From a shed, to a plane, to the hands of people all over the world.
Read our story. And then make your own.
It’s Sunday morning, inky and quiet. Even the birds are smart enough to still be asleep. I pull on my socks and slide down the hallway. I switch on Top Gun, keeping the volume low and sitting close to the TV, so as not to wake Mum. I know all the lines off by heart anyway.
Eventually she finds me and starts her well-rehearsed speech on television and square eyes. I nod, but can see in her eyes she’s holding back a smile.
We pile into the car and make our way to Granddad Albert’s. I’m like a puppy that’s heard the word walk, wriggling in my seat, gazing out the window.
I hug mum tightly, jump out of the car and snake along the stone pavers to the shed where I’ll spend the afternoon.
As Granddad works, I watch closely and man the toolbox. His hands are worn and stained like the well loved workbench he’s made a lifetime of furniture on. We move slowly, considering every step in the process. When we come to a problem, we solve it. If I say “It can’t,” he questions “What if it could?”.
I tell Granddad I want to be a pilot when I grow up.
He turns to me, his face crinkling into a smile, eyes twinkling.
“So, where will you go?” he asks.
I tie up my shoelaces in Sydney and untie them in LA.
I fly my 747 through the velvet clouds, marveling at how they bend and transform as we slip through them. Over Nepal I eat breakfast. Down below snow capped mountains peak through the clouds like old men with white hair, waiting to meet their next adventurer.
I navigate us over oceans and alps, through yolk coloured sunsets, across imaginary borders and into far away places.
On land I soak up my surroundings. Tasting new flavours and trying new things. Friendly strangers give my insatiable curiosity a new perspective.
Tea in Morocco, beer on a cliff, discovering the perfect turquoise wave. This is what I call work. They say getting lost is the best way to find yourself. And the best way to get lost is to go somewhere new.
There are few things more satisfying than watching the sunrise from the cockpit at 35,000 feet. One of them is seeing something you’ve created in use.
While travelling I see moments paused by unnecessary interruptions. I’m driven to fix those problems. I remember what Albert taught me and I create the things I see in my head.
Things that don’t yet exist. But that if they did would make the everyday a little better. Things made to last and evolve. To go where you go. So you can get lost in whatever it is that you’re doing.
I create Afternoons With Albert for people who are looking for something more.
Their adventure. Their moment. Themselves.
For people ready to go.