Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

For decades, my writing was shackled by the cold, grey chains of “Business English.” I spent a lifetime “aligning stakeholders” and “optimising synergies.” I wrote reports so dry they could be used to preserve mummies.

But the boardroom door has closed, and a V8-powered escape pod has opened.

Welcome to my new digital home. This is no longer a corporate update; it is a series of dispatches from a man who has traded the 9-to-5 grind for a life of “Glorious Chaos.” I have entered the era of the unrestricted calendar, and I am finding that being the master of my own time is the busiest job I’ve ever had.

I am navigating a life that currently resembles a high-stakes juggling act. My days are a blend of:

• The Pedestrian Pursuit: Rediscovering the English countryside on foot—often with the grace of a baby giraffe after a 6:30 AM gym session—and realising that walking is the only time the brain truly has room to “simmer.”
• The Great Restoration: Embarking on a house renovation that is less “home improvement” and more “trench warfare” against dust, debris, and the eccentricities of British plumbing.
• The Gavel of Power: My accidental ascent to Chairman of the Village Hall, where I navigate the diplomatic minefields of coffee mornings and parish politics.
• The Patron of the Paddle: My weekly commitment to the “High-Velocity Chess” of table tennis, where I attempt to coach the youth and keep my own backhand from becoming a historical relic.
• The Pedestrian Pursuit: Rediscovering the English countryside on foot—often with the grace of a baby giraffe after a 6:30 AM gym session—and realising that walking is the only time the brain truly has room to “simmer.”
• Enjoying The Stuttgart Stallion: My Porsche Cayenne, my escape pod that serves as my sanctuary from the “UK Rain God.”

I’ve recruited a Silicon Jeeves—a digital accomplice—to help me translate this whirlwind into the “Wry” observations you’ll find here. I am no longer “facilitating outcomes.” I am hatching Cunning Plans.

There are no more “restrictions on my time,” which simply means I now have twenty-four hours a day to get myself into trouble, renovate a house, and remind the village that while I may be retired from the office, I haven’t quite retired my soul to a rocking chair just yet.

Fasten your seatbelts. The Stallion is idling, the Chairman is in the building, and the renovation is officially underway.