PAVEMENTS, PYJAMAS, AND PERMANENT ADDRESSES

enerally, I shy away from commenting on what people choose to wear. Personal expression is something I hold sacred; I’m a firm believer that you should be yourself and feel free to express your identity however you see fit. However, there is one boundary I simply cannot ignore.

MYTH OF THE QUIET HOUSE

very now and again, my wife heads off for a few days of well-earned respite. She’s with a friend who understands the ins and outs of her disability and knows exactly how to help her navigate the world to get the best out of the trip. This week, they are down in "that London" for a whirlwind of fun and frivolity. Me? I’m here, keeping the gears turning as usual.

THE VIKING IN YOUR KITCHEN

orkshire is the place of my birth, where I live, and where I will probably die. It is in my blood and, more importantly, in my voice. My accent is a mix of Old English and heavy Old Norse influence, brought by 9th-century invaders who settled the region. My particular flavour features Mercian roots—a "broader," harsher sound hammered into shape by 19th-century industrialisation.

THE VOICE WITHIN - A CARTOON STORY

epression has been described and personified in many ways. Those of us who live with it see it in various ways; for some, it is a ‘black dog’ that stalks and threatens. But I see it differently: it is a familiar, friendly voice that we learn to trust. It is coercive control from within. It is incredibly hard to describe, but I wanted to try in the only way I know how.

THE CHARIOT OF MÀNI: BEARING WITNESS

oon exploration, when mentioned, has always been a thing of the past for me. A relic of the sixties and seventies illustrated by low-quality, crackly videos of astronauts weightlessly bounding across the lunar surface...

...until now.

VICTORY OF THE LIGHT: SIGRBLÓT, CERNUNNOS, AND THE CRICKET CLUB

aster is often viewed through a single lens, but history reveals a far more complex tapestry. It is a season of renewal and rebirth that predates modern practices by millennia. While some today may aggressively lay claim to these origins, there is room here for all faiths—and for those with none.

MECHANICAL INVADERS OF SHEFFIELD

obots, we were promised back in the 70s and 80s, were the inevitable future. But what was that actually meant to look like? Popular fiction has shown us every variation imaginable: mechanical servants designed to make our lives easier, or chrome-plated overlords destined to end us all, depending on which film you watched.

BONDS OF IRON OVER GEARS OF STEEL

y bike is my loyal steed, my iron horse that gets me everywhere I need to go... until it doesn’t. I thought we'd started to forge a bond in the miles out on the road especially since my current daily go to was only purchased back in January, so you’d think we would still be in the honeymoon period. I certainly did.

THE FUTURE'S ORANGE

ublic transport is something I’m quite passionate about. Some might say it’s in my blood. Back in the nineties, I drove buses, but it goes back even further than that. I grew up with public transport in my life; it was always there as a backdrop.

SURVIVING THE "A" BOMB

ife has a way of creating chores for us and then making it difficult to complete them. It can be hard to get stuff done when, suddenly, there’s something else that needs doing.

THE RELUCTANT SOCIALITE

reat social gatherings were once the backbone of my week. Years ago, work events were constant, brilliant, and effortless to navigate. Somewhere along the way, however, the "social rust" set in. It isn't that the desire to be social has vanished—I’m no shy-away type—but the "tribe" has to be right. There is a world of difference between sharing a table with a few trusted friends and navigating the broad, noisy sea of a workplace crowd. With the former, the guard is down; with the latter, the armour is firmly buckled.

MOTHERS: THE ARCHITECTS OF THE HEARTH

other’s Day is a sacred time, not a retail opportunity. Forget the hollow hype of the greetings card industry and the plastic tat that clutters the shelves. This day should be more than a commercial obligation; it is a moment to honour the architects of our lineage. In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, I’m looking at the women who forged the foundation I stand on. Today, I’m honouring the mothers in my life.

CHAOS IN A SMALL SPACE BY THE HEARTH FIRE

wenty-five years ago this year, we moved into our home. We were a young family with a five-year-old and another on the way. It’s a little house—three compact bedrooms that were perfectly fine for our small family at the time. Life, as it tends to do, unfolded in its own way, and today we still find ourselves in the same place. However, looking back at those twenty-five years, I realise I haven't yet shared the current makeup of our household as it stands today.

PROJECT: HIGH CONTRAST ARMOUR

s I’ve mentioned before, my "battle vest" often draws compliments and recognition, and even my everyday jacket gets its fair share of attention. The irony is that I’m frequently mistaken for a motorcyclist. I’m not; I don’t have a licence, and the act of riding a motorbike has never actually appealed to me. I’ve never understood why that rugged motorcycle aesthetic hasn't crossed over into the cycling world more often. So, what if I decided to expand that look into my own cycling outerwear?

THE DIGITAL PENCIL

rawing cartoons has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember—transitioning over the years from doodling on scraps of paper to crafting full-scale digital creations.