What are your favorite brands and why?

Pull up a chair, grab a coffee… and let’s have a little natter about brands.

Not the flashy, billboard-plastered, “look at me” kind of brands.
Not the must have ones that shout the loudest or charge the earth.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learnt while muddling my way through life, it’s this:

Comfort beats style. Every. Single. Time.

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The Truth About “Favourite Brands”

I’ve been asked before—what’s your favourite brand?

And the honest answer?

I don’t really have one.

Never have.

Never really felt the need for one either.

You see, I’ve never been one for chasing labels or trying to keep up with whatever’s currently strutting its stuff in shop windows. Life’s complicated enough without worrying whether your T-shirt has the “right” name stitched into it.

Give me something that fits well, feels right, and doesn’t make me itch, tug, or regret my life choices halfway through the day… and I’m happy.

Because when you’re comfortable, you’re not thinking about what you’re wearing.

And when you’re not thinking about what you’re wearing… you can just get on with living.

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That Said… There Is One That Keeps Turning Up

Now, I did say I don’t really have a favourite.

But if I’m being honest (and I try to be, even when it ruins a good dramatic build-up), there is one that seems to sneak its way into my wardrobe more often than not…

Zoo York T-shirts.

Not because they’re trendy.
Not because they make some grand statement.

Just because… they’re comfortable.

Simple as that.

They sit right.
They feel right.
They don’t try too hard.

And there’s something I quite like about that.

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It’s Never Really Been About the Brand

If you’ve spent any time here before, you’ll know I’m not overly fussed about appearances. Never really have been. 

Jeans, a T-shirt, and something on my feet that doesn’t complain more than I do—that’s about as complicated as it gets.

Because the older I get, the more I realise…

It’s not about looking the part.
It’s about feeling alright in your own skin.

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Final Thought (Before the Tea Goes Cold)

So no… I don’t have a favourite brand.

Just a preference for comfort, a soft spot for a decent T-shirt, and a quiet appreciation for anything that doesn’t make life more awkward than it already is.

If it happens to say Zoo York on the front?

Fair enough.

If it doesn’t?

Also fair enough.

Because at the end of the day…
it’s just a T-shirt.

Stay safe,
Bc

List the people you admire and look to for advice…

When people ask “who do you admire?” they’re usually expecting something neat, polished, maybe even a little bit safe.

Those who know me, know that’s never really been my style.

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I don’t look up to people who make things tidy.

I look up to the ones who make things real.

The ones who stand on a stage, or behind a mic, or in front of a page… and bleed a little truth into the room.

The kind of truth that doesn’t sit comfortably.

The kind that makes you shift in your seat.

Or nod a little too hard because, yeah… you’ve felt that too.

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For me, that’s people like Kyle Tran Myhre — better known as Guante.

There’s a sharpness to his work. Not just clever for the sake of it, but purposeful. Words aimed like arrows at the things that need questioning. Systems. Assumptions. The quiet nonsense we’re all taught to accept.

He doesn’t just write poetry.

He uses it.

And that matters.

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Then there’s Neil Hilborn.

If you’ve ever heard him perform, you’ll know what I mean when I say it doesn’t feel like performance.

It feels like confession.

Messy. Honest. Unfiltered in a way that most people spend their entire lives trying to avoid.

He showed me that poetry doesn’t have to wear a suit and tie.

It can sit on the floor, back against the wall, saying the things you’re not supposed to say out loud.

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And Rudy Francisco…

There’s a rhythm to his words that pulls you in before you even realise it. But underneath that rhythm is something deeper.

Compassion. Anger. Humanity laid bare.

The kind of poetry that doesn’t just want to be heard…

It wants to change something.

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And that’s the thread that ties them all together for me.

They taught me that poetry doesn’t have to be:

Polite.
Stuffy.
Or locked away behind big words and bigger egos.

It can be angry.

It can be passionate.

It can be messy as hell.

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More than that…

They taught me it can be useful.

Not in the “tick a box” kind of way.

But in the way that it can raise awareness. Start conversations. Shine a light into places people would rather keep dark.

The kind of poetry that says:

“Look at this.
Listen to this.
This matters.”

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And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching, reading, and listening to voices like theirs…

It’s this:

Words don’t have to be perfect to mean something.

They just have to be honest enough to land.

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Still scribbling.
Still learning.
Still trying to say something that matters.

Stay safe,
Bc

Do you vote in political elections?

Voting.

Now I’m not going to dress this up in political jargon or start throwing party names about. That’s not what this is. If you’ve spent any time reading my ramblings, you’ll know I’m more interested in the human side of things — the bits that actually matter when the noise dies down.

So…

Do I vote in political elections?

Yeah.

I do.

Every single chance I get.

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And here’s why.

People fought for that right.

Not metaphorically. Not in some “strongly worded letter” kind of way.

I’m talking real fights. Real sacrifice. Real people who stood up, got knocked down, locked up, and in some cases… never made it home.

All so that you and I can walk into a polling station, put a mark on a bit of paper, and have our say.

That’s not a small thing.

That’s not something you shrug off because it’s raining or because “they’re all the same anyway.”

That’s something people paid for.

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Now here’s the part that might ruffle a few feathers…

If you don’t vote…

What exactly are you complaining about?

Seriously.

You can’t sit on the sidelines, opt out entirely, and then shout at the scoreboard like you were part of the game.

It doesn’t work like that.

You don’t have to like every option on the table — most of the time, none of them are perfect. Life isn’t neat like that. But having a voice, even an imperfect one, still matters more than having none at all.

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Look, I get it.

It can feel pointless.

Like one vote doesn’t make a difference.

Like the whole thing’s already decided before you even lace your boots.

But if everyone thought like that, nothing would ever change. Ever.

And history — the real kind, not the polished textbook version — shows us exactly what happens when people stop engaging.

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So yeah… I vote.

Not because I think it fixes everything.

Not because I trust every smiling face on a poster.

But because I respect the fact that I can.

Because others couldn’t.

Because others died trying to make sure I could.

And because if I’m going to have an opinion about how things are run…

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Simple as that.

Stay safe.

Bc

What gives you direction in life?

Life doesn’t come with a map. No neat lines, no tidy directions, and certainly no guarantees it’ll all make sense when you look back on it. It’s messy, unpredictable, and more often than not… completely off-script. 

I’ve spent years trying to figure it out—through the noise, the chaos, the dark places you can’t point to on any map but know all too well when you’re there. 

And somewhere along the way, I realised something.

Direction doesn’t always come from plans or big ideas.

Sometimes… it comes from a person.

For me?

It’s Mrs Bob.

My co-pilot. My constant. The one who keeps me steady when the world tilts a bit too far off balance. The one who believes in me when I’m not quite managing it myself. 

Not in some made for Disney fairy-tale, everything’s-perfect kind of way.

Just real.

Quiet.

Unshakeable.

She’s my north star.

And truth be told… that’s more than enough.

Stay safe

Bc

Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?

This one’s simple.

No grand philosophy.
No dusty old rulebook carved into tablets of stone.
No ten-step programme to becoming a “better person.”

Just one line.

One rule.

One thing I try—try being the key word—to keep in the back of my mind as I bumble my way through life:

Don’t be a dick.

That’s it.

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Now, before anyone starts looking for deeper meaning hidden between the lines… there isn’t one.

And yet—there absolutely is.

Because the older I get, the more I realise life doesn’t really need complicating. It’s already messy enough on its own. We don’t need to pile extra nonsense on top of it. 

People are tired.
People are carrying things you’ll never see.
People are fighting battles they’ll never talk about.

And you?

You get to decide what you add to that.

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I’ve spent enough time in my own head—and a fair bit of time in darker places than I’d care to revisit—to know how easy it is to snap, to lash out, to react first and think later. 

Sharp word here.
Short temper there.
A moment of “I’m right and that’s all that matters.”

But here’s the thing…

Being right and being decent aren’t always the same thing.

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“Don’t be a dick” isn’t about being perfect.

You’ll still mess up.
You’ll still have bad days.
You’ll still say the wrong thing at the wrong time (usually to the wrong person… funny how that works).

It’s about the pause.

That split second where you choose:

Am I about to make this situation better…
or worse?

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It’s choosing not to fire back just because you can.

It’s holding your tongue when your ego’s screaming for airtime.

It’s remembering that not every hill is worth dying on—and not every argument needs winning.

Sometimes the strongest move you can make…

is just not being a dick about it.

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No commandments.
No sermons.
No pretending I’ve got it all figured out—because I absolutely don’t.

Just one rule.

Simple.
Practical.
Surprisingly difficult some days.

And if more of us stuck to it?

The world wouldn’t magically fix itself overnight…

…but it might feel a little less heavy to walk through.

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Stay safe
Bc

What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?

I’ve been asked about favourite holidays before, and you might expect something simple—sun, sand, a cold drink in hand. Nice enough, don’t get me wrong. But the ones that stay with you… they tend to have a bit more about them than a decent tan and an overcooked buffet.

For me, it goes back to my first cruise with Mrs Bob.

Now, I’ll be honest—I was the youngest by a country mile on that ship. Felt a bit like I’d wandered into the wrong queue at first. But there’s something quietly magical about that way of travelling….you go to sleep in one place, wake up somewhere entirely different, like the world’s turning pages for you overnight. And if there’s one thing life’s taught me, it’s that the journey rarely sticks to the brochure anyway. 

But the real moments?

Standing out at sea, surrounded by nothing but water… and then the universe just… flicks the switch. A total solar eclipse. Day turns to night in the middle of the ocean, and for a few minutes, everything goes still. You don’t really watch it—you feel it.

And then, later on, up past the edges of the map into the Arctic Circle… watching the northern lights dance like they’ve got nowhere better to be. No rush. No noise. Just colour moving across the sky like it’s telling a story you almost understand.

That was the trip that did it.

Not just for the places—but for the feeling of it all. The quiet wonder. The sense that the world’s a lot bigger (and a lot stranger) than we give it credit for.

It was the first cruise.

Definitely not the last.

Stay safe,
Bc

Have you ever been camping?

You ask whether it counts.

Whether something qualifies.

Whether calling the army “camping” makes it… well… camping.

And the answer?

Yes.

But only in the same way a storm is “a bit of rain.”

Because life has a funny way of dressing things up in softer words. We take something harsh, something structured, something built on discipline and grit… and we wrap it in a term that feels familiar. Comfortable. Almost harmless.

Camping.

Like a weekend away. A flask of tea. Maybe a dodgy tent and a damp sleeping bag.

But this isn’t that.

This is early mornings that don’t ask if you’re ready. It’s mud that doesn’t care about your boots. It’s carrying more than you think you can, and then being told to carry a bit more. 

And yet…

Strip it back, and what is it really?

You’re outside. You’re sleeping rough. You’re dealing with the elements. You’re learning what you’re made of when the comforts are gone.

Sounds a lot like camping to me.

Just… without the marshmallows.

Stay safe
Bc

When do you feel most productive?

It’s not at a desk. Not in front of a screen refreshing emails like it might suddenly mean something.

It’s when I’m in the shed.

There’s something about stepping into a space that’s unapologetically mine—tools within reach, half-finished ideas lying around, the quiet permission to make a mess. No expectations. No noise. Just the rhythm of doing. You pick something up, you start, and before long you’re deep in it—completely unaware of time slipping past.

Or I’m behind the camera.

That’s a different kind of focus. Sharper. More deliberate. The world narrows to a frame, and suddenly everything becomes about light, timing, and instinct. Photography has this way of pulling you into the present—forcing you to see rather than just look. And in that moment, you’re not thinking about productivity… you just are productive. 

I’ve found that productivity isn’t about squeezing more into your day. It’s about being in the right place—physically and mentally—where things flow without friction.

For me, that’s the shed.

Or behind the camera.

Everything else is just admin.

Stay safe

Bc