The parks, the people, and Pret

A letter from the sky

I’m writing this on a flight from London to Nice. On my Notes app. Something I learnt from Jonno Seidler. It’s easy enough to write stream of consciousness, but no-frills enough to resist editing.

I’m meeting Dory for a few days in the south of France before our best friend’s wedding. I’m so excited. I spent the last week in the UK. It was weird returning as a visitor—and yet not at all. Walking down Portobello, I felt somewhat disconnected. As if I was watching myself walk. And yet it was all so familiar. I popped my head into a little newsagent tucked behind Notting Hill Gate. Spotted little pillows of red and gold—Côte d'Or Bouchée. My favourite chocolate in the world. Hazelnut, creamy deliciousness. Stocked only by a random selection of newsagents. Like finding Willy Wonka’s golden ticket.

I dotted the backstreets of Notting Hill, dodging tourists, and made my way to Electric Cinema, where I met friends. Slept through most of the new Mission Impossible. And then sat at our usual table at Fez Mangal. Chicken shish, carrots, cabbage, rice. Perfection.

The best restaurants are often the most unassuming. Dory taught me that.

The next morning I woke up in Marylebone. Grabbed a coffee from Hagen. And as the barista dolloped a spoonful of chocolate flakes on my soy cappuccino, I thought, you have no idea how significant this feels. It started raining, so I grabbed an umbrella and made my way to Hyde Park. I walked for hours. I listened to an On Purpose episode with Scott Galloway. I wrote notes. So many notes. I haven’t done that for months. What is it about this park that makes me so clear? So open to words and thoughts and ideas?

“When you find something you think you could be great at, go all in. Greatness is born from focus.” Listening to Scott Galloway, I was reminded of my word, Mastery—the seeds of which were planted in Hyde Park a year prior, listening to a different interview with him. It’s funny how the world speaks to you. Sometimes it shouts, and sometimes it whispers. There, strolling around Hyde Park, enveloped by its majestic greenery, I thought, I want to go all in on the pod. It felt exciting to admit that. Safe in a cocoon of trees.

I clocked the Henry Moore sculpture across the pond. Remembered when Dory and I took a drive to Hertfordshire to see his home and gardens. A must if you get the chance to visit. Go, go, go. Go to the National Portrait Gallery too. I went for the Edvard Munch exhibition, but it was the contemporary collection on Level 1 that captivated me. I love portraits. I love people. I love how different people are—especially in London. It’s inspiring. Eccentricity isn’t the anomaly. It’s the norm. It makes me want to lean into my edges.

Sitting with Grace at her kitchen table, recording another conversation for the pod, we spoke about that—how difference is embraced in London. How people use clothing as a form of expression. Though in truth, Grace taught me that. I’ll never forget the first time I met her for a walk through Holland Park. I was head to toe in black activewear with a bumbag. She was in a cream ballet flat and a knit with a bucket bag. Or the time we had a white party in Italy. She wore this champagne dress. I remember thinking, you can do that? She didn’t subscribe to the rules I did. She taught me that clothes are an art form. A way to express yourself and find your edges. She taught me that different is beautiful.

It was colder than I expected in London, so I got out my Sydney autumn uniform: black St. Agni jeans, a black knit, and Celine loafers. At night, a double denim Scanlan set with floral gold buttons and ivory Lemonde Beryl Mary Janes. I’m nervous writing this. Nervous about how this information will be received. In this detail. But I’m trying not to hide here. And the truth is I love clothes. It’s not labels I care about, but craft. I love finding items that feel like me. I don’t save my special things for special occasions. I wear them every day. When I do, I feel powerful.

How does it feel to be back? People asked me all week. Over bibimbap at KOBA, a bottle of chilled red at Dove, brunch at Lowry & Baker, a walk through Hyde Park, Regent’s Park.

It feels good, I said. Tentatively, unsure. Great! Weird.

But now, hovering 35,000 feet above somewhere in France, I can zoom out a little. How did it feel being back in London?

It felt like the Twin Peaks Theme I’m currently listening to. Familiar, a little hopeful, but also distant. Removed.

I loved our life in London. The parks, the people, the dark chocolate corn thins from Pret. We found a home and family in Ladbroke Grove. I found freedom in my studio in Queen’s Park. But London was never my place. It was always transient. A path. To become an artist. To meet incredible friends. To discover myself and my edges.

For that, I will be forever grateful.

JYK 🤍