I got to Portobello Road just after ten - early enough that the street still feels breathable, before the shuffle begins. There was already a small queue outside the famous Notting Hill bookshop (as an ex-local, I hate to tell you it’s not actually the one from the film, but that rarely interferes with enthusiasm). The rest of the market was stretching into the day.

I left my daughter and partner at a local cafe to smooch on their dangerously good selection of brioche buns - my personal weakness is the cornichon and salami -while I slipped back into the antiques stretch alone.

Sourcing is something I prefer to do alone. I’m very visual, and I need a certain quiet to really see. When I’m by myself, I can imagine how something might live within Pouf, within the stories I’m currently curating, instead of just reacting to the shine of it.

There are hundreds of booths spread along the street and inside the arcades. Silver everywhere - trays leaning against mirrors, teapots hanging overhead, cutlery resting in velvet boxes, napkin rings tossed together in one unruly cardboard crate. 

But part of the exquisite thrill of sourcing is the element of surprise. You’re walking through layers of history where there are always chances to find delight - delightfully quirky pieces, little wonders from a different time. And every now and then, something catches your eye. This time, it was a sterling silver comb. A treat for any vanity.

The street stalls have one rhythm. The indoor arcades have their own. Prices are often higher inside, the lighting brighter, the presentation more polished. One of the arcades feels almost exclusively devoted to silver - trays, champagne coolers, teapots, silver in every nook. Bear in mind that fluorescent cabinet lighting is a very generous friend to silver. Daylight is less forgiving. Admittedly, this is often where I find my pieces, though.

A few rules of thumb: don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to step outside and inspect something in natural light. And don’t be afraid to bargain - respectfully. The first price is rarely the last, but this isn’t a flea market either. These are professional traders. Silver is expensive right now, and they know it.

Another of the larger arcades is its own universe entirely. Mainly jewellery, embroidered linens, fabrics, tiny curiosities gathered from across the world. Vintage jewellery isn’t really my main foray, but every now and then something insists. I did walk away with a pair of sparkly earrings for a project coming later this year.

Early on I spotted a pair of tall, fluted vases that had exactly the right kind of presence - elegant, slightly severe, the sort of shape that makes you mentally clear a console table before you’ve even asked the price. I shared them almost immediately on my Instagram stories and my DMs went fairly feral. The seller assured me they had been recently re-silvered. Which may well have been true. But once I moved them into natural light, the surface told a different story - scratched, the silver worn too thin in places. So I left them. Three hours later, in a different corner of the market, I found the same silhouette in far better condition. Those are the ones that actually came home with me, and I was very relieved not having to disappoint everyone who had tuned in for the online sourcing.

Coffee pots had been high on my wish list. The ones I had been hoping for were either in dreadful condition or wildly overpriced - which is often the way. But I did stumble across a reproduction Christopher Dresser teapot from the 1990s, and I was thrilled. Dresser, often considered a precursor to Art Deco and one of the early pioneers of modern design, has this way of making even the simplest forms feel intentional.

And then, to my delight, I found an original bread rack by the designer as well - one of the very first pieces I ever bought when I started Pouf and first fell in love with silverware.

I’m always on the hunt for a good shell. I came home with three this time. I’m particularly excited about a pair of croissant-embellished shell dishes that were wonderfully playful and completely irresistible. And a butter dish in fantastic condition, which is unusual for this type of piece.
Of course, there were things I didn’t leave with. A hammered mid-century silver tray that was absolutely to die for - the kind that would make anything placed on top of it look better. I left it, and I am still kicking myself.

There was also a delightfully English toast rack with an egg cup at each end - the sort of breakfast contraption only the British could design. It was simply too expensive, and any bargaining tricks I had up my sleeve fell flat. And I had my hands on several sets of silver cutlery, but it just wasn’t my priority this time.

One of the real pleasures of Portobello is the conversations. These traders know their things. If you ask where something was made, how old it is, who they bought it from, they’ll tell you - often in generous detail.

The gentleman I bought the Dresser coffee pot from gave me a small lesson I didn’t expect. Englishmen, he explained, don’t just know how to drink tea - they know how to live with their silver. You’re not meant to scrub the inside of a teapot until it gleams. Quite the opposite. If you keep polishing the interior, your tea will start tasting metallic. The dark build-up of left-over tea inside is actually what you want. So only rinse it!

Very British, really.

By the time it was nearing one o’clock, Portobello had fully turned into itself. What had felt almost spacious at ten was now shoulder to shoulder, that slow, compressed shuffle where you’re technically moving but not really advancing. I was practically goose-stepping, hugging my bag of treasures - scratch-anxious as I am and mildly suspicious of everyone’s elbows.

Three hours in, I was done. I had quietly exceeded my spending ceiling, and the emoji messages from my six-year-old back at the hotel were becoming increasingly impatient. So I shuffled out, slightly over budget and quietly giddy about what was coming home with me - still thinking about that tray.

Of course, I’ll be back.