Proving Myself Since I Was In The Womb

Even though I have been living this crazy life for a long time, writing the second instalment of my diary is really hitting me how much of a ricochet my life is. Pinging from high to low, from busy to slow, from external to internal in just a short week. But today, on this Sunday, I feel good and there are a few actions I took this week to ensure that.

This week's major theme for me was about the internal voices that are still holding me back. I reflected on the Samurai Retreat. I reflected being in Paris (a place that causes me great anxiety) and I had a session of hypnotherapy (the first in years) to work on a thing that has been niggling at me these last few months. I'll tell all below...

Announcements:

• I've bought a ticket to the Support Jamaica Gala as a gift as I am unable to go this Saturday. Please consider buying a ticket to support the relief.
• New Methods Retreat is this Saturday in Senegal, Africa. If you want to book a last-minute trip and come, let me know! I am beyond excited for this deep work and quiet reflection. More info here.
• The Stack World Zoom Meeting is tonight, and every Sunday at 7.30pm. This evening I'm going to talk through your 4 Types of Customer. You can RSVP here.
• 39Bc Launch Party is November 20th - RSVP Here!

This email is way too long. This week I'm gonna experiment with just writing each day at the end of the day.

If you only have time for one thing, listen to this.

Have a great week!

Just One Day at Home, Just One Day at Home.

I arrived home in Wolverhampton at 2am on Monday morning from the Samurai retreat. There were no trains back home when I landed, so I had to get a £200 taxi from Stansted Airport. This convinced me that now is the time to get a London pied-à-terre. The travel is getting crazy. I’ll have a little London room from mid-November. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not moving back. 

Even though I only had one day at home, that’s often all I need to feel myself again. I had time to switch my suitcase (but not wash anything) and pack for a very special trip to Paris. Roman wanted to stay at home with the family so I did some meal prep for him (chicken ramen) and on Tuesday morning, got the 9.45am train to London in time for the 1.30pm train to Paris. 

Logistics Queen

I have to just take a minute to tell you how being a logistics queen is so critical to my mental wellbeing. For example, I know that to walk from Euston to Kings Cross for the Eurostar is 8 minutes. I know that the tube from Liverpool Street to Oxford Circus is 11 minutes. I know the direct train to London is always at quarter to the hour but actually the quarter past the hour via Birmingham is actually faster. I know that the Heathrow Express is three times faster than a taxi.

Whe I travel, I pack 2/3 colours MAX so I can only carry handluggage and everything arrives. (For Paris, I only packed Black and Camel)

It means I can check one thing off my mental load and I can criss cross the country (the globe actually) with ease.

If you have a busy life, how can you make it easier for yourself?

Tuesday - Maison Francis Kurkdjian Exhibition

I arrived in Paris that evening - tired, a little crumpled, but instantly recharged by the sight of Haussmann rooftops against a silver sky. I threw my suitcase onto the floor of my room at Hotel Brach, changed outfits in record time, rubbed Silk Veil across my collarbones, and stepped straight into the night. There’s a particular alchemy that happens in Paris when you have somewhere to be - suddenly you’re electric, awake, present.

I headed straight to the Palais de Tokyo for the opening of Perfume: Sculpture of the Invisible, celebrating thirty years of Francis Kurkdjian’s creation.

The atmosphere was quietly charged - more reverent than glamorous. Each room felt like a chapter in a book of air: installations unfolding through light, sound, and scent. What I loved most was the ritual of it. On arrival, you were given a small collector’s booklet - beautifully printed, almost like a passport - and at each installation, you collected a blotter scented with a different creation. As you moved through the exhibition, you filled your book page by page, building your own archive of Kurkdjian’s world.

It was such a simple yet brilliant idea: to make the experience both personal and participatory. You weren’t just observing the art — you were assembling it, scent by scent, memory by memory.

Kurkdjian began his life as a ballet dancer before becoming a perfumer, and you could feel that discipline and choreography in the curation - each movement through space as deliberate as a step on stage. The balance between precision and emotion, control and release. I was thinking about how perfume, like dance, disappears the moment it’s performed - but what remains is sensation, rhythm, trace.

Standing there with my little booklet, surrounded by strangers all quietly inhaling, I remembered something really basic. How much I love culture, I love seeing people connect the dots. I love being in my own private world experiencing these things. I didn't know anyone in the 500 people in the room, so I was mostly introspective during this time.

As the final installation faded, the crowd was gently ushered into another room - a dim, candlelit hall where two grand pianos faced each other like mirrors. 

Then came Katia and Marielle Labèque, the legendary pianist sisters Kurkdjian so often collaborates with, taking their seats with quiet authority.

The performance began softly, almost imperceptibly, like scent itself — a gradual unfurling rather than a declaration. The music felt airborne, ephemeral, perfectly in sync with Kurkdjian’s world: notes floating, colliding, then dissolving into silence. You could sense how deeply he’s inspired by them — the precision of their rhythm, the intimacy of two artists who have spent a lifetime breathing in time together.

I mostly sat in the back but as I got closer to take a picture, I caught a glimpse of them smiling and laughing at each other while playing. It made me smile.

Imagine collaborating with someone for so long and still having this understanding with each other.

Outside, a fleet of black Mercedes waited, engines humming softly in the courtyard. Paris was glowing — the streets slick with rain, lights blurred in reflection. From the back seat, I watched the city glide by: the Seine, the bridges, people smoking outside brasseries.

There are nights in Paris that feel choreographed, as though someone has arranged every detail and it was the team at Lucien Pages who had done just that. Everything was flawless. Logistics on lock.

Wed - Morning at Sèvres porcelain manufacturer.

The next morning we went to the legendary Sèvres - yes, the same one that made the porcelain roses for Kurkdjian’s Éclats de Roses installation the night before. I loved that bit of continuity. From the Palais de Tokyo to the suburbs, following the scent back to its source.

It’s one of those places that feels frozen in time like being back at university, everyone working in total silence. It reminded me of my Samurai retreat — the same meditative precision, the same obsession with form.

Each artisan had their own station, their own little world: some sculpting petals, others painting gold rims onto plates with brushes so fine they looked like eyeliner wands.

Our guide was so elegant - it wasn't just his perfect navy uniform, butthe way he walked, the way he moved his hands, his intonation and expressions. You know when someone is just effortlessly French? He spoke about porcelain with the same passion people reserve for love affairs. Every sentence began with a sigh and ended with a flourish. I could’ve listened to him all day.

Watching him, I finally got the Parisian obsession with craft. It’s not just about making beautiful things - it’s about doing one thing perfectly, for a lifetime, and being proud of that devotion. There’s no rush, no need to reinvent every season. Just mastery. You can feel it in everything here — from how a waiter places a cup to how a perfumer blends a note. It’s a national personality trait, and I've been thinking a lot about slowness and simplicity lately and this visit reinforced those principles.

What if it was okay to be good at just one thing? To train and hone your craft. To be slow and present in the very thing you're doing?

We then had lunch and attended a masterclass by Francis himself, which was an amazing opportunity to hear his philosophy and creative process.

Whew! It was already an amazing day but we were chauffeured back to the hotel where we had precisely an hour to get changed for the Baccarat Rouge dinner.

Wed Eve - Baccarat Rouge 540 – 10-Year Anniversary Dinner

To mark the 10th anniversary of his now-iconic creation Baccarat Rouge 540, guests were summoned to the fabled Maison Baccarat in Paris for an evening that was less dinner party, more olfactory opera.

Hosted in the Maison’s crimson-drenched salons — all velvet banquettes, towering crystal, and just the right amount of gilt — the soirée unfolded like a love letter to French decadence. Each Baccarat glass shimmered like a jewel under candlelight, echoing the signature red of the fragrance itself — a hue that has become, in Kurkdjian’s world, more than colour. It’s code. It’s memory. It’s myth.

Guests arrived by chauffeured car, ushered into the Grand Salon where Baccarat’s chandeliers seemed to glow with a secret. I was sat near jeweller Anissa Kermiche and Zak Maoui (whom I gossiped with all night), and I was given the honor of sitting next to Francis Kurkdijan himself.

The menu, devised by Alain Ducasse, played on the sensorial theme - layers of silk-like sauces, delicate aromatics, and the heavy heavy crystal glasses of Baccarat for each glass of wine.

And as the evening drew to a close — with crystal goblets emptied, laughter echoing through the Baccarat halls — guests were handed one last indulgence: a generous bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 Extrait de Parfum, tucked neatly into sleek gift bags.

Thurs - Paris Anxiety

Paris always gives me a sense of anxiety. Like, I'm not elegant or cool or chic enough...