This is the first in a series I'm going to call "Growin' Up". I was lucky enough to have been raised traveling and everything that I am has been informed by these experiences. And my aesthetics have definitely been shaped by my youth and the wide world I got to see.
First up is The Sloane Club, which is like a home away from home for me and has been since I my first memory of it. Which was of me, dropping my stuffed monkey, Morgan, in the wet street as we hustled out of a black cab from Heathrow. When we were staying with family friends in Hammersmith when visiting London, we'd stay here. Eventually I came to realize that they kept luggage there for us, years later I returned to pick up a suitcase I didn't know was there. If I was ever stuck in London with nowhere to stay I knew that I could call the manager, explain my situation and have a bed for the night.
As I write this I'm remembering returning to the UK from a trip to Peru with some school chums when I was 16. I remember relishing in buying sweets from the tuck shop, I think I got some salami and cheese and a baguette which I duly stuffed into my face while watching some awful British telly. And I can't forget the raspberry coulis and Greek yogurt each morning for breakfast. Never had better yogurt, or coulis anywhere else.
I've found the mood board by the designer of the dining room above. I'm now recalling a variety of family disputes that took place over a plate of sausages (me), black pudding (dad), and well scrambled eggs (mom).
First up is The Sloane Club, which is like a home away from home for me and has been since I my first memory of it. Which was of me, dropping my stuffed monkey, Morgan, in the wet street as we hustled out of a black cab from Heathrow. When we were staying with family friends in Hammersmith when visiting London, we'd stay here. Eventually I came to realize that they kept luggage there for us, years later I returned to pick up a suitcase I didn't know was there. If I was ever stuck in London with nowhere to stay I knew that I could call the manager, explain my situation and have a bed for the night.
As I write this I'm remembering returning to the UK from a trip to Peru with some school chums when I was 16. I remember relishing in buying sweets from the tuck shop, I think I got some salami and cheese and a baguette which I duly stuffed into my face while watching some awful British telly. And I can't forget the raspberry coulis and Greek yogurt each morning for breakfast. Never had better yogurt, or coulis anywhere else.
I've found the mood board by the designer of the dining room above. I'm now recalling a variety of family disputes that took place over a plate of sausages (me), black pudding (dad), and well scrambled eggs (mom).
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