Tag Archives: gardening

The One Who Let Me Grow

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Which relationship has taught you the most about yourself?

Mrs Bob.

There really isn’t anyone else who comes close.

I suppose the obvious answer would be that she’s taught me about love.

And she has.

She’s taught me about patience.

Definitely that.

Although, to be fair, she’s probably had to teach me more about patience than most people would consider reasonable.

But the biggest thing Mrs Bob has taught me is actually about myself.

She’s allowed me to grow.

And, let’s be honest, she’s allowed me to mature into the person I am today.

I wasn’t a finished product when we met.

Far from it.

I was still figuring out who I was, what I wanted, and probably making far more mistakes than I’d care to admit.

Some of those mistakes were mine.

Some were lessons I simply hadn’t learned yet.

And some were things I didn’t even realise I needed to learn.

Mrs Bob never tried to turn me into somebody else.

She just gave me the space to become more myself.

And I think there’s a huge difference between those two things.

She’s the calm to my fire.

Where I can be passionate, impulsive, stubborn and occasionally a complete pain in the arse, she has this remarkable ability to bring me back down to earth.

Not by changing me.

Not by trying to silence me.

Just by being there.

Sometimes that’s all you need.

Someone who knows when to let you burn brightly…

And when to quietly remind you that perhaps setting fire to everything isn’t the best solution.

Over the years, she’s seen the versions of me that I’m proud of.

And the versions I’m not.

She’s seen the good days.

The bad days.

The days where I’ve been convinced I had everything figured out.

And the days where I quite clearly didn’t have a bloody clue.

And somehow, through all of that, she’s still here.

Still beside me.

Still encouraging me to grow.

Still putting up with me.

Which, frankly, deserves some sort of medal.

I often think we underestimate what it means to really know another person.

Not just knowing their favourite food or what makes them laugh.

But knowing their fears.

Their insecurities.

Their strengths.

Their weaknesses.

Knowing what they’re capable of, even when they don’t know themselves.

Mrs Bob has done that for me.

She’s helped me see parts of myself that I couldn’t see.

She’s encouraged me when I doubted myself.

She’s challenged me when I needed challenging.

And she’s given me the freedom to become the person I was supposed to be.

So, which relationship has taught me the most about myself?

That’s easy.

Mrs Bob.

Because I’m not the same man I was when we first met.

I’m calmer.

I’m more comfortable in my own skin.

I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness.

I’ve learned that asking for help doesn’t make you less of a man.

And I’ve learned that sometimes the person who helps you become yourself isn’t the person who tells you who to be.

It’s the person who stands beside you while you work it out.

I’m the person I am today because of a lot of people, a lot of experiences, a lot of mistakes and a ridiculous number of lessons.

But Mrs Bob?

She’s been there for the whole bloody journey.

And I wouldn’t want to have travelled it with anyone else.

I Ducking love you

Stay safe,

Bc

Things I’ve Learnt Along the Way

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What are some life hacks that you practice?

I’m not sure I’d call these life hacks.

That makes them sound as though I’ve discovered some secret formula for life.

I haven’t.

If I had, I’d probably be considerably more organised.

And significantly less likely to walk into a room and immediately forget why the hell I went there.

But over the years, I’ve picked up a few little things that seem to make life slightly easier.

Nothing revolutionary.

No twelve-step morning routine involving seventeen different types of herbal tea.

Just a few things that seem to work for me.

Don’t Carry Everything (The Art of Letting Go)

This is probably the biggest one.

For a long time, I spent an incredible amount of energy carrying things that had already happened, you know.

Arguments.

Regrets.

Things people had said.

Things I wished I’d said.

Things I couldn’t change, no matter how many times I replayed them in my head.

Meditation has helped me with that.

Not by magically emptying my mind.

Anyone who knows me will understand how unlikely that sounds.

Instead, it’s taught me to notice my thoughts without automatically climbing aboard every single one of them.

Sometimes you just have to acknowledge something.

Learn whatever lesson there is to learn.

And then put the bloody thing down.

You don’t have to carry everything just because you once picked it up.

Some things belong in the past.

Leave them there.

Go outside

Another incredibly complicated life hack.

Leave the house.

Go for a walk.

Look at the sky.

Watch the birds.

Stand by the sea.

Get rained on.

Apparently, I’m particularly good at that last one.

There’s something about getting away from four walls and screens that resets the brain.

Sometimes the solution to a problem isn’t another hour staring at it.

Sometimes it’s a walk and a coffee.

Sometimes it’s feeding the crows.

Sometimes it’s standing in the sea with wet shorts and wondering why you thought that was a good idea in the first place.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

We spend so much time trying to do things that we forget there’s value in simply being somewhere.

Outside.

Breathing.

Looking.

Listening.

Being present.

Write shit down

My brain has always been a noisy place.

So I write.

Sometimes it’s poetry.

Sometimes it’s complete nonsense.

Sometimes it’s a sentence that eventually becomes something.

And sometimes it’s simply a case of getting the thoughts out of my head and onto a piece of paper before they start having a bloody committee meeting in there.

There’s something strangely powerful about seeing a thought written down.

It becomes something outside of you.

You can look at it.

Question it.

Rearrange it.

Understand it.

Or decide that actually, it was rubbish…

…and throw it away.

Writing started for me as a way of processing thoughts and emotions.

Twenty years later, I’m still doing it.

Apparently, I’ve committed to the bit.

And I’m quite glad I did.

Protect you time

We live in a world that seems determined to fill every available second.

Notifications.

Messages.

News.

Social media.

Emails.

Opinions.

More opinions about the opinions.

Sometimes you need to switch the bloody lot off.

Read a book.

Play a game.

Sit in the shed.

Take photographs.

Write.

Watch the birds.

Drink a coffee.

Do absolutely nothing.

And yes, I know that doing nothing sounds like the sort of thing we’re all supposed to feel guilty about.

But doing nothing isn’t necessarily wasting time.

Sometimes doing nothing is exactly what your brain needs.

We don’t have to be productive every minute of every day.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is stop.

Fucking ask for help

This one took me far too long to learn.

I’ve still got the scars

I used to think asking for help meant

Not being able to “Man Up”

admitting weakness.

It doesn’t.

Sometimes it means recognising that you’re human.

We aren’t designed to carry everything alone.

If something is too heavy, put it down.

If you don’t know what to do, ask someone who does.

If you’re struggling, tell someone.

That isn’t failure.

It’s being sensible.

There’s a strange idea that we’re somehow supposed to have all the answers.

We’re not.

None of us do.

Sometimes strength isn’t about carrying something until your back breaks.

Sometimes strength is saying:

“I can’t carry this on my own.”

And letting somebody give you a hand.

Finally…

Don’t wait for everything to be perfect before you enjoy your life.

Because trust it probably won’t be.

There will always be another bill.

Another job.

Another problem.

Another thing that needs fixing.

Another bloody email.

There will always be something.

So enjoy the cup of coffee.

Read the book.

Take those photographs.

Watch the birds.

Have the conversation.

Laugh at something stupid.

Tell somebody you love them.

Go outside.

Stand in the sea.

Get your feet wet.

And if you end up with wet shorts afterwards…

Well.

Apparently that’s just part of the experience.

Sometimes life doesn’t need fixing.

Sometimes you just need to be there for it.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

Stay safe,

BC

Two Cats, 300 Miles & A Very Good Idea

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What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?

Packing two cats and what was left of my house into a car and driving nearly 300 miles to go and live with someone I’d only known for a few months.

Completely sensible behaviour.

Obviously.

In hindsight, I suppose there were a few warning signs.

For starters, I was leaving behind pretty much everything I knew.

Home.

Friends.

Familiar places.

The life I’d built.

And replacing it with a car full of belongings, two probably very confused cats, and a woman I’d known for a few months.

What could possibly go wrong?

To be fair, the cats probably had the biggest adjustment.

They hadn’t exactly been consulted on the matter.

I imagine their conversation went something like:

“Why are we in the car?”

“Where are we going?”

“Why has he packed the litter tray?”

“IS THIS A VET?”

And then several hours of feline outrage.

Meanwhile, I was driving nearly 300 miles towards an entirely new chapter of my life.

I’d met Mrs Bob only a few months earlier.

And somehow, somewhere between those early conversations and whatever bizarre sequence of events brought us to that particular day, I’d reached the point where I thought:

“Yeah.

This seems like a good idea.”

So I loaded up the car.

Cats.

Stuff.

Whatever possessions had survived the previous chapter.

And off I went.

Towards Narnia.

Which, for those who don’t know, is what I affectionately call this part of the world.

Although technically it’s twinned with Totnes.

Which is probably about as close to Narnia as Devon is going to get.

There’s something slightly terrifying about starting again.

We tend to imagine big life changes as these carefully planned things.

You know the sort of thing.

Step one:

Make a five-year plan.

Step two:

Research everything.

Step three:

Make a spreadsheet.

Step four:

Have another meeting about the spreadsheet.

Step five:

Eventually do something.

I apparently skipped steps one through four.

I just got in the bloody car.

And yet…

It turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made.

The following year, we got married.

And somehow that spontaneous decision turned into more than a decade together.

A marriage.

A family.

A home.

A completely different life.

And eventually, a new career.

There have been ups and downs, obviously.

Life isn’t a Disney film.

There are bills.

There are arguments.

There are days when you wonder why you’ve spent twenty minutes trying to explain to a cat that the cardboard box isn’t actually a suitable substitute for the perfectly good cat bed sitting six inches away.

But that’s life.

It’s messy.

It’s unpredictable.

And occasionally it involves putting everything you own into a car and driving 300 miles because you have a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re heading in the right direction.

Looking back now, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d stayed where I was.

What if I’d talked myself out of it?

What if I’d decided it was too risky?

What if I’d waited until everything was perfect?

I probably wouldn’t be sitting here now.

I wouldn’t have Mrs Bob.

I wouldn’t have this life.

I wouldn’t be wandering around Devon with a camera, photographing birds, beaches, cats and whatever else happens to catch my eye.

I wouldn’t have written all the poetry.

I wouldn’t have met all the people I’ve met.

And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here calling this place Narnia.

Sometimes we spend so much time worrying about making the right decision that we forget something rather important.

There isn’t always a right decision.

Sometimes you just have to make a decision.

Take the leap.

See what happens.

And occasionally, against all odds, it works out rather bloody brilliantly.

So, what’s the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done?

I packed two cats and what was left of my house into a car.

I drove nearly 300 miles.

I went to live with a woman I’d known for a few months.

And I started a completely new life.

Spoiler alert:

We got married the following year.

And after more than a decade together, I can honestly say that moving in with Mrs Bob and starting that new life and career in Narnia was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Sometimes the biggest adventures don’t begin with a plan.

Sometimes they begin with a full boot, two pissed-off cats and a very questionable sat-nav route.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because if I’d waited for certainty…

I might never have found home.

Stay safe,

BC

The Maintenance Light is On

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How do you make time for self-care?

I think the answer is that I’ve finally realised I have to.

We’re usually pretty good at looking after our physical health.

We eat better.

We try to exercise.

We go to the doctor when something hurts.

We know that our bodies need looking after.

But our minds?

That can be a different story.

For me, I’ve learned that I need to make time for my mental health in exactly the same way.

Not when I’ve completely run myself into the ground.

Not when everything has become too much.

Before that.

Because self-care isn’t about being selfish.

It’s about maintenance.

Much like putting fuel in the car before the warning light comes on.

For me, that maintenance comes in a few different forms.

Sometimes it’s a coffee with friends in the market.

Nothing particularly complicated.

Just sitting down, having a coffee, chatting, laughing, putting the world to rights and generally not rushing off somewhere.

There’s something incredibly therapeutic about good company and a decent cup of coffee.

Then there’s my shed.

My little escape from the world.

There’s something about closing the door, sitting down and having some quality downtime that just works for me. Sometimes I’ll write. Sometimes I’ll tinker. Sometimes I’ll do absolutely nothing.

And sometimes doing absolutely nothing is exactly what you need.

Then there’s Sunday.

Beach day.

Mrs Bob and me, heading down to the sea and switching off from the week.

There’s something about the beach that resets me.

The sound of the waves.

The wind.

The smell of the sea.

Just being there.

Not worrying about what needs doing tomorrow.

Not replaying what happened yesterday.

Just being present for a little while.

And, of course, there’s the camera.

I love going out with my camera.

It gives me an excuse to slow down and actually look at the world around me.

A bird.

A tree.

A strange bit of light.

Something that most people might walk straight past.

Photography makes me stop.

Look.

Notice.

And sometimes that’s self-care too.

Then there’s meditation.

Taking a little time to sit quietly, breathe and simply be.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve suddenly achieved some state of perfect enlightenment.

I’m still me.

I still overthink things.

Probably more than I should.

But those quiet moments help me step back from the noise.

And perhaps that’s what all of these things have in common.

They give me space.

Space to breathe.

Space to think.

Space not to think.

Space to be Bob.

I don’t think self-care has to involve expensive retreats, complicated routines or seventeen different types of herbal tea.

Sometimes it’s a coffee with a mate.

Sometimes it’s sitting in a shed.

Sometimes it’s standing in the sea with Mrs Bob.

Sometimes it’s going out with a camera and looking for something beautiful.

Sometimes it’s simply sitting quietly and breathing.

The important thing, for me, is recognising that these things matter.

They aren’t luxuries.

They’re part of maintaining the balance.

Because life can be bloody noisy.

There’s always something that needs doing.

Someone who needs something.

Another email.

Another job.

Another problem to solve.

And if we’re not careful, we can spend all our time looking after everything and everyone else…

…and forget to look after ourselves.

So I make time.

Not because I have loads of spare time.

I don’t.

I make time because I know I need it.

Because my mental health matters just as much as my physical health.

And because I’ve learned that sometimes the best way to keep moving forward…

…is to stop for a while.

Stay safe,

BC

It’s Your First Time Being Alive

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What’s the best advice you’d give to someone younger than you?

Don’t worry if, in your twenties, you don’t know where you’re going.

Honestly.

Most of us are making it up as we go along.

There seems to be this unwritten expectation that by a certain age you’re supposed to have everything worked out. A career. A five-year plan. A purpose. A clear idea of who you are and where you’re heading.

Life rarely works like that.

When we’re young, we somehow expect ourselves to have all the answers despite the fact we’ve barely had time to collect the questions.

It’s your first time being alive.

Be kind to yourself.

I didn’t know who I truly was, or what I wanted my life to look like, until I was nearly forty. Looking back, I spent far too much time worrying that I was behind everyone else.

The truth?

Nobody knows what they’re doing quite as much as they pretend to.

And that’s okay.

Because life isn’t really about the final destination anyway.

It’s about the journey.

It’s about the people you meet along the way.

The late-night conversations.

The road trips.

The laughter that leaves your face aching.

The memories you make with friends and family.

Years later, you won’t remember every deadline, every promotion, or everything you thought was a disaster at the time.

You’ll remember the people.

You’ll remember how they made you feel.

You’ll remember the moments.

Another thing I’d tell my younger self is this:

Learn to love yourself.

Not in an arrogant way.

Not in a “look at me” sort of way.

Just learn to be comfortable in your own skin.

Because once you stop trying to be who you think everyone else wants you to be, and start accepting who you actually are, something wonderful happens.

You can breathe.

You stop fighting yourself.

And that feeling is worth more than you can imagine.

I’d also tell you to let go of grudges.

They’re heavy things to carry.

The person who upset you years ago is probably not sitting at home replaying the argument.

Meanwhile, you’re giving them space in your head they haven’t earned.

They don’t deserve to live rent free in there.

Forgiveness isn’t always about them.

Sometimes it’s about freeing yourself.

So be patient.

Be kinder to yourself than you think you need to be.

Take photographs.

Make memories.

Tell people you love them.

Don’t panic if the map isn’t clear.

Most of us are finding the path one step at a time.

And sometimes the scenic route turns out to be the best one.

Stay safe,

BC

Ps Don’t forget to wear sunscreen

Productive-ish

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Today was one of those mornings where work didn’t really feel like work.

I headed into town to have a wander around and look at potential locations for an upcoming photography gig for Totnes Pride.

There’s something about photographing an event that makes you look at familiar places slightly differently. Suddenly you’re not just seeing streets, buildings and corners of town, you’re looking for light, angles, backgrounds and those little spots where a photograph might just come together.

Of course, I took the camera with me.

Because apparently I’m incapable of going anywhere without looking at things through a lens these days.

Once the location scouting was done, it was time for the important stuff.

Coffee.

A slow, relaxing coffee morning in the market, with some good friends, and friends I’d just met, absolutely no rushing about and nowhere particularly urgent to be.

And then, as if The Universe hadn’t already delivered enough, a calico cat wandered down the stairs.

Obviously, I had to say hello.

The cat seemed perfectly happy to accept some fuss, so who was I to argue?

Photography locations sorted.

Coffee enjoyed.

Cat fussed.

All in all, not a bad morning.

Sometimes the best days are the ones where you manage to get a little bit of work done…

…and still find time to stop and enjoy the small stuff.

Stay safe,

BC

The lady in question

Phone Snaps to Proper Photography

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Share a hobby you’ve picked up recently — what got you into it?

Photography.

Now, before anyone gets excited, I should probably clarify something.

I’ve described myself as a poet for quite a few years now.

And, increasingly, I’ve started describing myself as a photographer too.

But photography?

Until relatively recently, it was just something I did with my phone.

That’s it.

No fancy camera.

No collection of lenses.

No camera bag weighing more than the average toddler.

Just me, my phone, and the occasional, “Ooh, that looks nice.”

I’d be on holiday and see the photographers wandering around with all their kit.

Camera hanging around their neck.

Bag over their shoulder.

Various lenses.

Tripods.

Enough equipment to suggest they were either photographing the Grand Canyon or preparing for a small military operation.

Meanwhile, I’d pull my phone out of my pocket.

Click.

Done.

And, to be fair, I was happy enough with that.

I’ve always enjoyed taking photographs. Nature, birds, beaches, random things that catch my eye.

People had occasionally told me I had “an eye” for photography.

I never really knew what that meant.

I still don’t completely.

I’ve never studied photography properly. I don’t pretend to know all the technical terminology, and there was a time when things like focal lengths, apertures and shutter speeds might as well have been written in ancient Greek.

Then I turned 50.

And decided that apparently I was going to buy myself a proper camera.

Enter the Pentax K-x.

A camera that, even when I bought it, was hardly the latest bit of technology.

12.4 megapixels.

Which, compared with today’s cameras, sounds positively prehistoric.

But I loved it.

Suddenly, photography wasn’t just about pointing my phone at something and pressing the button.

There were settings.

There were choices.

There was experimentation.

And, perhaps most importantly, there were lenses.

Oh my word.

The lenses.

You start with one and think, That’s enough.

Then you discover another lens.

Then another.

Then you convince yourself that this particular lens is absolutely essential because apparently you cannot photograph a bird properly without it.

Before you know it, you’ve gone from:

“I take pictures with my phone.”

to:

“Hang on, which lens am I taking today?”

And somewhere along the way, something changed.

Photography stopped being something I occasionally did.

It became something I wanted to learn.

Something I wanted to get better at.

Something I looked forward to.

I started noticing things differently.

The light.

The weather.

Birds sitting in places they probably shouldn’t be.

The way the sea changes from one day to the next.

A moment that might only last a second.

And that’s probably the biggest difference.

When you’ve got a camera with you, you start looking.

Really looking.

I’ve found myself standing somewhere I’d walked past a hundred times and suddenly seeing something I’d never properly noticed before.

That fascinates me.

Because perhaps photography isn’t really about the camera.

Perhaps it’s about paying attention.

The camera is just the excuse.

These days, I’m still learning.

I still take photographs that make me think, Well, that didn’t quite work.

And occasionally I take one that makes me stop and think, Bloody hell, I actually did that.

Those are the moments that keep me coming back.

Photography has become another creative outlet alongside my poetry.

With poetry, I use words to capture a thought, a feeling, a moment.

With photography, I use an image.

Different tools.

Same basic idea.

Tell a story.

Capture something.

Make someone stop for a second and look.

So yes, I suppose I’ve picked up a new hobby.

Although, knowing me, calling it a hobby is probably underselling it now.

It’s become a passion.

Another string to my bow.

And somewhere along the way, the bloke who used to watch photographers carrying all that expensive-looking kit around while happily using his phone has become one of the people carrying the bloody kit.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?

Still…

I’m taking the camera.

I’m leaving the tripod at home.

I’m not completely mad.

Yet.

Stay safe

Bc

Ps….

Here’s last night’s Sturgeon Moon

Sturgeon Moon (2026)

I Finally Realised I Know Nothing

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What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

That’s actually quite a difficult question.

You might expect the answer to be something obvious.

Getting your first proper job.

Paying your first bill.

Buying your first house.

Or perhaps that moment when you realise that nobody is going to come along and tell you what you’re supposed to be doing anymore.

For me, though, it was none of those things.

I think it was when I finally learned to let go.

And, perhaps more importantly, when I realised that I actually knew absolutely nothing.

Now, that might sound like a strange thing to associate with becoming an adult.

Surely adulthood is about knowing things?

Having the answers.

Being responsible.

Knowing what you’re doing.

Apparently not.

Because the older I get, the more I realise that I don’t have all the answers.

I probably never did.

I just got better at pretending I did.

When you’re younger, you tend to think adults have everything figured out. Your parents seem to know everything. Teachers know everything. People at work definitely know everything.

Then, one day, you become one of those adults.

And you suddenly realise we’re all just making it up as we go along.

Some of us are just better at looking confident while doing it.

For a long time, I thought I had to hold on to everything.

Old arguments.

Old mistakes.

People who had hurt me.

Things I’d done that I wished I could undo.

The idea that I could somehow control what other people thought, said or did.

And that’s exhausting.

Eventually, I realised that some things simply aren’t mine to carry.

You can’t change the past.

You can’t control other people.

You can’t make everyone understand you.

And sometimes you can’t even make yourself understand why you’ve done something until years later.

So you let go.

Not because it doesn’t matter.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because carrying it around forever isn’t going to change what happened.

That’s when I think I finally started growing up.

Not when I got older.

Not when I had responsibilities.

Not when I became a husband, a father or eventually a grandfather.

It was when I stopped believing that adulthood meant having all the answers.

Because perhaps real adulthood is recognising how little you actually know.

And being comfortable with that.

I’m still learning.

I’ll probably still be learning when I’m an old bloke complaining about the price of a pasty and wondering why everything needs an app.

But that’s okay.

Life isn’t a test where you eventually reach the final question and someone hands you a certificate saying:

Congratulations. You are now officially an adult.

There isn’t one.

There are just experiences.

Mistakes.

Lessons.

People who come into your life.

People who leave it.

Things you hold on to.

And things you eventually learn to let go.

And perhaps that’s the real trick.

Not knowing everything.

Just knowing that you don’t.

Stay safe

Bc

Forget Pythagoras, Teach Me How To Live

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What’s a thing you wish schools actually taught?

For me, the answer is pretty straightforward.

Life.

Not all of it, obviously. I’m not expecting a fourteen-year-old to be taught how to navigate a midlife crisis, assemble flat-pack furniture without swearing, or explain to their children why Dad is hiding in the shed.

Although, actually, that last one might be quite useful.

But there are an awful lot of things I was taught at school that, despite having passed exams and presumably being considered important at the time, have rarely been useful to me since.

Pythagoras’ theorem springs to mind.

Now before all the mathematicians come charging at me with their calculators, I’m not saying mathematics isn’t important.

It absolutely is.

But I can’t remember the last time I stood in my garden, looked at two sides of a triangle and thought:

“Hang on a minute, I know exactly what to do here.”

Meanwhile, nobody thought it might be useful to teach me how to balance a household budget.

Or how tax actually works.

Or what all those frightening numbers and boxes on official forms mean.

Nobody sat me down and explained mortgages, interest rates, borrowing, credit scores, insurance or the simple financial reality that earning £2,000 doesn’t mean you’ve got £2,000 to spend.

Those are things most of us eventually have to learn.

Usually by making mistakes.

Sometimes expensive ones.

And then there’s the practical stuff.

How to put up a shelf without it falling off the wall five minutes later.

How to unblock a sink.

How to change a tap washer.

How to find a stud.

How to use basic tools properly.

How to assemble something from instructions without immediately deciding that whoever designed it was a complete bastard.

Even something as simple as changing a wheel on a car.

These are basic life skills.

And yet I don’t remember anyone teaching them.

I actually learnt more about practical things from my brother Tim and my mates than I ever did sitting in a classroom.

I had an old Honda 90cc, and between taking that thing apart, putting it back together and occasionally wondering why I’d ended up with several mysterious bolts left over, I learnt a surprising amount about mechanics.

I learnt how things work.

How to diagnose a problem.

How to use tools.

How to fix something rather than immediately deciding it was broken beyond repair.

More importantly, I learnt that you don’t necessarily need to know everything before you start.

Sometimes you just need to have a go.

Those lessons have stayed with me.

I’ve used them throughout my life.

I’ve fixed things.

I’ve built things.

I’ve taken things apart.

I’ve occasionally broken things while trying to fix them, but that’s part of the educational process too.

And I suspect I’ve used those lessons far more often than I’ve used my knowledge of the mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell.

Sorry, mitochondria.

You had your chance.

I’m not arguing that schools should stop teaching academic subjects.

Of course they shouldn’t.

Education isn’t simply about producing people who can balance a cheque book and change a tyre.

We need scientists.

Engineers.

Historians.

Artists.

Teachers.

Doctors.

Writers.

Mathematicians.

People who understand literature, politics, science, philosophy and the world around them.

Knowledge matters.

But so does knowing what to do when the washing machine starts making a noise that sounds suspiciously like a small aircraft attempting an emergency landing.

Perhaps education needs a bit more balance.

Teach the theory, absolutely.

But teach us what to do with it.

Give teenagers a basic understanding of money.

Show them how rent, mortgages, bills and household budgets actually work.

Explain taxes.

Teach them how contracts work and why you shouldn’t sign something you haven’t read.

Teach basic cooking.

Basic first aid.

Basic DIY.

Basic car maintenance.

How to change a tyre.

How to safely change a fuse or plug.

How to use a drill without removing a finger.

How to recognise when something is beyond your ability and when you need to call someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

And perhaps most importantly, teach them that asking for help isn’t failure.

Because eventually, every child leaves school.

They become adults.

They get jobs.

They rent houses.

They buy homes.

They have children.

They encounter broken boilers, flat tyres, tax forms, insurance documents, dodgy washing machines and bank statements that seem to have been written in a language known only to accountants.

And suddenly they’re expected to know what they’re doing.

Except nobody actually taught them.

We spend years preparing young people for exams.

Perhaps we should spend a little more time preparing them for the bit that comes afterwards.

Because life doesn’t come with an answer sheet at the back of the book.

Sometimes the answer is simply:

“Right, let’s have a look and see if I can fix it.”

And honestly, that’s probably one of the most useful things my old Honda ever taught me.

Stay safe

Bc