Back in June, I wrote about the statue of Gaia—the winning installation from the Chelsea Flower Show—becoming a permanent resident in the Park Hill area of my home city. I said at the time that I’d keep an eye on her progress, and I have. She’s definitely looking more settled now, looking amazing set against the brutalist backdrop of the 1960s flats. I’m guessing the plants will need time to establish themselves before she is truly ready, but she is looking so much better already. It seems great minds think alike, as I noticed local blogger Neil over at Yorkshire Pudding was just writing about her too!
My own pantheon recognises her as Jörð (pronounced Yord), the personification of the uncultivated Earth—an ancient giantess and, with Odin, the mother of Thor. While Norse tradition grounds you on the solid, unyielding foundation of Jörð—the wild, enduring earth that stands timeless beneath gods and mortals alike—Celtic paganism connects you to the sentient, living spirit of the landscape. Where the Norse path offers a deep reverence for the raw physical realm underfoot, the Celtic tradition invites a sacred, personal relationship with the soil, treating the land not just as a backdrop, but as a sovereign partner to be respected, walked alongside, and honoured in every step. I like to think that I mesh these two ideals together, free from confusion or conflict.
Whatever name you give her, however you view or revere her, she is just like nature itself: beautiful.
I’ll keep popping past to see how the changing seasons treat her, and I for one am glad to welcome her to our city. Fingers crossed she remains safe from any acts of vandalism or destruction; while the area she is sited in is currently undergoing redevelopment, there remains a bit of an unsavoury element that might seek to ruin what has been crafted here.
On a somewhat smaller scale than ancient deities, I’ve also been busy honouring my own sacred personal traditions—mainly because I am an absolute creature of habit, and planning ahead is its own kind of magic.
Next year’s diary is already taking shape. I’ve booked our hotel for the Jorvik Viking Festival 2027, which has officially become a non-negotiable staple in our calendar. Closer on the horizon, we’re off to a good friend’s wedding later this year. That involves a stay in a properly posh hotel—incidentally, the very same establishment where Morticia used to work back when we first got together, so no pressure on them to impress!
And finally, the big one: our next trip to Wales is officially locked in. Granted, June feels like a lifetime away, but there is a massive silver lining... this time, it’s for two whole weeks.
The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 
You can read the latest chapter here:
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𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗.
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʟᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀꜱ: ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.
ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ — ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴄʜᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ.