About

Writing about work, place, people, and the bits of life that sit in between — from building things that last to finding calm, care, and community in a noisy world.

Wintering is coming to an end — not in a seasonal sense, but personally. There’s a sense of warmer air ahead, and the good company that tends to arrive with the Spring.

Eleanor — or Ellie, or even Elle Bell to a chosen few — I’ve spent a large part of my life making things work: businesses, buildings, ideas, and communities, often from the edges rather than the centre. Growing up across several countries probably explains why I’ve always felt slightly like an outsider, even when very much in the room. Creating community comes naturally; being contained by it, less so.

Work has taken many forms — consultant, teacher, publican, placemaker, decorator, fixer of old buildings and, occasionally, of situations. More often than not, these roles have overlapped. In these experiences, the lesson has been that titles matter far less than whether something actually functions once you’ve finished talking about them.

For the past six years, my husband Jonny and I have owned a lively pub in central Bath, with music and the arts at the heart of everything we do. A systems-led approach — setting things up well and trusting the right people — has always felt instinctive, and during a period of significant personal change it became essential. Our General Manager now runs the pub day to day with real skill, while we continue to handle the finances, oversee communications, fix everything that breaks (you would not believe), and stay closely involved in the care of a Grade II-listed building that demands constant attention.

I care deeply about place, about work that lasts, and about collaboration over noise. I’m not interested in shouting into the void or performing outrage for sport. Far more interesting is what happens when people work together, share credit generously, and look beyond their own front door. In what happens when people gather, collaborate, and make room for shared experiences — because very little of value is built alone.

Learning never really ends, and more recently than anyone might like, the cost of constant rushing has made itself felt. Periods of withdrawal and quiet endurance can be necessary, but they are not places to live indefinitely. This space marks a return to more open, honest reflection — without the need to armour every sentence. That honesty still comes with boundaries. This isn’t a tell-all; it’s a place to think in public, albeit carefully.

Care, fairness, and dignity matter — not as abstract ideas, but as things practiced daily. They shape how work is approached, how children are raised, how land is looked after, and how people come together around shared effort. There’s a strong belief in cooperation over competition, in making space for skills, ideas, and people to be valued properly, and in building things that allow for a bit more security, agency, and care. Most of the time, that work is quiet, practical, and best done collectively.

Outside of work, I do love a slow morning, watching the birds I feed daily from a window, and spending time by — and occasionally on — the river. An allotment shared with a close friend has become particularly important: a place of small lessons, quiet failures, and unexpected joy. It’s slowly being shaped into a community space because it is needed — somewhere to put hands in soil, get heads straight, and find a bit of peace together. That instinct is echoed elsewhere too, in the quiet persistence of people choosing to walk, to listen, and to seek calm in a noisy world — lessons worth paying attention to. There are new projects on the horizon, including one on Walcot Street, but they’ll keep for now.

So this space is for writing. About work, place, people, and all the bits of life that sit in between. Some of it will be practical, some reflective, some quietly opinionated — and some of it, frankly, downright cheeky. All of it is written from lived experience rather than theory.

If any of that resonates, you’re very welcome here — and I hope you wouldn’t expect anything less.