I was on holiday for a long weekend in Britain’s finest city (in my humble opinion at least), Edinburgh.
I love the place and happily wander around it in a dream like state.
I spend hours looking at things I have no intention of buying in the shops, just because of the state of mind the clam of Edinburgh induces in me.
It was in that state that I wandered into a shop I’d not seen before, called Anthropology.
It’s like a grown up version of Urban outfitters, which itself would be my favourite if I were in my teens, or early twenties. The fact that I’m way past its target age doesn’t stop me from popping in whenever I see a good one even now.
And in Anthropology I discovered Kinfolk.
Kinfolk is a magazine.
It’s that slightly bigger than A4 size of many mags.
It’s published regularly, albeit only four times a year.
But above every other point.
Kinfolk is beautiful.
It was with Kinfolk in mind that I started writing the last post about whether or not the book is dead.
And in fact I could just about cope without my regular and expensive deliveries of fine volumes, if I could just secure the flow of great magazines like this.
It’s not a weighty and informative tome such as my also much loved Monocle.
But it’s about real life, with a sprinkling of fairy dust and the adept avoidance of the mundane.
I am going to write more about it in a few days as I can’t do it justice in a short post like this.