Confidence is killing men. The national numbers and statistics on male suicide, show us that we are dealing with a health crisis and have been some time. In the shadow of an even more widespread pandemic, it’s likely that these numbers are being obscured, while mounting responsibility and reduced resources further contribute to the number of those (male and female) who are experience feelings of hopelessness and emotions linked to suicide.

For guys, It seems that we are often at a battle front with ourselves. …

It’s Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus.

Superstition is a strange beast. As recently as this year with the events of Covid-19 we continue to see its effects for good and ill across a full spectral spectrum of society.

Training to work as a physical therapist, you hear a mixed bag of tricks and treats from day to day.

In my brief experience, it is still not uncommon for physical therapists to overhear terms like “witchdoctor” thrown around by those who are sceptical of the practice and possible benefits.

In some sense it’s understandable, and often stems from a lack of information regarding the methods and techniques that might be used to aid rehabilitation, or recovery from pain. …

The health and fitness industry is full of crap. That’s probably not fair, it’s also full of some fascinating, engaging and insightful individuals — but there is a lot of filler.

What is maybe more true, is that it can be an overwhelming place to start finding information or answers. That’s often because in reality - whether you’re trying to eat better, find ways to relax, or develop your fitness levels — there are seldom any hard answers when trying to figure out something as complex and integrated as the human body.

The conundrum that leaves us with, is in my opinion one of the largest barriers to fitness or health there is. …

“That Doesn’t Look Like much Fun”.

I stretch — that’s pretty much it.

When I do it in public or occasionally more unorthodox spaces, I sometimes get asked about it.

“Do you think it does anything?” (I do), “Do you do martial Arts?” (I don’t) “Can you do the splits?” (I can’t).

Essentially, I see stretching as the trade-off for occupying and utilising a body.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Lockdown has been a weird time for everyone. Not least for those who are used to the outdoors or a regular form of exercise being a big part of their routine.

For the duration, I’m fortunate to say I’ve managed to maintain my training at a [fairly] even pace throughout in some form or other. Using outdoor spaces and being creative with limited resources.

After a couple of return trips to the gym this week, with stabilisers firmly in place, my curiosity prompted me to see what the impact of a few months out of my regular routine was.

Despite what my Instagram might have seemed to want you to tell you, the results weren’t all good. They also weren’t by any means devastating [though tell that to my arms after the first round of curls in months]. …

[originally posted December 27, 2016]

Carrie Fisher probably knew I was gay before I did.

For the record I never met the woman. The closest I would come would be sitting in a room with a couple of hundred other hyped up geeks in a convention centre in east London during the summer of 2016.

Fisher was giving a talk at the “Star Wars Celebration” where she and her probably-as-famous-by-now pooch, Gary, were interviewed by former co-star and Ewok, Warwick Davis.

The energy, and barely contained lunacy was apparent. Here you had a woman who was less concerned with pandering to anyone’s opinions of her, or indeed in allowing herself (or Gary) to be interviewed by Davis, but rather making sure she and everyone in the room had a good time. …

Below are some of the articles which helped me change my mind a little over the course of the last year or so. Articles which either helped me at least feel better informed, or gently nudged me toward thinking about things a little differently. I’m not saying everything in them is right, that their authors or I, have all (or any) of the answers.

I simply wanted to leave a little reading somewhere for those who might be taking this change of the calendar page as an opportunity for greater resolve. …


I shall miss your red paper lanterns,

Your unconventional combination of both south-east and far eastern influences and menu items.

Your green chopsticks and complimentary green mock bamboo wall skirting.

The plant I have always assumed is a banana tree in your entry way, I am only now taking time to investigate. In doing so I realise I have no idea what the distinctive traits which aid in the the accurate identification of a banana tree are.

Except for,


I will miss your banana splits.

Your sashimi, and eclectic nineties pop music.

The wedding ceremony pre (or post?) …

He sits typing single handed over a teacup.

Composing stories.

Nouns and adjectives are striped down to their phonetic undies.

Who R U? He asks.

Thoughts and observations are broken down into predicted syllables like crumbs from biscuits.

The clinking of coffee cups and teapots, newspapers and chatter, accompanied by the rhythmic click of the single digit that most separates us from our primate brothers.

The ability to wield fire and then this: the ability to share stories.

Packed down and sent off with not the ceremony of an envelope or the ink to fill it with.

For what are we writing if not short stories? Our own biographies one lunch date at a time.

Etching out the happier epitaphs we choose to leave behind ourselves.

(In a Library)

It seems the ultimate act of faith.

Belief that entropy itself will not be our undoing, will not simply turn on us and begin running backwards.

The coffee cups in the cracked hands of the ladies manning the cloak room will remain whole.

The letters will remain in the order which they were meticulously, considerately placed.

I, knowing only the very bones of them, recognising names and concepts, and occasions amongst them.

What I might do if I was to find the time, finally just sit down and begin to read

A, B, V, E …

There most be somebody who knows each one, each of the letters and combinations, in their rows and drawers.

Or perhaps it is just me, and the ladies in the cloak room.

Interpreting the meaning of it,

the real value of it all,

here in it’s place.



Trainee Resurrectionist-Man, bit time writer, teller of tall tales.

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