Tat London Journal

It always seems to happen around this time of year — everyone starts saying, “Oh my goodness, where has the summer gone?” Well, friend, let me tell you: it hasn’t gone anywhere. We’re slap bang in the middle of it, and I for one am not ready to fast-forward. Let the children run wild in the grass, and let us grown-ups savour August — that glorious month when the city slows down, and the odd Friday off feels practically medicinal. With all these lazy, golden hours ahead, we sa

Recently, I saw a masterpiece. It was a cake. A cake on a table — a simple enough affair — but my God, the human race has made moves in the cake-making department. Cakes and AI we have really come leaps and bounds. Decorum, empathy, and architecture? Not so much. Still, let us raise a whisk to these bakers, these masters of flour, who’ve created sugar-laced masterpieces that might delight even the most curmudgeonly of dieticians.

There aren’t many occasions when Tat gets a scoop. We’re not exactly set up for it—budgets are hardly a word we deal in. And I don’t mean that in the flippant “who needs a budget?” sense. I mean we rarely have the means to chase the stories we’d love to. Luckily, we have a handful of excellent contributors, and every so often, we stumble upon a house or a story that hasn’t yet graced the pages of a magazine or newspaper. When that happens, I feel a quiet sense of pride.