I’d been to a lot of events before I started Adderley.
Beautiful houses. Expensive dinners. Guest lists full of people I was supposed to be interested in. Some were very good.
But I kept thinking about Sundays at my gran’s house.
Too much food. My gran in the kitchen for most of it, no matter how many times someone told her to sit down. Everyone talking over each other. The same chairs around the same table. Someone arriving late. Someone staying longer than they said they would.
And the same people coming back. I always felt better there. That bothered me a little. I couldn’t work out why a room could have everything going for it and still leave me ready to go home, while somewhere completely ordinary could make me want another glass and another hour.
So I started paying more attention to the rooms I actually liked being in. Usually, I knew who I was sitting next to. Nobody seemed particularly concerned with being interesting. A conversation could carry on from the last time instead of starting again from the beginning.
Nothing about it felt important. I just didn’t want to leave.
I think I’ve been trying to recreate some version of that ever since.