The Room I'd Always Wanted to Walk Into
A reflection on belonging, friendship and why Brunch Book Club became so much more than books.
Looking back at Brunch Book Club now, I realise I wasn't building a book club as much as I was trying to create the kind of room I'd always wanted to walk into myself. A room where arriving alone wasn't something to be embarrassed about. A room where conversations could begin with fictional characters before naturally drifting into real life. A room where nobody needed an invitation beyond the courage to buy a ticket and read a book.
Books give us permission to begin.
They offer us somewhere safe to start.
It's much easier to tell someone what you thought about a fictional character than it is to tell them you're lonely, heartbroken or frightened.
Then something wonderful happens.
You realise the person opposite you understood the same chapter completely differently.
The conversation slowly stops being about the book.
And starts becoming about us.
One of my favourite moments happens every single month. Someone will say, "I never would have picked this book up on my own." Usually it's followed by, "I'm so glad I did." I don't think Brunch Book Club has just expanded our bookshelves; I think it's expanded the way we see the world. Every unfamiliar perspective, every uncomfortable conversation and every story that challenged our assumptions has made us a little more curious than we were before. And I can't think of many better reasons to read than that.
So, whilst this post is celebrating seven years of Brunch Book Club, it isn't really about me or books.
It's about every single person who has ever pulled up a chair at one of our tables.
It's about the people who booked a ticket without knowing a single person in the room. The extroverts who instinctively made space for someone new, and the introverts who quietly pushed themselves beyond their comfort zone because they hoped this time might be different. It's about the readers who arrived with pages full of annotations and colour-coded tabs, and it's equally about those who sheepishly admitted halfway through discussion that they'd only managed the first few chapters. (You know who you are, and you're always welcome anyway.)
It's about the members who kept coming back month after month, who trusted the process enough to turn up again, and the people who brought friends because they wanted someone else to experience what they'd found. It's about everyone who started a conversation, sent the first message in the WhatsApp group, organised a drink between events or simply smiled at someone who looked just as nervous as they once had.
“I came because I’m passionate about bottomless brunches and books and I stayed because of the most gorgeous community.”
There have been moments when I've wondered whether I should stop. Usually, they haven't been because of the workload, although there have certainly been months when the admin alone felt endless. They've been the moments when I've felt misunderstood. When the very thing I've spent years trying to create — belonging — has felt out of reach for me too. Those moments have taught me something. Hospitality isn't about perfect table settings or remembering everyone's coffee order. It's about removing uncertainty. It's about making sure nobody has to wonder whether they belong. If I can make those first five minutes feel easy, the rest tends to take care of itself.
Hospitality isn't about perfect table settings.
It's about making sure nobody has to wonder whether they belong.
People often ask me what "You can sit with us" means. Other than being a play on the iconic quote from Mean Girls, it's about belonging equally. There isn't a best seat at Brunch Book Club. There isn't an inner circle. Everybody sits at the centre of the table. That's always been the point.
"You can sit with us"
Over the past seven years, I've realised something else too. We all arrive carrying something. Sometimes it's excitement. Sometimes it's loneliness. Sometimes it's heartbreak, uncertainty or simply the hope that this time might be different. I've come to believe that almost everybody walks into a room wondering the same things: Will anyone talk to me? Will I fit in? Will they like me?
The truth is, I don't think those feelings ever really disappear. We just get better at hiding them.
That's why kindness matters so much. A smile across the table. Someone pulling out a chair. A simple, "Is this your first time?" can completely change the course of someone's day. It's easy to underestimate those small moments, but I've watched them grow into friendships, holidays, bridesmaids, businesses and lives that became intertwined because one person chose to make another feel welcome.
Sometimes I’m asked whether I'd come to Brunch Book Club if I weren't the founder.
The answer is yes. Absolutely. Without hesitation.
I most certainly wouldn’t walk in bold as brass. I'd probably linger by the entrance for a few seconds pretending to check my phone before tentatively walking in wondering whether everyone already kneweach other. I'd probably still feel those familiar butterflies that come with entering any room full of strangers. But I also think I'd leave wishing I'd found it years earlier. Because I spent a long time thinking I was looking for a book club but with hindsight, I realise I was looking for somewhere to belong. Not just people to read the same books as me. People to build a life alongside. A place where conversations didn't have to stay on the surface. A place where curiosity was celebrated, vulnerability was met with kindness, and nobody had to earn their seat at the table.
I think that's what Brunch Book Club has taught me more than anything else. Books might be the reason we gather, but empathy is what keeps us coming back. Because when you really strip everything else away, I don't think any of us are looking for the perfect book or the perfect brunch. We're looking for the same thing I was looking for all those years ago. To belong.
Seven years ago, I asked a question I never imagined would change my life.
The answer wasn't simply "yes."
It was hundreds of conversations, countless friendships and a community that continues to grow in ways I could never have imagined.
Nor could I have imagined that it would become part of so many other people's stories too.
Whether you've been here since our very first discussion of Queenie, joined us for your first event last month, logged into Zoom during lockdown, swapped a book with a stranger, or simply followed along from afar, thank you. Every person who has walked through our doors has shaped Brunch Book Club into the community it is today.
When I first moved to London, I was looking for friendship. I never imagined that, seven years later, I'd be looking back at photographs of weddings, babies, birthdays and lifelong friendships that all began with one Facebook post and a shared love of books.
So here's to every conversation we've had, every book we've loved (and occasionally hated), every friendship that's been formed, and every person who is still yet to find us.
Because there will always be room for one more at our table.
Seven years ago, I was looking for somewhere to belong.
I just didn't realise we'd build it together.
You can sit with us. Always.
