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.