TELEVISION: SUBSTANCE OVER SPECTACLE

​eality television simply isn’t my thing. I’ve perfected the cynical eye-roll whenever anyone mentions a new series suet in a villa or a cast member from the Essex gang. My viewing loyalty is reserved for compelling narratives: gritty dramas, classic comedies, or—best of all—the witty, quick-fire brilliance of a comedy panel show or a clever sci-fi escape. These are the only programmes that truly earn a dedicated spot on my schedule. I seek substance, not spectacle.

BETWEEN THE ANCESTORS AND THE ELVES

lfablót, Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Pooky Night or even plain old Hallowe'en, whatever you call this festival—if you celebrate it, what exactly is your practice? This festival means different things to different people; there's no right or wrong way to observe it, it’s whatever you feel is right.

TWO FUNERALS AND ANOTHER FUNERAL

nowledge of this truth doesn't make it any easier: the older you get, the more funerals you inevitably attend. For my wife, Morticia, this year has brought more than her fair share of these sad occasions. The loss is keenly felt; when family and friends move on to the next stage of their existence, it is inherently difficult and takes a collective toll. We will, quite simply, miss them and the irreplaceable void they leave in our lives.

TEACHING US TO SUCK EGGS

y career has involved countless training courses, with their utility varying wildly between the truly beneficial and the utterly pointless. What has become a consistent and peculiar trend, however, is the escalating requirement for mandatory retraining on the entirety of our role. Just two years ago, this mandate required three days away from daily business; now, I find myself committed to a five-day programme.

SOUL REPLENISHMENT AND A STORMY FAREWELL

aluably, our time here, however finite, proved perfect. The mission of relaxation was a success, only slightly undermined by a foolish, self-inflicted work distraction that slipped past my rule of communication blackout. The week delivered so much joy that the heartache of leaving was hard, as always, but every moment was utterly worth it. The sudden, blustery turn in the weather at the week's close perfectly reflected our feelings, yet with every ending comes the beautiful certainty of another trip—and we are already planning for next year.

THIRD POSTCARD FROM THE CEI

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ritics might suggest a third visit to the same quiet harbour town in one calendar year is predictable, but to me, this unprecedented return to New Quay/Cei Newydd is less about habit and more about pure necessity. I take all the stick for my unwavering loyalty, letting the judgement wash over me entirely because the deep connection I share with Cymru, and this specific stretch of the Ceredigion coast, is where my heart truly lives.

GOOD NEWS AND A LEAP OF FAITH

arely do I have good news to share. For me, the daily struggle and the mundane routine are the norm, especially this year, which has been a particularly challenging one so far. So to be able to say this gives me immense pleasure...

​Last week, my youngest daughter, Rags, passed her driving test!

ENGINE LIGHTS TO VIKING FIGHTS

ightmares aren't always about monsters and darkness; sometimes, they're about an engine light flickering on for the fifth time. The last year we spent fighting with our old car felt like an endless cycle of breakdowns and stress, leaving me with a sense of dread that just won't go away. It’s seriously impacted my mental health, and it’s made me wonder: can you get PTSD from a faulty car? On the positive side, I've had more days off from work now, and I even had a great day out last weekend.

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PATRIOTS AND FLAG SHAGGERS

nlike some, I've never been one to get misty-eyed over a flag. The St George's Cross, the Union Jack, any of them – they just don't stir any deep sense of national pride within me. That isn't to say I'm unpatriotic or a traitor, but the idea of 'my country, right or wrong' has always felt strange. I'm just a bloke who doesn't quite get the whole national pride thing.