This post is long overdue, but as I stumbled across the draft while cleaning up, I felt compelled to give Purple Patch the tribute it deserves. The website is gone, the office is closed, but there should be at least one memorial to a place that was my professional home for eight remarkable years.
I was a resident of Purple Patch for ages, and in all that time, it was the perfect office for me.
In a world where coworking spaces often cater to people working two hours with a latte on a sofa, Purple Patch was different. It was a place to get work done. It was a place where you could start at the crack of dawn, deliver for clients, hit your goals, and make things happen.
But now, it’s all gone. The office, which miraculously survived the Covid lockdowns, just couldn’t bounce back. The demand never returned to the levels needed for survival. One of the best truly independent coworking spaces in London had to shut its doors.
But there were times I saw Purple Patch at its busiest, filled to capacity, hosting clients from multi-billion-dollar companies.
I’ve celebrated wins, weathered losses, and even failed spectacularly at tabletop football. I’ve closed deals that kept the lights on and worked on projects that pushed my boundaries.
I started in a small corner, gradually spreading out to take over more space as both my work and hobbies expanded. The people who worked there and brought it to life made it special, and years later I still miss the place.
Purple Patch wasn’t just an office, it was a place of character. It wasn’t a coffee shop for sending a few emails, nor a corporate warehouse filled with rows of lifeless desks. It was a space designed to work in. It felt like a cozy library: a labyrinth of nooks and crannies, meeting rooms, and mismatched chairs. Yet, it still felt like home.
The 24-hour access meant I could work whenever inspiration (or deadlines) struck. I’ve spent entire nights there, catching a quick nap on the sofa during relentless work stints.
I’ve arrived before sunrise and left long after dark. It was adaptable and welcoming, yet polished enough that I could proudly host even my most high-profile clients.
It wasn’t just functional; it had everything I wanted: good chairs, sturdy desks, blazing fast internet, and a well-stocked kitchen. And let’s not forget the coffee. Unlimited, delicious, life giving coffee from the giant posh coffee machine on the ground floor.
Everyone I brought to Purple Patch loved it.
But the pandemic changed everything. Before COVID, Purple Patch was 95% full. The desks were occupied by corporate satellite offices, freelancers, and startups brimming with energy and ambition. Then, overnight, it was empty.
During the lockdowns, I was often the only one there. The space became mine alone, a surreal 150 seat office all to myself. I brought in an exercise bike, indulged in hobbies, and used the downtime to keep things tidy and ready for others who might return. Some did come back, but the world they returned to had shifted.
Gone was the nine-to-five culture. Small businesses and solo entrepreneurs like me were replaced by hybrid workers splitting their time between home and office.
Meanwhile, big coworking brands with deep pockets were offering massive discounts to lure people in, and landlords were eager to cash in on the changing landscape. Purple Patch just couldn’t compete; even if they knew sooner or later it would return to everyone needing to be in an office.
In the end, the landlord reclaimed the property, planning to merge it into a larger, more profitable but undoubtedly soulless development.
It’s a damn shame. The eight years I spent at Purple Patch were some of the most productive and meaningful of my career. It was a place I could count on through the challenges, late nights, and tight deadlines. I haven’t found anything better, and I’m not sure I ever will.
So here’s my epitaph for Purple Patch: a place that wasn’t just an office but the type of real community that you can’t artificially create.
