The blog I follow most closely is written by a retired schoolteacher in Scotland who writes about growing vegetables on a small allotment. I'm a hotel chef in Kathmandu, so it's not exactly connected to my life, but I've been reading it for about three years.
I found it completely by chance. I was searching online for advice on why my chilli plants kept dropping their flowers, and one of her posts came up. It explained the problem so clearly and with such humour that I read three more posts that night, and I've been hooked ever since. She posts roughly once a week, usually on Sunday, so it's become part of my Sunday morning routine. I read it with my tea before I go to the kitchen for the lunch shift.
Each post usually describes what she's been doing on the allotment that week, with lots of photos, like her muddy boots, a giant cabbage or a disaster with slugs. She gives practical tips, but she also writes about her neighbours on the other plots, the weather and memories of her late husband, who started the allotment with her.
I enjoy following it for a few reasons. First, the writing is lovely. She has a gentle, funny style, and reading it relaxes me before a busy shift. Second, I've genuinely learned a lot. I now grow herbs and vegetables in pots on our hotel's roof, and some of them end up in my dishes. And thirdly, I like the sense of following someone's life slowly. Most of the internet is fast and noisy, but this blog feels like a letter from a friend.