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.

JÓRVÍK: A VIKING PILGRIMAGE (Part 2)

órvík Viking Festival is an annual, week-long celebration in York, established in February 1985 following the landmark opening of the Jórvík Viking Centre the year prior. Now recognised as Europe’s largest Viking event, it has become a massive pilgrimage for living history enthusiasts, battle re-enactors, and history buffs. It’s a unique space where the academic meets the atmospheric, drawing in everyone from Viking fans to Heathens.

JÓRVÍK: A VIKING PILGRIMAGE (Part 1)

ork is a remarkable city. While my soul is generally more at home in the rural coastal wilds of Cymru, Jórvík is the one urban landscape that calls to me. Driven by a fascination with our Viking heritage, we’ve set out on what has become an annual pilgrimage to Britain’s Norse capital to immerse ourselves in the Jórvík Viking Festival.