it feels more appropriate to tell you tales of the snow in the North, the endless rain in the South, the letters and the parcels of the technology-free weekend, Emily’s possibly world record-beating trifle, huddling around Nikita's fire after joining the wes hál celebrations in Sandwich, the overnight Mountain Rescue trips on Dartmoor and giddying runs in the Land Rover pretending we are back with Alice, Tim and Callie by the roaring fire in our little winter sanctuary. 

Even with the pincher crabs at your sandals, winter's not that bad. Especially with beautiful friends and the views we've been blessed to have. But the paths are especially treacherous this year. Tread carefully and leave no trace.

~ K

We are writing to you from somewhere near Ambleside, deep in a bitter winter landscape adored by thousands before us. We haven’t been for some time, and we found ourselves taking stock of the ways life has changed since we were last here. 

We went to the cathedral (the cathedral!) to see Emily's alma mater's carol service this Christmas. The money, the millennia of tradition, the time and the effort. The art and the expression. A life’s work dedicated to it all. What a thing. In many ways these hills are cathedral enough for our pilgrim eyes; their heavy skies make for a clear head. From the window, a single silhouette breaks the skyline – so clear-cut in the winter sunshine. It is easy to find religion in these hills. It is easier to find it in the company of our loved ones.

Of course, we are really at home, by the seaside in Essex. But it feels more appropriate to tell you tales of the snow in the North, the endless rain in the South, the letters and the parcels of the technology-free weekend, Emily’s possibly world record-beating trifle, huddling around Nikita's fire after joining the wes hál celebrations in Sandwich, the overnight Mountain Rescue trips on Dartmoor and giddying runs in the Land Rover pretending we are back with Alice, Tim and Callie by the roaring fire in our little winter sanctuary. 

Even with the pincher crabs at your sandals, winter's not that bad. Especially with beautiful friends and the views we've been blessed to have. But the paths are especially treacherous this year. Tread carefully and leave no trace.

~ K

Munch of the month.

Munch of the month.

As ever, ‘munch of the month' is defined by the people with which you munch, and not necessarily what you munch. This season we had the opportunity to share a meal with volunteers from the Ashburton (Dartmoor) Search and Rescue team after a guided evening hike across the wintry moors. 

Rosy cheeked and smiling, we all tucked in to generous helpings of jacket potatoes and chilli lovingly prepared by the team, and all washed down with welcome cups of tea and biscuits. As infrequent visitors to these moors we drank in their tales and stories with delight and revelled in the attention as the pair who had travelled the furthest for the event.

As we journeyed back across the blustery, snowy landscape to our camping spot for the night, we felt a connection to the landscape around us that this welcoming and loving community had provided for us.

~ E

As ever, ‘munch of the month' is defined by the people with which you munch, and not necessarily what you munch. This season we had the opportunity to share a meal with volunteers from the Ashburton (Dartmoor) Search and Rescue team after a guided evening hike across the wintry moors. 

Rosy cheeked and smiling, we all tucked in to generous helpings of jacket potatoes and chilli lovingly prepared by the team, and all washed down with welcome cups of tea and biscuits. As infrequent visitors to these moors we drank in their tales and stories with delight and revelled in the attention as the pair who had travelled the furthest for the event.

As we journeyed back across the blustery, snowy landscape to our camping spot for the night, we felt a connection to the landscape around us that this welcoming and loving community had provided for us.

~ E

We know this sound well, but what do you think it is, listener? Hover to reveal ↓

We know this sound well, but what do you think it is, listener? Tap to reveal ↓

Listener's takeover.

Listener's takeover.

This month's takeover is from Michael, London.

Hello! I'm reporting to you live from sunny Barcelona, a place I often dream of and have absconded to in search of reprieve from the eternally monochromatic British winter.

It has been a hectic few months in which I have found myself trepidaciously manoeuvring through five countries. December found me, for the first time in my cosmicly brief existence, in the rainforests and dwellings of Malaysia. I came together with friends to, over the course of three days, celebrate the marriage of my dear friends Josh and Siqi.

Despite being eleven thousand and sixteen kilometres away, there was something familiar about this wedding which reminded me of home in Ireland. As I made new friends, spoke to aunties and took part in a drinking phenomenon where you shout at each other to show how much love you feel I was reminded that, despite what the world would have us believe, we're not so different.

I feel that's worth remembering as we head into 2026 proper.

Next month could be you! Submit by email to desk@vonkirschnell.haus

This month's takeover is from Michael, London.

Hello! I'm reporting to you live from sunny Barcelona, a place I often dream of and have absconded to in search of reprieve from the eternally monochromatic British winter.

It has been a hectic few months in which I have found myself trepidaciously manoeuvring through five countries. December found me, for the first time in my cosmicly brief existence, in the rainforests and dwellings of Malaysia. I came together with friends to, over the course of three days, celebrate the marriage of my dear friends Josh and Siqi.

Despite being eleven thousand and sixteen kilometres away, there was something familiar about this wedding which reminded me of home in Ireland. As I made new friends, spoke to aunties and took part in a drinking phenomenon where you shout at each other to show how much love you feel I was reminded that, despite what the world would have us believe, we're not so different.

I feel that's worth remembering as we head into 2026 proper.

Next month could be you! Submit by email to desk@vonkirschnell.haus

The idiots have disappeared to the Peak District, and once again left me to fend for myself, this time not even leaving a spare key! I was supposed to be opening my new business this week – a luxury spa with gilded bathtubs and (almost) new robes. Attendants in waistcoats and everything. I was even meant to be seeing my old friend Jojo for dinner while he’s in town with the circus. Looks like it’s nuts and fruit for me until they’re back. A final test dip in the healing waters won’t hurt, I suppose.

At least they’ve promised me an advertising space in this ‘newsletter’ in the future. That’s something to cling on to.

The idiots have disappeared to the Peak District, and once again left me to fend for myself, this time not even leaving a spare key! I was supposed to be opening my new business this week – a luxury spa with gilded bathtubs and (almost) new robes. Attendants in waistcoats and everything. I was even meant to be seeing my old friend Jojo for dinner while he’s in town with the circus. Looks like it’s nuts and fruit for me until they’re back. A final test dip in the healing waters won’t hurt, I suppose.

At least they’ve promised me an advertising space in this ‘newsletter’ in the future. That’s something to cling on to.