BEATING THE BLUE

lue Monday was allegedly last week, falling on the third Monday of January as it does every year. It is widely said to be the most depressing day of the calendar, and while I don’t entirely subscribe to the theory, I can certainly recognise where it stems from. It’s that familiar cocktail of the post-festive slump, short daylight hours, and the long, cold stretch toward payday—though I’m fortunate enough to be paid mid-month, which spares me that particular sting.

WALES IN YELLOW: LE TOUR RETURNS

have amazing news, something I’ve been waiting for has finally dropped: the Grand Départ is returning to the UK! There is an unrivalled magic when the Tour de France crosses the Channel, and I am absolutely buzzing that the world's greatest sporting spectacle is set to grace our backyard once again. Not since that spine-tingling summer of 2014 have we seen the peloton on British roads, and the prospect of that electric atmosphere returning is nothing short of incredible.

ZERO HANGOVERS, TOLERANCE, AND SPACE

ero-percent beers have been a total game-changer recently. Being able to head to the pub or share a drink with friends without the looming dread of a hangover or the logistics of driving is brilliant. I first blogged about this back in 2018 and followed up a year later, but the landscape has shifted so much since then.

HOW TO GET A HEAD OF THE STORM

hite landscapes have dominated the national news this week, with friends in New Quay and reporters in Whitby sharing scenes of a winter kingdom; and yet, South Yorkshire has stayed resolutely clear. It feels as though the rest of the country has been blanketed in a crisp layer of frost and flake, while our little corner remains stubbornly grey. Perhaps the Pennines have acted as a giant stone shield, deflecting the drifts elsewhere and leaving us in a snowy 'shadow'.

N PLUS 1

 know, I know—everyone is likely tired of hearing about my cycling collision. But the truth is, if it weren’t for that moment back in November, I wouldn't be sitting here with a new bike. My old one is only three years old and perfectly repairable, so why the upgrade?

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2026

he year, with all its sound and fury, has settled into memory, and now we face a new one. What will 2026 bring? It feels like only yesterday we were raising a glass to the new millennium, brimming with dreams we can barely recall now.

But let's anchor ourselves back to the present: Yule is drawing to a close. Before the inevitable return to routine, I want to take a moment to share the quiet observations, the small joys, and the reflections that made up my week before looking at the year ahead.

THE MIDPOINT OF MY YULE

hile many feel the festive spirit starts to fade as soon as the Boxing Day leftovers are cleared, those who celebrate Yule know the magic is only just beginning. Far from being a fleeting moment, Yule is a season that carries us through the heart of winter, with celebrations continuing well into the New Year. As we reach the midpoint of this ancient festival, I wanted to pause and share a recap of my journey through Yule so far.

THE CAPTAIN'S ANNUAL YULETIDE MESSAGE AND AWARDS

very year, at the same time as the monarch delivers their message to the Commonwealth, I post my message to the world. This year is no different... except it is. I always write about the highs and lows of the year, but this time, I’ve decided to frame my annual review as an awards ceremony.

THE RIDE OF ODIN: MY MIDWINTER PATH

t this silent, sacred point, the deepest dark has arrived. It is the halfway point through the darkness, a sacred pause that reminds us new life is promised. Soon, the cold will yield to warmth as Cernunnos arrives to awaken the world with vibrant colour and life.

BACK PAIN, BIKE DREAMS, AND A SECRET SANTA SIGH

t’s a slow and deliberate process, but I am truly trying my best to settle back into a normal life and, to some degree, I’m succeeding. The persistent back pain, however, still accompanies me most of the time, which is incredibly annoying. I cannot wait for the day I can ditch the tiresome bus commute and get back in the saddle; my bike is calling to me.

DREAD, RECOVERY, AND THE TURNING WHEEL

he season has now drawn us deep into its quiet heart, the Wheel of the Year quickly turns towards the Winter Solstice, the sacred longest night. This is a profound moment for introspection, where the darkness settles to its deepest point, calling us to slow down and honour the stillness. Yet, even as our world pauses in winter's grip, I find myself scrambling to get the mundane business—the shopping, the planning, the preparation—in place, all while navigating the deeper work of healing and daily life.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE...

ur annual countdown to Yule was accompanied by a nagging worry this year. With my recent injury, the simple act of climbing into the loft to retrieve all the festive decorations looked deeply doubtful. That tradition—the festive preparation I look forward to most—seemed genuinely out of reach.

Thankfully, we got a helping hand: Rags's boyfriend stepped in, and the entire festive haul was safely brought downstairs. Success! On the chilly afternoon of 30th November, the tree finally went up.

For the last few years, we've happily been early decorators, usually trimming up mid-November. After all, Yule is the most important celebration in our calendar, and who wouldn't want to make that precious feeling last as long as possible?

THE WILL TO RETURN: TRADING TWO WHEELS FOR THE BUS

fter three weeks of forced rest following my accident, I had determined that getting back to work had to happen, even if I was nowhere near 100%. Making the leap back to routine was less a sprint and more of a tentative hobble. On Thursday (27th), my bike—still out of action after the RTC—was replaced. I traded two wheels for a slightly daunting ride on public transport.

ULLR'S ICY GRIP: FROM SORE TO SWORDS

he temperature is dropping swiftly, and the frosty fingers of Ullr are touching every corner of our land. It’s exactly the kind of cold evening I love—but I find myself tragically trapped indoors by injury. I miss that simple ritual: wrapping up warm, grabbing my dog, and heading out into the dark, chilly night. This feeling of confinement is a powerful reminder that our journey through this cold and dark time of year is only just beginning.

DOWN IN A SPLIT SECOND: THE CRASH

n Wednesday 5th November, I left work on my bike to ride home. Some had expressed concern about the potential for issues, with youths known for throwing fireworks, but I wasn't deterred—this wasn't my first rodeo. So, at 10 pm, I rode into the night.

THE CURSE OF THE CYCLING STEREOTYPE

very November's arrival signals a few things, chief among them the start of the festive season preparations. At work, this translates into two key activities: planning the annual team party (since we're decentralised, every team manages their own event) and, perhaps more notoriously, navigating the annual Secret Santa. For me, this usually means an inevitable delivery of beard products or yet another cycling mug. Is that really all there is to me?

TELEVISION: SUBSTANCE OVER SPECTACLE

​eality television simply isn’t my thing. I’ve perfected the cynical eye-roll whenever anyone mentions a new series set 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.