Week Three: Royal Appointments, Bond Street Wanderings, and the Art of Not Burning Lamb

If someone had told the anxious Iranian lad clutching his first UK visa eight years ago that he'd one day be shaking hands with the person who adjusts the fit of actual crowns, he'd have politely suggested they lay off the sherry. Yet here I am, writing this at half past six on a Monday morning before work, still slightly pinch-myself about last week's rather extraordinary turn of events.

Sometimes life writes better plots than fiction ever could, and Monday's trip to London with my Mappin & Webb colleagues was precisely that sort of delightfully improbable chapter.

Meeting the Man Who Fits Crowns (Yes, Really)

The highlight of our London showroom visit wasn't the exquisite timepieces or the elegant Mayfair setting – though both were suitably impressive. No, it was meeting Mark Appleby, Crown Jeweller to His Majesty, a man whose business cards must surely be the most conversation-stopping in Britain.

Picture this: a perfectly ordinary-looking chap who happens to pop round to Buckingham Palace twice weekly to ensure the royal family's crowns, tiaras, and ceremonial regalia fit properly. When Mark shared images of crown resizing processes and casually mentioned his various royal commissions, I found myself doing that thing where you nod knowingly whilst internally marvelling at the sheer surreal brilliance of it all.

"So you actually... handle the actual crowns?" I asked, with all the sophistication of someone who'd just discovered Father Christmas was real.

Mark's patient smile suggested he'd fielded this question before. The subsequent conversation about the technical challenges of working with centuries-old pieces, each carrying the weight of history and monarchy, was absolutely fascinating. Here's someone who's reached such a pinnacle in his craft that the royal household trusts him with their most precious ceremonial objects.

It's rather inspiring, really – the idea that you can become so accomplished in your field that you're summoned to palaces not as a visitor, but as the expert they need. From my current vantage point of still learning to distinguish a tourbillon from a perpetual calendar, it feels both impossibly distant and oddly motivating.

Bond Street: A Different World Entirely

After our showroom visit, I seized the chance for my inaugural stroll down New Bond Street. If you've never experienced the particular atmosphere of London's luxury shopping district, imagine walking through a museum where everything's for sale and the price tags would make your mortgage weep.

The jewellery shops are something else entirely – Cartier, Tiffany & Co., Graff – each storefront more dazzling than the last. Peering through those pristine windows at pieces that cost more than most people's annual salaries, I felt that familiar immigrant's sense of wonder mixed with slight bewilderment. These are the jewels I dream of creating with my own hands someday, though I suspect the journey from "can identify a crown jeweller in a room" to "can craft pieces worthy of these windows" might take a while yet.

The energy of central London is intoxicating – that particular buzz of a city where history and commerce dance together on every street corner. Walking past those iconic red double-decker buses (still tourist-picture worthy after eight years, I'm afraid), seeing the magnificent facade of Selfridges, soaking up the controlled chaos of one of the world's great commercial centres – it all felt like research for whatever this new chapter of my life is becoming.

Culinary Adventures and Lamb-Related Disappointments

Back in Birmingham, the weekend brought my usual attempts at expanding my culinary repertoire. Two dishes attempted, one triumph, one... well, let's call it a learning experience.

The Smoky Chorizo Salmon was an unqualified success – the sort of dish that makes you feel briefly capable of opening a restaurant before reality reasserts itself. Chorizo's smoky richness paired with salmon's delicate flavour created something that even I, chronic critic of my own cooking, had to admit was rather good.

The Tender Lamb Shoulder, however, served as a humbling reminder that six hours of slow cooking can quickly become six hours of slow burning if one underestimates the importance of adequate liquid. Opening that oven to find blackened vegetables and chickpeas whilst the lamb itself emerged perfectly cooked was the sort of kitchen tragedy that would make Gordon Ramsay weep. Or shout. Probably shout.

Still, the meat was delicious, and I've learned that when a recipe suggests liquid quantities, it's probably not being overly cautious. Lesson noted for future Sunday afternoon culinary adventures.

Dancing Forward, Looking Back

This week brings my second practice session before the improver salsa classes begin, plus Thursday's Salsa Night at Jam House – my chance to redeem last month's rather tentative performance. There's something wonderfully optimistic about signing up for intermediate classes when you've only just mastered not stepping on your partner's feet, but that seems to be the theme of this whole reinvention project: saying yes first, figuring out competence later.

The View from Here

Working at Mappin & Webb has introduced me to people I'd never have encountered in my previous life – successful entrepreneurs, established collectors, individuals who've built something significant and lasting. Even in these early weeks, I can feel how exposure to their perspectives is shifting my own thinking about success, ambition, and what's possible.

There's something profound about being around people who've reached the top of their respective fields. It's not just inspiration (though there's plenty of that); it's permission. Permission to think bigger, to imagine possibilities that seemed absurd just months ago, to believe that the gap between where I am and where Mark Appleby is might not be unbridgeable after all.

Six months ago, I was a CAD designer contemplating career change. Today, I'm learning about Swiss complications whilst planning which luxury timepieces to recommend to customers whose watch budgets exceed my annual salary. Next week, I'll be attempting increasingly complex salsa moves whilst probably burning something new and inventive in my kitchen.

The teenager in Tehran who dreamed of leaving couldn't have scripted this particular trajectory, but perhaps that's the point. The best adventures are the ones you never see coming – the ones that start with citizenship ceremonies and flapjacks and somehow lead to shaking hands with the person who ensures the Queen's crowns fit properly.

From provisional resident to meeting the Crown Jeweller in the space of eight years – if that's not worth getting up at half past six to write about, I don't know what is.

Next week promises continued Swiss horological education, hopefully fewer culinary disasters, and the ongoing adventure of building a life that still occasionally surprises even me. Not bad for someone who once thought the height of British integration was successfully navigating a Tesco self-checkout.

Sometimes the most extraordinary moments come disguised as ordinary Mondays. Thank goodness I'm finally present enough to notice them when they do.