Not because it’s expensive. Not because it’s the latest model. And certainly not because it makes me look like a photographer.
It’s a luxury because it helps me see.
A camera slows me down. It makes me notice the details most people walk past—the play of light on a wall, a fleeting expression, a quiet moment that would otherwise disappear forever.
The older I get, the more I realise that memories fade, but photographs have a remarkable way of bringing them back to life. They remind us not just what we saw, but how we felt.
So if I had to choose one luxury, it wouldn’t be a watch, a car, or a gadget.
It would be my camera.
Because it doesn’t just capture moments—it helps me appreciate them while I’m living them.
What are the most important things needed to live a good life?
People spend a lot of time chasing the secret to a good life.
More money.
A bigger house.
A better job.
More followers.
More stuff.
Yet the older I get, the more I realise that most of those things are optional.
The foundations of a good life are surprisingly simple.
First, you need a solid moral compass.
Not somebody else’s.
Your own.
A set of values that helps you recognise the difference between right and wrong, especially when nobody is watching. Life becomes a lot easier when your decisions are guided by principles instead of convenience.
The second thing is a good heart.
Good intentions matter.
Treat people with kindness.
Show compassion when you can.
Help where you’re able.
The world already has enough people looking out only for themselves. It never seems to have enough people genuinely trying to leave things a little better than they found them.
Will you always get it right?
No.
None of us do.
We’re human. We make mistakes. We stumble. We learn.
What matters is that you keep trying.
A good life isn’t built on perfection.
It’s built on character.
A solid moral compass.
A good heart.
And the willingness to keep moving forward when life gets messy.
I’ve noticed that the older I get, the smaller my circle becomes.
During the working day, I spend most of my time with two other people. We’re a close-knit team and, after enough hours together, you end up knowing each other’s habits, quirks, and coffee requirements better than you probably should.
Outside of work, it’s mostly Mrs Bob and our cat Tiddles (which, for legal reasons and feline dignity, is not actually her name).
Truthfully, I’m not a particularly social creature.
I don’t go out much unless it’s lodge night, Saturday coffee morning, or I’ve wandered off somewhere with a camera looking for birds that refuse to sit still long enough to be photographed.
And I’m perfectly content with that.
So, who do I spend the most time with?
The people who matter.
Because if I’m choosing to spend lots of time with you when nobody is paying either of us to be there, then you’re probably someone rather special to me.
One is chilli chocolate. The other is sea salt chocolate. Both are handmade by the Benedictine monks at the local abbey, and both are absolutely delicious. If you’ve never tried proper handmade chocolate, you’re missing out.
But let’s pretend they don’t exist and we’re all auditioning for a role in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
In that case, I’d invent a liquorice-infused chocolate bar that’s permanently frozen at room temperature.
I know.
It’s a bit odd.
Then again, anyone who knows me will tell you that “a bit odd” is pretty much my default setting.
You see, I like my chocolate frozen. Not just chocolate bars either. Creme Eggs, pretty much anything chocolate-based tastes better after a stint in the freezer. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll happily eat it at room temperature, but chilled chocolate just hits differently.
Maybe it’s the texture. Maybe it’s the extra crunch. Maybe I’m simply strange.
Actually, scratch that last one. We already know I’m strange.
So yes, if Willy Wonka ever phones and asks for ideas, frozen liquorice chocolate is what I’m bringing to the table.
What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?
People often talk about “having it all” as though it’s some finish line hidden behind a bigger house, a flashier motor, or another few zeros in the bank account.
Truth is… I don’t think that’s it at all.
Because wants and needs are two very different beasts.
A want whispers. A need sustains.
And somewhere along the line, society convinced us they were the same thing.
To me, having it all is much simpler than people make out.
It’s being able to pay the bills each month without lying awake at 3am wondering which direct debit is about to knock you sideways.
It’s opening the fridge and knowing there’s food in there.
It’s having enough left over for little moments that make life feel human — fish and chips on the beach, an ice cream on a warm afternoon, a coffee shared with someone you love while the world rushes past unnoticed.
That’s wealth too.
Just not the kind they advertise on billboards.
Having it all is also love.
Not the Hollywood nonsense. Not grand gestures and violins in the rain.
I mean real love.
The kind where someone stands beside you when life gets messy. The kind where they steady you when your own mind becomes too loud. The kind where they push you towards your dreams while reminding you not to lose yourself chasing them.
A good woman. A true partner. Someone who helps carry the weight of the world when your arms are tired.
That matters more than any sports car ever will.
I think the mistake many of us make is believing happiness lives somewhere else.
In the next promotion. The next purchase. The next achievement.
So we spend years running.
Chasing.
Grasping.
Only to discover peace was quietly sitting beside us the whole time, waiting patiently for us to notice it.
There’s an old idea found in a lot of eastern philosophy — though you don’t need to shave your head or sit on a mountain to understand it — that suffering often begins with attachment.
With wanting.
With believing life must look a certain way before we allow ourselves to be content.
And maybe that’s true.
Because the older I get, the more I realise happiness rarely arrives with fireworks.
Usually it turns up quietly.
In ordinary moments. In enough. In gratitude. In learning the difference between what fills the soul and what merely fills the shopping basket.
So, is “having it all” attainable?
Yes.
But only once you stop trying to own the world and start appreciating your small corner of it.
I’m sure people expect the obvious answers. My wedding ring, some ancient family heirloom passed down through generations, baby photos, or maybe some ridiculously rare comic hidden away in a protective sleeve somewhere.
Truth is, it’s much simpler than that.
My old DSLR camera and my mobile phone.
Now before anyone rolls their eyes and mutters something about modern technology taking over our lives, hear me out.
My DSLR was my first “proper” camera. Not the fanciest bit of kit in the world, not one of these eye-wateringly expensive setups professional photographers use. But it was mine. The camera that taught me how to look at the world differently. The one that came with enough lenses and buttons to confuse me for several weeks straight.
It also helped me capture my first proper moon shots, which honestly felt like a tiny personal victory against the universe itself.
Worm Moon (March 3rd)
I still pretend I know what I’m doing with photography, by the way. Half the time I’m just pressing buttons and hoping for the best. Occasionally though, the universe rewards me with something beautiful.
As for my phone, it’s less about social media and doom-scrolling and more about the fact it’s basically my portable life support system at this point.
It’s got my emails, banking, contacts, calendars, reminders and enough important information on it that losing the thing would probably send me into cardiac arrest.
The social media side of it? I could honestly live without that quite happily.
Now, honorary mention…
My first magazine publication.
That moment mattered more than I can probably explain properly. Seeing my words printed for the first time was the moment I stopped feeling like someone who just scribbled random thoughts into notebooks and started believing maybe — just maybe — I was actually a poet.
I remember my first computer like it was yesterday. A rubber-keyed wonder that felt like the future had crash-landed in my living room. Hours spent typing lines of code just to make a dot bounce across the screen. Simple times.
Fast forward to now… and everything is faster, shinier, and infinitely more complicated.
Back then, if something went wrong at work, you fixed it with your hands, your head, or a bit of good old-fashioned teamwork. Now? There’s an app, a system, a login, a password you’ve forgotten, and a mandatory update right when you need it most.
Don’t get me wrong, technology has made life easier. Communication is instant. Tasks that once took hours now take minutes. I can sit in my shed, write a poem, take a photo, and share it with the world before the kettle’s even boiled. That’s not nothing.
But it’s also changed the pace. Everything is “now.” No breathing room. No chance to just get on with the job without something pinging, beeping, or demanding your attention.
I suppose the biggest change is this: We used to control the tools.
Now it sometimes feels like the tools control us.
Still… I wouldn’t swap it entirely. That old Spectrum might have started the journey, but it’s the modern kit that lets me keep rambling on here, sharing my scribbles with whoever happens to be listening.
Staring at the clock, it mocks my plight. Five minutes left, or so it claims, But time has turned to molasses; Every tick a tiny giggle, As my coffee grows cold, and My chair re-forms to my shape. It’s then that I ponder The deeper questions, Like if I can train my stapler to fetch, Or if the printer is secretly plotting against me?
The Ramblings of Bob Christian 