Negative feelings are a bit like British weather — they roll in whether you invited them or not. You can shout at the clouds all day, but it rarely stops the rain.

For me, the trick is learning to sit with it for a moment.

Meditation helps. Just a few quiet minutes, breathing, letting the noise in my head settle down a bit. Nothing fancy. Just stillness and a bit of space between me and whatever nonsense my brain is currently shouting about. It’s amazing how much calmer things look when you stop wrestling them.

And then there’s poetry.

Or what I prefer to call scribbles.

Sometimes I’ll grab a notebook and just dump the mess onto the page. No structure, no worrying about spelling or grammar — just thoughts escaping the pressure cooker. I started doing that years ago as a way to process what was going on in my head, and it turned out to be surprisingly good therapy. 

The funny thing is, once the feelings are written down, they stop rattling around inside quite so loudly.

So my strategy is fairly simple:

Sit. Breathe.

Then scribble until the storm passes.

Not glamorous.

But it works.

Stay Safe

Bc

There’s only a few activities that I can honestly say I lose myself in. Not the sort of “pass the time” hobbies, but the ones where you look up and realise hours have quietly slipped by without you noticing.

The first is poetry.

Poetry has been part of my life for over twenty years now. It started out as therapy, a way of processing the noise inside my head, but somewhere along the way it became much more than that. When I’m writing, the rest of the world tends to fade into the background and it’s just me and the page, trying to turn thoughts and emotions into something that resembles a poem. As I’ve said before, poetry became a place where my mind could finally exhale and where the chaos of anxiety and depression could exist without apology. 

Another thing that will happily steal a few hours of my life is comic books. There’s something wonderfully nostalgic about them. Sitting down with a good comic takes me straight back to being a kid again, when stories were larger than life and heroes always found a way to win in the end. It’s a simple pleasure, but sometimes those are the best ones.

And then there’s photography.

Photography is something I’ve drifted into in more recent years. I wouldn’t say I know what I’m doing most of the time, but I’ve been told I’ve got a decent eye for it. I enjoy grabbing the camera, experimenting with settings, and just seeing what happens. Sometimes you get nothing… and sometimes you capture something you’re really proud of. 

So yes, there’s only a few things I truly lose myself in:

• Writing poetry
• Reading comic books
• Taking photographs

Different hobbies, different moods… but each one gives me a little space away from the world for a while.

Stay safe
BC

Like many things in life, comfort viewing is a bit like comfort food. When the world has been particularly chaotic, sometimes the best remedy is putting something familiar on the telly, grabbing a coffee, and letting your brain switch off for a bit.

There are a few shows that fall firmly into that category for me.

First up would have to be The Big Bang Theory. More specifically, the character of Sheldon Cooper. There’s something oddly reassuring about Sheldon’s complete inability to bend to social norms. His routines, logic, and absolute certainty about how the universe should function are strangely comforting to watch. 

Next on the list is How I Met Your Mother. It’s one of those shows you can dip in and out of without much effort, and it manages to balance ridiculous humour with the occasional moment that actually tugs at the heartstrings. (Like Marshal’s father’s death) The characters feel like old friends at this point, which is probably why it keeps finding its way back onto my screen.

And finally, there’s Batman. Pretty much any of the films featuring the Dark Knight will do the trick. There’s just something timeless about the character and the world of Gotham.

That said, the one exception for me would be The 89 Batman film, while it was awesome as a kid to see this dark, action film, after growing up on the flamboyant (occasionally camp) 66 Batman with my hero Adam West. it’s clear Tim Burton had never read a comic book in his life.

So those are my repeat offenders when it comes to TV and film. Familiar stories, familiar characters, and just enough escapism to give the mind a bit of breathing room.

Stay safe,
BC

Short answer? Not really.
Longer answer? Well… it depends what you mean by superstitious.

I’m not the sort of person who panics because a black cat crossed the road or refuses to walk under a ladder.

Life has thrown enough genuinely unpredictable things at me that blaming it on a cat feels a bit unfair. The poor creature is probably just trying to get home for dinner.

That said, I do have a healthy respect for the strange corners of the universe.

Over the years I’ve read a fair number of religious and spiritual texts—from the Bible to Buddhist teachings—mostly out of curiosity about how different people try to make sense of this odd little existence we’ve all found ourselves in.

What I discovered is that most belief systems, superstition included, come from the same place: humans trying to understand a world that doesn’t always give neat explanations.

And to be fair, the universe is weird.

So while I’m not knocking on wood every five minutes or refusing to say certain words before a big event, I do keep an open mind. There’s a difference between blind superstition and simply acknowledging that life contains a few mysteries we haven’t quite untangled yet.

Besides, a little mystery keeps things interesting.

So no—I’m not superstitious.

But I do occasionally raise an eyebrow when the universe starts acting suspiciously well-timed.

Just in case.

Stay safe,
BC

If I had to compare myself to an animal, I’d probably say a crow.

Not because it’s the most glamorous creature in the animal kingdom, but because it’s misunderstood, curious, and quietly intelligent. Crows watch the world carefully. They’re observers first, participants second—and that’s always been very much my way of moving through life.

I spend a lot of time watching the world: people, nature, the small details others sometimes overlook. That’s where most of my poetry and photography comes from—standing back, noticing the odd, the beautiful, or the painful parts of life and trying to make sense of them through words or images. 

Writing started as a way for me to process my thoughts and emotions, especially living with dyslexia, being on the autism spectrum, and dealing with PTSD. Over time it simply became part of how I exist in the world. 

Crows are also resilient creatures. They survive in almost any environment, adapting to whatever life throws at them. That resonates with me too. Life has a habit of delivering its fair share of curveballs, but you learn to keep going, to adapt, and maybe even find a bit of wisdom in the process. As I’ve written before, life is fragile and unpredictable, and those experiences shape how you see the world. 

There’s another thing about crows I quite like: they’re curious. They investigate everything. That curiosity is probably why I’ve spent years reading different religious texts and exploring different beliefs—to understand people and the world a little better. 

So yes, if I had to pick an animal, it would be the crow.

Quietly watching.
Always curious.
Picking up little shiny thoughts from the ground and turning them into poems.
Stay safe.

Bc

Dear Future Bob

If you’re reading this, then congratulations old boy — you somehow managed to make it to a century. That’s either impressive stubbornness, a cosmic clerical error, or Mrs Bob has simply kept you alive through sheer force of will. My money is on the last one.

Right then… how did we do?

Did we keep our promise to try and be a decent man? Not perfect — that was never the goal — but decent. The sort of bloke who tries to help where he can, even if he occasionally makes a complete hash of things along the way. Because if there’s one thing life has taught us, it’s that mistakes are part of the deal. The important bit is the intention behind the effort. 

By now you’ll have seen a lot of people come and go. That’s the nature of the thing. Life is fragile — far more fragile than most of us realise when we’re younger. We spend years thinking we’ve got endless tomorrows in the bank, until eventually we realise the account was never that full to begin with. 

So tell me — did you remember that?

Did you remember to enjoy the quiet moments?

The cup of coffee in the morning.
A good book from the top of the ever-growing pile.
The sound of laughter in the house.
The strange little magic that lives in ordinary days.

Those are the bits that matter. Not the noise.

I hope you kept writing the scribbles. You never really wanted to be a poet anyway — you just wanted to be okay, somewhere along the line those scribbles became a way of stitching the mind back together, one line at a time. 

Did the words help other people too?

I hope so.

Because if the scribbles managed to make someone feel a little less alone in the dark corners of their mind, then that’s a job well done.

Also, I hope you kept your curiosity. Kept reading strange books. Kept exploring different beliefs and ideas. Kept looking for the bits of truth hidden in places people are too busy arguing about to notice. The universe is a very big place, and we only ever get to peek at a tiny fraction of it.

Did you keep watching the moon through a camera lens?

Did you still tinker in the shed like Grandad used to?

Speaking of him… I hope you never forgot the lessons he gave you. Work hard. Be honest. Help people if you can. And above all, try to be the sort of man who leaves things slightly better than he found them. 

If you managed that — even a little — then I reckon we did alright.

And one last thing…

If Mrs Bob is still beside you at a hundred years old, then you won the lottery of life, my friend. That smile of hers was always a kind of magic, and you were lucky enough to fall under the spell. Never forget that.

Right then.

I’ll let you get back to whatever a 100-year-old poet does with his day. Probably complaining about traffic, knowing you.

Take care of yourself old man.

Stay safe.

Bc

I’d go on a massive shopping spree at Forbidden Planet.

It’s got everything from comic books to collectibles and much more.

Bc

My middle name is Walter. Not because of some long family tradition — just one man.

Walter was my maternal grandfather, and he stepped into my life when I was a boy and needed a male role model.

Grandad was a retired firefighter and one of those people who could seemingly do anything — paint signs, grow a garden, fix whatever was broken. But the real lessons he gave me weren’t about skills. They were about character.

He taught me to polish my shoes and make an effort when I went out — not because appearances are everything, but because it shows respect for the world around you.
He taught me to help people without worrying about who they are or where they come from.
And he taught me that a man’s word should mean something.

I haven’t always lived up to his standard — life has a way of tripping you up — but carrying his name reminds me of the person I should try to be.

That’s why I write as Bob W Christian. The “W” is for Walter. It’s a quiet nod to the man who helped shape me.

So no, Walter isn’t a flashy middle name. But to me it represents a good man, a proper gentleman, and someone I still try to make proud.

And that’s reason enough to keep it.

Stay safe,
BC